ing seas, whose spray hid her from sight at times. At length the first raft was launched in the lee, and when the wounded had been lashed aboard, it set off, to be swept toward shore.
THE second raft was readied and got into the water. A huge sea burst, sweeping the deck with spray and flood. Bess Adams looked up to see young Bienville before her, his hand outstretched, his voice ringing heartily.
"Come along, comrade! Pierre sent me to get you. Can you walk?"
Free of the lashing, she could stagger, at least; she was numb and frozen. With every moment the wreck was going to pieces under their very feet. Cries of despair went up on all sides as she began to split in two.
Somehow, Bess Adams got aboard the raft, clinging frantically beside Bienville. At the broken bulwarks stood Iberville, passing the other men aboard. The raft sank deeper in the water; it was nearly awash. Shouts of alarm and protest went up. There was no more room, if those already aboard her wanted to live.
"Only one more to come!" shouted Iberville cheerfully.
"Pierre! Come yourself!" cried the boy Bienville. "No room for more!"
Iberville looked down at him and laughed, as the last man crawled over.
"The men go first, brother! The captain last."
The man poised, jumped, and beneath his weight the unwieldy raft sogged under the water. Iberville stood poised, his lean features set hard.
"Go ahead! Cast off the line!"
"No, no!" With a shrill cry, Bess Adams came to her feet, ankle deep in water. "Here's room, Iberville—here! Take my place! I can swim and hold to a line."
"Stop it!" he shouted harshly, but he was too late.
With a sudden swift movement, she was off the raft, plunging into the water. Iberville delayed not. He jumped, gained the vacant place, and the line was cast off.
"Here!" Iberville's voice blared out frantically. "The lad, the lad! Throw him a line! For God's sake don't let him try to swim for it—"
A sea swept Bess Adams up, almost beside him, swept her high and broke over her. For an instant they saw her face. Iberville saw her eyes fastened upon him. Then the salt spray broke, and she was sucked away. The raft went lurching and staggering off toward the wave-swept shallows.
The gray skies broke. The white flag of France came careering toward the river mouth; Serigny and his three ships were here at last, with men and guns to sweep the bay of the north for France. And Bess Adams, who could not swim a stroke, lay cold but smiling, and careless of all life's ills.
She had loved Iberville.
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"Dead Man Alive" by H. Bedford-Jones . . . No. 3 in this thrilling "If" series. . . To restore a Stuart to his throne, Ismail of Morocco would loose a hundred thousand Moslem fanatics on English soil! in the December Golden Fleece |
