The Lust of Hate, Guy Newell Boothby [essential books to read .txt] 📗
- Author: Guy Newell Boothby
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diamonds. In the apex of the bows the look-out stood, while black and
silent behind him the great ship showed twice its real size in the
darkness. The lamps shone brilliantly from the port and starboard
lighthouses, and I could just manage to distinguish the officer of
the watch pacing up and down the bridge with the regularity of an
automaton. There was something about the silence, and that swift
rushing through the water—for we must have been doing a good sixteen
knots—that was most exhilarating. For something like an hour I stood
and enjoyed it. My nervousness soon left me, and to my delight I
found that I was beginning to feel sleepy again. At the end of the
time stated I made my way towards the ladder leading from the
topgallant fo’c’sle to the spar deck, intending to go below, but just
as I reached it a man appeared from the shadow of the alley way,
approached the bell, and struck three strokes—half-past one—upon
it. At the same instant the look-out called “All’s well!” The words
were scarcely out of his mouth before there was a shuddering and
grinding crash forward, then a sudden stoppage and heeling over of
the great craft, and after that a dead, ghastly silence, in which the
beating of one’s heart could be distinctly heard.
The confusion of the next few minutes can be better imagined than
described. The vessel had slipped off and cleared herself from the
obstruction whatever it was that had caught her, and was now going on
her way again, but at reduced speed. I heard the skipper open his
cabin door and run up the ladder to the bridge shouting, “What has
happened?” The officer of the watch replied, but at the same instant
the sailors and firemen off duty came pouring out of the fo’c’sle
shouting, “She’s sinking! She’s sinking!” The engine-room telegraph
had meanwhile been rung, and the ship was perceptibly stopping. I
stood where I was, wondering all the time what I had better do.
“Everyman to his station,” bellowed the skipper, coming to the
rails of the bridge, and tunneling his mouth with his hands so that
his voice might be heard above the din. “Be steady, men, and remember
that the first man who gives any trouble I shall shoot without
warning.” Then, turning to the chief officer, he signed to him to
take the carpenter and hasten forward in an endeavour to ascertain
the nature of the injuries the vessel had received.
By this time all the passengers were on deck, the women pale and
trembling, and the men endeavouring to calm and reassure them as well
as they were able. I made my way up the ladder to the hurricane deck,
and as I did so felt the vessel give a heavy lurch, and then sink a
little deeper in the water. A moment later the chief officer and
carpenter crossed the well and hurried up the ladder to the bridge.
We all waited in silence for the verdict that meant life or death to
everybody.
“Ladies and gentleman,” said the skipper, coming down from the
bridge, after a short conversation with them, and approaching the.
anxious group by the chart room door, “I am sorry to have to tell you
that the ship has struck a rock, and in a short time will be no
longer habitable for us. I want, however, to reassure you. Thare is
ample boat accommodation for twice the number of our ship’s company,
so that you need have no possible fear about leaving her. How long it
will be before we must go I cannot say. There is a strong bulkhead
between us and the water which may stand long enough for us to reach
Teneriffe, which is only about a hundred miles distant. I think,
however, it would be better for us to be prepared for any emergency.
The ladies will therefore remain on deck, while the gentlemen go down
to their cabins and bring them such warm clothing as they can find.
The night is cold, and in case we may have to take to the boats
before morning it will be well for everybody to make themselves as
warm as possible.”
Without more ado the male portion of the passengers ran down the
stairway to the saloon like so many rabbits, I following at their
heels to see if I could be of assistance. Into the cabins we rushed
at random, collecting such articles of apparel as we could find, and
carrying them on deck with all possible haste. The necessity for
speed was so great that we did not pause to make selection or to
inquire as to ownership, but took what we could lay our hands on and
were thankful for the find. In the cabin I entered I noticed a pair
of cork jackets pushed under a bunk. I dragged them out, and heaped
them on the top of the other things I had collected. Then a sudden
inspiration seized me. On the rack in the saloon I had noticed a
large flask. I took possession of it, and then, collecting the other
things I had found, ran on deck again. I could not have been gone
half a minute, but even in that short space of time a change had come
over the ship. Her bows were lower in the water, and I trembled when
I thought of the result of the strain on the bulkhead. I found Miss
Maybourne standing just where I had first seen her, at a little
distance from the others, aft of the chart-room and beside the
engine-room skylight. She was fully dressed, and had a little girl of
eight with her, the only daughter of a widow named Bailey, of whom
she was very fond.
“Miss Maybourne,” I cried, throwing down the things I had brought
on the deck as I spoke, and selecting a thick jacket from the heap,
“I found these clothes in a cabin. I don’t know who they belong to,
but you must put on as much as you can wear.”
She obeyed me willingly enough, and when I had buttoned the last
garment up I insisted on her putting on one of the cork lifebelts. As
soon as she was clothed I put another garment on the child, and then
attached the second lifebelt to her body. It was too big for her to
wear, but fastened round her shoulders I knew it would answer the
same purpose.
“But yourself, Mr. Wrexford?” cried Miss Maybourne, who saw my
condition. “You must find a cork jacket for yourself, or you will be
drowned.”
At the very instant that I was going to answer her the vessel gave
a sudden pitch, and before the boats could be lowered or anything be
done for the preservation of the passengers, she began to sink
rapidly. Seeing that it was hopeless to wait for the boats, I dragged
my two companions to the ladder leading to the after spar deck. When
I reached it, I tore down the rail just at the spot where Miss
Maybourne had fallen overboard on the Spanish coast a few nights
before, and, this done, bade them jump into the sea without losing
time. Miss Maybourne did so without a second thought; the child,
however, hung back, and cried piteously for mercy. But, with the ship
sinking so rapidly under us, to hesitate I knew was to be lost, so I
caught her by the waist, and, regardless of her screams, threw her
over the side. Then, without waiting to see her rise again, I dived
in myself. The whole business, from the moment of the first crash to
the tune of our springing overboard, had not lasted five minutes. One
thing was self-evident—the bulkhead could not have possessed the
strength with which it had been credited.
On coming to the surface again I shook myself and looked about me.
Behind me was the great vessel, with her decks by this time almost on
a level with the water. In another instant she would be gone. True
enough, before I had time to take half a dozen strokes there was a
terrific explosion, and next instant I was being sucked down and down
by the sinking ship. Plow far I went, or how long I was beneath the
waves, I have no possible idea. I only know that if it had lasted
much longer I should never have lived to reach the surface again or
to tell this tale. But after a little while I found myself rising to
the surface, surrounded by wreckage of all sorts and descriptions.
On reaching the top, I looked about me for the boats, which I felt
sure I should discover; but, to my surprise, I could not
distinguish one. Was it possible that the entire company of the
vessel could have gone down with her? The thought was a terrible one,
and almost unnerved me. I raised myself in the water as well as I was
able, and as I did so I caught sight of two people within a few yards
of me. I swam towards them, and to my joy discovered that they were
Miss Maybourne and the child upon whom I had fastened the cork
life-preservers a few minutes before.
“Oh, Mr. Wrexford,” cried Miss Maybourne, in an agonised voice.
“What are we to do? This poor child is either dead, or nearly so, and
I can see no signs of any boat at all.”
“We must continue swimming for a little while,” I answered, “and
then we may perhaps be picked up. Surely we cannot be the only
survivors?”
“My poor, poor uncle!” she cried. “Can he have perished! Oh, it is
too awful!”
The cork lifebelts were keeping them up famously, and on that score I
felt no anxiety at all. But still the situation was about as desperate
as it well could be. I had not the least notion of where we were, and I
knew that unless we were picked up we should be better drowned at once
than continue to float until we died of starvation. However, I was not
going to frighten my only conscious companion by such gloomy
anticipations, so I passed my arm round the child’s waist and bade Miss
Maybourne strike out for the spot where the ill-fated Fiji Princess had
gone down. At the same time I asked her to keep her eyes open for a
boat, or at least a spar of some sort, upon which we could support
ourselves until we could find some safer refuge. On the horrors of that
ghastly swim it will not be necessary for me to dilate. I must leave my
readers to imagine them for themselves. Suffice it that for nearly a
quarter of an hour we paddled aimlessly about here and there. But look
as we might, not a sign of any other living soul from aboard that ship
could we discover, nor anything large enough upon which three people
could rest. At last, just as I was beginning to despair of saving the
lives of those whom Providence had so plainly entrusted to my care, I
saw ahead of us a large white object, which, upon nearer approach,
proved to be one of the overturned lifeboats. I conveyed the good news
to Miss Maybourne, and then, with a new burst of energy, swam towards it
and caught hold of the keel. She was a big craft, and, to my delight,
rode high enough out of the water to afford us a resting-place. To pull
myself and the child I carried on to her, and to drag Miss Maybourne up
after me, was the work of a very few moments. Once there, we knew we
were safe for the present.
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