In an instant a crowd of terrified people had gathered in the cabin, clasping one another’s hands, sobbing and shivering as gust after gust shook the Water Lily so that it seemed its timbers must part.
“We mought ha’ knowed! Thirteen po’ creatures shet up in dis yeah boat! Oh! My——”
The greatest outcry was from poor Chloe, now kneeling, or crouching, at the feet of her Miss Betty, and clutching the lady’s gown so that she could not move. But if her feet were hindered her tongue was not. In her most peremptory manner she bade:
“Chloe, get up and be still! This is no time for nonsense. Close those windows. Stop the rain pouring in. Call back your common sense. Do——”
“O, Ole Miss! I’se done dyin’! I’se gwine——”
“No, you’re not. You couldn’t screech like that if you were anywhere’s near death. Shut—those—windows—or—let—me!”
Habit was stronger than fear. The idea of her mistress doing Chloe’s own task roused the frightened creature to obey, scarce knowing that she did so. Seeing her at work restored the calmness of the others, in a measure, and Dorothy and Mabel rushed each to the sliding panels of glass, which had been left open for the night and pushed them into place.
This lessened the roar of the tempest and courage returned as they found themselves still unhurt, though the constant flashes of light revealed a group of very white faces, and bodies still shaking with terror of nature’s rage. Mrs. Bruce had always been a coward during thunderstorms, but even she rallied enough to run for a wrap and fold it about Mrs. Calvert, who was also shaking; but from cold rather than fear.
Then between claps, they could hear the scurrying of feet on the roof overhead, the stumping of Captain Jack’s crutches, and the issuing of sharp orders in tones that were positively cheerful!
“Hark! What are they doing? Can anybody see the tender?” asked Dorothy, excitedly.