AN UNWELCOME PASSENGER.
John can hold back no longer, but gives his oar to the boatman, and seeks the bow in place of Aunt Gwen, who allows him the privilege.
They are now almost upon the floating swamped boat.
"Careful now. Don't run into the wreck. I see her," and with the last words, John, who has kicked off his shoes in almost a second of time, throws coat and vest down in the boat and leaps overboard.
His hands seize upon the gunwale of the nearly submerged boat, over which each wave breaks. He pulls himself along, and thus reaches Lady Ruth whom he finds holding on to one of the tiller ropes which has formed a loop, through which her arm is passed.
"Thank Heaven! You are safe! Here comes the boat! You must let me help you in, Lady Ruth!" he says, dodging a wave and ready to clutch her if she lets go.
"I am not alone. You must take him in first," she gasps.
Then John for the first time becomes aware that she is supporting Sir Lionel, whose arm has also been passed through the rounded tiller rope.
He seems to hang a dead weight.
Amazed at the action of the brave English girl, John at once takes hold of the soldier. The boat by this time comes up.
In getting him aboard a spill is narrowly averted, and now a new trouble arises. The boat will hold no more, and is dangerously loaded even now.
What can be done? Lady Ruth must be taken aboard. Her strength is almost gone, and John, in deadly fear lest one of the hungry waves should tear her away before their very eyes, passes an arm around her waist.
He takes in the situation.
"Here, you!" to the already wet boatman, "tumble overboard, quick now. We can hold on behind, I reckon."
The man hesitates, and this is a bad time for deliberation.
Professor Sharpe suddenly seizes upon him, and in almost the twinkling of an eye has the fellow overboard, more through a quick movement than any show of strength.
"There's a boat from the steamer coming this way. Hail it, Philander!" exclaims Aunt Gwen, and this gives them new life.
Lady Ruth is now taken into the boat with some degree of caution.
Sir Lionel shows no sign of life, and both ladies are extremely solicitous about him, so the professor bends down to make a cursory examination.
"He'll be all right when the water is pumped out of him," he announces.
The boat from the steamer comes up, led to the spot by Philander's shrill whoops, and the men in the water are rescued.
In ten minutes they reach the side of the steamer and go aboard. A terrible disaster has been narrowly averted, and John cannot but feel amazed at the wonderful grit shown by this girl, who saved the baronet from a watery grave.
It proves his estimation of her qualities at the time she assisted to bind up his arm was not out of the way.
As the two boatmen are about to go down into their craft again, the one who has not been in the water beckons John, who has not yet sought his cabin-room to change his soaked clothes.
"Will the gentleman recover?" he asks.
"You mean Sir Lionel? Oh, yes! He is already back in his senses. Strangely enough the first question he asked upon learning that Lady Ruth was saved, concerned your companion, and when he learned that the boatman had also survived, he said: 'The devil!'"
At this the man chuckles.
"I understand—perhaps you can. I like you, sir, while his ways make me mad. He thinks we Maltese dogs. I say no more—only look out for him. It easy to sink when plank in boat loosened."
Without another word the fellow slides down the rope to his boat, and pushes off with his soaked companion.
When John turns and heads for his state-room, he has something to think about, and the consciousness that there has been some foul play about this accident makes him decidedly uneasy.
Now they are off, the passengers who in the morning started on a pilgrimage to Civita Vecchia having returned in good time.
When Doctor Chicago once more comes on deck, clad in warm, dry clothes, the lights of Valetta are astern, and the steamer is putting miles between them.
He paces up and down, reflecting upon the startling event of the evening.
What can the significant words of the boatman mean, if not what he suspects.
John would not wrong any one, and he believes it policy to keep this to himself. At the same time he realizes that the game is taking on a desperate phase, when a gentleman of Sir Lionel's caliber descends to such treachery, in order to make himself a favorite with the fair English maid.
Of course, it was his intention to save Lady Ruth and appear the hero. He trusted in his well-known ability as an expert swimmer to accomplish this, and never once thought fate would step in and deal him such a blow.
As near as can be learned from what the wet boatman said when picked up, just when the craft was sinking Sir Lionel must have stumbled and fallen, striking his head upon the gunwale, which rendered him unconscious.
John walks up and down, smoking and pondering, and, when his thoughts go toward Lady Ruth, he smiles as if they are pleasant.
Twice he goes to seek the stewardess to make inquiries concerning the young woman, and is gratified to hear that the ship's Scotch surgeon has given her a glass of warm toddy to keep her from taking cold as a result of her exposure, and that having retired she is now in a perfectly natural sleep.
Pleased with this, he lights another cigar and resumes his walk, to meet Sir Lionel, who has quite recovered from his ducking, and is disposed to treat the whole matter something like a joke.
John engages him in conversation for a purpose, and learns what he can about the peculiar affair; but the soldier professes to know nothing beyond the fact that the boatman suddenly cried that the craft was sinking, whereupon he called out for assistance from the other boat, and then, as the emergency seemed very close, he sprang up to save Lady Ruth, when his foot caught in the thwart and he pitched heavily forward.
He was not wholly unconscious, and with some one's help, he knew not whom at the time, he managed to crook his arm through the rope belonging to the tiller. After which he knew no more until he came to on board the steamer and found the surgeon pouring whisky down his throat.
"Perhaps your boatman was crazy. I'm sure our fellow must have been out of his mind, judging from his actions when leaving the steamer. Why, he even warned me to keep an eye on you, sir."
At this the Englishman removes his cigar from between his teeth, looks hard at the doctor, says "by Jove!" several times, and then laughs heartily.
"That is very funny. Indeed, I can't remember anything that strikes me as more peculiar. Any one can watch me—my actions are, I hope, above-board. It is true I am disappointed in not having been able to have saved Lady Ruth, but so long as some one took her from the water, what does it matter? The boatmen are mad, because they lost a craft. Jove! I'd like to teach them a lesson for taking out passengers in a cranky, rotten boat. Do you know, I believe my foot went clean through the bottom when I jumped up."
This, spoken in a frank, ingenuous way, quite disarms John.
He does not like to think evil of his fellow human beings, at any rate.
The wind is increasing meanwhile, and clouds hide the young moon.
"I believe we will have a storm," is the last remark Sir Lionel makes, as he staggers across the rising deck and makes a plunge down into the cabin, for although a duck in the water, the Briton is no yachtsman, and possibly already feels the terrible grip of the coming mal de mer.
His words are soon verified, however, for the waves and wind continue to rise until the steamer is mightily buffeted. Still John remains on deck. There is a fascination for him in the scene that words cannot express. When he has had enough he will find his state-room and sleep, for surely he needs it after being awake a good deal of the preceding night at Valetta.
Darker grow the heavens. Thunder rolls, and the electric current cuts the air, illuminating the wild scene with a picturesque touch that is almost ghastly in its yellow white.
The steamer is well built, and in good condition to withstand the tempest, roar as it may. John tires of the weird spectacle at last, and he, too, makes a plunge for the cabin, reaching it just in time to escape a monster wave that makes the vessel stagger, and sweeps along the deck from stem to stern.
Below he finds considerable confusion, such as is always seen on board a steamer during a storm. Timid men looking as white as ghosts, frightened women wringing their hands and screaming with each plunge of the ship, as if they expect it to be the last.
A few foreign passengers are aboard, and they do not seem free from the contagion, though inclined to be more stoical than the Europeans.
As the steamer plunges, some of the passengers are huddled in a corner. Loud praying can be heard, and those who are least accustomed to such things on ordinary occasions are most vehement now.
A Mohammedan is kneeling on his rug, with his face turned in the direction of Mecca, as near as he can judge, and going through with the strange rigmarole of bows and muttered phrases that constitute his religion.
This scene is not a very pleasant one, but there are features about it which are worth being noticed, and John stands to gaze before seeking his room.
He has heard from the captain that the boat is perfectly safe, unless the storm should grow much heavier, and with this assurance intends to seek his berth and sleep, if such a thing be possible.
He moves toward his state-room. Just then a billow strikes the steamer almost amidships, and she rolls. This, not being expected, causes John to slide across the cabin floor, to the accompaniment of a chorus of cries from the frightened people, who are huddled in a corner by this new move on the part of the vessel.
He brings up alongside a state-room door, which is in the act of being opened, even as he bangs up against it.
Consequently John has the greatest difficulty in maintaining his balance, and in order to keep from sliding through the door grasps the sides.
Some one has opened it. A face is exposed close to his own, a face that, although not terror-stricken, bears the evidence of sudden alarm, as though the new pitch of the vessel and renewed shrieks from within have aroused fear—a face that John Craig recognizes with amazement.
"Tell me, are we sinking?" she exclaims.
Then she looks again.
"Ah! Doctor Chicago!"
"You here, Pauline Potter?"
The presence of the actress on board the steamer gives him a sudden thrill.
It is no mere accident that brings her, but a part of a deep-laid plan, which perhaps not only concerns him, but one in whom he has taken the deepest interest—Lady Ruth.
That is why he cries out, and his words have more than an ordinary amount of astonishment in them.
"Yes, I am leaving Malta. I have no reason to remain there longer. But tell me the worst, John Craig; are we doomed to go down?"
The vessel does not toss so wildly now, and the wails of the alarmed passengers grow less in volume.
"I hope not. The captain assured me there was no danger whatever, and told me to get some sleep, if I could. I am on my way to my berth now. Be of good cheer, the morning will see us safe enough, I believe."
Then he leaves her, and the state-room door closes.
This encounter makes John think of the other ladies. Are Aunt Gwen and Lady Ruth among those whose clamor arises from the cabin with each lurch of the ship?
As the thought flashes upon his mind, some one clutches his arm, and, turning, he beholds the little professor. There is a wild look in Philander's eyes, and his teeth rattle like castanets. Really the situation is terrible enough to appall any one.
"When do we go down, John?" he asks.
"Good Heaven! I trust not at all," and he cheers the other with what the captain has told him.
"I wish you could tell the ladies that."
"Where are they?" asks John.
"Come with me!"
In a few seconds the doctor sees the ladies, who have a state-room together. They are fully dressed, and look woe-begone. At each lunge of the vessel they gasp, and, when a particularly big one occurs, fall into each other's arms.
Both are brave enough, and yet the situation is such that a strange feeling creeps over the stoutest heart.
When John appears, and tells them what the captain has said, it reassures them considerably, and they feel better.
Presently he leaves them, and seeks his berth, where he actually goes to sleep. Tired nature will assert her power, even under the most discouraging conditions.
During the night the storm abates.
John Craig is awake early, and can tell that all is well from the easy motion of the steamer, for her plunges are few and of small moment. A silence broods over the scene; the tired passengers have gone to sleep; all John can hear as he lies there is the dull throb of the engines and the swish of water against the side of the vessel.