At the close of the second verse the men were preparing to burst forth
again when Miles observed an approaching billow which caused him to
start in alarm. Although unused to the aspect of waves, he had an
instinctive feeling that there was danger approaching. Voices of
warning were promptly raised from different parts of the vessel, but
already the loud chorus had begun and drowned every other sound. Miles
dropped his biscuits and sprang towards Marion, who, with flashing eyes
and parted lips, was gazing at Gaspard. He just reached her when the
wave burst over the side, and, catching most of the men quite
unprepared, swept them with terrible violence towards the lee-side of
the deck.
Marion was standing directly in the line of this human cataract, but
Miles swung her deftly round into the lee of the funnel, a handle of
which she happily caught, and clung to it like a limpet.
Her preserver was not so fortunate. The edge of the cataract struck
him, swept him off his legs, and hurled him with many comrades against
the lee bulwarks, where he lay stunned and helpless in the swishing
water.
Of course soldiers and sailors ran from all parts of the vessel to the
rescue, and soon the injured men were carried below and attended to by
the doctors; and, considering the nature of the accident, it was matter
for surprise that the result was no worse than some pretty severe
contusions and a few broken ribs.
When Miles recovered consciousness, he found himself in his hammock,
with considerable pain in various parts of his body, and the Reverend
James Drew bending over him.
"You're all right now, my fine fellow," he said, in a low comforting
voice. "No bones broken, so the doctors say. Only a little bruised."
"Tell me, sir," said Miles, rousing himself, "is--is your daughter
safe?"
"Yes, thanks be to God, and to your prompt assistance, she is none the
worse--save the fright and a wetting."
Miles sank back on his pillows with a feeling of profound satisfaction.
"Now, you must try to sleep if you can," said the clergyman; "it will do
you good."
But Miles did not want anything to do him good. He was quite content to
lie still and enjoy the simple fact that he had rescued Marion, perhaps
from death--at all events from serious injury! As for pain--what was
that to him? was he not a soldier--one whose profession requires him to
suffer _anything_ cheerfully in the discharge of duty! And was not love
the highest duty?
On the strength of some such thoughts he forgot his pain and calmly went
to sleep.