CHAPTER IX.
AT THE MERCY OF THE SEA.
For an hour or more I sat on the edge of my berth, pondering the matterfirst in one way and then in another. The captain's plain speech hadopened my eyes, as it were, and as I recalled many little incidents ofthe past, looking at them now in their true light, I saw that I hadindeed been dull-witted and slow of comprehension. I had won Flora'sheart--she returned my affection. That was the meaning of her frequentblushes and confusion--signs which I had interpreted as indifferencewhen I thought of them at all.
The discovery both caused me an exquisite joy and added to mywretchedness. At the first I painted a bright and glowing picture of thefuture. Flora should be mine! I would make her my wife, and carry heroff into the wilderness or to one of the lower towns. I wasyoung and strong. I had some money laid by, and it would be but adelightful task to carve a home and a fortune for the two of us. So Ireasoned for a time, and then a more sober mood followed. I saw that Ihad been indulging in an empty dream.
"There is no such happiness for me!" I groaned aloud. "I was a fool tothink of it for a moment. The girl loves me, it is true, but nopersuasion of mine could ever induce her to break her promise. Shebelongs to Griffith Hawke, and she will marry him. And even if it werepossible to win her, honor and duty, which I have always held sacred,would keep me from such a knavish trick. If I proved unfaithful to mytrust, could I ever hold up my head among men again?"
Thus I revolved the matter in my mind, and I confess that I was sorelytempted more than once to stake all on the chance of making Flora myown. But in the end I resolved to be true to my manhood--to theprinciples my father had been at such pains to teach me. Without takingthe trouble to undress, I stretched myself on my bed--the hour waslate--and for a long time I dozed or tossed restlessly at intervals. Atlast I fell into a sound sleep, and it could have been no great whileafterward when I was rudely awakened by a crash that pitched me out ofmy bunk to the floor. A second and far louder crash followed at once,immediately overhead, and then a shrill commotion broke out. I knew theship had struck, and I lost no time in getting to my feet. Luckily nobones were broken, and with some difficulty--for the vessel was pitchingheavily--I groped my way through the darkness to the deck.
Here I beheld such a scene as I trust I may never see again. Themainmast had fallen, tearing a great gap in the bulwark, and crushingtwo sailors under its weight. Hiram Bunker and some of his men wererushing to and fro, shouting and yelling; others were gazing as thoughstupefied at the wreckage of shattered spars, flapping canvas, andtwisted cordage. The ship was plunging fore and aft--a sure sign thatshe was not now aground. The mist had partly cleared, and the air wasraw and cutting. A storm of wind and rain was raging, blowing from thestarboard or seaward side. Several of the crew had followed me above,but most of them had evidently been busy on deck at the time of thedisaster.
A single lamp was burning, and at first none observed my presence. Allwas seemingly confusion and panic, and the skipper's orders were beingtardily obeyed. I moved forward a little, and recognized CaptainRudstone holding to the snapped-off end of the mast.
"What has happened?" I demanded anxiously. "Are we in danger?"
"Little doubt of it, Mr. Carew," he answered calmly. "The ship struck ona submerged rock--probably the side edge of it--and immediately sheeredoff into deep water. It was a hard blow to shatter the mast, whichcrushed two poor fellows to death in its fall."
"What is the time?" I asked.
"Two o'clock in the morning, and we are close to the shore."
"The vessel might have fared worse," said I. "But is she leaking?"
"Ay, there's the rub," the captain replied. "The water is pouring in,and the ship is already beginning to settle."
"God help us," I cried, "if that is true!"
I wanted further confirmation, and I hurried away to seek the skipper. Ifound him close by, and as I hurried up to him he was joined by anotherman, a bearded sailor, who called out excitedly:
"There is four feet of water in the well, sir, and it is steadilyincreasing. We can't keep afloat long."
"Stick to the pumps, Lucas, and do what you can," the skipper directed."Get some food ready, men, and prepare to lower the boats," he shoutedloudly to the crew. Then he turned to me.
"'Tis is a bad business, Mr. Carew," he said hoarsely. "It's all up withmy ship, and I'm a ruined man. But I'm going to save all hands, if it ispossible. Where is Miss Hatherton?"
"In her cabin," I replied.
I had not forgotten the girl, but I had felt reluctant to rouse heruntil I knew what danger threatened us. Now there was no time to lose,and I hastened to the companion way. At the foot of it, where there wassome depth of water, I dimly perceived Flora wading toward me. Sheuttered a little cry of joy and clasped my arm.
"So you are up and dressed," I exclaimed. "I was just coming for you."
"I was awakened by the crash," she replied, "and I prepared for theworst at once. Is the ship sinking, Denzil?"
"She will go down ultimately," I answered; "but there is plenty of timefor all hands to escape. Do not be alarmed."
"I am not frightened," she said bravely. "I know that I am safe withyou."
There was a tenderness in her voice that tempted me to some mad reply,but I checked the impulse. I bade her stay where she was while I went tomy cabin for some articles of value. I was quickly back, and as soon asthe companion was clear--the skipper and some of the crew were swarmingdown--I helped Flora up. We went forward to the bulwark, CaptainRudstone joining us, and there we waited for a quarter of an hour ofsuspense and anxiety.
In spite of the sucking of the pumps, the ship settled steadily, bowsfirst, and rolled less and less to the waves. It was very dark, and thewind shrieked and whistled dismally; the rain fell unceasingly, soondrenching us from head to foot. The worst of it was that we had shortlyto face a deadly peril. The boats were frail, the sea rough, and thestorm-beaten coast of the bay was no great distance off. I had not theheart to tell Flora how slight was our chance of life, and I do not knowif she suspected it. At all events, she was perfectly calm andcollected.
The men were under control now, and there was little confusion. Theypromptly obeyed orders, and Hiram Bunker seemed to be everywhere atonce. We could do nothing but look on, with a growing uneasiness, forwhich there was good cause. But at last all was in readiness, and nonetoo soon, for the bows of the sinking ship were close to the water. Itwas from this quarter that the two boats--the longboat and thejolly-boat--were lowered.
The latter was the smaller, and it was quickly filled by Miss Hatherton,Captain Rudstone, Baptiste, and I, and four seamen. The first mate, whohad a lantern lashed to his waist, let down some food and then followedus. The skipper and the rest of the crew occupied the long boat, whichwas lowered at the same time from the opposite side. Both craft werehurriedly thrust off by the aid of boathooks, and there we were on theopen surface of Hudson Bay, exposed to the fury of the storm, anddrifting away into the black maw of the night.
How narrow an escape we had made of it we were quickly to learn, for wehad gone no more than a hundred yards when I heard a bitter cry fromHiram Bunker, followed by shouts of "Look! Look!" I glanced back fromthe stern seat, and at that moment the Speedwell went to her doom. Therewas a sound of creaking planks, her bow dipped under and her stern rosehigh the air, and then the waves closed over the poop-deck and blottedout the swinging lantern.
We were beyond the reach of the vortex, and our men pulled hard awayfrom the fatal spot. The sea grew rougher, and the rain poured intorrents; we were compelled to keep bailing the water out. Thewind-lashed gap between the two boats widened swiftly, and in a shorttime the long boat was lost to sight in the darkness. Again and again weshouted at the top of our voices, but no reply came back. The windshrieked, the billows roared and crashed, and the shadow of death seemedto be lowering on us from the black sky overhead.
"How are we going?" Captain Rudsto
ne asked of the first mate, who was atone of the oars.
"Badly enough, sir," the man replied. "It's no use trying to keep offthe shore, pull as hard as we may."
"Is there no hope?" Flora asked of me in a whisper.
"Very little," I replied hoarsely. "It is better to prepare for theworst."
I put one arm round her, and she voluntarily snuggled closer to me. Thuswe sat for twenty minutes or half an hour, expecting constantly to becapsized and flung into the sea. The storm still raged with undiminishedviolence, but it was growing a little lighter now, and as often as werose to the top of the swell we could see the faint blur of the land faroff. It was an ominous sight, for most of us knew what the shore of thebay was like in a tempest. Wind and tide were drifting us steadilynearer.
"Look! Look!" Captain Rudstone suddenly shouted. "Pull hard about, men!Quick, for your lives!"
But it was too late to avert the danger. I had scarcely glanced behindme, where I saw a mighty wave, yards high, rolling forward swiftly, whenthe jolly-boat was pitched far into the air. It hovered an instant onthe crest of the wall of water and then turned bottom up, shooting usall down the slope into a foamy trough.
I lost my grip of Flora--how I do not know--and was sucked deep belowthe surface. When by hard struggling I came to the top and looked about,I experienced a moment of sickening horror, for I could see nothing ofthe girl; but suddenly she rose within a few feet of me, her loosenedhair streaming on the water, and by a desperate effort I reached andcaught hold of her.
It was just then, as we were both at the mercy of the sea, that astrange and providential thing happened. A heavy spar, which haddoubtless been washed from the sinking ship, floated alongside of us. Iseized it firmly with one hand, while I supported Flora with the other.We were hurled up on a wave, and from the crest I saw the capsizedjolly-boat some distance off. Two men were clinging to the keel, but Iwas unable to recognize them. The next instant the wind seemed to fall alittle and shift to another quarter, bringing with it a gray fog thatsettled speedily and thickly on all sides of us. But I had caught aglimpse of the coast, and above the gale I could faintly hear themuffled pounding of the surf.
The spar drifted on for several minutes, now high in the air, now deepin the greenish hollow of the sea. Flora was perfectly conscious, andpartly able to help herself. We were in such peril that I could offerher no words of comfort, and she seemed to understand the meaning of myominous stillness.
"Are we going to be drowned?" she asked.
"We are in God's hands, Flora," I answered huskily. "The shore is veryclose, and we are drifting straight in. A tremendous surf is breakingand it will be a miracle if we live through it."
"Then we will die together, Denzil," the brave girl whispered; and asshe looked up at me I read in her eyes the confession of her heart--thepure depth of a love that was all my own.
The Cryptogram: A Story of Northwest Canada Page 9
