Tollemache, who undertook the firing of the donkey-boiler, which was situated on the main deck aft of the saloon—for the Kansas was built chiefly to accommodate cargo—during his wanderings round the world had picked up sufficient knowledge of steam-power to shovel fuel into the furnace and regulate the water-level by the feed valve and pump. The small engine, more reliable and quite as powerful as a hundred men, was in perfect order. It abounded in valves and taps, but Walker’s parting instructions were explicit:
“Keep yo’ eye on the glass, an’ pitch in a shovel of coal evewy ten minutes: she’ll do the west.”
So the new hand, satisfied that the gage was correct and the furnace lively, lit his pipe, sat down, and began to jot in a note-book the contents of his coat-pockets. The Spaniard’s letters he could not read, though he gathered that one of them was from a wife in Vallodolid, who would travel overland early in January to meet her husband. But the Englishman’s correspondence was terribly explicit. A “heart-broken mother” wrote from Liverpool that “Jack” had been shot during one of the many cold-weather campaigns on the Indian frontier. “I have no news, simply a telegram from the War Office. But of what avail to know how my darling died. My tears are blinding me. You and I alone are left, and you are thousands of miles away. May the Lord be merciful to me, a widow, and bring you home to comfort me.” Yet the knife which killed him must have gone very near that letter.
Tollemache tried to grip his pipe in his teeth. He failed. It fell on the iron floor.
“Oh, this is rotten!” he growled. “Why couldn’t he have been spared? No one would have missed me. I don’t suppose Jennie would care tuppence.”
The Kansas rolled heavily. He waited a few seconds for the expected shock, but she swung back to an even keel. Then he stooped to pick up his pipe, and his mouth hardened.
“‘Spared!’ by gad!” he said. “What rot!” That roll of the ship was caused by an experimental twist of the wheel. Courtenay, peering into the darkness through the open window of the chart-house, saw that the weather was clearing. He had evolved a theory, and, for want of a better, he was determined to pursue it to a finish. The Kansas was being swiftly carried along in a strong and deep tidal current. Happily, the wind followed the set of the sea, else there would be no chance of success for his daring plan. His expedient was the desperate one of keeping the vessel in the line of the current, and, if day broke before he reached the coast, he would steer for any opening which presented itself in the fringe of reefs which must assuredly guard the mainland.
With his hands grasping the taut and, in one sense, irresponsive mechanism of a steering-wheel governed by steam, a sailor can “feel” the movement of his ship, a seaworthy vessel being a living thing, obedient as a docile horse to the least touch of the rein. But, in the unlikely event of fortune favoring Courtenay to the extent of giving him an opportunity to see the coming danger, it was essential that the ship should have a certain radius of action apart from the direction and force of the ocean stream. The two sails were helpful, and it was to assure himself of their efficiency that he put the helm to starboard. The Kansas obeyed with an answering roll to port, showing clearly that she was traveling a little faster than the inrushing tide would take her unaided. He brought her head back to nor’east again, and glanced over his shoulder at the ship’s chronometer. It was a quarter to one. Two hours must pass before he would discern the first faint streaks of light. At any rate, if he were spared to greet the dawn, it would be right ahead, and, as a few seconds might then be of utmost value, that was a small point in his favor. Yet, two hours! Could he dare to hope for so long a respite? How could the ship escape the unnumbered fangs which a storm-torn land thrust far out into the Pacific for its own protection?
He was quite sheltered from the wind and spray in the chart-house, and, all at once, he became aware of a burning thirst. There was water in a decanter close at hand, so he indulged in a long drink. That was wonderfully vivifying. Then his mind turned longingly to tobacco. For the first time in his life he broke the strict rule of the service in which he had been trained—and smoked a cigar while on duty.
Now and again he spoke cheerily to the dog. It would be: