Chapter Sixteen.
Shipwreck—The White Queen of the Isle of Flowers.
To and fro, to and fro, on the quarter-deck walked the imperturbable Yankee, Mr Hall, quietly pulling at his huge cigar. He had seen the ladies, and had told them straight that it was to be a fearful storm, and now he would wait to see what Fate had in store for them.
But more impatient far was Captain Dickson. Would steam never be got up? He had an idea which way the storm would come, and he wanted to steam southwards, and as much out of its track as possible.
At last the steam begins to roar, and now the screw revolves, and the good ship cleaves its way through the darkness of sky and sea. Dickson is somewhat relieved. He puts two men to the wheel, and sailors lash them to it. Well Dickson knows that the storm will be a fearful one.
Who is this fluttering up along the deck? A little dot all in white—nothing on but a night-dress. Matty, of course.
“I lunned away,” she explained, “and tomed (came up) to see the lightnin’s flash.”
“Oh, my darling!” cried Reginald, “you must come with me at once!”
He picked the little fairy up, and quickly had her safely below again.
The men were busy battening down when he returned to deck. Here and there along the bulwarks loose ropes were left that the men, if needful, might lash themselves to the rigging.