Chapter 6 -BUT GOES ON AGAIN INTO THE UNKNOWN

This final waiting for the chance of succor seemed to be the hardest trial of all. The door had been hooked back to keep it wide open, so wind and sea invaded the trim privacy of the cabin. Spray leaped over the ship in such dense sheets that a considerable quantity of water quickly lodged on the port side where Courtenay's bunk was fixed. There was no means of escape for it in that quarter, and the angle at which the Kansas lay would permit a depth of at least two feet to accumulate ere the water began to flow out through the door to the starboard.

At the great crises of existence the stream of thought is apt to form strange eddies. Courtenay, when the ship struck, and it was possible that each second might register his last conscious impression, found himself coolly reviewing various explanations of the existence of an uncharted shoal in a locality situate many miles from the known danger zone. Elsie, strung half-consciously to the highest tension by the affrighting probability of being set adrift in a small boat at the mercy of the sea roaring without-a sea which pounded the steel hull of the Kansas with such force that the great ship seemed to flinch from each blow like a creature in pain-Elsie, then, faced by such an intolerable prospect, was a prey to real anxiety because the wearing apparel scattered by Courtenay on the floor was becoming soaked in brine.

She actually stooped to rescue a coat which was not yet saturated beyond redemption. As she lifted the garment, a packet of letters, tied with a tape, fell from its folds. She placed the coat on the writing-table, and endeavored to stuff the letters into a pigeon-hole. They were too bulky, so she laid them on the coat. In doing this she could not avoid seeing the words, "Your loving sister, Madge," written on the outer fold of the last letter in the bundle.

And that brought a memory of her previous visit to the captain's stateroom; the contrast between the careless chatter of that glorious summer afternoon and the appalling midnight of this fourth day of the voyage was something quite immeasurable; it was marked by a void as that which separates life and death. She was incapable of reasoned reflection. A series of mental pictures, a startling jumble of ideas-trivial as the wish to save the clothes from a wetting, tremendous as the near prospect of eternity-danced through her brain with bewildering clearness. She felt that if she were fated to live to a ripe old age she would never forget a single detail of the furniture and decorations of the room. She would hear forever the dolorous howling of the gale, the thumping of the waves against the quivering plates, the rapid, methodic thud of the donkey-engine, which, long since deserted by its cowardly attendant, was faithfully doing its work and flooding the ship with electric light.

She could scarcely believe that it was she, Elsie Maxwell, who stood there on the tremulous island of the ship amidst a stormy ocean the like of which she had never seen before. She seemed to possess an entity apart from herself, to be a passive witness of events as in a dream; presently, she would awake and find that she was back in her pleasant room at the Morrisons' hacienda, or tucked up in her own comfortable cabin. Yet here was proof positive that the terror which environed her was real. Bound up with the thunder of the gale were the words, "Your loving sister, Madge"-evidently the sister Captain Courtenay had spoken of-"matron of a hospital in the suburbs of London," he said. Would he ever see her again? Or his mother? Had he thought of them at all during this night of woe? Beneath his iron mask did tears lurk, and dull agony, and palsied fear-surely a man could suffer like a woman, even though he endured most nobly?

And then, not thinking in the least what she was doing, she scrutinized the closely tied packet. She wondered idly why he treasured so many missives. Each and every one, oddly enough, was written on differently sized and variously colored note-paper. And it could be seen at a glance that they were from as many different people. The outside letter was the most clearly visible. Miss Courtenay wrote a well-formed, flowing hand. If handwriting were a clue to character, she was a candid, generous, open-minded woman.

But what was this? Elsie suddenly threw down the letters. She had read a sentence at the top of the page twice before she actually grasped its purport. When its significance dawned on her, she flushed violently. For this was what she read:

"I am glad of it, too, because under no other circumstances would I wish to greet and embrace the woman destined to be your wife."

The knowledge that she had involuntarily intruded on Captain Courtenay's private affairs brought her back with a certain slight shock to a sense of actualities. The storm, the horrible danger she was in, emerged from shadow-land. Why had he not come for her? Surely there must have been some further mishap! Heavens! Was she alone on the ship, alone with the dead men and the dying vessel? Her head swam with a strange faintness, and she placed a hand to her eyes. She felt that she must leave the cabin at once, and strive to make her way unaided along the deck. Yes, whatever happened, she would go now. It was too dreadful to wait there any longer in ignorance as to her fate.

Then Joey sprang in through the doorway, and, with that splendid disregard for sentiment displayed by a fox-terrier who has just come out of a first-rate fight, shook his harness until it rattled.

But he eyed the inrush of the sea with much disfavor, so he leaped up on the table beside Elsie, and looked at her as though he would ask why she had permitted this sacrilege.

Though the dog was apparently unscathed and in the best of condition, his head and forepaws were blood-stained. His advent dispelled the mist which was gathering in the girl's brain. She feared a tragedy, yet Joey assuredly would not be so cheerful, so daintily desirous to avoid the splashing water in the cabin, if his master were injured. She was doubtful now whether to go on deck or not. The mere presence of the dog was a guarantee that Courtenay had not quitted the ship. Indeed, Elsie colored again, and more deeply, at the disloyalty of her ungoverned fear. Joey's master would be the last man to desert a woman, no matter what the excuse. She strove to listen for any significant noises without, but wind and sea rendered the effort useless to untrained ears, and there was no shooting or frenzied yells to rise above the storm.

"Oh, Joey," she said, "I wish you could speak!"

The sound of her own voice startled her. In a fashion, it gave her a measure of time. It seemed so long since she had heard a spoken word. The captain could certainly have gone round the whole ship since he left her. What could have detained him? She was yielding to nervousness again, and was on the point of venturing out, at least as far as the deck-house ran, to see if she could distinguish what was taking place on the after part of the vessel, when Dr. Christobal entered.

"I suppose you thought you were forgotten," he cried with a pleasant smile, for Christobal would have a smile for a woman even on his death-bed. "There, now! Don't try to explain your feelings. You have had a very trying time, and I want you to oblige me by drinking this."

"This" was a glass of champagne, which he hurriedly poured out of a small bottle he was carrying into a glass which he produced from a pocket. The trivial action, no less than Dr. Christobal's manner, suggested that they were engaged in some fantastic picnic. The outer horrors were not for them, apparently. They were as secure as sight-seers in the Cave of the Winds, awe-smitten tourists who cling to a rail while mighty Niagara thunders harmlessly overhead.

The mere sight of the wine caused Elsie to realize that her lips and palate were on fire with salt. At one moment she had not the slightest cognizance of her suffering; at the next, she felt that speech was impossible until she drank. Never before had she known what thirst was. A somewhat inferior vintage suddenly assumed a bouquet which surpassed the finest cru ever dreamt of by Marne valley vigneron.

"Ah, that is better," said the doctor. "Now, if you don't mind, we shall have the door closed."

With peace suddenly restored to the room, and her faculties helped more than she suspected, Elsie began to wonder what had happened.

"Where are the others?" she asked; "and why are you taking things so coolly? Captain Courtenay said-"

"Captain Courtenay said exactly what he meant. But circumstances proved too strong for him. We shall not be able to leave the ship just yet."

"Can't they lower any of the boats?"

"Most decidedly. Two boats have been gone some time. I imagined you knew that. Did not the captain tell you?"

At another time Elsie would have laughed at the prevalent delusion that she enjoyed Courtenay's confidence so thoroughly. But she felt that her companion's glib tone was artificial. Something had occurred which he was keeping from her. She believed that he had gone to the saloon to procure the wine so that she might have what men called Dutch courage when bad news came.

"I have not exchanged a dozen words with the captain since you refused my help in the fore cabin," she said. "He had other matters to attend to than explaining the progress of events to me. Why cannot you trust me? I shall not scream, nor faint, nor hinder you in your work; I ask you again- Where are the others?"

"You mean Miss Baring and Mrs. Somerville?"

"Yes."

"If they are living, they are far enough away by this time. When their boat was lowered it was cast off prematurely-"

"Purposely?"

"Well-yes. Courtenay had just placed Miss Baring's maid on board when some of the crew let go the ropes. What could we do? We were forced to depend on them."

"Is there no other boat?"

Christobal threw out his hands in his characteristic gesture. He was so emphatic that he spilled some of the wine.

"You take it bravely," he said. "I may as well give you the whole story. The first boat lowered was lost, through the men's own bungling, the captain says. Then there was a desperate fight for the three remaining craft. Most of the officers were killed. Courtenay got a few of us together when Isobel and Mrs. Somerville joined you here, and we held off such of the madmen as tried to seize the jolly-boat. They managed to lower two life-boats, but, between murder and panic, not half of the crew escaped in that way. Four men, who were left behind, promised obedience, and Malcolm, the steward, was placed in charge, with Mr. Gray as second in command. One of the engineers, acting on the captain's orders, brought a can of oil from the engine-room and threw it over the side in handfuls. The result was magical. We lowered the boat easily, placed Monsieur de Poincilit on board, because he was worse than the women, and then Courtenay, as you know, brought Isobel, the minister's wife-who refused to go without her husband-and the maid. There was room for you and another, so, at the captain's request, Tollemache and I tossed for the vacancy. Meanwhile, Courtenay had turned to go for you, when we heard a shout from Gray; two of the Chileans had cast off the ropes which kept the boat alongside. Gray, who was fending her from the ship with the boat-hook, jabbed one fellow in the face with it; but he was too late. The boat raced off into the darkness. And here we are!"

That Christobal left several things unsaid Elsie knew quite well. He plumed himself on the reserve he had acquired from his English mother, though in all matters pertaining to nationality he was a true hidalgo. Indeed, there was a touch of vanity in the way he examined the sparkle of the champagne he now poured into Elsie's empty glass. He scrutinized the wine with the air of a connoisseur. He was looking for the gas to rise in three or four well-defined spirals. And he nodded doubtfully, before drinking it, as one might say:

"The right brand, but of what year?"

Then it dawned on the girl that both her elderly friend and she herself were accepting an extraordinary situation with remarkable nonchalance.

"How many of us remain on the ship?" she asked.

"Very few-on the effective list. The captain, an engineer whose name

I do not know, Mr. Tollemache, and ourselves make up the total."

"Where is Mr. Boyle?"

"Ah, poor Boyle! I fear he is done for. He is very badly wounded. I bandaged him as well as I could, but the call on deck was imperative."

"Is he in the saloon? Should we not go to him?"

"I have only just left him. The hemorrhage has stopped, and I gave him some brandy. Believe me, we can do nothing more for him. I told Courtenay it was quite useless to place him on board the boat. You may be sure he was not forgotten."

"I did not imagine that any one would be forgotten," said Elsie, and, for some reason, the light in her eyes caused Christobal to go on rapidly:

"We have a whole crowd of injured men on board, Miss Maxwell. At

present we can render them no aid. I thought it wisest to obey orders.

The captain told me to bring you some wine and remain with you here.

It will not be for long."

"Why do you say that?"

"The ship appears to be lodged hard and fast on a reef or sandspit. I am told the tide is rising. If that is so, our only hope is in the raft which our three allies are now constructing. With a falling tide we might have a breathing-space at low water. As it is, well-"

Christobal, with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, nevertheless waved them. Elsie, whose nervous system at this juncture was proof against any but the last pang of imminent death, could almost have laughed at the queer figure he cut, brandishing his arms and standing awkwardly on the inclined deck. She bent her head to hide the smile on her lips; she noticed that Joey was panting, the use of his teeth on various wet legs during the tussle for the jolly-boat having caused him to swallow more salt-water than he cared for. Elsie's sympathies were aroused. While assuaging her own thirst she had neglected the dog. She took a carafe of water from its wooden stand near the table, and poured some of the contents into a tumbler. Joey's thanks were ecstatic. He yelped with delight at the mere thought of a drink.

While the dog was lapping a second supply, the Kansas shifted again with a disconcerting suddenness. The water in the cabin swirled across the floor as the ship was restored to an even keel. The movement dislodged the packet of letters. It fell, and Elsie rescued it a second time. Christobal watched her with undisguised admiration.

"Really," he said, "I find you wonderful."

"Why?" Certainly she might be pardoned for seeking an explanation of any compliment just then.

"Why? Por Dios! Excuse me, but that slipped out sideways. Just imagine any woman being able to attend to a dog and pick up a bundle of letters at the very instant the ship appeared to be slipping off into deep water!"

"Is not that the best thing that can happen?"

"My dear young lady, we should sink instantly."

"How do you know?"

"Well-er-I don't exactly know, but I assume that the hull was broken long since."

"I don't see why you should take that for granted. These very movements seem to me to argue buoyancy. Somehow, I feel far safer here than if I were-"

She was interrupted by the opening of the door, and the consequent roar of the gale. It was Walker, the engineer, a lank, swarthy man, with long black mustaches which drooped forlornly down the sides of his mouth. He shouted, with the inimitable accent of Tyneside:

"Yo' wanted, Docto' Chwistobal. The captain thinks Mr. Boyle is bettaw."

"May I come, too?" asked Elsie.

"No, missie. You bide he-aw."

"Please tell me before you go-is the ship full of water?"

"She's dwy as a bone," said Walker. A sea splashed over him and sent a shower into the cabin. "A vewy wet bone," he added, with a broad grin, for the Northumbrian had a ready wit though he had such a solemn jowl, and he could not pronounce an "r" to save his life.

"Between you and the captain, I am beginning to be infected by belief," said Christobal to Elsie. "Let me recommend you to close the door behind us."

And she was left with the dog for company once more. A chronometer showed that the hour was past midnight. She knew sufficient of the sea to understand that the clock was probably accurate, as the course had practically followed the same meridian since the Kansas quitted Valparaiso. So the ship and those left on board had entered on another day! How little she had thought that to be possible when the awful knowledge first came to her that the Kansas was ashore! How long ago was that? Then she remembered that when Courtenay placed her in his cabin with the promise to bring Isobel to her, she had noticed the time-eleven o'clock. Was it conceivable that only one hour had elapsed since she and her four-footed friend were flung all of a heap into a corner by the impact of the vessel against the sand-bank? One hour! Surely there was some mistake; she puzzled over the problem, recounting each event since the conclusion of dinner, and finally convinced herself that her recollection was not at fault. An hour-one of eternity's hours! A verse of the 90th Psalm came to her mind:

"For a thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night."

The words had a new and solemn meaning to her. Yesterday was her thousand years-this was her watch in the night-and it would pass as a tale that is told. Involuntarily she turned to the bookcase behind her, and took the Bible from the little library of books which she had laughingly described as "a curious assortment." It was her intent to find the psalm containing that awe-inspiring verse, and read the whole of it, but, in turning over the leaves, she came upon a scrap of paper with notes on it. The handwriting was scholarly and legible. She thought that Captain Courtenay would probably write just such a hand. Though her cheeks tingled a little at the memory of the words in his sister's letter, there was no harm in reading a memorandum evidently intended to mark a passage in the book. The items were sufficiently striking:-"Meribah-a place of strife; Selah-a repetition, or sort of musical da capo."

This stirred her to seek an explanation. She searched the two pages which opened at the marker, and, in the seventh verse of the 81st Psalm, she found the key:

"Thou calledst in trouble, and I delivered thee; I answered thee in the secret place of thunder; I proved thee at the waters of Meribah. Selah."

The phrases were strangely appropriate to her present environment. They were almost prophetic, and there was even a sinister sound in the concluding instruction to the "chief musician upon Gittith" in this psalm of Asaph. That was the terrible feature of her vigil. There was no knowing when or how it would end. She closed the book in a state more closely approximating to hysterical fright than she had been at any previous time during that most trying night. The truth was, though she could not realize it, that her senses were far too alert, her brain too preoccupied, to permit of such an ordered task as reading. In her mind's eye, she saw the boats, with their cowering occupants, plunging and tossing in that frenzied sea. By contrast, she was far better off on the ship. Yet, were it not for the action of some cowardly Chilean, she must have gone with Isobel and the others. It was torturing to think that her fancied security was really more perilous than the more apparent plight of the storm-tossed boats. No wonder she could not read, though the words were inspired!

And Joey was becoming restless. He danced backwards and forwards on the table where he had taken refuge from the invading flood. Indeed, the dog knew, long before Elsie, that the Kansas was afloat again. At last she noticed that the water in the cabin was gurgling to and fro, and, in the same instant, she felt the regular swing of the moving ship. She was speculating on the outcome of this new condition of affairs when the door opened and Walker thrust his lantern-jawed face within. He grinned cheerfully.

"I've come to fetch you to yo' cabin, miss," he announced. "The ship's under weigh, an', as yo' pwobably winging wet, the captain says you ought to change yo' clo'es."

Joey followed her out, but deserted her instantly. She saw the reason, when Walker helped her to reach the bridge companion. Courtenay was in the chart-house, at the wheel. He gave her a friendly nod as she passed. Somehow, Elsie felt safe now that the ship was in the captain's hands again.