But the eyes of Harrigan held on the form of the girl.
They could only make out the shadow of her form with
her hair blowing wildly on the wind. Then as
swift as the sway of a bird’s wing, a mass of
black water tossed over the side of the Mary Rogers.
When it was gone, the shadowy figure of the girl had
disappeared with it.
“Now!” thundered McTee.
“Aye,” said Harrigan.
They climbed the rail. Plainly Harrigan had made
them delay too long, for now they had not time to
swim beyond the reach of the swirl that would form
when the ship went down. The Mary Rogers
lurched to her grave as they sprang from the rail.
A wave caught them and washed them beyond the grip
of the whirlpool; another wave swung them back, and
the waters sucked them down. Such was the force
of that downward pull that it seemed to Harrigan as
if a weight were attached to either foot. He
drew a great, gasping breath before his head went under
and then struck out with all his might.
When his lungs seemed bursting with the labor, he
whirled to the surface again and drew another gasping
breath. The storm had torn a rift in the clouds
and through it looked the moon as if some god were
peering through the curtain of mist to watch the havoc
he was working. By this light Harrigan saw that
he was being drawn down in a narrowing circle.
Straight before him loomed a black fragment of the
wreckage. He tried to swing to one side, but
the current of the water bore him on. He received
a heavy blow on the head and his senses went out like
a snuffed light.
When consciousness returned, there was a sharp pain
in both head and right shoulder, for it was on his
shoulder that McTee had fastened his grip. The
captain sprawled on a great timber, clutching it with
both legs and one arm. With the free hand he
held Harrigan. All this the Irishman saw by the
haggard moonlight. Then they were pitched high
up on the crest of a wave. As Harrigan grappled
the timber with arms and legs, it turned over and
over and then pitched down through empty space.
The wind had literally cut away the top of the wave.
He went down, submerged, and then rose to a giddy
height again. As he caught a great breath of
air, he saw that McTee was no longer on the timber.
A shout reached him, the sound being cut off in the
middle by the noise of the wind and waves. He
saw McTee a dozen feet away, swimming furiously.
He came almost close enough to touch the timber with
his hands, and then a twist of the wave separated
them. Harrigan worked down the timber until he
reached the end of the stanchion which was nearest
Black McTee. All that time the captain was struggling,
but could not draw closer. The wood was drifting
before the wind faster than he could swim.
