Mr. Dalken enjoyed the joke immensely and hoped it would benefit his
friends as he had planned it should. During the night the sea calmed so
that by dawn it presented a beautiful surface of small playful waves.
Consequently the yacht danced over the waters like a happy nautilus, but
the tossing had ceased.
During the night the vessel had made wonderful headway and by breakfast
time the Captain said they were opposite Old Point Comfort. The
information gave rise to puns, because every member in the party except
Elizabeth, presented himself at the table, ready for a hearty meal, but
one and all maintained that their improvement was due to Old Point
Comfort.
Upon comparing notes of their illnesses, and the dark brown medicine
given by the young doctor, the patients found they had been given
diluted licorice; Mr. Dalken had visited his daughter several times
during the night, and again in the morning, but she complained that he
disturbed her rest every time he came in. Therefore he decided not to
annoy her until she felt better.
When asked by Mrs. Courtney whether it would be advisable to take a
light breakfast to Elizabeth and attend her, Mr. Dalken replied: “Better
leave her absolutely alone for a short time. She may recover sooner.”
In spite of ravenous appetites and the temptation of the dainty dishes
sent to the breakfast table, the mariners, so recently recovering from
the effects of the wild waves of the night before, found a sudden
relapse of well remembered conditions the moment any food touched their
tongue and palate. Thus the alluring breakfast had to be sent back to
the kitchen with regrets.
That day the convalescents, as Mr. Dalken persisted in calling his
guests, preferred to keep quiet, amusing themselves with the periodicals
liberally provided in the lounging room, or chatting on deck and
watching the curling waves against the speeding yacht.
Late in the afternoon, just before tea was served on deck, Elizabeth
came from her room, looking very pathetic in spite of the touch of rouge
on her cheeks, and color on her lips. Mr. Dalken sprang up to assist her
to a chair, but she refused his support with an impatient toss of her
head. Consequently, the vessel giving a sudden graceful curve, Elizabeth
was thrown head first into Mr. Ashby’s arms.
“My! It’s not often that an old man has such an armful of loveliness
tossed him by the generous sea,” laughed Mr. Ashby, as he assisted
Elizabeth to her feet. He understood the way to calm a young woman’s
chagrin, and compliment her at the same time.
Elizabeth had not heard of the graduate physician’s visits to the other
sea sick guests, nor of the dark brown medicine he had prescribed in
obedience to Mr. Dalken’s orders. Hence she believed she had been the
one who received all the medical attentions and the dose.
“Dear me, I have had such an attack of cerebral neuritis,” commenced
she, sighing to attract sympathy. “Unfortunately, this attack came over
me from the unusual excitement due to preparing for this cruise. The
doctor says I need more rest and a nerve tonic. I never call in such
inexperienced doctors at home, but this one seems to know exactly what
to do in my case.”
Elizabeth glanced at Mrs. Courtney, then at her father, in order to
assure herself that they had comprehended what she had said. Mrs.
Courtney seemed to be politely intent upon the girl’s words, and Mr.
Dalken smiled lovingly at his daughter. Elizabeth failed to read any
suspicion of amusement in their expressions, so she proceeded.
“You know, I never am sea-sick—_never_! And I wondered if the rest of
you would think that my indisposition might be an attack of the
unpleasant sensations which generally prostrate inexperienced seafarers.
It was rather disconcerting that this attack of nervous trouble should
return the first day out at sea.” Elizabeth now glanced around at the
faces about her. She felt a bit piqued at the hardly controlled
expressions of one or two of them.
Eleanor, with her blunt honesty and impatience with any form of
subterfuge, blurted out unexpectedly: “I, too, was indisposed,
Elizabeth; but the wise young doctor informed me that I _never_ could be
sea-sick—my trouble was eating too much candy, and the volume of water
which was playing fast and loose with the yacht. He gave me this dark
brown medicine to take, and assured me that the moment the gale subsided
my nausea would disappear.”
As Eleanor spoke she took a small bottle from her bag and held it out in
plain view of Elizabeth and the others in the amused circle of friends.
Elizabeth looked in dismay, recognized the color of the medicine, then
glanced about at the smiling faces of those who also had taken the
doctor’s medicine.
“Is this a joke you wish to play on me?” demanded she.
[Illustration: “IS THIS A JOKE YOU WISH TO PLAY ON ME?”]
“It wasn’t a joke last night, I can tell you, Elizabeth,” exclaimed
Polly, bringing her vial to view and shaking her head deploringly as she
studied the brown liquid. “If every one on this ship felt as I did,
they’d never have thought of a doctor or medicine, let alone any
licorice water.”
The laugh caused by Polly’s admission failed to soothe Elizabeth. She
was furious, but managed to demand: “Who of this group was ill?” In this
manner she thought to detect the ones who had taken such amusement in
fooling their friends.
One after another in the circle admitted the truth, but Mrs. Courtney
confessed to having spent her evening with Polly and Eleanor. That left
Mr. Dalken alone. He smiled as he said: “Well, I am forced to confess
that I am the guilty one. I prescribed the doctor and his doses.”
As Elizabeth could not very well denounce her father for having played
this practical joke on his friends as well as on herself, she merely
tossed her head and turned her back upon him. He smiled to himself, then
caught Polly’s glance which told him she understood the cause of his
daughter’s annoyance. Also he read a sympathy in her heart for the
misunderstanding so deliberately displayed by the girl.
Fortunately for the situation the boy now came forward and began
preparations to serve tea. Having arranged the wicker table in front of
Mrs. Courtney, without a look or word to Mrs. Fabian or Mrs. Ashby who
were in the circle, he left again to fetch the tea service. Directly
behind the well-bred young servant came an uncouth Scandinavian youth
carrying a heavy tray of viands.
Mr. Dalken had not seen nor had anything to do with engaging the
individuals in the crew on his yacht, as that was part of his Captain’s
work. And up to this moment Mr. Dalken had never seen this great
overgrown Swede. But the blonde giant had no intentions of being
ignored, as he soon made plain.
He planked his tray forcibly upon the table beside the tea service
wagon, and then turned to Mr. Dalken. No introduction was needed for
him. He was too disturbed to consider aught but his injured feelings.
“Dot tea what yun Shink meks me fer supper, Oi not drink. Oi tek cuffee
er Oi go home!” exclaimed he with ire.
Several of the voyagers had been quietly admiring the low-lying banks of
soft cirrus clouds, and some had been engaged in absent-mindedly
watching the man servant arrange the tea table, when the Swede exploded
his complaint in a loud thunderous tone.
Mr. Dalken gave a start. He was too surprised at the unlooked for
complaint to control the nervous action. He frowned at the ponderous
youth, then waved him away. Turning to the other man he told him to
serve; then he followed the wondering Swede down the promenade deck to
the culinary quarters.
As Mr. Dalken disappeared to view, Elizabeth smiled a tantalizing smile
and remarked, to no one in particular: “Dear me! I cannot understand why
Daddy engages such inexperienced servants. He always did neglect
important things.”
An ominous silence followed this information from Elizabeth, then Mr.
Ashby gayly proposed a diversion which interested his friends till Mr.
Dalken rejoined the group.
Not having heard his daughter’s criticism Mr. Dalken reseated himself
and smiled as he began: “I investigated the cause of that young chap’s
complaint, because I could not very well consent to his walking back
home—not on the water, you know. And I discovered a most amusing affair
back in the kitchen. Want to hear the tale?”
Every one but Elizabeth signified eagerly a desire to hear the story.
She pretended indifference to her father and his experience in the
kitchen. But he did not see her face and laughingly began his narrative.
“I learned that the Chef treats the crew with unusual consideration by
serving the same quality tea that we drink. That poor Scandinavian lad
had never before sailed with a decent crew, it seems. In the past he has
been the butt for all the deep-sea sailors who sailed from their Swedish
ports on tramp steamers or fishing boats.
“Captain Blake tells me that Jansen is a fine youth and very
conscientious, but too blunt for his own good. In his past experiences
he has only had the cheapest black coffee served, or a weak sort of
bitter drink faintly colored that went by the name of tea. The Captain
explained to me that such tea is made from used tea-leaves which are
dried by enterprising men and stained with chemicals to produce a brown
liquid with a strong flavor. Naturally, he said, such second-hand tea
leaves are not any too clean. The driers do not spend time on seeing to
it that the leaves are kept free from vermin and dirt. Hence it often
happens that sailors find unexpected dregs mixed with their tea leaves
in the bottom of the pannikins in which they receive their measure of
so-called tea.”
As Mr. Dalken reached this part of his story Elizabeth gave a shudder
and exclaimed in a horror-stricken tone: “Oh, Daddy! How _can_ you be so
ordinary as to speak of such horrible things? Any one would think you
were just common. What does it matter to us whether these plebeian
seamen drink tea or salt water, as long as we are not subjected to their
coarse modes of living?”
Mr. Dalken turned to stare at Elizabeth, and his frown should have
warned her of further pursuing such a line of condemnation. But
Elizabeth was bent on punishing her father for having made her—so she
deemed it—the laughing stock of his friends by sending in a doctor who
gave her licorice water to cure a serious attack of cerebral neuritis,
though Elizabeth was not quite sure what such a dreadful disease was.
“You have forgotten, I suppose, because of the recent years of your not
associating with the best society, that subjects of food are not
considered permissible. But the very idea of any one in my class of
friends, daring to broach a story such as you just began—all about
vermin—would have instantly caused him to be excluded from us,”
concluded she.
Polly stared unbelievingly at the girl who dared say such things to a
father; and the others in the group who considered themselves intimate
friends of Mr. Dalken’s, could not but interpret the insolent girl’s
speech as personal affronts: had they not been her father’s closest
associates for the past few years? The society which she daringly
condemned as not being good for him?
What may have been the result of this indiscreet speech from Elizabeth
could not be said, but Mrs. Courtney, in her wisdom, instantly rose to
the call for immediate action of some sort. The Captain had just
announced a “change of watch on board.” She caught at the idea.
“Oh, oh! Mr. Dalken! The Captain is about to change the watch. Cannot
you take us there and explain how this interesting act is accomplished?”
As she spoke the wily woman sprang from her chair, and took two or three
eager steps in the direction of the group of sailors now appearing
before the Captain.
Instantly all the other members in the circle seated at the tea table
sprang up, only too thankful to catch at a straw by which to save the
situation. Mr. Dalken also rose and led the way down the promenade deck
in the direction of the Captain. Elizabeth remained in her chair,
shrugging her shoulders in a decidedly French manner.
Having heard the Captain explain how changes of watch were made on
vessels, the group of friends eagerly accepted his offer to conduct them
over the entire yacht. They were introduced to the chef who had been
called the “Shink” by the Swedish boy. They met and felt an interest in
the overgrown, inexperienced youth of fifteen who seemed like a hearty
man of twenty-five. He grinned sheepishly when Polly selected him to
address her admiration of his qualities of seamanship—as the Captain had
explained it.
Then they were introduced to the capable young Belgian waiter, Johann,
who was always well-bred and attentive.
Shink, the Chinese cook, felt so nattered by the visit of many pretty
women to his domain that his rather incomprehensible manner of speaking
English became choked and jumbled. Such a medley of consonants and
vowels as he poured forth in a continuous flood by his twisting tongue,
caused his visitors to gasp in breathless amazement. In his endeavors to
show “Honorable Boss Fren’s” all the courtesy due their Most Honorable
Selves, Shink bowed and chattered, even after the Most Honorable Party
had gone.
Unfortunately for the Oriental’s peace of mind, and the welfare of the
Swede the latter had stepped outside the kitchen to make more room for
the visitors. As the group of Mr. Dalken’s guests were leaving the
kitchen by another door from that entered by them, a great crash of
china was heard by the excitable Shink. He leaped to the door and
discovered the cause. Poor Wooden-top, as the Swedish lad was nicknamed
by his associates, in turning to gaze after the receding form of Polly
to whom his heart was forever lost, had stubbed his toe against the
raised door sill. The heavy tray of dishes which he had been carrying
aloft went flying through the door to smash as best suited each
individual dish against the opposite wall.
Elizabeth was not to be seen when the inspecting party returned to the
lounging place on deck. But it was soon ascertained that she had retired
to her own room after her friends had left her.
That evening was a merry one. Dancing and other diversions were enjoyed
by the younger members of the party, and cards were played by the older
ones, to the entire satisfaction of both groups. The sea was as calm as
a sheet of glass, but the Captain foretold a storm, though this was hard
to believe when one gazed at the wonderful starlit sky and felt the
clearness of the atmosphere.
“The Captain says we will soon be off the coast of Florida, if we keep
up this speed,” ventured Polly, who had stood with the man in charge of
the yacht for a long time that evening after dinner.
“And there I shall have to leave you,” whispered Tom, in a moody tone of
voice.
“You should be thankful that you were granted this lovely visit with Mr.
Dalken’s friends,” returned Polly, purposely misinterpreting his
meaning. She hoped to steer Tom away from his constant harping on his
love for her, and demanding her sympathy in his distress over it.
The temperature had become so balmy and delightful in the latitudes the
yacht had reached, that it was a pleasure to sit on deck or walk about
while thinking of the sleety, penetratingly cold air in New York City.
Tom, anxious to make the most of his fast-ending visit on board the
vessel, coaxed Polly to go with him and watch the moon rise over the
quiet sea.
With a desperate glance behind—much as Lot’s wife must have given after
leaving Sodom to its fate—Polly sighed and agreed. There seemed to be no
other alternative. Eleanor and Ruth Ashby had vanished soon after the
last dance had ended, Nancy was deep in a new novel, Elizabeth was in
her own room, and the rest were playing a new game of cards proposed by
Mrs. Ashby.
Tom, elated at his success in securing Polly’s undivided company upon
such a glorious night, walked with her to a cosy nook he had found in
the stern of the vessel. Here, seated upon luxurious chairs which he had
commandeered from the lounge, he felt that any girl should be willing to
watch the frothy wash of the water from the rapid cleaving of the yacht
through its surface, and listen to an ardent lover who had much to say
in a very short space of time.
But Polly thought otherwise. She was willing to watch the churning water
thrown this side and that by the stern of the boat, and she was eager to
see the moon rise from the horizon of the sea, but she was not keen
about hearing, again, the oft-repeated story of Tom’s love and his
heartache because she would not reciprocate such love.
Just as long as Tom kept to general topics of conversation, Polly smiled
and showed an interest in him. But let him launch his love story even in
the least possible manner, and she instantly sat up and changed the
subject to one of the weather, the moon, or the landing at Jacksonville,
where they were to find friends awaiting the yacht.
Tom finally rebelled at such treatment.
“Polly, you are cruel, and you know it! Here it has been many, many long
weeks since Christmas, when you showed me enough heart to make me
believe that you truly loved me. But you froze up again, the next day,
and since then you try to make yourself and others believe that you
consider me only in the light of a good friend. If it takes serious
illness or adversity to rouse your love, I’ll do something desperate to
prove you!” Tom’s threat sounded ominous.
“Tom, I really think you are mentally deranged. I’ve told you over and
again, that I shall take ample time to weigh my future life. It’s not
going to be a case of ‘marry in haste; repent at leisure.’ I have wanted
to travel and see the world, and now that I have the opportunity, it is
sheer selfishness on your part to try to dissuade me from such joy and
pleasure.”
“Oh, Polly! I am the least selfish lover in the world. I tag on at your
heels and never receive any mark of your affection. Why, you scarcely
deign to notice me, when other admirers are at hand.”
“That’s not true, but I do try to show them the same attention and
consideration that any sensible girl ought to. I have said emphatically
that I am _not_ to be considered as having been captured by you, and the
fact that I have to assert myself to prove it to our friends may make
you think it is as you say. It is your fault that this is so. I prefer
to be impartial and not give myself all the extra trouble to act as I
feel, entirely free and glad to dance or enjoy the society of other
young men besides yourself.”
Tom made no reply, but sat staring gloomily out over the water. Polly
sent him a side glance and thought to herself: “There, that frank
statement ought to hold him for a time, at least!”
The two felt that their tête-à-tête had best end before it terminated in
the usual disagreement regarding love. The sky became mottled with
beautiful drifting clouds which formed slowly into the long, scaly
appearance of what is known as a “mackerel sky.” The smoothness of the
sea had become a choppy, complaining surface of murmuring wavelets. The
color reflected from the brooding sky had turned the glassy waters into
a grey ominous sheet.
Almost within the shaft of light coming from the saloon lights, Polly
and Tom came face to face with the Captain. He saluted and said: “Better
get ready for a turn to-night. I’ve just been warning Mr. Dalken, but he
seems to think I am borrowing trouble. If you listen to me, you will tie
yourselves in bed in order to spare yourselves being rolled out
unceremoniously before dawn.”
Polly laughed and thanked the amiable Captain, and Tom stood for a
moment after the officer had left them, and stared out at the sullen
sea.
“It looks perfectly calm,” remarked Tom.
“Looks often belie the true condition underneath,” returned Polly,
precociously. Tom looked at her and laughed appreciatively.
In the saloon the young people were trying some of the new popular songs
of New York. But their efforts met with little success, and Tom
interrupted them with his comments.
“Don’t tease the storm to descend any sooner by this wailing. The
Captain says we shall all be satisfied with enough groaning and
screaming from the sea and sky long before morning.”
The Captain’s warning fell unheeded, however, except by Polly who felt
intuitively that the change she had seen creeping over the sky and
surface of the sea foreboded no good. Therefore, she persuaded Eleanor,
that night, to place ready at hand her booties and a heavy ulster. She
did the same.
“But why the ulster, Polly?” asked Eleanor in amazement.
“Because, should we have a terrific blow as oft times happens in these
tropical latitudes, it will be well worth going up on the deck. And we
will need a heavy storm-proof coat to keep us dry.”
It was past eleven o’clock when the party on the yacht broke up and
every one said good-night to every one. It was not yet twelve when Polly
advised Eleanor to keep her booties and wraps at hand in case she wanted
to don them in a hurry, and it was only a few minutes past twelve when,
both girls, having jumped into bed, heard a strange soughing of the wind
and immediately following that, the confused shouts of the Captain and
his mates to the sailors on board. Both girls felt the rise of the sea
by the way the yacht dipped and careened as if at the mercy of the
storm.
“There! The Captain was right when he warned us of this,” murmured
Polly, turning about in order to get out of her bed.
The shouting and excitement on deck continued and Eleanor decided it
might be interesting for her to follow Polly’s example and dress
hurriedly in order to investigate the cause of all the commotion. Before
she could reach out to take her stockings and shoes, however, she was
thrown violently against the wall at the back of her bed. Polly, too,
was tumbled willy nilly up against the wash stand.
“Well! I neve——!” began Eleanor, but she never completed her exclamation
of dismay. Such a roar and rumble from all sides, and such shouting and
shrieking, drove all ideas from her active brain.
The shouts came from the officers outside, the shrieks from Elizabeth
who occupied the neighboring cabin.
Hail, great volumes of water, and bits of debris were hurtled against
the glass in the portholes, and at the same time the awful rolling and
tossing of the vessel added dismay to braver hearts than that of the
spoiled darling of a foolish mother in New York.
The storm drove the yacht straight southward, which was fortunate; also
it was a fortunate matter that the Captain had foreseen this change in
weather and had prepared for it in time. What he had not expected, and
an unusual experience it was, was the cloud-burst which followed the
advance signals of the hurricane.
Polly and Eleanor had managed to get into their heavy storm coats and
shoes, and were prepared to leave their room and watch events when the
sound of a heavy metal grating against the door of the corridor which
opened into the living room of the yacht, made them exchange glances.
“That sounds as if we were prisoners. It must have been the iron bar
that the Captain said they used when there was danger of the heavy seas
breaking the doors open,” said Polly.
“All the more reason why I should wish to be out and get the benefit of
such a storm,” ventured Eleanor.
“And all the more reason why I shall hold you indoors,” instantly
retorted Polly.
Eleanor laughed. “Yet you were the one to suggest that I get out my coat
and shoes, to be ready to hurry out and watch the storm should it come
our way.”
“I had no idea that we were bound to run head first into a hurricane, or
a tidal wave! _I_ meant a simple, little old-fashioned gale.”
Suddenly the White Crest lay over on her beam ends and both girls slid
helplessly down against the wall where they clutched at the smooth door,
trying to hold to something firm and trustworthy. The sound of the
screeching, howling wind now rose to a deafening shriek which prevented
any one from hearing a word spoken, even though the speaker was close to
one’s ear.
By sheer means of strength and purpose Polly managed to drag herself up
to a level with the round porthole, in order to get a look outside. She
steadied herself in this slanting position while holding fast to the
brass hinges and knob of the heavy-framed glass.
“Oh, Nolla! It is magnificent! The waves are a mass of boiling, seething
phosphorescence which actually light the whole sea! If you can hold
fast, try to stand up and see.”
By dint of clinging to Polly’s legs and then holding fast to her waist,
Eleanor managed to stand beside her friend just long enough to take one
look at the fearsome sight of the ocean.
With a hushed cry of dismay Eleanor let go her hold and in another
minute she was rolled over and over upon the floor with no means of
ending the game of bowls until she had clutched the leg of her bed.
“Oh, Polly! I wish I had never looked! I’m sure we shall not be able to
combat such a storm,” wailed Eleanor.
“Don’t you go and follow Elizabeth Dalken’s example of fear and cries
for help,” came from Polly who still clung to the window and watched
with fascinated eyes. But even her powers of endurance gave way as a
monster wave, crested with such bluish, iridescent light as would have
daunted the bravest nerve, rushed up against the plaything which Mr.
Dalken believed to be proof against all the elements.
It struck the craft with a thundering blow and at once it seemed as if
pandemonium was loose. Elizabeth yelled and screamed, other voices could
be heard shouting and screaming at the top of good powerful seamen’s
lungs, and the pounding of water on the deck and against the door made
both girls shiver with apprehension. Polly had let go her grasp on the
brass knob when the unexpected flood of water came up against the
window, consequently she was shunted over against the wall beside
Eleanor.
Half a dozen great seas went over the craft while Polly and Eleanor
crouched against the wall in utter despair of thinking of a way to hush
the nerve-racking screams from Elizabeth. When the storm seemed to reach
its height, and the girls felt that they would be lost unless something
happened quick, there came a sudden and awesome lull.
“Oh, thank goodness, it is over!” sighed Eleanor getting to her feet,
and making an effort to reach the door of her room.
“Let’s get out and join the others, Nolla, because I have heard that
such sudden lulls are merely harbingers of something worse,” advised
Polly.
“There can be nothing worse than what we’ve just passed through,” said
Eleanor, with a hysterical sound in her tones.
“Oh, yes, there can! Hurry into Mrs. Courtney’s room,” said Polly,
pushing her friend quickly out of the room and over to the door of the
room where they expected to find their friend.
The room was vacant. The girls stared at each other, and Polly thought
she heard voices in Elizabeth Dalken’s room. She managed to reach it,
open it, and then, before she could say a word, the lull was broken.
Both girls were tossed like cockle shells into the room where Mrs.
Courtney was trying to soothe Elizabeth Dalken’s nervous hysteria. At
the same time such a frightful sound of pounding waters on the deck and
sides and top of the yacht drove apprehension deeper into their souls.
Even courageous Mrs. Courtney showed her sense of fear.
“What is that noise?” whispered Eleanor in a weak voice.
“I don’t know, dear,” replied Mrs. Courtney, “but it sounds like a cloud
burst. The moment it is over we shall be all right.”
And this is what it turned out to be. A hurricane from off shore,
suddenly sweeping up gigantic clouds of water by its sheer force of
velocity across the waves, and then suddenly emptying its sac of water
over the defenseless craft which bravely defied the storms, endeavored
to sink it.
With the pouring out of its last vial of wrath the hurricane subsided,
and in half an hour all was quiet without: all but the shouting and
rushing of the sailors as they ran to and fro on their duties. With the
four in one small room, Elizabeth felt safer and was soon quieted. Then
when the vessel seemed to resume its untroubled course, she settled down
and fell asleep. Mrs. Courtney and the two girls who had been hurtled
into the room, left her and closed the door softly as they went out.
“I am going to go out and see what can be seen,” ventured Polly, but
Mrs. Courtney dissuaded her.
“You may be in the way of the carrying out of the Captain’s orders,
Polly. Better remain satisfied with going to the saloon. I expect to
find all the others there before us.”
Thence the three made their way, and true to predictions, the grown-ups
were assembled there talking over the narrow escape they had just had.
“What time is it?” asked Eleanor of Tom Latimer.
“It must be near dawn,” added Polly, anxiously.
“Well, it isn’t,” replied Tom, as he took out his watch. “I had not yet
taken off my coat and vest when this storm came upon us. I rushed out of
my room at the first blow and offered my services to the Captain, but he
had prepared, thank God! We wouldn’t be talking over events now had he
not understood the forecast of the weather.”
Tom showed the two girls his watch and to their surprise they realized
that all had happened in less than twenty minutes. It was but just one
o’clock.
“Then we ought to get back to bed and coax our beauty sleep to soothe
our nerves,” laughed Mrs. Courtney.
“So we shall, as soon as Shink sends in our hot malted milk. He claims
it will soothe any nerves—the way he can concoct it. I ordered him to
prepare a cauldronful for the crew, too, as they needed calming more
than any one I ever saw. Not from fear or nerves, but from doing the
work of ten times their number in order to keep us afloat.” Mr. Dalken
seemed seriously thoughtful for a moment after he spoke, then he added:
“I am the only one here who realizes the close call we had. The Captain
with his preventive measures before the storm broke, and the ready
obedience of his crew, saved us this night. Not only did we run foul of
one of the fiercest hurricanes that sweep over the sea at this latitude,
but we also managed to get under the deluge that broke when the
hurricane began to lose power and let go its hold on the great mass of
water it managed to hold aloft during its swift circling about our poor
little craft.
“Thank God for that Swedish lad! Had it not been for his powerful muscle
in the moment of extremity, we would now be without a Captain. It all
happened so suddenly that no one had time to think. The sudden cloud
burst, or water spout, fell just as Captain Blake started to cross the
deck, and the volume of water would have carried him overboard but for
that young giant. Instead of thinking he acted. He threw an arm about
the brass bar and caught hold of the Captain’s arm as he was washed past
him. With a grip like steel the rescuer managed to work his way, hand
over hand clutching to the water-washed rail, until he had reached
safety.
“Well, such is the life of a sea-faring man!” concluded Mr. Dalken, as
he sat and thought of the past danger.