“I am cold,” she exclaimed, when she could bear it no longer. “Sir,” to the mate, who was making tremendous effort with the oars, “is there naught that will keep me from freezing?”
“No,” answered he shortly, turning his set face toward her for a moment. Its tense lines relaxed at sight of the girlish figure. “Stay! I have it. Come, and row a while. You will be wetter than ever, but ’twill warm you a bit.”
Without a question Peggy gladly took the place by his side, and began to scull as vigorously as her numbed fingers would permit with the oar he gave her. She was not of much assistance, but the exercise served to warm her chilled frame, and to divert her attention from their peril.
In this manner the day went on, the wind died down, and the sea fell to a low, glassy, foam-flecked roll, while overhead brooded the inky sky, and round them was the leaden mist of the enveloping fog. Suddenly the mate stopped rowing, and raised his head as though listening.
“It’s land,” he shouted. “Land, to the westward!” He listened again intently, and added solemnly: “And it’s breakers too, God help us!”
Peggy listened breathlessly. The air was full of sound, a low, deep roar, like the roll of a thousand wheels, the tramp of endless armies, or—what it was—the thunder of a mighty surge upon a pebbly ridge. Louder and nearer grew the sound. The mate’s face whitened, and Peggy sat erect, full of terror at the unknown danger that confronted them.
“I must pull,” he cried, sweeping her back to her place in the sheets. “I must pull,” he cried again as the fog lifted and the dim outline of a shore line became visible. “It’s a race with death, little girl, but we may be the victors.”
With mighty strokes he sent the dingey ahead into the boiling surf. A great wave caught the little shallop upon its broad bosom and flung it upon the reef which lay concealed in the foam. There was a horrible rending crash as the stout keel snapped asunder, while a second wave swept over it, sweeping out the struggling occupants, and bearing them onward.
Peggy knew naught of swimming, and so made no attempt to strike out. She felt the water surging into her ears like a torrent of ice. She felt that she was sinking down, down as if a great weight held her remorselessly. This was death, she thought, and as the pain in her lungs increased, visions passed swiftly through her brain. Where was the mate, she wondered. A race with death, he had said. And death was the victor after all. Her mother’s face flashed before her. She was dying and she would never know. And Sally! And Betty! And Robert! What times they had had! Would they grieve, when they knew? But they would never know.