THE WRECK OF THE "RATHBONE"
"Eight bells, sir," came the voice from without, following the rap, rap upon the door of my room. I had just five minutes to dress myself and get out, and I rolled over, listening to the sounds on deck. As I had only taken off my sea boots, I was in no hurry to turn to. My sou'wester hung upon a peg, but my oilskin jacket was still buttoned up close about my neck, where it had been during my sleep; and the oilskin trousers scraped noisily as I slid my legs to the edge of the bunk.
I had slept three hours and forty minutes, and must go out and relieve Slade, the second mate, who had, in turn, relieved me at the end of the mid-watch. It was now just five minutes of four in the morning, a cold, snowy nor'easter blowing, and the brig running wildly into the thick of it.
We had cleared from New York for Rio, and were trying to run out into the warm Gulf Stream before the gale overblew us and forced us to heave to, to ride it down. January at sea on the coast was hard, indeed.
I swore at the hard luck, for my sleep had seemed just an instant, just a second's unconsciousness, and I was stiff and soaked with sea water; so cold that I had to keep on my oilskins to sleep at all. I had finally steamed my body, incased as it was, into some sort of warmth, and the first movement sent the chills running down my spine. I threw off my blankets and stood shivering, trying to jam my feet into the wet boots as the bells struck off, and I was due on deck.
Slade stood with his shoulders hunched to his ears at the break of the poop, holding to the rail to steady himself as the brig plunged and tore along under a reefed fore-topsail and close-reefed spanker, with the wind abaft the beam. The gray light of the winter morning had not come yet, and the snow beat upon my face, as if some invisible hand hurled it from the utter blackness to windward.
The dull, snoring roar of the wind under the feet of the topsail told of the increasing velocity of the squalls; and the quick, live jerk of the ship as she went rushing along the crest of a roller for an instant, and then slid along the weather side, dropping stern foremost into the trough, with a heave to windward, indicated that we were doing all we could.
"Southeast b'south!" yelled Slade into my ear. "You'll have to watch her."
I knew what he meant. She was steering hard, and might broach to in any careless moment.
"Call the old man if there's any change," he added, and stumbled down the poop steps to the main deck, where the watch were huddled under the lee of the deck house. Then he disappeared aft, and the night swallowed him up.
I made my way to the wheel. Bill, a strong West Indian negro, was holding her steady enough, meeting her as she came to and swung off. He was assisted by Jones, a sturdy little fellow with a big shock head. I could just make out their faces in the light from the binnacle, which burned, for a wonder, in spite of the gale. It generally blew out in spite of all we could do to keep the lamps lit. Beyond was a hopeless blackness.
I went to the weather rail and tried to see to windward. A fleeting glimpse of a white comber caught my gaze close aboard; but beyond a few fathoms I could see nothing at all. Aft under the stern the torrent of dead water boiled and roared, showing a sickly flare from the phosphorus. We were going some, probably twelve or fifteen knots an hour; and right ahead was nothing—that is, nothing we could see; just a black wall of darkness.
Vainly I tried to make out the light of the coming morning; but the snow squalls shut off everything. Pete, sharp-eyed fellow of my watch, was on lookout on the forecastle head. I knew Pete's eyes were the best ever, but he could see nothing in that wild gale of snow and sleet and inky darkness. I went to the break of the poop again, and hailed the deck below.
"Keep a sharp lookout ahead, there," I said, bawling the words out to reach through the storm. Then I stood waiting, for there was nothing else to do.
Two bells came—five o'clock—and the watch reported all well and the lights burning brightly. Our starboard and port—green and red—lights were none too bright at any time, yet they were well within the law, and had served the ship for five years or more.
I answered the hail, and stood trying again to see something over the black hills of water that were rushing to the southwest under the pressure of the gale. Something made me very nervous. I began to shiver, and the snow struck my face and melted enough to run down my neck, making me miserable, indeed. I still stood gazing right ahead into the night, hoping for the dawn which was now due in another hour, when I heard a yell from the forecastle head.
"Light dead ahead, sir," came the hail.
I looked and saw nothing, but took Pete's word for it.
"Keep her off all she'll go," I roared to the wheel.
And just as I felt her swing her stern to the following sea, I saw close to us the green light of a steamer, and above it her masthead light. Then the thing happened.
A wild cry from forward, followed by the loom of a gigantic object in the gloom ahead. We were upon the vessel in a moment.
A tremendous crash, grinding, tearing, splintering. The brig staggered, seemed to stop suddenly, and then the deep, roaring note of the gale smothered the rest.
We struck, fairly head on, swung to, glanced along the ship's side, and were lying dismasted in the trough of the sea, our foremast over the side, and nothing but the lower main mast standing. The seas tore over us, and we lay like a log, while the shadow of the steamer passed slowly astern.
The old man was on deck before I knew just what had happened. So also was Slade. The smashing and grinding of the wreckage alongside told of the spars; but we were too stunned to think of them.
Was the hull split open with that furious impact? That was the thought in our minds. Ours was a wooden vessel—little, light, and very strong. Did we ram our plank ends in? If so, we were lost men, all of us.
It was fully a half minute before we spoke of it. We knew just what to do, but we were stunned for a few moments. Then we made for the main deck, and tried the pumps. The water was coming in lively.
"All hands on the pumps!" came the skipper's order; and we manned the brakes with the feeling that it was just a respite, just a little time to lose. The men took to them with a will, however; but I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I worked half-heartedly for a few minutes, until I brought myself around with a jerk. I was mate. I had the responsibility. And more than that—it had happened in my watch on deck. I was the one who must do the most.
"Come along, bullies—get a couple of axes!" I roared, and made my way to the weather fore channels, where the rigging of the topmast and lower mast held the wreckage alongside, being drawn taut, as it were, across the deck, the spars to leeward, and banging and pounding against the ship with each surge. "Get into those lanyards!" and they chopped away in the gray light of the morning, cutting everything they could, and clearing the weather rigging of the strain.
The wreckage now hung by the lee rigging, and drifted farther aft. The wheel was lashed hard down, and a bit of spanker raised again upon the mainmast, the halyards still being intact, although the boom had been broken by the shock. We soon had canvas on her aft, and she headed the sea, dropping back from the wreckage to a mooring hawser bent to the standing rigging of the foremast. We got a lashing to the foot of the mast, and she dragged the mass broadside, making a lee of it, and riding easily to the heavy seas, which now took her almost dead on her bows.
When I had a chance to look about me again, the light of the morning had grown to its full height, and we were able to see around us.
The gray light made things look almost hopeless for us. The pumps worked full stroke, and the water gained rapidly on us. There had been three feet made during the first half hour. We were settling, and the brig was riding more heavily, taking the seas over her head with a smothered feeling that told of what was coming.
I had a chance to breathe again, and I looked out over the gray ocean, where the white combers rolled and the heavy clouds swept along close to their tops. A large, black object showed to the westward of us, and we recognized her as a steamer. She was very low in the water, and upon her rigging floated the signal, "We are sinking." She was the one we had run down.
The old man stood gazing at her as I came on the poop. He was trying to make her out; and this he did finally, when the wind stretched her flag in a direction so that we could see it plainly. She was one of the Havana steamers bound up from Cuba, and was about five thousand tons. Her number was that of the William Rathbone.
"No better fix than we are," snarled the skipper. "What was the matter? Didn't you see him? He's big enough."
"Too dark," I said. "You know what kind of a night it was—look at it now. We might do something if we were sure of floating ourselves—no boat would live in this sea five minutes; but it'll smooth out, maybe——"
"Maybe blow a hurricane!" howled the old man, his voice rising above the gale. "Get the boats ready, anyhow—get the steward to put all the grub he can get in them—too bad, too bad," he went on.
While Slade helped to get the boats ready for leaving the brig, I went to the bow and tried to see just what damage we had done ourselves. It was dangerous work, as the seas came over in solid masses, and more than once I came near getting washed overboard. Splintered plank ends, a crushed stem showed through the wreck of the bowsprit, which still hung by the bobstays and shrouds, jammed foul of the catheads, so that only the end swung, and struck us a blow now and then. It was a hopeless mess.
A great sea rose ahead, with its crest lifting for a break, and I ducked behind the windlass, holding on with both hands. The solid water swept over the bows, and I was almost drowned; but I held on. There was nothing I could do forward, and no men could work there. The steady grind of the pumps took the place of desperate rushing about the decks. The men stood in water to their knees as the seas swept her, but they still kept it up. As fast as one man gave out another took his place, regardless of watch; and the waiting ones chafed under the shelter of the mainmast.
The boats were on booms over the forward house, where the seas could not wash them away; and Slade had them all ready to leave, although it was a study how to get them overboard in that sea with nothing forward to raise them with. The mainstay still held, and the mainmast was strong enough; but there was nothing forward at all above them. I went aft and waited.
Old Captain Gantline was still standing at the poop rail watching the steamer. Our drift was about equal to hers, and we sagged off to leeward together, keeping about a mile apart. The steamer was settling.
"Of course, he ought to have gone clear of us!" howled the old man as I came up. "I don't blame you, Mr. Garnett; I don't blame you—but you certainly swung us off at the last minute when you knew the law was to hold your course, and let him get out of our way."
"But he was dead ahead, sir. I saw his lights right aboard. To luff meant to come to in that sea, and that would have been just as bad, for he'd have struck us aft—probably cut us in two."
I really had done nothing out of the way. The steamer had not seen us, that was certain. I was supposed, under the law, to hold on until the last moment, and I had done so. I had only swung her off a little; tried to clear when I saw he would not. I knew the law well enough, and had followed it up to the moment of striking. Our swing off had made our bows fetch up against the steamer, and had probably caused him serious damage. But it had saved us from being cut down by her sharp steel stem, which would have gone through our wooden side as if through butter.
No, I did not feel guilty; although there were evidently some hundred passengers and crew of that ship in dire peril and sore put to it. The old man knew I had done the best thing I could for us, and there was no possible way of avoiding a collision in a wild, thick night like the last when the ships were invisible but a few fathoms distant.
We waited, and the brig settled slowly, while the wind still held from the northeast, and the sea still ran strong and high. There was apparently no chance for launching a small boat. The scud flew fast and the gray wind-swept ocean looked ugly enough, the surface covered with white. The steamer was slowly sinking, like ourselves, and it was only a question whether either would go through the day or not. I hoped that it would not come in the night. There's something peculiarly nerve-racking in wild night work in a sinking ship. The very absence of light lends terror to the already awful situation, and the wild rush of the wind and seas makes chaos of the blackness about.
The day dragged slowly. It was like waiting for the end of the world. The vessels drifted apart but another mile or two, and we were still close enough to exchange signals. We had long ago run ours up, telling that the same state of affairs existed aboard the brig. If some passing coasting steamer came along, all might still be well with the passengers and crews of both of us. But not a sign of anything showed above the horizon.
At five o'clock—two bells—that evening, the brig was well down in the water; and she was taking the seas nastily over her. The main deck was all but impossible to remain upon, and the men at the pumps had to lash themselves to keep there. It would be only a question of a few hours now. The drawn faces told of the strain. Slade, the second mate, came to me.
"All over but the shouting," he said. "How'll we ever get them boats clear in this sea?"
"Better start now before it's too late," I said, and went to the old man for orders.
"All right, get them over," said the old man, in answer to my question; and we started on the last piece of work we were to do in that brig.
Bill, the West Indian negro; Wilson; Peter, the Dutchman; and Jones were to row; and, with myself at the steering oar in command, made the working crew. Besides these men we had three others, making eight men all told for our boat. Slade went with the old man, dividing the little crew up evenly.
We had a good crew. Long training in that little ship had made them good men. But for their steadiness we would never have got those boats clear. It was desperate work getting them over the side without smashing them. With a tackle upon the main, however, we managed to lift them clear and let them swing aft, lifting and guying them out by hand. Then we dropped them over the quarter, and let them tow astern to the end of a long line, and they rode free, being lighter than the ship and pulling dead to leeward.
I was the first to leave, as became my place. The old man, as captain, must be the last. I hauled the boat up, and we climbed in, jumping the now short distance as she took the seas and rose close to the taffrail. The brig was very low, and settling fast.
"Go to the steamer first," said the old man; "then head westerly until you get picked up or get ashore. We are not more than one hundred and fifty miles off—good-by."
I dropped over, and the line was cast off, letting the boat drift slowly back, but still heading the sea so that she rode almost dry, in spite of the combers.
The Rathbone was in view about three miles distant, and by the weight upon the four oars we held her so that she drifted off bodily in that direction, while still heading well up to the wind. There was plenty of light left yet, but there was a night coming, and I hoped we would get a chance to board the big vessel before it was black dark. Perhaps she was not so dangerously hurt as she looked.
I saw the old man's boat come away and take the general direction of our own; but the seas were too high to see her often. She was evidently making good weather of it, and I thanked the lucky stars that we had whaleboats for our business, and not the tin things they use for lifeboats in steamers.
By keeping the boat's head quartering to the wind and sea, she drifted bodily off toward the Rathbone, and before dark we drew close aboard.
There was much action taking place on her decks as we came close enough to see. Passengers ran about, and forms of seamen dashed fore and aft. It was evident that they were hurrying for some purpose, and that purpose showed as we noted the list to starboard the ship had. She was very low forward, and seemed to be ready to take the final plunge any moment.
Our boat had been pretty badly smashed getting her overboard, and she was leaking badly from the started seams. In that strong, rolling sea she had all she could do with the crew in her; and I fervently hoped that I would not be called upon to take passengers. Four rowing and three for relief was all right, but a dozen more would swamp her.
We came close under the Rathbone's lee. She lay broadside to the sea, and her high stern, raised as it were by her sinking head, shut off the sweep of the combers.
"Steady your oars," I commanded, as we came within a few fathoms. A man in uniform rushed to the ship's rail and hailed us through a megaphone. He was followed by several passengers.
"Can you come aboard and help us?" he bawled. "We're sinking—all the boats gone to starboard—captain killed and chief mate knocked on the head by wreckage."
"Men have refused duty," howled a man standing near him. "Mutiny aboard, and we're going down—come aboard and help us."
While they hailed, I noticed the boats to port going over the side. One had already gone down, but she had fouled her falls, and had dropped end up, smashing against the ship's side and filling. Struggling men tried to clear her, but the sea was too heavy. A life raft was pushed over the rail, and fell heavily close to us, held by a line. It surged in the lee, and, as the ship drifted down, it struck her heavily, smashing the platform.
"Don't go, sir," said Jake, in a voice that barely reached me.
"We'll have troubles enough of our own," said another.
"Shut up, there are passengers—don't you see the women?—we've got to help them," I said.
I looked for the other boat. It was not in sight. The forms of two women came to the rail, one a young girl.
"Throw me a line," I yelled to the man in uniform.
A small line came sailing across the boat. I seized it, and went forward.
"Jake and you, Bill, come with me, the rest lie by—keep her clear whatever you do," I said, and waved my hand to those above to haul away. With the bowline under my arms, I was soon on deck. Then I helped to haul my two men up.
"I'm the second," said the man in uniform; "but I can't make 'em do anything. Just stretched one out when the rest knocked me over and took to the boats."
Without delay we made our way along the port rail to amidships, where the boats were being lowered. Men crowded around them, and fought for places. The fireroom crew, white-skinned and partly clothed, their pale faces dirty with coal dust, stood around the nearest boat, and worked at the lashings, cursing, swearing, and shoving each other in the suppressed panic of men who are hurrying from death.
The canvas covering was ripped off, and four men sprang into her, the rest shoving her bodily outboard. The men at the falls howled and swore, slacked off without regard to consequences, and the craft dropped a few feet, then swung off, and came with a crash against the side.
"Fine discipline," I said to the second mate, who was close to me.
A form touched my elbow. I turned, and saw a young girl.
"Aren't they going to take us along with them?" she asked quietly, but with a voice full of pleading.
I looked at her. She was not over twenty, and very pretty. Her big eyes were looking right into mine.
"Sure, lady, you shall go," I said.
Jake and Bill stood right behind me.
"Have you a gun?" I asked the officer.
"No; haven't got a thing—let's hoof 'em."
"Avast slacking that boat down," I roared, rushing in.
"Tell it to George," snarled a big fireman, shoving me aside.
I hooked him under the jaw with all my strength, and he staggered back. Jake slammed the next man in the stomach, while the second officer waded in now, striking right and left in the press.
"Get back—stand back!" we roared; and, for a wonder, forced our way along the ship's side, taking the falls.
"Get a line below the block hook. Hold her off," came the order, and some one passed a line at the after fall, while a man in the boat pushed manfully against the ship's side to steady her.
"Now, then, slack away together," I yelled; and Bill, who had the forward fall, slacked off with me, and the craft went rushing down just as the ship rolled to leeward. She struck the sea, the block unhooked; and, as the sinking ship rolled up, she fell clear, and hung to her painter. We had got one down all right. The men then rushed.
Four of us fought back with all our might; but the weight of frantic men was too heavy for us. We were forced back and down, struggling under the crush of fighting firemen and seamen, who trampled, struck, and then tore loose to slide down the hanging boat falls or jump over into the sea, to climb in the floating craft below. The men below in the boat saw they would be swamped by numbers, and cut the painter. She drifted off, then crashed up against the ship's side, and finally swept around the stern, where she met the sea. That was the last I saw of her.
With my clothes half torn off, oilskins hanging in rags, my face bleeding, and utterly exhausted, I got to my feet, and we made for the next boat. The press about her was not so great, and we managed to make way against it. It was the last boat, and the remaining few men left aboard were not enough to hold us. Among them were some passengers, whom we got aboard—four of them—and then finally sent the boat down clear. I looked around for the girl. Two women were in the boat, and the second officer said there was another aboard. I was out of breath, and stood panting a few moments, gazing aft through the bloom of the evening trying to see what had become of that girl. She was not in sight. I remembered she was near the other boat.
"I'll run aft and try to find her," I yelled, and rushed down the deck.
At the door of the saloon I saw a form huddled up on a transom just inside.
"Come," I called roughly; "come along, quick—the boat's waiting."
"Oh, it's you," she said; and I saw it was the girl I was looking for. She sat up. "Did you ever see such brutes?"
"Never mind that now. Get a move on—the boat won't wait."
As I spoke, I felt the ship drop suddenly forward. I turned quickly, and gazed forward. It was almost dark now; but I could see the white surge burst over the forecastle head.
"She's going," I yelled, and grabbed the girl.
A great sea crashed against the house, bursting it in, roaring, smashing, and pouring like a Niagara into the saloon. The deck forward had gone under, the stern was rising high in the air, and the slanting deck told me there was not a second to lose.
The girl sprang up, and we dashed together to the taffrail, which was now fully twenty feet above the sea. There was nothing below but that life raft, the boats had gone to leeward to keep clear. Without a moment's hesitation, I dropped the girl into the sea, and sprang after her.
Hampered with my ragged clothes and oilskins, I could hardly swim a stroke. A rushing comber struck me, and I felt myself going down, unable to fight any longer. My breath was gone.
When I came to I was lying upon the life raft, and the girl was clinging to me with one hand, and passing one of the lashings of the raft with the other. It was black dark. Only the rushing seas about me told of our whereabouts; and the wild flings of the raft as it swept along with the rush made me aware of the present. I tried to see, raised my head, and felt very weak.
"I grabbed you and pulled you up," she said simply. "You were hit on the head by it—better tie yourself fast with that piece of cord, I can't hold you any longer."
I took a few turns of the side lashings of the raft about our bodies, and, as the seas washed us, I noticed that the water felt so much warmer than the air. We were clear of the sea a few inches, but each comber dashed over and soaked us, washing so heavily that it was necessary to hold one's head up in order to breathe freely.
"Did you see the boats?" I asked. "They'll pick us up presently."
"No; I couldn't see anything. I had all I could do to pull you on the raft. You're pretty heavy, you know. Then I had to hold you for what seemed an hour, but maybe was only a few minutes. Do you think they'll find us?"
"Sure. They wouldn't leave us. Ship went down, didn't it—rather sudden, and they had to let go. My men will stand by if it takes all night," I said.
"I sincerely hope you are right about it. I don't much fancy this raft for a place to spend the night. Will we be drowned on it, do you think?"
"No fear; we're all right. It can't sink. All we have to do is to keep a lookout for a boat and sing out for help. Why, there's five boats altogether, counting ours. Five boats, and it's just dark, not after six or seven o'clock at the most."
"How far from land are we?" she asked, seemingly cheered but still somewhat doubtful.
"Not far," I lied. I thought of a hundred and fifty miles of floating to get in—if the boats didn't pick us up. I began to experience that sinking feeling that comes to many when the outlook seems pretty bad.
The girl was silent for some time after this, and seemed to be thinking of her troubles, for once she gave a little gasp of complaint.
"Cheer up," I said; "don't give way to it yet. We'll be all right soon."
As the hours passed and no boat come near, I began to feel very nervous. I could see but a few fathoms distant, and knew the chances were growing less and less. I hailed the blackness, bawled out as loud as I could, keeping it up at minute intervals. The wind seemed to be going down, but the sea still ran quickly, and was high and strong, lifting the raft skyward at each roll, and then dropping it down gently into the hollow trough. We felt the wind only when on the top of the seas, and it chilled us; but the warm edge of the Gulf Stream soaked us, and we could stand it for a long time. The sea was as warm as milk.
How that long night passed I don't know. It seemed like eternity. Several times I lost consciousness, whether from exhaustion or from the blow I had received upon the head I cannot say. I held to the girl, and together we stood it out. Our lashings kept us upon the piece of platform remaining upon the two hollow iron cylinders comprising the raft.
The girl lost her power of speech some time during the night, and seemed to faint, her head dropping upon the slats of the platform. I held it up to keep the water from her nose and mouth, and finally propped her head so that little water broke over it. It was all I could do.
The raft swung around and around, sometimes with the sea on one side and then with it upon another. I felt for the oarlock, which is usually placed at either end to steer by, but it was gone. So also were the oars that had been placed between the cylinders and the platform. We simply had a float, that kept us bodily out of the sea, and that was all.
After hours and hours of this wild pitching and rushing upon the crests of high, rolling seas, the motion began to get easier, and I noticed that the wind was rapidly falling. The crests no longer broke with the furious rush and tumble as formerly. Then the gray light of dawn came, and I began to see about us.
The form of the girl lay alongside me, lashed to the platform. Her hair trailed into the sea in long tresses from her head, and her face was white as chalk. I thought she was dead, and shook her to see if there was any life to stir up. She lay limp. I took her hand and felt the wrist. A slight pulse told of the vital spark still burning. It seemed brutal to arouse her, to bring her back to the horror of her position. But I felt that it was best. I called to her, and she finally opened her eyes. She shivered, placed one arm under her, and then raised herself painfully into a sitting posture.
"Cut the cord around my wrist, will you, please?" she said. "I promise not to fall off."
"Better let it stay," I said. "I'll loose it so you can move about a little. Seems like they missed us in the dark."
"Well, do you still think they'll pick us up? See; it's light now, the sun is coming up. I don't know as I care very much. Do you?"
"Sure I care. Why not? We'll be all right soon."
She let her head fall forward, and gave a little sob; just a bit of a cry.
"Well, then I'm glad I pulled you out of the water," she said. "Seems like we might just as well have gone during the night. Do you really think it's worth struggling for like this? Life is good—and I want to live—but this is too hard—too terrible—and my poor mother——"
"We'll be picked up before breakfast, sure," I said. "The boats must have drifted just the same as ourselves. Something'll come along soon."
And yet deep down in me I knew that this was a bare chance. We were out of the track of ships, well off shore for the coasters, and not far enough for the Bermuda ships, like the Rathbone, which had stopped at the island on her way north.
The sun rose, and daylight broadened into the morning. The wind fell rapidly, and the sea began to get that easy run of the Atlantic when undisturbed. I loosened my lashings and stood up, gazing about us. The motion of the raft was still severe; but I could stand, balancing myself. I shivered and shook with the wet and cold; but I now felt that with the sun shining we would soon be in better straits. As the raft rose upon the swells I looked all around the horizon. But there was nothing; not a thing save the sea in sight.
"You can't see anything?" The girl's voice sounded strange, querulous, and pitiful. She was sitting with her head bowed upon her hands, which rested on her knees. Her wet dress clung to her, and she looked very frail, very delicate.
"No; I can't see anything yet," I answered; "but we'll sight something before long. Tell me, were you from Bermuda?"
"Yes; I was visiting my aunt there," she said. "I just graduated from the convent of the Sacred Cross last month. I've never been anywhere, or seen anyone, until this year. My mother is the only other near relative I have living."
"Well, you've made a good start seeing things," said I, trying to smile at her. She turned a little pink, just flushed a bit; but it gave her white face a more natural look. She was a very pretty girl.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Eighteen. Why?"
"Oh, nothing, only——"
I felt like a fool. Why should I bother this child about her age? She had saved my life by dragging me upon the raft, and I would save hers, if possible. It produced a feeling in me I could not quite understand. I liked to hear her talk, to have her look at me. She was very pretty; a good, innocent young girl.
"I could eat a house, roof, and foundation," I ventured finally, seating myself. The wash of the sea now hardly reached us, and we were drying out fast in the cool breeze and sunshine.
"Yes; I could eat a ship, masts, and spars," I went on.
"Well, I suppose I'll be tough enough," she said, glancing at me with some show of fear in her eyes. "I once read of men on a raft who ate each other; but I never thought it would be my turn. No, never."
"Don't be absurd," I said. "I don't intend to eat you—not yet."
She looked at me very hard. Her eyes were moist; big, lustrous eyes. "No," she said seriously, "I don't believe you will," and she put her hand in mine.
"Aw, don't be frightened, kid," I said. "I may look like the devil, but I'm not."
And I sat there like an idiot holding that girl's hand, while the sun rose and shone warmer and warmer upon us, drying our garments and cheering us wonderfully. I had never met a girl of this kind before; and it was something of a problem how I was to keep her alive and cheerful on that raft. I swore fiercely at Jake, at Jones, and the rest for leaving us adrift. My oaths were something strange to the girl, for she shivered and drew her hand away.
"Please don't," she said quietly. "What good does it do to use such language?"
"Eases me a lot, miss. What's your name?"
"Alice Trueman."
I mumbled the name a few times, then relapsed into silence. After that there was nothing more said for a long time; but I saw her looking at me at intervals. Evidently I was an animal she was not used to, and I wondered at a mother who would bring up a girl to view a man as such a terrible sort of creature. I was a rough sailor; but I was human.
The day advanced and the wind fell to a gentle breath. Then it became quite still, a dead calm, while the swell rolled steadily in from the eastward, but smoothed out into long, easy hills and hollows, upon which the raft rode easily and the platform kept clear of the sea at last.
We took turns standing up and looking about the surrounding waste to see if there were any signs of a ship. Nothing showed upon the horizon, and the day wore down to evening. We were both very hungry and thirsty. I knew that the limit would soon be reached if there were nothing to eat or drink. The sun was now warm, and we ceased shivering as it settled in the west. The darkness of the night came on with its terrors, and still there was no sign of help from anywhere.
"I really don't think I can stand it any longer, captain," said the girl.
"I'm not the captain—just the mate," I answered; "but you'll have to stick it out for the night."
Miss Alice gave a little sob. "I'm so hungry and thirsty," she wailed. And added plaintively: "I've never been hungry in my life before."
"Probably not," I said, sitting close to her and taking her hand in mine again. She made no resistance, and I passed my arm about her. "You must remember you've seen very little of the world yet. I've been hungry often—expect to be again before I go."
"You see, I've had everything in the world I wanted. My father died very rich—and I can't stand the things people can who are used to them," she lamented.
"Cheer up," I said. "While there's life there's hope, you know."
She gave a little sigh, and let her head fall back upon my shoulder. And so we sat there in the growing darkness, together upon a raft in the middle of the Atlantic. As I look back upon it, there seems to be a bit of sentiment lacking. I felt nothing but pity for the girl at the time. I wasn't the least unhappy. I wasn't the least disturbed, except that hunger was gnawing at me and the fear the girl would die there. Personally I was not displeased with the position. Such is youth.
"Alice," I said finally, "I find a lot of comfort in you being here with me, but I honestly believe I could stand it better if you were safe ashore. You've been a mighty brave little companion though."
She gave my hand a bit of a squeeze, and sighed like a tired child. Then she closed her eyes.
"Hey, there, aboard the raft!" came a yell from the darkness.
"Boat, ahoy!" I howled, in desperation, hardly believing my ears.
"Stand by and catch the line," came the yell again, and I jumped up and stared into the gloom.
A dark spot showed close aboard. The sound of oars came over the water. A man's voice hailed again, and I recognized Jones, my bow oarsman.
"Mr. Garnett——Is it you?" he cried; and a line came hurtling across the platform, striking me in the face. I seized it, snatched a turn upon one of the slats of the platform. The boat came alongside, while they held her off with the oars and boat hook.
"A girl—one of the passengers, hey?" asked Jones. "Climb aboard, sir, and we'll take her in all safe enough."
Wilson and Jones sprang upon the platform, and helped me lift the girl to her feet. She opened her eyes at the motion, and gave a cry of joy.
"I'm so glad!" she said, and fainted dead away, while we placed her in the stern of the whaleboat.
"Water, in the name of Heaven!" I panted. "You cowards! Why did you leave us?"
"Hunted for you, sir, all night," said Jones, getting at the water breaker and measuring out a full quart. I held it to the lips of the girl, and she revived enough to drink part of it. I drank the rest, and drew another measure, drinking it off in a gulp.
"Grub," I said, without further ado; and, while they shoved clear of the raft, I took a share of the ship's biscuit, eating ravenously.
"Sit up and chew a bit of bread," I said to Miss Alice.
She raised herself with an effort, and soon recovered sufficiently to eat something. Then she nestled close to me, let her head fall again upon my shoulder, and went to sleep like a tired child.
We were heading almost due west for the coast now, and could not be very far away from coastwise traffic. I felt that the end would soon come, and that we would be picked up.
Before midnight a light showed ahead. It was a steamer's headlight, and I soon made out her green light, showing she was heading north, inside of us. We would pass very close.
"Give way strong; give way together. Let's get out of this," I said; and the men set to the oars.
The light grew brighter, the green still showing. Soon the black form of the ship's hull showed through the gloom, her masthead light now looming high in the air, and her side light close aboard. We were drawing in, and I stood up and bawled out for help. The black bulk of her hull towered over us, and for an instant it seemed that she would run us down.
"Hold—back water—hold hard!" I yelled, and the men obeyed.
The ship tore past us, the foam of her bow wave splashing into the boat. I roared out curses upon the men above in her. Then she went on into the night. I howled, swore at her, called her skipper every name I could devise. The men seconded me, and together we called down enough curses upon that ship to have sunk her. Suddenly she seemed to slow up, to stop, and then lay dead in the gloom.
"Row, you bullies, row for your lives!" I yelled; and the men gave their last spurt, putting their remaining strength into the pull. We drew closer, and a voice hailed us from the ship.
"Ship ahoy!" I called again. "Throw us a line and stand by to pick us up."
We came alongside. A line was dropped down, and Jones seized it, snatched a turn, and we were fast. The ship was wallowing slowly ahead; but we hung alongside safe enough.
"Pass down a bowline," I sang out; "and be quick about it."
The line came down into the boat, and I slipped it over the head of Miss Alice Trueman, jamming it under her arms.
"H'ist away on deck," I directed; and the girl went aloft. The rest of us came one after the other.
"I can't take your boat, sir," said the captain; "haven't any room."
"Forget the boat. Give me something to eat and drink, and a place to lie down for a few weeks," I said, and I was led below.
Two days later we were at the dock in New York. I had not seen Alice since she had been turned over to the care of the stewardess; but I waited for her to come on deck. She came, pale but self-possessed. She was still weak, but was now nearly recovered. The ship was being warped to the pier, and it would be a few minutes before we could leave her. I came up and held out my hand.
"Well," I said, "Alice, how about it? You were a good companion in trouble, a brave shipmate in the face of terrible danger. Somehow it has drawn me to you. I want to see you again."
"Always, Mr. Garnett; always will I be glad to see you—but do you think it wise under the circumstances? Don't you think we had better say good-by now? It will only be more difficult later on. You know what I mean——"
She looked up at me with moist eyes—eyes that told so much. I was taken all aback; but I understood. I was only a sailorman, a mate of a sailing ship. She was an heiress—a lady, as they say, educated and refined. She couldn't make me what she knew I would have to be to retain her respect and love, the love she would want to give. It was for my own good she was saying good-by. Yes, I believe she meant it only for that.
"Sure, girl, I was only fooling," I said, with my throat choking so that the blamed ship reeled and swung about me.
"Believe me, it's best so," she whispered, looking at me strangely with eyes now full of tears. She held out her hand, raised her head, put up her lips.
"Kiss me good-by. You were awful good to me. Good-by."
I felt that kiss burn my lips for many a day—yes, for a long time.