THE STORM BREAKS
Tyke was not the only one who had noted the falling barometer. Captain
Hamilton was already standing at the foot of the mainmast, shouting
orders that were taken up by Ditty and Rogers and carried on to the men.
To the north, great masses of leaden-gray clouds were heaped up against
the sky. The sea was as flat as though a giant roller had passed over
it. A curious stillness prevailed--the wind seemed hushed, holding its
breath before the tempest burst.
The hatches were battened down and the storm slides put on the
companionway. Most of the sails were reefed close, and with everything
snug alow and aloft, the _Bertha Hamilton_ awaited the coming storm.
This wait was not long. A streak of white appeared along the sea line,
and this drove nearer with frightful rapidity. With a pandemonium of
sound, the tempest was upon them. The spars bent, groaning beneath the
strain, and the stays grew as taut as bowstrings. The schooner
careened until her copper sheathing showed red against the green and
white of the foaming waves.
The screaming of the wind was deafening. Hundreds of tons of water
crashed against the schooner's sides and poured over her stern. The
sea clawed at her hull as though to tear it in pieces. Tatters of foam
and spindrift swept over the deck and dashed as high as the topgallant
yards. The spray was blinding and hid one end of the craft from the
other.
Staggering under the repeated pounding of the tumbling, churning waves
that shook her from stem to stern, the _Bertha Hamilton_ plunged on,
her bow at times buried in the surges, her spars creaking and groaning,
but holding gallantly.
Ruth had been ordered by her father to go below, and he had advised
Parmalee and Drew to do the same. But the fascination of the storm had
been too much for the young men to resist, and they crouched in the
shelter of the lee side of the deckhouse, holding on tightly while they
watched the unchained fury of the waters. As for Tyke, he was in his
element, and nothing could have induced him to leave the deck.
For nearly twenty-four hours the storm continued, although its chief
fury was spent before the following morning. But the billows still ran
high, and it was evening before the topsails could be set. Later on,
as the wind subsided, the schooner, having shown her mettle, settled
once more into her stride and flew along like a ghost.
Then, for the first time since the storm had begun, the captain laid
aside his oil-skins and relaxed.
"That was a fierce blow," chuckled Tyke. "A little more and you might
have called it a hurricane."
"It was a teaser," asserted the captain. "Did you see how the old girl
came through it? Never lost a brace or started a seam. Hardly a drop
of water in the hold. Didn't I tell you she was a sweet sailer, either
in fair weather or foul? But the crew! Holy mackerel! what a gang of
lubbers."
"You're right to be proud of the craft," assented Tyke. "Has it taken
her much out of her course?"
"A bit to the north, but nothing more. For that matter, we've passed
Martinique. I figure it out that we may raise the hump-backed island
to-morrow, if we have luck."
A feeling of relief was experienced by the rest of the after-guard when
at last the danger was past, and it was a happy, if tired, party that
gathered about the captain's table that evening.
Supper over, they went on deck. The tropical night had fallen. There
was no moon, and a velvety blackness stretched about the ship on every
side, broken here and there by a faint phosphorescent gleam as a wave
reared and broke.
The schooner still rose and plunged from the aftermath of the storm,
and the slipperiness of the wet decks made the footing insecure. The
captain was fearful that Ruth might have a fall, and after a while
urged her to go below. Drew and Parmalee offered to accompany her, but
she was very tired after the excitement and sleeplessness of the
previous night, and excused herself on the plea that she thought she
would retire early.
Drew and Parmalee were standing near each other just abaft the
mizzenmast, while Tyke and the captain were aft, talking in low voices.
An unusually big wave struck the schooner a resounding slap on the
starboard quarter, causing her to lurch suddenly. Drew was thrown off
his balance. He tried to regain his footing, but the slippery deck was
treacherous and he fell heavily, striking his head on the corner of the
hatch cover.
How long he lay there he did not know, but it must have been for
several minutes, for when he recovered consciousness his clothes were
wet where they had absorbed the moisture from the deck. His head was
whirling, and he felt giddy and confused. He put his hand to his
forehead and felt a cut that was bleeding profusely.
Drew had a horror of scenes, and instead of reporting to Tyke or to the
captain, he resolved to go quietly to his room, bind up the wound as
well as he was able, and then get into his berth with the hope that a
good night's rest would put him in good shape again.
He wondered in a dazed way where Parmalee was. Why had not the other
young man sought to help him? He had been standing close by at the
time and could not have failed to notice the accident. Was it possible
that Parmalee still nourished a grudge, and had refused the slight
service that humanity should have dictated? No, Parmalee was not that
kind. There was no love lost between the two, but Drew refused to do
him that injustice.
But Drew's wound demanded attention, and he was too confused just then
to solve problems that could wait till later. So he picked his way
rather unsteadily to the companionway and went down.
He had to pass the captain's cabin on his way to his own room. As he
did so, the light streamed full upon him, and Ruth, who had not yet
gone to her own room, looked up from her sewing and saw him. She gave
a little scream and rushed toward him.
"Oh, Allen, Allen!" she cried, taking his face in her hands. "What has
happened? Your head is bleeding! Are you badly hurt?"
"Don't be frightened, Ruth," he returned. "I was stupid enough to fall
and cut my head a little. Bu it's nothing of any account. I'll bind
it up and I'll be as right as a trivet in the morning."
"_You'll_ bind it up!" she exclaimed. "You'll do nothing of the kind.
You'll come right in here and let me fix that poor head for you."
She drew him in and he went unresistingly, glad to yield to her gentle
tyranny.
Ruth found warm water, ointment, lint and bandages, and deftly bound up
the wound. She was a sailor's daughter, and an adept in first aid to
the wounded. Her soft hands touched his face and head, her eyes were
dewy with sympathy, and Drew found himself rejoicing at the accident
that had brought him this boon. She had never been so close to him
before, and he was sorry when the operation was ended.
"Through so soon?" he asked regretfully.
She laughed merrily. She could laugh now.
"I can take the bandage off and start all over again if you say so,"
she said mischievously.
"Do," he begged.
"Be sensible," she commanded. "Go at once now and get to bed.
Remember, you're my patient and must obey orders."
She shook her finger at him and tried to frown with portentous
severity. But the dancing eyes and mutinous dimple belied the frown.
"If you're my nurse, I'm going to be sick for a long time," he warned
her.
He tried to grasp the menacing finger, but she eluded him and playfully
drove him out of the room.
The sun was shining brightly through the porthole of his room when he
awoke the next morning, and on reaching for his watch he found that he
had waked later than usual. He dressed himself quickly. He felt a
little light-headed from the effect of his wound, but nothing more.
There was an exclamation of alarm from Tyke and the captain when they
saw his bandaged head.
"Only a cut," said Allen lightly. And he briefly narrated the details
of his misadventure.
"Lucky it was no worse," commented Tyke.
"Wasn't there any one near by at that time?" asked the captain.
"Why----" began Drew, and stopped. To say that Parmalee had been near
him would have been an indictment of the former for his seeming
heartlessness. He did not want to take advantage of his absent rival.
"If there had been, he'd have certainly picked me up," he evaded,
rather lamely.
Ruth greeted him in her usual gay and gracious manner, but he sought in
vain for any trace of the tenderness of the night before. She was on
her guard again.
"How is my patient this morning?" she smiled.
"Fine," he answered. "If you ever want any recommendation as a nurse
you can refer to me. Only I wouldn't give it," he added.
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because I want to be your only patient."
She hastened to get off perilous ground.
"I wonder what's keeping Mr. Parmalee this morning," she observed.
"He's even more of a sleepy head than you are."
"Tired out, I guess," conjectured the captain. "This storm has used us
all up pretty well."
Ruth summoned Namco and told him to knock on Mr. Parmalee's door. The
Japanese was back in a minute.
"Honorable gent no ansler," he reported.
"That's queer," remarked the captain. "I'll step there myself."
He returned promptly, looking very grave. "He isn't there," he
announced.
"Perhaps he's gone on deck to get an appetite for breakfast," suggested
Drew lightly.
"It's not alone that he's absent," said the captain in a worried tone.
"His bed hasn't been slept in!"
There was a chorus of startled exclamations. Drew and Tyke jumped to
their feet and Ruth lost her color.
"Oh, Daddy!" she cried, "it can't be that anything's happened to him?"
"Don't get excited, Ruth," said her father soothingly. "There may be
some explanation. I'll have the ship searched at once."
They all hurried on deck, and the captain summoned the mate and Mr.
Rogers. He told them what he feared and ordered that the ship be
searched thoroughly.
Rogers turned to obey, but the one-eyed mate, Cal Ditty, stopped him
with a gesture.
"No use," he said. "Mr. Parmalee ain't here."
"How do you know?" cried the captain.
"Because he was thrown overboard last night," was the sudden grim
answer.
Ruth gave a smothered shriek and the others gasped in amazement and
horror.
"What do you mean?" shouted the captain.
"Just what I said."
"Who threw him overboard?"
"He did," declared Ditty, pointing to Drew.
There was a moment of terrible silence as the others looked in the
direction of the mate's pointing finger.
Drew stood as though he were turned to stone. His tongue was
paralyzed. He saw consternation in the faces of Tyke and the captain.
He glimpsed the horror in the eyes of Ruth. Then, with a roar of rage,
he hurled himself at the one-eyed mate.
"You lying hound!" he shouted. "If crime's been done, _you've_
committed it."
Ditty slid back a step and met the younger man's charge with a coolness
that showed his taunt had been premeditated and that this result was
expected. As the enraged Drew closed in, the mate met him with a
frightful swing to the side of his bandaged head.
Drew's head rocked on his shoulders, and for a moment he was dazed.
Blood flowed from under the bandage, and in an instant his cheek and
neck were besmeared with it. The bucko, with the experience of long
years of rough fighting, landed a second blow before the confused Drew
could put up his defense again.
But that was the last blow Ditty did land. Drew's brain cleared
suddenly. Hot rage filled his heart. He forgot his surroundings. He
forgot that Ruth stood by to see his metamorphosis from a civilized man
into an uncivilized one. He forgot everything but the leering face of
the lying scoundrel before him, and he proceeded to change that face
into a bruised mask.
His skill and speed made the mate, with only brute force behind him,
seem like a child. Drew closed Ditty's remaining eye, split his upper
lip, puffed both his cheeks till his nose was scarcely a ridge between
them, and ended by landing a left hook on the point of the jaw that
knocked the mate down and out.
As Drew fell back from the fray, which had lasted only seconds, so
swift was the pace, Tyke seized him.
"You've done enough, boy! You've done enough, Allen!" he exclaimed.
"Leave life in the scoundrel so we can get the truth out of him."