"Help!" was shouted, right at hand now, for the voice seemed to be
drifting toward him.
"Where are you?"
For answer, Merriwell received a heavy blow on the head and breast from
a piece of timber. He went under with a cry, his head ringing and his
senses reeling.
The next thing he knew, he was stretched out on some sort of raft, and
some one was holding him there by sheer force. His feet and legs were
trailing through the water. The whistle of the steamer or tug sounded
again, but farther away.
"Is that you, Merry? How are you feeling?"
It was a familiar voice, though thick and husky--the voice of Bart
Hodge.
It steadied Merriwell's reeling brain. He took hold of the boards and
sought to draw himself still higher on them.
"That you, Hodge?"
"Yes. I thought that was you, Merry. How are you?"
"Soaked. But I guess I am all right. Something hit me on the head and
shoulders, and I went under. I was swimming this way. Heard somebody
call."
"I called, and you were struck by this drift. I heard you, and felt the
shock when you struck. I reached out and got hold of you--and here you
are?"
"Yes, here--and where is that?"
"In the Atlantic, somewhere off New York. I doubt if the captain knew."
"What became of the rest of the crowd?"
"Don't know.
Pages:
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238