Below on the promenade-deck all was excitement and confusion. The peal
of thunder had spread consternation among the women, and there was a
general stampede for shelter.
The first rush of wind played terrible havoc with the bunting. The
floral decorations were scattered in all directions. Part of the canvas
awning was torn down. Chairs, tables, and glasses crashed to the deck.
Amid the uproar were heard the harsh commands of the ship's officers,
and the running here and there of sailors, as they hastened to execute
orders. The wind squall died away as quickly as it had come, and for a
brief spell the turmoil was succeeded by an unnatural quiet. Some of the
passengers, inexperienced in weather signs, thought the worst was over,
but the wiseacres shook their heads. It was the lull before the
onrushing storm.
Grace and Mrs. Stuart had fled inside at the first alarm, and they both
stood at the saloon entrance, peering nervously into the darkness
beyond the rail, anxiously questioning Professor Hanson and Count von
Hatzfeld, who tried to reassure them. The Honorable Percy Fitzhugh, his
face white and visibly nervous, was so excited that he stuck his monocle
in the wrong eye.
"I don't think it will amount to much," asserted the professor, in his
pompous, authoritative way.
The words were barely spoken when he was rudely contradicted. Another
blinding flash rent the heavens, revealing great masses of
forbidding-looking clouds scudding across the sky and hanging so low
that they seemed almost to touch the water. A terrific report followed,
which shook the ship.
"Oh, I'm so frightened!" wailed Mrs. Stuart, clinging nervously to Mr.
Fitzhugh's arm, much to the annoyance of that gentleman, who felt none
too comfortable himself.
"Nonsense, Cora, don't be so foolish!" protested Grace. "We're perfectly
safe here, no matter what happens."
"She's beginning to roll," said the professor, as the ship gave a sudden
lurch.
"Why are we rolling--is it getting rough?" asked Grace, who was
beginning to show signs of trepidation. "There doesn't seem to be any
wind."
"It's so deuced dark one can't see a bally thing!" stammered Mr.
Fitzhugh.
The night was pitch-dark, and after the brilliancy of the electric
lights, to which their eyes had grown accustomed all evening, the
surrounding wall of blackness seemed all the more opaque and
impenetrable. Still, there was no wind, and the heat was suffocating.
The uncanny silence continued. What could be seen of the sea was smooth,
and oily, and illuminated in spots with green phosphorescent lights. A
deep swell had set in. Rolling in great billows from the south, it
caused the steamer to rock so violently that the women had to hold fast
in order to keep their feet.
"Isn't this rolling horrible? Each minute I imagine the steamer is going
to turn over!" exclaimed Mrs. Stuart, so alarmed that she hardly knew
what she was saying.
"A heavy swell like this," explained the professor calmly, "either
follows a gale or comes in advance of one. This sea is evidently the
forerunner of a storm. The ladies had better go below before it gets any
worse."
"I wouldn't think of going to bed," declared Mrs. Stuart emphatically.
"Just think if we had to take to the boats and I were in my
curl-papers."
Still no wind; only a weird moaning in the distance, which was
distinctly audible amid the profound, mysterious silence. The lightning,
now more frequent, revealed a sky terrifying in aspect. The suspense was
nerve-racking to the stoutest hearted. The captain was heard shouting
orders on the bridge. Officers and sailors hurried aft, and, driving the
passengers below, closed and barricaded the storm doors. Gathered at the
port-holes, their anxiety increasing each moment, the passengers waited
and watched. Momentarily, the sea grew more convulsive. The waves
increased perceptibly in size, and the ship rocked more violently.
Nearer and nearer came that weird, depressing, wailing sound, like the
moaning of all the unhappy souls that were ever drowned in the
treacherous waters of the deep. Grace and her companions, now
thoroughly alarmed, felt that something extraordinary was about to
happen, and it did.
All at once it came. There was a blinding sheet of greenish flame,
followed by a deafening report. Then hell itself broke loose. The
hurricane was upon them. It came with a terrifying rush of air, which,
screeching and howling, raced along at a velocity of a hundred miles an
hour, accompanied by torrents of rain. Nothing could withstand the
whirlwind's fearful force. Everything loose on deck was instantly swept
away. The Marconi aerial wires, snapping like twine, were rendered
useless in an instant, the life-boats strained at their lashings, the
air was full of flying debris, the officers on the bridge held on for
their lives. The sea, now rising rapidly and worked into a frenzy by the
force of the wind, was nothing but a waste of seething foam. The huge
steamer heeled over at the first shock, and great, green seas, capped
with foam, began to break upon the decks. Inside, the stewards ran here
and there, closing ports, while the passengers, scared out of their
wits, were gathered in the big dining-saloon, gathering such comfort as
they could by ceaseless questioning of the busy ship's officers.
"Is there any danger, Mr. Brown?" Grace asked the second officer, as he
hurried past.
"No--no danger at all!" he laughed unconcernedly. "Just a little blow,
that's all. No storm that was ever brewed could sink this ship."
Grace was reassured, and she breathed more freely, but Mrs. Stuart was
skeptical.
"Ship's officers never acknowledge there is danger," she said crossly.
"They wouldn't admit it even if we were all struggling for our lives in
the water."
"Oh, there's no question that the ship is staunch enough," said the
professor. "The only cause for alarm would be if the hurricane blew us
out of our course and the steamer were to run on a rock."
As he spoke there was a terrifying crash of glass and an inrush of
water. Mrs. Stuart screamed, and stewards ran from all directions. A
giant wave had broken the great glass dome over the dining-room, and the
water was pouring down in torrents.
"What will become of us? Where can we go?" wailed Mrs. Stuart.
"The staterooms are the best place in a storm," said the professor.
"Yes," said Grace. "Let's go to my stateroom. It's large enough to hold
us all. We can be miserable together. Come."
They followed Grace, leaving the stewards to mop up the water.
The tempest had now reached its height. The shrieking of the wind and
the thunderous blows of the terrific seas, as they broke against the
sides of the ship, was terrifying to listen to. The boldest among the
men passengers no longer concealed their anxiety, and most of the women
were in a mental condition bordering on panic. Mrs. Phelps refused to
follow the example of Grace and retire to her stateroom. She preferred,
she said, to be where she could get out easily if anything happened. So
with a stiff brandy and soda to give her courage, and Count von Hatzfeld
to keep her company, the widow prepared to sit out the night in company
with a crowd of other frightened passengers, who sat all huddled
together in a sheltered corner of the dining-saloon.
Up on the deck, where duty compelled the officers and crew to expose
themselves to the full fury of the storm, the scene was wild beyond
description. The force of the wind was extraordinary. It was impossible
to face it and breathe. The noise was deafening. What with the continual
roar of the now raging sea, the screeching of the tempest and the crash
of thunder, the tumult was appalling. The officers on the bridge, clad
all in oilskins, hung on for their lives, shouting orders through
megaphones.
A tremendous sea was running and the _Atlanta_ labored heavily. She
rolled so badly that it seemed impossible that she could ever right
herself again, and every now and then there came a lurch that strained
all the joints, throwing everybody off their feet. The promenade-deck,
swept by foaming green water, was practically afloat. One giant comber
after another broke over the rail with a thunderous roar, sending up
clouds of spray that completely hid the bridge from sight. The night was
pitch-dark. Only the intermittent flashes of lightning permitted a
glimpse of the raging ocean. It being impossible to see farther than a
ship's length ahead, the officers on the bridge were ready for any
emergency. The lookouts had been doubled, and the engines slowed down.
Captain Summers had left nothing undone to ensure the safety of the
passengers entrusted to his care and skill, but it was evident from the
way in which he bent forward and strained his eyes in an effort to
penetrate the murk ahead, that the situation was critical.
Among those exposed to the weather on the upper decks there was only one
who watched with grim indifference the fury of the hurricane. The
fiercer the wind blew, the angrier grew the ocean, the higher rose
Armitage's spirits. When the tremendous seas began to break over the
vessel, the stoker exulted. He was still among the ventilators where
Bill had left him, not having had time to retreat before the storm
broke. Caught by the first rush of wind, he was hurled violently against
an iron stanchion and knocked senseless. When he came to, he found
himself clinging desperately to a rail, with the hurricane blowing right
over him. The force of the wind was inconceivable. He tried to stagger
to his feet and resist it, but he could not move. The atmosphere was
full of a rushing, irresistible force which suffocated him. The rain,
driven with merciless violence, blinded him. He could neither breathe
nor see. His ears were deafened by the unearthly screeching of the wind
and the constant roar of the waves. A flash rent the surrounding
blackness. He caught a glimpse of the water convulsed in a fury, the
decks below swept by foaming seas, the ship's officers and crew running
excitedly about.
It flashed upon him suddenly that the steamer was in danger, yet,
instead of making him tremble with apprehension, the thought stirred
within him a thrill of savage exultation. Why should he care? Only those
who enjoyed life had reason to recoil from death. What joys did life
hold out to him? He could never redeem the past. He was tired of the
struggle. He had knocked about the world long enough. He would be
discharged on the steamer's return to port, and it would be hard, if not
impossible, to find another job. Luck was certainly against him. What
was the use of bucking against one's luck? It would be as well to have
done with it all. A jump into the sea, a moment's choking and
involuntary struggle with the waves, and all would be over. His jaws
closed with a click, and a hard expression came into his eyes. If this
was to be the end of all his hardships and suffering, at least he would
not go alone. Those first-cabin passengers, with their dainty frocks and
fastidious manners--they would have to take the same watery road as he.
The rich and the poor, the happy and the wretched--all are equal in the
presence of Death. And as each second the hurricane increased in fury,
and the ship plunged more heavily, he had a sense of savage joy as, in
his mind, he pictured the final catastrophe, the wild scramble for the
boats, and the final screams and death struggles in the boiling waves.
Suddenly there was a deafening roar. He heard warning shouts, followed
by the splintering of wood and the smashing of glass. Then came a solid
wall of green water. A mountainous sea swept clean over the place where
he lay, and passed on, leaving him bruised and gurgling for breath. Only
the rail had prevented him from being carried bodily over the side. A
giant wave had crashed down on the ship, twisting rails, smashing
life-boats, and deluging the interior of the ship with tons of water.
Below could be heard the shouts of the passengers. A moment later,
without further warning, came another and more serious shock, a series
of bumps on the ship's bottom, accompanied by a harsh, rending sound.
The steamer stopped and trembled from bow to stern. There was a grinding
sound. The vessel listed and heeled far over. The engines suddenly
stopped. The siren began to blow dismally. The officers were shouting.
The _Atlanta_ had run on a rock.
In the saloon and staterooms all was chaos and confusion. The electric
lights had gone out, the sudden inrush of water having extinguished the
furnaces. Already the scared firemen were climbing up from the
stoke-hold like rats escaping from a sinking ship. Every one realized
that the steamer was doomed, yet there was no panic. The imminence of
the peril seemed to have stricken every one dumb, passengers and
stewards alike. Hardly a sound was heard except the quick orders given
by the officers and the noise of the passengers' footfalls, as they
hastened up on deck. Every one was cool. The men retained their
self-possession, the women their fortitude. There was no sign of
hysteria. On every one's face was a tense look of quiet anxiety, as if
it was realized that death was near, and each had summoned up courage to
meet it bravely. Even Mrs. Stuart, white-faced and half fainting, did
not give way entirely. She and Grace, assisted by Professor Hanson, made
their way as quickly as they could to the deck where, all huddled
together, they patiently waited for the sailors to lower the boats. The
waves were running mountain high. What use were the life-boats in such a
sea? Grace's lips moved in prayer.
Armitage, still clinging to the rail, watched the sailors as they worked
rapidly at the davits to lower the boats. This, he said to himself, was
certainly the end. No boat could live in those tremendous seas. They
would all drown like rats. He saw the Honorable Percy Fitzhugh, still in
his spats and green Tyrolian hat, but very humble now, and white-faced,
standing by the girl he had seen dancing--the proud beauty with the big
dark eyes. She was pale and silent, yet she did not give way to
hysterical emotion. He admired her for her pluck. She was spunky--that
was evident. Some women got into a boat, which was lowered away in
safety. Another was let down, loaded to the gunwale with human freight.
Just as it touched the water there came a tremendous wave, the fragile
boat was tossed high in the air, and in an instant its occupants were
struggling in the water. There were women's screams and men's shouts,
then a sinister silence. Armitage laughed. At last he had the upper
hand. These swell cabin passengers drowning there before his eyes were
afraid of death, while he welcomed it. He felt grateful that this much
revenge had been vouchsafed him. The cries of the dying, the frightful
tumult raised by this death orgy of wind and sea, instead of frightening
him, sounded in his ears like the most sublime music he had ever heard.
As the doomed ship settled deeper on the reef, the waves broke on board
with redoubled force. It was only a question of minutes when the huge
hulk would begin to go to pieces. Suddenly there was a terrific
explosion, the deck rose under him, and the next thing he knew he was in
the sea, battling with the waves.
He was an expert, powerful swimmer, and he found himself struggling for
life in spite of himself. He tried to stop swimming, to let himself
sink. He could not. The instinct of self-preservation was too strong. So
he swam on, now resting, now floating. He saw nothing of the ship or of
the boats. He presumed some got away. He heard shouts, but paid no heed.
Steadily he swam on, wondering when his strength would give out and
nature would let him drown. All at once he bumped against something
soft.
"Save me!" cried a woman's voice weakly.
Instinctively he put out his hand and caught her by the hair just as she
was going down for the second time. Her eyes were closed and her face
pale as death. It was the tall girl with the dark eyes. If she had not
spoken he would have thought she was dead. Supporting her firmly with
one hand and keeping her head above water, he swam on. He wondered why
he took the trouble. He would tire soon and then both must sink. But he
swam on, with Grace limp, unconscious, half drowned at his side. He felt
he was unable to stay afloat much longer. His left arm was already numb
from the girl's dead weight. Every muscle in his body ached. The end
must soon come. Why not let her go now and have done with it?
Suddenly he heard a sound that gave him renewed energy. It was the
roaring noise of heavy surf beating on the shore. They must be close in
land. Another determined effort and perhaps he could get in. Desperately
exerting the last of his great strength, he swam on. A monster wave
carried him forward, high on its crest, and as the water retired he felt
sand underneath his feet. Another billow carried them in still farther.
He was in a maelstrom; he could not see; there was a rushing, roaring
sound in his ears. A wave knocked him down, and they were both nearly
suffocated as they rolled over and over in the boiling water. He
staggered to his feet and was again dragging her in when a receding wave
snatched them back. Then came another and bigger wave which threw them
in again. This time he dug his feet desperately in the shifting sand,
and, by a herculean effort, resisted the deadly suck of the undertow.
The wave receded, leaving them still higher. Before another could reach
them he had picked his unconscious companion up in his arms, and
staggered up the beach safe out of the clutch of the water.