"Are you keeping Mr. Kinney a prisoner in his state-room?" I demanded.
"If you are--"
"He doesn't have to stay there," protested the purser sulkily. "When he
found the stewards were following him he went to his cabin."
"I will see him at once," I said. "And if I catch any of your stewards
following _me_, I'll drop them overboard."
No one tried to stop me--indeed, knowing I could not escape, they seemed
pleased at my departure, and I went to my cabin.
Kinney, seated on the edge of the berth, greeted me with a hollow groan.
His expression was one of utter misery. As though begging me not to be
angry, he threw out his arms appealingly.
"How the devil!" he began, "was I to know that a little red-headed
shrimp like that was the Earl of Ivy? And that that tall blonde girl,"
he added indignantly, "that I thought was an accomplice, is Lady Moya,
his sister?"
"What happened?" I asked.
Kinney was wearing his hat. He took it off and hurled it to the floor.
"It was that damned hat!" he cried. "It's a Harvard ribbon, all right,
but only men on the crew can wear it! How was I to know _that?_ I saw
Aldrich looking at it in a puzzled way, and when he said, 'I see you are
on the crew,' I guessed what it meant, and said I was on last year's
crew. Unfortunately _he_ was on last year's crew! That's what made him
suspect me, and after dinner he put me through a third degree. I must
have given the wrong answers, for suddenly he jumped up and called me a
swindler and an impostor. I got back by telling him he was a crook and
that I was a detective, and that I had sent a wireless to have him
arrested at New Bedford. He challenged me to prove I was a detective,
and, of course, I couldn't, and he called up two stewards and told them
to watch me while he went after the purser. I didn't fancy being
watched, so I came here."
"When did you tell him I was the Earl of Ivy?"
Kinney ran his fingers through his hair and groaned dismally.
"That was before the boat started," he said; "it was only a joke. He
didn't seem to be interested in my conversation, so I thought I'd liven
it up a bit by saying I was a friend of Lord Ivy's. And you happened to
pass, and I happened to remember Mrs. Shaw saying you looked like a
British peer, so I said: 'That is my friend Lord Ivy.' I said I was your
secretary, and he seemed greatly interested, and--" Kinney added
dismally, "I talked too much. I am _so_ sorry," he begged. "It's going
to be awful for you!" His eyes suddenly lit with hope. "Unless," he
whispered, "we can escape!"
The same thought was in my mind, but the idea was absurd, and
impracticable. I knew there was no escape. I knew we were sentenced at
sunrise to a most humiliating and disgraceful experience. The newspapers
would regard anything that concerned Lord Ivy as news. In my turn I also
saw the hideous headlines. What would my father and mother at Fairport
think; what would my old friends there think; and, what was of even
greater importance, how would Joyce & Carboy act? What chance was there
left me, after I had been arrested as an impostor, to become a
stenographer in the law courts--in time, a member of the bar? But I
found that what, for the moment, distressed me most was that the lovely
lady would consider me a knave or a fool. The thought made me exclaim
with exasperation. Had it been possible to abandon Kinney, I would have
dropped overboard and made for shore. The night was warm and foggy, and
the short journey to land, to one who had been brought up like a duck,
meant nothing more than a wetting. But I did not see how I could desert
Kinney.
"Can you swim?" I asked.
"Of course not!" he answered gloomily; "and, besides," he added, "our
names are on our suitcases. We couldn't take them with us, and they'd
find out who we are. If we could only steal a boat!" he exclaimed
eagerly--"one of those on the davits," he urged--"we could put our
suitcases in it and then, after every one is asleep, we could lower it
into the water."
The smallest boat on board was certified to hold twenty-five persons,
and without waking the entire ship's company we could as easily have
moved the chart-room. This I pointed out.
"Don't make objections!" Kinney cried petulantly. He was rapidly
recovering his spirits. The imminence of danger seemed to inspire him.
"Think!" he commanded. "Think of some way by which we can get off this
boat before she reaches New Bedford. We _must!_ We must not be
arrested! It would be too awful!" He interrupted himself with an excited
exclamation.
"I have it!" he whispered hoarsely: "I will ring in the fire-alarm! The
crew will run to quarters. The boats will be lowered. We will cut one of
them adrift. In the confusion--"
What was to happen in the confusion that his imagination had conjured
up, I was not to know. For what actually happened was so confused that
of nothing am I quite certain. First, from the water of the Sound, that
was lapping pleasantly against the side, I heard the voice of a man
raised in terror. Then came a rush of feet, oaths, and yells; then a
shock that threw us to our knees, and a crunching, ripping, and tearing
roar like that made by the roof of a burning building when it plunges to
the cellar.
And the next instant a large bowsprit entered our cabin window. There
was left me just space enough to wrench the door open, and grabbing
Kinney, who was still on his knees, I dragged him into the alleyway. He
scrambled upright and clasped his hands to his head.
"Where's my hat?" he cried.
I could hear the water pouring into the lower deck and sweeping the
freight and trunks before it. A horse in a box stall was squealing like
a human being, and many human beings were screaming and shrieking like
animals. My first intelligent thought was of the lovely lady. I shook
Kinney by the arm. The uproar was so great that to make him hear I was
forced to shout. "Where is Lord Ivy's cabin?" I cried. "You said it's
next to his sister's. Take me there!"
Kinney nodded, and ran down the corridor and into an alleyway on which
opened three cabins. The doors were ajar, and as I looked into each I
saw that the beds had not been touched, and that the cabins were empty.
I knew then that she was still on deck. I felt that I must find her. We
ran toward the companionway.
"Women and children first!" Kinney was yelling. "Women and children
first!" As we raced down the slanting floor of the saloon he kept
repeating this mechanically. At that moment the electric lights went
out, and, except for the oil lamps, the ship was in darkness. Many of
the passengers had already gone to bed. These now burst from the
state-rooms in strange garments, carrying life-preservers, hand-bags,
their arms full of clothing. One man in one hand clutched a sponge, in
the other an umbrella. With this he beat at those who blocked his
flight. He hit a woman over the head, and I hit him and he went down.
Finding himself on his knees, he began to pray volubly.
When we reached the upper deck we pushed out of the crush at the gangway
and, to keep our footing, for there was a strong list to port, clung to
the big flag-staff at the stern. At each rail the crew were swinging the
boats over the side, and around each boat was a crazy, fighting mob.
Above our starboard rail towered the foremast of a schooner. She had
rammed us fair amidships, and in her bows was a hole through which you
could have rowed a boat. Into this the water was rushing and sucking her
down. She was already settling at the stern. By the light of a swinging
lantern I saw three of her crew lift a yawl from her deck and lower it
into the water. Into it they hurled oars and a sail, and one of them had
already started to slide down the painter when the schooner lurched
drunkenly; and in a panic all three of the men ran forward and leaped to
our lower deck. The yawl, abandoned, swung idly between the _Patience_
and the schooner. Kinney, seeing what I saw, grabbed me by the arm.
"There!" he whispered, pointing; "there's our chance!" I saw that, with
safety, the yawl could hold a third person, and as to who the third
passenger would be I had already made up my mind.
"Wait here!" I said.
On the _Patience_ there were many immigrants, only that afternoon
released from Ellis Island. They had swarmed into the life-boats even
before they were swung clear, and when the ship's officers drove them
off, the poor souls, not being able to understand, believed they were
being sacrificed for the safety of the other passengers. So each was
fighting, as he thought, for his life and for the lives of his wife and
children. At the edge of the scrimmage I dragged out two women who had
been knocked off their feet and who were in danger of being trampled.
But neither was the woman I sought. In the half-darkness I saw one of
the immigrants, a girl with a 'kerchief on her head, struggling with her
life-belt. A stoker, as he raced past, seized it and made for the rail.
In my turn I took it from him, and he fought for it, shouting: "It's
every man for himself now!"
"All right," I said, for I was excited and angry, "look out for
_yourself_ then!" I hit him on the chin, and he let go of the life-belt
and dropped.
I heard at my elbow a low, excited laugh, and a voice said: "Well
bowled! You never learned that in an office." I turned and saw the
lovely lady. I tossed the immigrant girl her life-belt, and as though I
had known Lady Moya all my life I took her by the hand and dragged her
after me down the deck.
"You come with me!" I commanded. I found that I was trembling and that a
weight of anxiety of which I had not been conscious had been lifted. I
found I was still holding her hand and pressing it in my own. "Thank
God!" I said. "I thought I had lost you!"
"Lost me!" repeated Lady Moya. But she made no comment. "I must find my
brother," she said.
"You must come with me!" I ordered. "Go with Mr. Kinney to the lower
deck. I will bring that rowboat under the stern. You will jump into it."
"I cannot leave my brother!" said Lady Moya.
Upon the word, as though shot from a cannon, the human whirlpool that
was sweeping the deck amidships cast out Stumps and hurled him toward
us. His sister gave a little cry of relief. Stumps recovered his balance
and shook himself like a dog that has been in the water.
"Thought I'd never get out of it alive!" he remarked complacently. In
the darkness I could not see his face, but I was sure he was still
vaguely smiling. "Worse than a foot-ball night!" he exclaimed; "worse
than Mafeking night!"
His sister pointed to the yawl.
"This gentleman is going to bring that boat here and take us away in
it," she told him. "We had better go when we can!"
"Right ho!" assented Stumps cheerfully. "How about Phil? He's just
behind me."
As he spoke, only a few yards from us a peevish voice pierced the
tumult.
"I tell you," it cried, "you must find Lord Ivy! If Lord Ivy--"
A voice with a strong and brutal American accent yelled in answer: "To
hell with Lord Ivy!"
Lady Moya chuckled.
"Get to the lower deck!" I commanded. "I am going for the yawl."
As I slipped my leg over the rail I heard Lord Ivy say: "I'll find Phil
and meet you."
I dropped and caught the rail of the deck below, and, hanging from it,
shoved with my knees and fell into the water. Two strokes brought me to
the yawl, and, scrambling into her and casting her off, I paddled back
to the steamer. As I lay under the stern I heard from the lower deck the
voice of Kinney raised importantly.
"Ladies first!" he cried. "Her ladyship first, I mean," he corrected.
Even on leaving what he believed to be a sinking ship, Kinney could not
forget his manners. But Mr. Aldrich had evidently forgotten his. I
heard him shout indignantly: "I'll be damned if I do!"
The voice of Lady Moya laughed.
"You'll be drowned if you don't!" she answered. I saw a black shadow
poised upon the rail. "Steady below there!" her voice called, and the
next moment, as lightly as a squirrel, she dropped to the thwart and
stumbled into my arms.
The voice of Aldrich was again raised in anger. "I'd rather drown!" he
cried.
Lord Ivy responded with unexpected spirit.
"Well, then, drown! The water is warm and it's a pleasing death."
At that, with a bump, he fell in a heap at my feet.
"Easy, Kinney!" I shouted. "Don't swamp us!"
"I'll be careful!" he called, and the next instant hit my shoulders and
I shook him off on top of Lord Ivy.
"Get off my head!" shouted his lordship.
Kinney apologized to every one profusely. Lady Moya raised her voice.
"For the last time, Phil," she called, "are you coming or are you not?"
"Not with those swindlers, I'm not!" he shouted. "I think you two are
mad! I prefer to drown!"
There was an uncomfortable silence. My position was a difficult one,
and, not knowing what to say, I said nothing.
"If one must drown!" exclaimed Lady Moya briskly, "I can't see it
matters who one drowns with."
In his strangely explosive manner Lord Ivy shouted suddenly: "Phil,
you're a silly ass."
"Push off!" commanded Lady Moya.
I think, from her tone, the order was given more for the benefit of
Aldrich than for myself. Certainly it was effective, for on the instant
there was a heavy splash. Lord Ivy sniffed scornfully and manifested no
interest.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "he prefers to drown!"
Sputtering and gasping, Aldrich rose out of the water, and, while we
balanced the boat, climbed over the side.
"Understand!" he cried even while he was still gasping, "I am here under
protest. I am here to protect you and Stumps. I am under obligation to
no one. I'm--"
"Can you row?" I asked.
"Why don't you ask your pal?" he demanded savagely; "he rowed on last
year's crew."
"Phil!" cried Lady Moya. Her voice suggested a temper I had not
suspected. "You will row or you can get out and walk! Take the oars,"
she commanded, "and be civil!" Lady Moya, with the tiller in her hand,
sat in the stern; Stumps, with Kinney huddled at his knees, was stowed
away forward. I took the stroke and Aldrich the bow oars.
"We will make for the Connecticut shore," I said, and pulled from under
the stern of the _Patience_.
In a few minutes we had lost all sight and, except for her whistle, all
sound of her; and we ourselves were lost in the fog. There was another
eloquent and embarrassing silence. Unless, in the panic, they trampled
upon each other, I had no real fear for the safety of those on board the
steamer. Before we had abandoned her I had heard the wireless
frantically sputtering the "stand-by" call, and I was certain that
already the big boats of the Fall River, Providence, and Joy lines, and
launches from every wireless station between Bridgeport and Newport,
were making toward her. But the margin of safety, which to my thinking
was broad enough for all the other passengers, for the lovely lady was
in no way sufficient. That mob-swept deck was no place for her. I was
happy that, on her account, I had not waited for a possible rescue. In
the yawl she was safe. The water was smooth, and the Connecticut shore
was, I judged, not more than three miles distant. In an hour, unless
the fog confused us, I felt sure the lovely lady would again walk safely
upon dry land. Selfishly, on Kinney's account and my own, I was
delighted to find myself free of the steamer, and from any chance of her
landing us where police waited with open arms. The avenging angel in the
person of Aldrich was still near us, so near that I could hear the water
dripping from his clothes, but his power to harm was gone. I was
congratulating myself on this when suddenly he undeceived me. Apparently
he had been considering his position toward Kinney and myself, and,
having arrived at a conclusion, was anxious to announce it.
"I wish to repeat," he exclaimed suddenly, "that I'm under obligations
to nobody. Just because my friends," he went on defiantly, "choose to
trust themselves with persons who ought to be in jail, I can't desert
them. It's all the more reason why I _shouldn't_ desert them. That's why
I'm here! And I want it understood as soon as I get on shore I'm going
to a police station and have those persons arrested."
* * * * *
Rising out of the fog that had rendered each of us invisible to the
other, his words sounded fantastic and unreal. In the dripping silence,
broken only by hoarse warnings that came from no direction, and within
the mind of each the conviction that we were lost, police stations did
not immediately concern us. So no one spoke, and in the fog the words
died away and were drowned. But I was glad he had spoken. At least I was
forewarned. I now knew that I had not escaped, that Kinney and I were
still in danger. I determined that so far as it lay with me, our yawl
would be beached at that point on the coast of Connecticut farthest
removed, not only from police stations, but from all human habitation.
As soon as we were out of hearing of the _Patience_ and her whistle, we
completely lost our bearings. It may be that Lady Moya was not a skilled
coxswain, or it may be that Aldrich understands a racing scull better
than a yawl, and pulled too heavily on his right, but whatever the cause
we soon were hopelessly lost. In this predicament we were not alone. The
night was filled with fog-horns, whistles, bells, and the throb of
engines, but we never were near enough to hail the vessels from which
the sounds came, and when we rowed toward them they invariably sank into
silence. After two hours Stumps and Kinney insisted on taking a turn at
the oars, and Lady Moya moved to the bow. We gave her our coats, and,
making cushions of these, she announced that she was going to sleep.
Whether she slept or not, I do not know, but she remained silent. For
three more dreary hours we took turns at the oars or dozed at the bottom
of the boat while we continued aimlessly to drift upon the face of the
waters. It was now five o'clock, and the fog had so far lightened that
we could see each other and a stretch of open water. At intervals the
fog-horns of vessels passing us, but hidden from us, tormented Aldrich
to a state of extreme exasperation. He hailed them with frantic shrieks
and shouts, and Stumps and the Lady Moya shouted with him. I fear Kinney
and myself did not contribute any great volume of sound to the general
chorus. To be "rescued" was the last thing we desired. The yacht or tug
that would receive us on board would also put us on shore, where the
vindictive Aldrich would have us at his mercy. We preferred the freedom
of our yawl and the shelter of the fog. Our silence was not lost upon
Aldrich. For some time he had been crouching in the bow, whispering
indignantly to Lady Moya; now he exclaimed aloud:
"What did I tell you?" he cried contemptuously; "they got away in this
boat because they were afraid of _me_, not because they were afraid of
being drowned. If they've nothing to be afraid of, why are they so
anxious to keep us drifting around all night in this fog? Why don't they
help us stop one of those tugs?"
Lord Ivy exploded suddenly.
"Rot!" he exclaimed. "If they're afraid of you, why did they ask you to
go with them?"
"They didn't!" cried Aldrich, truthfully and triumphantly. "They
kidnapped you and Moya because they thought they could square themselves
with _you_. But they didn't want _me!_" The issue had been fairly
stated, and no longer with self-respect could I remain silent.
"We don't want you now!" I said. "Can't you understand," I went on with
as much self-restraint as I could muster, "we are willing and anxious to
explain ourselves to Lord Ivy, or even to you, but we don't want to
explain to the police? My friend thought you and Lord Ivy were crooks,
escaping. You think _we_ are crooks, escaping. You both--"
Aldrich snorted contemptuously.
"That's a likely story!" he cried. "No wonder you don't want to tell
_that_ to the police!"
From the bow came an exclamation, and Lady Moya rose to her feet.
"Phil!" she said, "you bore me!" She picked her way across the thwart
to where Kinney sat at the stroke oar.
"My brother and I often row together," she said; "I will take your
place."
When she had seated herself we were so near that her eyes looked
directly into mine. Drawing in the oars, she leaned upon them and
smiled.
"Now, then," she commanded, "tell us all about it."
Before I could speak there came from behind her a sudden radiance, and
as though a curtain had been snatched aside, the fog flew apart, and the
sun, dripping, crimson, and gorgeous, sprang from the waters. From the
others there was a cry of wonder and delight, and from Lord Ivy a shriek
of incredulous laughter.
Lady Moya clapped her hands joyfully and pointed past me. I turned and
looked. Directly behind me, not fifty feet from us, was a shelving beach
and a stone wharf, and above it a vine-covered cottage, from the chimney
of which smoke curled cheerily. Had the yawl, while Lady Moya was taking
the oars, _not_ swung in a circle, and had the sun _not_ risen, in three
minutes more we would have bumped ourselves into the State of
Connecticut. The cottage stood on one horn of a tiny harbor. Beyond it,
weather-beaten shingled houses, sail-lofts, and wharfs stretched cosily
in a half-circle. Back of them rose splendid elms and the delicate spire
of a church, and from the unruffled surface of the harbor the masts of
many fishing-boats. Across the water, on a grass-grown point, a
whitewashed light-house blushed in the crimson glory of the sun. Except
for an oyster-man in his boat at the end of the wharf, and the smoke
from the chimney of his cottage, the little village slept, the harbor
slept. It was a picture of perfect content, confidence, and peace. "Oh!"
cried the Lady Moya, "how pretty, how pretty!"
Lord Ivy swung the bow about and raced toward the wharf. The others
stood up and cheered hysterically.
At the sound and at the sight of us emerging so mysteriously from the
fog, the man in the fishing-boat raised himself to his full height and
stared as incredulously as though he beheld a mermaid. He was an old
man, but straight and tall, and the oysterman's boots stretching to his
hips made him appear even taller than he was. He had a bristling white
beard and his face was tanned to a fierce copper color, but his eyes
were blue and young and gentle. They lit suddenly with excitement and
sympathy.
"Are you from the _Patience?_" he shouted. In chorus we answered that
we were, and Ivy pulled the yawl alongside the fisherman's boat.
But already the old man had turned and, making a megaphone of his hands,
was shouting to the cottage.
"Mother!" he cried, "mother, here are folks from the wreck. Get coffee
and blankets and--and bacon--and eggs!"
"May the Lord bless him!" exclaimed the Lady Moya devoutly.
But Aldrich, excited and eager, pulled out a roll of bills and shook
them at the man.
"Do you want to earn ten dollars?" he demanded; "then chase yourself to
the village and bring the constable."
Lady Moya exclaimed bitterly, Lord Ivy swore, Kinney in despair uttered
a dismal howl and dropped his head in his hands.
"It's no use, Mr. Aldrich," I said. Seated in the stern, the others had
hidden me from the fisherman. Now I stood up and he saw me. I laid one
hand on his, and pointed to the tin badge on his suspender.
"He is the village constable himself," I explained. I turned to the
lovely lady. "Lady Moya," I said, "I want to introduce you to my
father!" I pointed to the vine-covered cottage.
"That's my home," I said. I pointed to the sleeping town. "That," I
told her, "is the village of Fairport. Most of it belongs to father. You
are all very welcome."