"Same here. I've seen it as bad as this a couple of times before." He
picked up Jan's bill. "But this old shoe box ain't getting any younger.
Here's your brandy. It's good stuff--don't be afraid of it. Seventy-five
and fifteen--ninety."
"Have a cigar," said Jan, "and finish the dollar."
"Thanks. I will. But I'll smoke it later, when it's quieter, if it's all
the same to you." He rang up a dollar on the cash register and turned
to a new-comer who had ranged up beside Jan.
"Brandy," said the new-comer.
As Jan thrust his flask in his inside coat-pocket he flashed a sidewise
glance at the man drinking. The man was buttoned up to his eyes, but Jan
thought he knew the voice. Jan buttoned up his own coat, said
"Good-night" to the bartender and went out on deck, from where, through
the window, he could view the customer at the bar.
Jan saw him empty his glass and motion for another drink. He drank that,
paid, and turned to go. Jan caught a front glimpse of his face. It was
Goles. Jan also saw that the bartender was looking curiously after him.
Jan waited for him outside. As he came almost abreast, the ship heaved
and the two men fell against each other, while a great splash of
sea-water drenched them. Again a roll and jump, and Goles would have
fallen had not Jan held him upright. Goles gave him no thanks, but he
said huskily: "I heard one of the sailors say she's a goner." With Jan
holding on to Goles, the two men were swaying and stumbling to the
boat's heavy rolling and heaving.
"I don't know about that," said Jan; "but she's in a bad way. And it's
going to be worse, I think."
"That's what the sailor said," muttered Goles.
"So if you want to shoot anybody you better wait till we're
safe--to-morrow maybe. And your wife--But watch out!"
The sea washed fairly over them both. With the wave went a broken rail
and part of the splintered house. Following the crashing of the wood and
glass came the frightened questions and the patter of excited people
running out of their rooms. The story-telling group from the barroom
came as one man. The glass of the window over their heads had been
showered on to their table. The bartender stopped only to empty his cash
register, stuff the money in his pocket, and get into a great coat; then
he came running out too. Bottles and glasses were breaking behind him as
he ran.
"Come," said Jan. Goles followed. Jan went up and looked into the
saloon. There she was, still waiting. "You stay here and I will bring
her out," said Jan to Goles--"and don't you open your mouth when you see
her."
Goles made no sign. He was gripping the house railing and his face was
to the sea.
"Thank God for the sight of you!" she said to Jan as he came in. "Is the
ship going down?"
"Not yet. But your husband is outside. He won't say anything. Don't you
either. And when--Hold hard!"
The deck bounded up under them. She gripped Jan's coat and Jan gripped
a chair that was screwed to the floor; and then the deck rolled far down
and Jan's chair came loose, and both were thrown across the saloon. "She
is breaking up!" thought Jan. A moment later it seemed to Jan as if all
the passengers in the ship had suddenly awakened and were trying to
crowd into the place. A ship's officer and some stewards also came
running in. The stewards had life-preservers, which they were buckling
on to themselves. They remained; but the officer, after a look around,
ran out again.
The boat rolled back on her keel. Jan led Mrs. Goles to the outer deck.
Goles was there. "Come!" ordered Jan, and led the way to an iron ladder.
The boat rolled far to one side and again far to the other. Mrs. Goles
felt as if she were clinging to the tail of a kite, but still she clung
to Jan; and Jan at last made the upper deck with her. He had forgotten
her husband; but when he turned to look back the muffled form was there
at his heels.
Jan groped his way to where the life-raft was lashed to the deck. He
ordered Mrs. Goles to sit down on the raft. Goles sat down beside her.
Goles seemed bereft of all volition.
"You wait here till I come back," Jan said to him and turning to go
below, bumped into another man.
"Hello! Is this you?" said the other man. "I thought I saw you come up
here. 'And there's the man,' I says to myself, 'to tie to to-night!'"
Jan recognized the bartender. "You're just the man I want, too," said
Jan. He dove into his pocket and drew out a revolver. "Here, take this."
"A gun!"
"Yes--and loaded. Watch that man on the raft. And if he tries to hurt
that woman or not let her on that raft if the boat goes down, shoot
him!"
"You mean it?"
"Yes. He's bad! He's the man who was drinking in your place a few
minutes ago--after me."
"Oh, him! Yes; he's bad, all right. He's been drinking raw brandy since
seven o'clock. I was noticin' him."
"Don't shoot him unless you have to. And don't let him see me passing it
to you. I'm going to get a few more people up to the raft."
"All right--but--Wow! I never shot a man in my life."
Jan had hardly reached the saloon when the great crash came. He was
swept away before it. Boom! it was--and again, crash! Now he heard the
smothered appeals of people being swept overboard! Crackling wood was
following the crash of every sea, and each sea receded only to let the
next one strike even more heavily. It was now nothing but solid water
that was coming aboard.
Her buoyancy had left her. Her roll had become a wallow. She was
settling. "The water's in her hold!" thought Jan, and took a quick look
about. All kinds and all ages--but there was one girl with an expression
on her face that startled him.
In fine but sodden clothes she was sitting, heedless of every person but
the young man standing dumbly beside her. "And I told them I was going
to stay with a girl friend out of town over Sunday," she was saying.
"And now they'll know. Whether we're drowned or not they'll know.
Everybody will know and what will they say?"
Near the girl were a young man and a woman locked in each other's arms.
Jan judged them to be a bridal couple. They were saying nothing--just
holding each other and waiting. He hesitated an instant and then he saw
a woman with a baby. She was leaning heavily against a stanchion
crooning to the baby. He now saw that she was almost a middle-aged
woman, a poorly dressed and toil-worn woman--a Finnish woman probably.
Jan's doubt was gone. He jumped to her side. "Want to save your baby?"
The woman looked up at him and down at the baby. "Baby!" she said, and
held it toward Jan. "Yes, save baby," she said. "Come!" said Jan, and
grasped her hand. Then the lights went out.
Jan had marked the ladder in his mind, and in the dark he made his way
toward it; but before he could get to it there were many adventures. He
went floundering this way and that, but holding the baby in one arm and
dragging the mother with the other, he held on until he bumped into a
stanchion in the dark. "It's near here," he thought; and, reaching out
with his feet, he found the bottom step of the ladder.
He had two decks to surmount. On the boat-deck, as he passed up, he
could hear the ship's men shouting wildly and foolishly to each other.
On the top deck he found the three just as he had left them. He gave the
woman and baby into the care of the bartender and felt about until he
found a coil of rope. He cut it loose and, carrying it back to the raft,
lashed Mrs. Goles to a ring. Then, taking off his ulster, he wrapped it
round the mother and baby, and lashed her. Then he lashed the bartender
and Goles, and took a loose turn about a ring for himself. Then he
waited.
It came soon enough. A large section of the top deck floated clear of
the upper works. Jan stayed by the floating deck until he felt that the
steamer was surely sunk beneath them. Then he cut the raft clear of
everything and let her drift.
The raft was swirled from wave to wave. The spray broke over them.
"We'll get wet," said Jan; "but one thing--she won't capsize!"
The seas curled and boomed about them; but no solid seas rolled over
them. The raft mounted every roaring white crest as if it were swinging
from an aeroplane. The spray never failed to drench them and with every
heaving sea came bits of wreckage that threatened them; but at least
they were living, and not a living soul besides themselves had come
away.