TWO OUT OF TWELVE.
It is not good to dwell upon such scenes and moments. To write of them
does not make us more composed in them when they come. But, as it
proved, things on board the _Old Province_ that night were wonderfully
calm after the first breaking of the news. It has been said that the
steamer was far from crowded. Many of the men and women were humble.
Many of them were brave. The fact that there was indeed ample time and
boat room was over and over again pressed on every one’s attention,
with excellent effect. The preparations to leave the ship went forward
swiftly, orderly. People hurried about with white and frightened faces.
Now and then there were exclamations from one or another quarter, but
there was no panic. Captain Widgins and his aids seemed to be in all
places, cheering the timid and directing every thing. No tug came to
the rescue, nor did the steady signaling bring any other help through
the murk. The pumps did their duty stanchly. But the water poured
through the ill-stopped, ragged hole blown out, far down in the hull;
and it gained pitilessly.
Philip and Gerald had little to do. It was only slipping into their
state-room and catching up the few things lying ready; some broken
sentences together there, of which Philip afterward could remember
nothing except his bidding the younger boy be of good heart, for a tug
from the shore or a steamer _might_ come to their help at any moment,
before they need enter the boats. Gerald used to say that in his sudden
dread and bewilderment――poor little fellow!――the cheerfulness Philip
managed to keep in his voice did him more good than any of the words
that might have been uttered. Philip led their way through the tumbled
cabin. They pressed out into the gloom and foggy chill of the open deck
and halted, bidden to do so, on the outer edge of the little crowd
already huddling together there, waiting――waiting for what was to come
next.
After all, there were not so many to be provided for, besides the
ship’s officers and crew and servants. The dazed company kept bravely
in order. Except for the signals of distress, the hollow roar of the
escaping steam behind them, and the bustle of the crew ahead where the
boats were making ready, there was a kind of breathless stillness.
Philip could hear, now and then, the breaking of the surge below. The
mist, thicker than ever, drove into their faces. The lanterns made
only too plain its denseness. The strain was too great for them to
speak. The solemn thoughts that passed, one after another, through the
spirits of each boy, the younger as well as the older, I do not intend
to try to describe here. They are less our business than any thing
else in this story. Be sure that in such times of sudden danger and
defenselessness, no matter how short a time we may have lived in this
world, where the best of us leave undone so many of the things that we
ought to do and do so often the things we should not, we will have our
reflections, best known then and afterward only to our own souls and to
God.
Belmont was not discoverable. But one special fear again beset Philip.
When the confusion of getting into the boats came might not Gerald be
separated from him? That Gerald had also a great doubt and dread of it
he knew from the way in which he clung to him and over and over asked,
“I shall surely be put into the same boat with you, Philip, won’t I, if
we have to go? I don’t mind any thing, if they will only let us keep
together.” And what prayers Philip made were confused enough, but no
thought repeated itself more earnestly than that Gerald and he might
indeed “keep together” through it all, even to the unknown end; and
that, doing whatever he could for Gerald――fighting the very wrath of
the sea itself for him――he might not fail in his guardianship, even
with his uttermost stroke and his uttermost breath.
The disembarking was made into two or three boats at once. Something
soon directed Captain Widgins’s eye to where the two waited their turn
tremblingly, patiently. He waved his hand. “Quick, my lads!――you two
there――next!” he called. “Make way there, Watson!” Before Gerald could
realize that the descent was begun, he and Philip found themselves side
by side in the nearest of the boats. It seemed to have more packages
than people aboard it; and indeed it had. Some consignments of special
value were on it, under charge of the second mate, Mr. Eversham. There
were ten people besides themselves; but the captain knew best what were
the responsibilities on him and what was the proper thing to do. As
the boys found their places he called out sharply, “Eversham, are you
ready? Give way, then! Quick! Remember, Knoxport Cove! Man the cutter
there, next! This way, ladies. You’re wanted now.”
But just as Eversham repeated his orders, and as the loaded boat was
being cast off to give place to the great cutter, Philip heard a voice
overhead that he well knew. The boat was rising and falling. Gerald
held fast to his arm. But he strained his ears for each syllable.
“I say, captain! Captain Widgins!” Belmont shouted. “Stop that boat! I
go in her too! My son is aboard her. Halloa, Mr. Eversham!”
The _Old Province_ deck seemed very high overhead. The fog made the
lights on it dim. Philip could just make out Belmont’s figure and
gestures.
“What boat, sir?” inquired the old captain, angrily. “Why didn’t you
speak sooner?”
“That boat yonder――Eversham’s! Holloa, I say, bring her about a moment
till I get aboard!”
Philip hastily said something to Mr. Eversham. Eversham wished no more
in the boat in any case. He called out, “His son isn’t here! He’s made
a mistake!”
“That’s a lie! He is there! I saw him. I see him now!” cried Belmont,
leaning over the companion-ladder. “Let me pass, I say!” This to a
sailor barring his way.
“I tell you he’s not here,” returned Eversham, obeying Philip’s
prompting willingly, “and the boat’s full. The gentleman’s no business
here!” With this, so strong a wave rolled under them that nothing but
promptness saved them from a collision with the cutter behind and with
the ship’s side.
“Clear away, Eversham!” shouted Captain Widgins, furious at the whole
interruption. “Stand out of the way, sir! Mind your own business!” This
to Belmont. “You can’t go in that boat! Foolery! This is no time for
disputing orders. Clear away, I say!”
The captain was obeyed. The boat passed out from the vessel. Belmont
could be heard in angry altercation. But he was left behind, to
Philip’s intense relief.
How quickly the lights and noises aboard the _Old Province_ became
indistinct! It was startling. The boat rose and sank, driven further
and further onward. All was darkness, except the lanterns and the pale
light from overhead that revealed each anxious face and the glitter of
the wave-crests. The few women crouched together. Gerald pressed close
to Philip’s side, but now uttered no word. They had begun the lonely
and dangerous pull to Knoxport Cove, the nearest harbor. The strong
arms of those who rowed conquered half mile after half mile. It was
impossible to see two yards around them. Once they thought that a tug
was passing somewhere beyond. That was something to be feared as well
as hoped for. Under Eversham’s rallying they cheered again and again.
Two of the men fired their pistols. They heard nothing more, however,
and the rowers settled down again to their battle. All had gone well
enough, so far. If they could but know whether the other boats from the
abandoned ship were making as safe a progress as theirs! At length,
too, there came over the surge the chime of a bell, faint at first,
but gradually more distinct, “One――two――one――two――one――two――one――two;”
a strange, lonely rhythm, but unmistakable.
“I take it that’s the buoy on Leunggren’s Rock!” exclaimed Mr.
Eversham. “Our course is all right.”
Every one drew an easier breath. Gerald was resting his head on
Philip’s shoulder, listening in almost perfect silence to whatever
Philip, from time to time, said softly to keep him tranquil and even to
make him think lightly of the perils of their situation. The boy sat up
now and hearkened. “Yes, it’s a bell, Philip; it’s a bell! I hear it,”
he presently said. “It sounds like the church-bell at Ossokosee, don’t
it?” he added wearily――“just before Mr. Sprowers stops ringing it. I
wonder how they will land us when we get to that place we’re trying
for.”
But, as he spoke, a shriek, a dreadful shriek, broke from the lips of a
woman opposite. She had carried a baby in her arms tightly wrapped in a
shawl. Standing upright, she struggled frantically with those nearest
her, who held her back from leaping over the gunwale. In changing
her position she had lost her balance and stumbled, and the child had
fallen from her very arms into the sea!
“Sit down, I say! Sit down for your lives!” cried Eversham. “The boat
will be swamped!” The packages of plate in the middle were shifting
perilously, falling against each other. Too late! Lurching violently on
the very crest of the roller, the boat toppled, plunged, and then cast
out its load――men, women, boys, oars, all――pell-mell together.
For two or three seconds――the kind that seem an eternity――Philip
Touchtone, thrown sidelong, struggled in the sea, conscious of but two
things. He gripped the gunwale with one hand, half his body submerged.
The other was upstretched, and with the palm and each finger pressing
with the strength of iron levers, as it seemed, it held back Gerald
Saxton from falling out, over his shoulders. Gerald had been hurled
against the gunwale, not over it. Philip pushed upward and hung on. The
boat righted itself. Lightened of its load, the succeeding wave lifted
it like a withered leaf. It swirled it, eddying onward into the fog,
out of the reach of those other strugglers in the black water, in a
twinkling. All this took place in less time than it takes to tell it.
“Philip! Philip!” came Gerald’s faint cry.
“Hold on!――hold on!” Touchtone gasped. He pulled himself a few inches
higher. With a desperate effort he dragged his legs over and rolled
down into the boat, dashing what little breath was left in Gerald’s
body out of it, as the terrified boy, who had in falling clutched a
thwart, raised his dripping and bruised head. Touchtone struck out his
arm and caught hold of Gerald’s shoulder.
They were drenched to the skin by the water shipped; but so quickly had
the dreadful calamity happened that not a fourth part of what might
have invaded the boat was swashing about in it. They drew themselves
upward. The knowledge of their deliverance became more distinct. But
they were――alone! They glanced fearfully around. The pallid, feeble
light from overhead told them it again. Alone! The cries of those
struggling with the sea, with exhaustion and death, pursued them.
Eversham’s voice――they heard it. But the despairing sounds came from
a distance, rods out of their reach, in the fog. The sea was running
like a mill-race. Not an oar lay in the boat. The distance widened with
each wave. To give help was impossible. Presently the cries ceased. All
was still except the lapping of the water within the boat and without.
O, mysterious choice of heaven! Out of all the rest, they two, only,
were there alive! Hand grasped hand feebly.
“Gerald?”
“Philip?”
“Is your head better where you struck it? Come closer to me.” He drew
the dripping boy to him. “I want to feel sure that it’s you. We are
safe. Don’t tremble so.”
“Yes, we are safe――but O, Philip, where are――the rest?” His head fell
back against Philip in complete exhaustion. “Hark! hark!” he added,
faintly, “don’t you hear the bell?――the bell on the rock――that is like
the one――on the church? It sounds as if――as if we were――going home.”
Philip could scarcely catch the last words. Gerald’s hand grew cold
within his own. The boy had swooned. With Touchtone bending over him in
attempts to recover him the boat still swept along in the mist. They
were left indeed to themselves, and to god.