On the _Scoriac_ Harold An Wolf, now John Robinson, kept aloof from every
one. He did not make any acquaintances, did not try to. Some of those
at table with him, being ladies and gentlemen, now and again made a
polite remark; to which he answered with equal politeness. Being what he
was he could not willingly offend any one; and there was nothing in his
manner to repel any kindly overture to acquaintance. But this was the
full length his acquaintanceship went; so he gradually felt himself
practically alone. This was just what he wished; he sat all day silent
and alone, or else walked up and down the great deck that ran from stem
to stern, still always alone. As there were no second-class or steerage
passengers on the _Scoriac_, there were no deck restraints, and so there
was ample room for individual solitude. The travellers, however, were a
sociable lot, and a general feeling of friendliness was abroad. The
first four days of the journey were ideally fine, and life was a joy. The
great ship, with bilge keels, was as steady as a rock.
Among the other passengers was an American family consisting of Andrew
Stonehouse, the great ironmaster and contractor, with his wife and little
daughter.
Stonehouse was a remarkable man in his way, a typical product of the
Anglo-Saxon under American conditions. He had started in young manhood
with nothing but a good education, due in chief to his own industry and
his having taken advantage to the full of such opportunities as life had
afforded to him. By unremitting work he had at thirty achieved a great
fortune, which had, however; been up to then entirely invested and
involved in his businesses. With, however, the colossal plant at his
disposal, and by aid of the fine character he had won for honesty and
good work, he was able within the next ten years to pile up a fortune
vast even in a nation where multi-millionaires are scattered freely. Then
he had married, wisely and happily. But no child had come to crown the
happiness of the pair who so loved each other till a good many years had
come and gone. Then, when the hope of issue had almost passed away, a
little daughter came. Naturally the child was idolised by her parents,
and thereafter every step taken by either was with an eye to her good.
When the rigour of winter and the heat of summer told on the child in a
way which the more hardy parents had never felt, she was whirled away to
some place with more promising conditions of health and happiness. When
the doctors hinted that an ocean voyage and a winter in Italy would be
good, those too were duly undertaken. And now, the child being in
perfect health, the family was returning before the weather should get
too hot to spend the summer at their chalet amongst the great pines on
the slopes of Mount Ranier. Like the others on board, Mr. and Mrs.
Stonehouse had proffered travellers' civilities to the sad, lonely young
man. As to the others, he had shown thanks for their gracious courtesy;
but friendship, as in other cases, did not advance. The Stonehouses were
not in any way chagrined; their lives were too happy and too full for
them to take needless offence. They respected the young man's manifest
desire for privacy; and there, so far as they were concerned, the matter
rested.
But this did not suit the child. Pearl was a sweet little thing, a real
blue-eyed, golden-haired little fairy, full of loving-kindness. All the
mother-instinct in her, and even at six a woman-child can be a
mother--theoretically, went out towards the huge, lonely, sad, silent
young man. She insisted on friendship with him; insisted shamelessly,
with the natural inclination of innocence which rises high above shame.
Even the half-hearted protests of the mother, who loved to see the child
happy, did not deter her; after the second occasion of Pearl's seeking
him, as she persisted, Harold could but remonstrate with the mother in
turn; the ease of the gentle lady and the happiness of her child were
more or less at stake. When Mrs. Stonehouse would say:
'There, darling! You must be careful not to annoy the gentleman,' Pearl
would turn a rosy all-commanding face to her and answer:
'But, mother, I want him to play with me. You must play with me!' Then,
as the mother would look at him, he would say quickly, and with genuine
heartiness too:
'Oh please, madam, do let her play with me! Come, Pearl, shall you ride
a cock-horse or go to market the way the gentleman rides?' Then the
child would spring on his knee with a cry of delight, and their games
began.
The presence of the child and her loving ways were unutterably sweet to
Harold; but his pleasure was always followed by a pain that rent him as
he thought of that other little one, now so far away, and of those times
that seemed so long since gone.
But the child never relaxed in her efforts to please; and in the long
hours of the sea voyage the friendship between her and the man grew, and
grew. He was the biggest and strongest and therefore most lovely thing
on board the ship, and that sufficed her. As for him, the child
manifestly loved and trusted him, and that was all-in-all to his weary,
desolate heart.
The fifth day out the weather began to change; the waves grew more and
more mountainous as the day wore on and the ship advanced west. Not even
the great bulk and weight of the ship, which ordinarily drove through the
seas without pitch or roll, were proof against waves so gigantic. Then
the wind grew fiercer and fiercer, coming in roaring squalls from the
south-west. Most of those on board were alarmed, for the great waves
were dreadful to see, and the sound of the wind was a trumpet-call to
fear.
The sick stayed in their cabins; the rest found an interest if not a
pleasure on deck. Among the latter were the Stonehouses, who were old
travellers. Even Pearl had already had more sea-voyages than fall to
most people in their lives. As for Harold, the storm seemed to come
quite naturally to him and he paced the deck like a ship-master.
It was fortunate for the passengers that most of them had at this period
of the voyage got their sea legs; otherwise walking on the slippery deck,
that seemed to heave as the rolling of the vessel threw its slopes up or
down, would have been impossible. Pearl was, like most children, pretty
sure-footed; holding fast to Harold's hand she managed to move about
ceaselessly. She absolutely refused to go with any one else. When her
mother said that she had better sit still she answered:
'But, mother, I am quite safe with The Man!' 'The Man' was the name she
had given Harold, and by which she always now spoke of him. They had had
a good many turns together, and Harold had, with the captain's
permission, taken her up on the bridge and showed her how to look out
over the 'dodger' without the wind hurting her eyes. Then came the
welcome beef-tea hour, and all who had come on deck were cheered and
warmed with the hot soup. Pearl went below, and Harold, in the shelter
of the charthouse, together with a good many others, looked out over the
wild sea.
Harold, despite the wild turmoil of winds and seas around him, which
usually lifted his spirits, was sad, feeling lonely and wretched; he was
suffering from the recoil of his little friend's charming presence. Pearl
came on deck again looking for him. He did not see her, and the child,
seeing an opening for a new game, avoided both her father and mother, who
also stood in the shelter of the charthouse, and ran round behind it on
the weather side, calling a loud 'Boo!' to attract Harold's attention as
she ran.
A few seconds later the _Scoriac_ put her nose into a coming wave at just
the angle which makes for the full exercise of the opposing forces. The
great wave seemed to strike the ship on the port quarter like a giant
hammer; and for an instant she stood still, trembling. Then the top of
the wave seemed to leap up and deluge her. The wind took the flying
water and threw it high in volumes of broken spray, which swept not only
the deck but the rigging as high as the top of the funnels. The child
saw the mass of water coming, and shrieking flew round the port side of
the charthouse. But just as she turned down the open space between it
and the funnel the vessel rolled to starboard. At the same moment came a
puff of wind of greater violence than ever. The child, calling out, half
in simulated half in real fear, flew down the slope. As she did so the
gale took her, and in an instant whirled her, almost touching her mother,
over the rail into the sea.
Mrs. Stonehouse shrieked and sprang forward as though to follow her
child. She was held back by the strong arm of her husband. They both
slipped on the sloping deck and fell together into the scuppers. There
was a chorus of screams from all the women present. Harold, with an
instinctive understanding of the dangers yet to be encountered, seized a
red tam-o'-shanter from the head of a young girl who stood near.
Her exclamation of surprise was drowned in the fearful cry 'Man
overboard!' and all rushed down to the rail and saw Harold, as he emerged
from the water, pull the red cap over his head and then swim desperately
towards the child, whose golden hair was spread on the rising wave.
The instant after Pearl's being swept overboard might be seen the
splendid discipline of a well-ordered ship. Every man to his post, and
every man with a knowledge of his duty. The First Officer called to the
Quartermaster at the wheel in a voice which cut through the gale like a
trumpet:
'Hard a port! Hard!'
The stern of the great ship swung away to port in time to clear the
floating child from the whirling screw, which would have cut her to
pieces in an instant. Then the Officer after tearing the engine-room
signal to 'Starboard engine full speed astern,' ran for the lifebuoy
hanging at the starboard end of the bridge. This he hurled far into the
sea. As it fell the attached rope dragged with it the signal, which so
soon as it reaches water bursts into smoke and flame--signal by day and
night. This done, and it had all been done in a couple of seconds, he
worked the electric switch of the syren, which screamed out quickly once,
twice, thrice. This is the dread sound which means 'man overboard,' and
draws to his post every man on the ship, waking or sleeping.
The Captain was now on the bridge and in command, and the First Officer,
freed from his duty there, ran to the emergency boat, swung out on its
davits on the port side.
All this time, though only numbered by seconds, the _Scoriac_ was turning
hard to starboard, making a great figure of eight; for it is quicker to
turn one of these great sea monsters round than to stop her in mid
career. The aim of her Captain in such cases is to bring her back to the
weather side of the floating buoy before launching the boat.
On deck the anguish of the child's parents was pitiable. Close to the
rail, with her husband's arms holding her tight to it, the distressed
mother leaned out; but always moving so that she was at the nearest point
of the ship to her child. As the ship passed on it became more difficult
to see the heads. In the greater distance they seemed to be quite close
together. All at once, just as a great wave which had hidden them in the
farther trough passed on, the mother screamed out:
'She's sinking! she's sinking! Oh, God! Oh, God!' and she fell on her
knees, her horrified eyes, set in a face of ashen grey, looking out
between the rails.
But at the instant all eyes saw the man's figure rise in the water as he
began to dive. There was a hush which seemed deadly; the onlookers
feared to draw breath. And then the mother's heart leaped and her cry
rang out again as two heads rose together in the waste of sea:
'He has her! He has her! He has her! Oh, thank God! Thank God!' and
for a single instant she hid her face in her hands.
Then when the fierce 'hurrah' of all on board had been hushed in
expectation, the comments broke forth. Most of the passengers had by
this time got glasses of one kind or another.
'See! He's putting the cap on the child's head. He's a cool one that.
Fancy him thinking of a red cap at such a time!'
'Ay! we could see that cap, when it might be we couldn't see anything
else.'
'Look!' this from an old sailor standing by his boat, 'how he's raisin'
in the water. He's keeping his body between her an' the spindrift till
the squall has passed. That would choke them both in a wind like this if
he didn't know how to guard against it. He's all right; he is! The
little maid is safe wi' him.'
'Oh, bless you! Bless you for those words,' said the mother, turning
towards him. 'At this moment the Second Officer, who had run down from
the bridge, touched Mr. Stonehouse on the shoulder.
'The captain asked me to tell you, sir, that you and Mrs. Stonehouse had
better come to him on the bridge. You'll see better from there.'
They both hurried up, and the mother again peered out with fixed eyes.
The Captain tried to comfort her; laying his strong hand on her shoulder,
he said:
'There, there! Take comfort, ma'am. She is in the hands of God! All
that mortal man can do is being done. And she is safer with that gallant
young giant than she could be with any other man on the ship. Look, how
he is protecting her! Why he knows that all that can be done is being
done. He is waiting for us to get to him, and is saving himself for it.
Any other man who didn't know so much about swimming as he does would try
to reach the lifebuoy; and would choke the two of them with the spindrift
in the trying. Mind how he took the red cap to help us see them. He's a
fine lad that; a gallant lad!'