The "Queen of the Waves"
INTO the fourteen years of her life Gipsy had certainly managed to
compress a greater variety of experiences than falls to the share of
most girls of her age. She had been a traveller from her earliest
babyhood, and was familiar with three continents. Her father was a
mining engineer, and in the course of his profession was obliged to
visit many out-of-the-way spots in various corners of the globe. As
Gipsy was all he had left to remind him of her dead mother, he never
could bear to be parted from her for long, and he would generally
contrive to put her to school at some place within tolerably easy reach
of the vicinity of his mining operations. In the holidays he would
sometimes take her up to camp, and Gipsy had spent long delightful weeks
in the hills, or the bush, sleeping under canvas, or in a log cabin or a
covered wagon, and living the life of the birds and the rabbits as
regards untrammelled freedom.
She had grown up a thorough little Colonial, self-dependent and
resourceful, able to catch her own horse and saddle it, to ride
barebacked on occasion, and to be prepared for the hundred and one
accidents and emergencies of bush life. She had taken a hand at camp
cookery, helped to head cattle, understood the making of "billy" tea,
and could find her own way where a town-bred girl would have been
hopelessly lost. The roving life had fostered her naturally enterprising
disposition; she loved change and variety and adventure, and in fact was
as thorough-hearted a young gipsy as any black-eyed Romany who sells
brooms in the wake of a caravan. At her various schools she had of
course learnt to submit to some kind of discipline, but her classmates
were Colonials, accustomed to far more freedom, than is accorded to
English girls, and the rules were not nearly so strict as in similar
establishments at home.
After a year spent in South Africa, Mr. Latimer was prepared to return
to America, and, wishing to do some business in London _en route_, had
booked passages for himself and Gipsy on the _Queen of the Waves_, a
steamer bound from Durban to Southampton. Gipsy was an excellent sailor,
and thoroughly enjoyed life at sea. She would cajole the captain to
allow her to walk upon the bridge, or peep inside the wheelhouse; or
persuade the second mate to take her to inspect the engines, or teach
her flag-signalling on the upper deck: and wheedled marvellous and
impossible stories of sharks and storms from the steward. The voyage had
passed quickly, and until the headlands of the north coast of Spain were
sighted had been quite uneventful.
"Only a few days more, and we shall be in port," said Mr. Latimer,
looking through his pocket telescope at the outline of Cape Finisterre.
"I think we may congratulate ourselves on the splendid weather we've had
the whole time."
"We mustn't boast too soon," returned Captain Smith. "There are some
ugly clouds gathering, and I shouldn't be surprised if we had a rough
night of it in the Bay. What would you say, Gipsy, if we had the fiddles
on the table at dinner?"
"Those queer racks to keep the plates from slipping about? Oh, I'd love
to see them on! I've never been in a big storm. The wind may just blow,
and blow, and blow to-night. The old sailor who sits on the top of the
North Pole can untie all the four knots in his handkerchief if he
likes."
"Don't wish for too much. One knot will be quite sufficient for us if
we're to get across the Bay in comfort. You'll tell a different tale by
to-morrow morning, I expect."
As the captain had prophesied, the dark clouds gathered quickly, and
brought both a squall and a shower. The vessel was entering the Bay of
Biscay, and that famous stretch of water was already beginning to
justify its bad reputation. Gipsy had the satisfaction, not only of
seeing the racks used at dinner, but of witnessing half the contents of
her plate whirled across the table by a sudden lurch of the ship. The
rolling was so violent that she could not cross the cabin without
holding tightly to solid objects of furniture.
"I'm afraid we're going to have a terrible tossing," said Mr. Latimer,
as he bade Gipsy good night. "Mind you don't get pitched out of your
bunk. We're having bad weather with a vengeance now."
"The old sailor on the North Pole has untied all four knots," said Gipsy
to herself, as she lay awake listening to the blowing of the gale. It
was indeed a fearful storm. The vessel was tossed about like a cork: one
moment her bows would be plumped deep in the water, and her stern lifted
in mid-air, with the whirling screw making a deafening noise overhead;
then all would be reversed, and the timbers seemed to shiver with the
effort the ship made to right herself.
Gipsy found it impossible to sleep when her heels were continually being
raised higher than her head, and sometimes a sudden roll would threaten
to fling her even over the high wooden side of her berth. Everything in
the cabin had fallen to the floor, and her boots, clothes, hairbrush,
books, and indeed all her possessions were chasing one another backwards
and forwards with each lurch of the vessel. The noise was terrific: the
howling of the wind and the roaring of the waves were augmented by the
creaking of timbers, the clanking of chains, and an occasional crashing
sound that appeared to come from below, where the cargo had broken
loose, and was being knocked about in the hold.
For an instant there seemed to be a lull; then, as if the storm had been
waiting to gather fresh fury, a tremendous sea swept down upon the ship,
dashing across the decks with a roar like thunder. Gipsy hid her face in
her pillow. It would pass, she supposed, as the other waves had passed,
and they would steam on as before. Then all at once she sat up in her
berth. The great throb, like a pulsing heart to the vessel, that had
never ceased day or night since they left Durban was suddenly still. The
engines had stopped working. A moment afterwards her father burst into
the cabin.
"Gipsy, child!" he exclaimed. "We must go on deck! Here, fling this coat
round you! No, no! You can't wait to dress! We've sprung a bad leak, and
the captain says we must take to the boats. Hold tight to my arm, and be
a brave girl!"
It was with the utmost difficulty that the pair made their way up the
lurching stairs on to the deck. Here the wind was furious, and would
have blown them overboard had they not clung to the railings for
support. In the fitful gleams of moonlight Gipsy could see towering
waves rise like great mountains, and fall against the ship. The sailors
were already lowering the boats, and she could hear the sound of the
captain's speaking-trumpet as he shouted his orders above the noise of
the storm. Were they indeed to trust themselves to the mercy of that
terrible sea? Gipsy watched with alarm as the first frail-looking boat
was successfully launched on the seething water.
"Have I time to fetch my papers?" asked Mr. Latimer, as the captain came
in their direction.
"No; only to save yourself and your child," was the hasty reply. "Come
at once; the vessel is filling fast, and may settle even before we can
get off her."
When Gipsy afterwards recalled the various events of that night, she
decided that the most dreadful moment of all was when, with a lifebelt
fastened round her waist, she was lowered over the ship's side. Both
the vessel and the lifeboat were so pitched about by the enormous waves
that it was a perilous passage; for a few seconds she swung in mid-air,
with only blinding foam and spray around her. Then there was a shout,
she was grasped by strong hands from below, and drawn down into a place
of comparative security. In another minute her father had followed her,
and was seated by her side. The captain waited till all the boats were
launched and he had seen the last of his crew off in safety, and he had
scarcely left the deck himself and taken his place in the lifeboat
before the doomed vessel heeled over, and with no further sign or
warning disappeared into the depths.
All night long, through the cold and darkness, the little party was
tossed upon the surface of the swirling waters; but towards dawn the
storm abated, and when day broke, the sea, though still running fast,
was sufficiently calm to enable the sailors to make some use of their
oars. They put up a signal of distress, and waited anxiously, hoping
that some passing vessel might notice them, and stop to pick them up.
Hour after hour went by. Cold, hungry, and drenched to the skin, Gipsy
tried to be brave, and to bear patiently what she knew must be endured
equally by all. The sun rose high, and shone down warmly upon them, but
there was still no sign of either land or a ship. It was long past noon
when one of the crew, with a jubilant shout, pointed eagerly to a tiny
black streak of smoke on the horizon, which they knew must issue from
the funnel of some distant steamer. With frantic energy they waved
jackets and handkerchiefs, to try to attract the attention of those on
board. Would they be seen, or would the ship pursue her course without
noticing the small speck far away on the water? There was a minute of
horrible uncertainty, then: "They've sighted us!" yelled the captain.
"They're turning her about and putting her back!"
"Thank God we're saved!" exclaimed Mr. Latimer.
The rest seemed like a dream to Gipsy. She could remember afterwards
that she was helped by two sailors up the companion way of a tall liner,
and that she saw a long row of excited passengers staring at her over
the railings; then all became a blur, and when she came to herself she
was lying on a couch in a strange cabin, with her father and a doctor
bending over her.
"She only fainted from exhaustion," she could hear the doctor saying.
"We'll soon have her all right again. Ah, here comes the beef tea! A few
hours of sound sleep will make all the difference. When she wakes,
you'll find she's almost herself again."
Five days later found Gipsy seated at breakfast with her father in the
coffee-room of a Liverpool hotel, none the worse for her adventures. The
liner that had picked up all the survivors of the ill-fated _Queen of
the Waves_ had been on her way to Liverpool, and Mr. Latimer decided to
make a brief stay there, to secure new clothes for himself and Gipsy,
and to gain time to make fresh plans for the future. Though he had
fortunately been able to bring a certain sum of money away with him, all
their other possessions had gone down with the wrecked vessel, and it
was this loss which he and Gipsy were discussing as they drank their
morning tea.
"It was distinctly awkward to be left with nothing in the world but a
nightdress that I could call my own!" laughed Gipsy. "Wasn't it funny on
the _Alexia_? People were ever so kind in lending me things, but they
didn't fit. Mrs. Hales' skirt swept the deck, and Mrs. Campbell's jacket
was miles too big for me. I must have looked an elegant object when we
reached the landing stage! I don't wonder you bundled me into a cab in a
hurry, and drove straight off to an hotel. Yes, it's decidedly
unpleasant to lose one's clothes."
"If it were only clothes we'd lost, Gipsy, I shouldn't mind, but it's a
far more serious affair than that. All my valuable papers are gone,
child! You don't realize yet what that means. It makes such an enormous
difference to my affairs that for the next few years it may entirely
alter the course of my life."
"What do you mean, Dad?" asked Gipsy quickly, for her father's tone was
grave.
"What I say. The loss of those papers will necessitate a complete change
of all my plans. Instead of our going on to America, I shall be obliged
to return to South Africa at once."
"More voyaging! All right, Dad; I'm game for another wreck, if you are!
It'll seem rather funny to go back to where we've just come from, won't
it?"
Mr. Latimer was silent for a moment or two.
"Gipsy!" he said at last, "I've got to break the news to you somehow.
I've decided not to take you back with me to the Cape. I want to go
up-country, into some rather wild places, places where you couldn't
possibly come to camp. You'd be far best at school here in England."
"Dad! Dad! You're never going to leave me behind!"
"Now be sensible, Gipsy! Remember all I've lost. Your passage would be a
quite unnecessary expense; schools are better, too, over here, and you'd
have more advantages in the way of education than in South Africa. It
can't be helped, and we must both try to make the best of it. I'll not
be gone long, I promise you that. Then I'll come back to England again
and fetch you. For goodness' sake don't make a scene!"
Gipsy blinked hard, and with a supreme effort contrived to master
herself. Her knockabout life had taught her self-control and sound
common sense in many respects, and she was old enough to appreciate the
expediency of the altered plans.
"What school am I to go to?" she asked rather chokily.
"I spoke to Captain Smith about it, and he recommended one at a place
called Greyfield. He said his niece used to be there once, and liked it.
I'm going to take you to-day. We must get the 11.40 train."
"So soon! Oh, Dad! couldn't we have just one more day together?"
"Impossible, Gipsy! I want to catch the mail steamer for Cape Town
to-morrow. This wreck has been a great disaster to us. But
there!--things might have been worse, and I suppose I shall manage to
pull my affairs round in course of time. It's no good crying over spilt
milk, is it? When one's castle comes crashing down about one's ears,
there's nothing to be done but to set one's teeth firmly, and try to
build it up again."
"If only I could help you, Dad! Couldn't I help the least little atom of
a scrap out there?" pleaded Gipsy wistfully.
"You'll help me best by stopping here in England, and making yourself as
happy as you can."
"All right! I'll try to be a Stoic! Only--we've never been six thousand
miles apart before, and--well, it will seem queer to be left all alone
in a country where I simply don't know one single soul."
It was owing to the course of events just narrated that Mr. Latimer,
obliged to choose a school in a hurry, had, on Captain Smith's
recommendation, selected Briarcroft Hall, and, taking Gipsy to
Greyfield, had arranged to leave her in Miss Poppleton's charge until
such time as he could come again and fetch her. How she got on in her
new surroundings, and how her independent Colonial notions contrasted
with more sober English ways, it is the purpose of this story to
chronicle.