A BALLOON ADVENTURE.
Mr. Blume, the chief mate of the ss. “Centurion,” was pacing the bridge
in anything but an angelic mood, which evidenced itself in perpetual
growls at everybody with whom he came into contact. The objects of his
displeasure, seeing no adequate reason for it, were not disposed to take
his fault-finding too meekly, the result being that the atmosphere on
board the “Centurion” was decidedly unpleasant.
“I’ll bet my bottom dollar that the mate got jilted last time he was in
port,” remarked the second mate to the third engineer, both being off
watch together.
“What makes you think that?”
“Oh, lots of things. He was as jolly as any of us when we first got in,
and was perfectly killing when he went ashore to see Lottie, as he
always has done whenever we have been in Cardiff. He came back much
sooner than usual, in a vile temper, and hardly ever went ashore again.
Since we left he has been awfully ill-natured, and I am sure Lottie is
at the bottom of it.”
“Perhaps she’s ill.”
“Perhaps she’s fiddlesticks. Much more likely is it that she’s found
another admirer. Lightly come, lightly go, you know. He’s a very nice
fellow when he likes. But he’s only a mate. And if Lottie can see her
way clear to pick up a skipper as easily as she picked up our mate, I
reckon the poorest man has the least chance.”
“Well, if that’s what’s the matter with him, I’m sorry for him. I’ve
been jilted a time or two myself, and I know what it feels like. I don’t
think I’ll ever look at a woman again with a view to matrimony.”
“I say, how old are you?”
“Twenty-two. But I’ve had experience enough for forty-two, and----”
“Now don’t try to kid me any more. What about that photograph that hangs
over your bunk?”
“Oh, that’s my sister Nellie.”
“Does your sister Nellie write on all her photographs--‘To my darling
Jim, from his faithful Dora?’”
“Look here. You have been poking your nose where you had no business to
poke it. What about yourself?”
“My dear fellow, I never saw the woman yet that I would tie myself to.”
“You pretend you don’t like them?”
“Nothing of the sort; I worship them. But I believe in variety, and
prefer to carry a light heart from one port to another.”
“How does variety affect your pocket?”
“Very conveniently. I admire only respectable girls, and they never
know me long enough to prove expensive. Hello, what’s up now?”
As the second mate made this exclamation, he turned his eyes to what
seemed to be an object of speculation to many on board. It was trailing
along the water a considerable distance ahead, and was as yet somewhat
difficult to distinguish. On the bridge the mate was also exercising his
mind about it.
“I can’t make the thing out,” he said to the man at the wheel. “It can’t
be a boat of any sort; and yet, what else would you expect to see
scudding on the water before the wind like that? Here, have a look,
Greenaway; your eyes can see further than mine.”
Greenaway did as he was bid, and, after careful observation, remarked
quietly, “It’s a dismasted balloon, sir, and there are some fellows
hanging on to the rigging.”
“A dismasted balloon! What the deuce do you mean?”
“Well, sir, I mean what I say. She’s dismasted. Leastways, her sail’s
flopping about anyhow, and doesn’t help her a bit. I reckon it’s about
time them fellows took to their boats. If they don’t they’ll soon be
exploring Davy Jones’s locker.”
“I always knew you to be a blamed fool, Greenaway; but, hang me, if you
don’t get worse. What makes you call the thing a balloon?”
“Why, I reckon I call it a balloon because it is a balloon. I don’t see
that you can have a better reason, sir. Hello! One of the fellows has
tumbled overboard. I fancy there isn’t much chance for him. By Jove! one
of ’em’s jumped down on deck, and hauled him in again. Are we likely to
overtake them? I would like to cheat old Davy.”
By this time Mr. Blume had seized the glasses, and, being now much
nearer, could see for himself that the battered and wave-tossed object
before him was a balloon in reality, though how its occupants came to be
in such a plight he could but faintly conjecture.
“Run and tell the skipper,” he cried eagerly. Then, knowing beforehand
what the captain would do, he ordered the man at the wheel to steer for
the distressed aeronauts. In another minute the captain was on deck,
having been just about ready to sit down to his breakfast. He fully
endorsed the mate’s action, for he was not one to refuse succour to
victims of the elements.
“Stand by to lower a boat,” he shouted, his order being promptly carried
out. When sufficiently near for the purpose the boat was lowered, and
her crew soon had the satisfaction of rescuing four exhausted men from
the aerial vessel, which, relieved of their weight, slowly rose into the
air, and floated southwards in the direction of the African coast.
The condition of the rescued men was truly pitiable, and they were saved
none too soon. They had a painful story of peril to relate as soon as
warmth, food, and rest had done their beneficent work.
“When we made our ascent from Valetta,” said the captain of the
balloon, “the wind was just as I had hoped for it to be, and the people
who saw us ascend had little conception of what was before us. Some
seemed to imagine that the descent would take place within a few score
yards of the place whence we ascended. But I knew better, although I
little dreamed of the experience really in store for us. There was not
much chance of landing on shore, and I expected to travel a short
distance out to sea, and to be picked up, after a simple ducking, by a
steamer which I had chartered to follow the balloon. But shortly after
leaving the coast-line we noticed that the wind had gained strength, and
was carrying us southwards at a rapid rate. Our water anchor was useful
for a time, but unfortunately the rope broke; we lost our anchor; and
the balloon rose several hundred yards.
“Soon, however, a terrific downpour of rain caused us to descend again,
and the balloon was dragged along the surface of the sea. We were now in
a very sorry plight, for the car was frequently under water, and we had
to cling desperately to the ropes to save ourselves from drowning. We
must all have perished hours ago, but for the courage of Mr. Calderon,
my assistant, who made frequent dives into the car, and brought up the
ballast, one bag at a time, an expedient which only raised the balloon
by occasional fits and starts. We next threw away the greater part of
our clothing, which was sodden and heavy with rain and sea-water. Even
our money and the only bottle of spirits we had went overboard, for life
itself depended on our being lightened to the utmost. In this connection
I cannot refrain from animadverting on the conduct of Mr. Torrens, one
of our passengers. He threw his coat overboard, but declined to part
with any more of his clothes, even though very strongly urged to do so.
Once, numbed with cold and fatigue, he lost his hold of the rope to
which he was clinging, and fell into the sea. He will never be nearer
death than he was at that moment, for, lightened of his weight, the
balloon began to right itself, and we firmly believe that it would have
risen and carried us to a place of safety, if we could have reconciled
ourselves to abandoning him to his fate.
“The temptation to do so was a terrible one, I assure you.
“‘If we leave him to drown we shall be saved.’
“‘If we rescue him for the present we shall probably all be drowned.’
“‘His life is worth less than all ours. Why should we die to save him?’
“These were the thoughts that assailed us, and of the three left hanging
on to the balloon I am sure that none but Mr. Calderon would have
mustered courage and self-denial sufficient to go to the rescue of
Torrens, who was drowning fast, he not being able to swim at all.
“We had sighted a great many ships during the night, but were unable to
attract the attention of any of them, as we had no light. When day
dawned things looked more hopeful, but your help came none too soon, for
we were all about dead beat.”
Such was the story of the captain of the balloon, related to the captain
of the ss. “Centurion,” and afterwards published in all the principal
newspapers of Europe. I may add that these published accounts were
supplemented by the grateful acknowledgments of the aeronauts for the
kindness and attention shown them by those on board the “Centurion.” At
Alexandria the steamer, which was en route for Madras, discharged its
passengers, who at once proceeded to arrange for passages elsewhere.
The two professional aeronauts and their Maltese passenger returned to
Valetta, but the gentleman unfavourably known as Mr. Torrens preferred
to disport himself in fresh fields and pastures new. One of his
principal reasons for not returning to Malta was due to a fright he got
when leaving that place. As he rose in the car, feeling perfectly secure
against pursuit and detection, and elated by the enjoyment of his novel
position, he looked down at the sea of faces below him, and was startled
to recognise Miss Cory, whom he knew again as the young lady who was
figuring as his sister’s governess when he left home.
Like a flash the truth struck him. “She is shadowing me,” he thought. “I
believe it is the girl whom I heard was engaged to Riddell. If so, her
presence, first in my father’s house, and then here, bodes me no good,
and the sooner I clear out the better. I hope the machine won’t be in
too big a hurry to drop, so that I shall have a chance of getting away.
It’s lucky I got that belt to carry my property in. It’s much better
than either pockets or a bag, and I have left nothing at my lodgings
that I need worry about. Hang it, why can’t I be left to enjoy myself
without a lot of meddling fools coming after me?”
“You don’t feel upset, do you?” inquired his fellow-passenger, noticing
that Mr. Torrens had grown somewhat pale and frightened looking.
“Well, you know, it’s a queer sensation, mounting up here. Still, I
shall be all right in a minute.”
So said he, feeling glad that so natural an explanation of his
confusion was at hand. But he had no intention of being seen at Valetta
again, and when, his balloon adventure over, he was cast upon his own
resources in Alexandria, he deemed it desirable to think of some other
place to which to proceed. There were certain difficulties in the way.
But these must be promptly overcome. For if, as he feared, the face he
had seen at Valetta was that of an enemy and pursuer, it behoved him to
quit Alexandria before the landing place of the rescued aeronauts became
too widely known. Unfortunately, all the money he had with him had been
in the pocket of the coat he was compelled to throw into the sea. His
refusal to doff his waistcoat when urged to do so arose from the fact
that it as well as the belt had some valuable diamonds stitched into its
lining, and he preferred the risk of drowning to the certainty of
poverty.
It was with some reluctance that he found it necessary to try and
negotiate the sale of some of his incriminatory property. For anything
he knew telegrams might have been exchanged already, and the myrmidons
of the law might even now be on his track. Still he could not manage
without money, so the risk must be run.
He did run the risk, and though his identity was quite unsuspected by
the dealer, he found himself compelled to accept half the value of the
stone he offered for sale, or go without money. He was naturally a good
bargainer, and it stung him to the quick to feel himself outdone. “But
what can’t be cured must be endured” is an axiom which sometimes
impresses itself painfully upon us all, and as Mr. Hugh Stavanger, alias
Paul Torrens, was no exception to the general rule, he found
animadversion useless.
That evening, after writing a long letter to his father apprising him
of both his present and his intended whereabouts, he became a passenger
on a steamer bound for Bombay, having booked his passage under the name
of Harry Staley, as he considered “Paul Torrens” to be no longer a safe
appellation.