At the date of this story the discharging of a cargo was a much more
leisurely operation than it is at the present day; and Bob therefore had
several opportunities of taking a run ashore and looking round the town
and suburbs of Sydney. The passengers--such of them, that is, as were
residents in or near Sydney--had one and all given Bob most pressing
invitations to visit them whenever he could obtain leave; and on the day
but one following the arrival of the ship, a very prettily-worded and
pressing little note had come to him from Blanche Lascelles to say that
the friends with whom she and Violet were staying at Cookstown would be
delighted to make his acquaintance; so that Bob was never at a loss for
a place whither to direct his steps whenever he could get ashore. He
consequently managed to see a good deal of the place, and thoroughly
enjoyed the seven weeks during which the _Galatea_ lay in Sydney
harbour.
The outward cargo discharged, the homeward freight of wool began to come
down, and the stevedores were kept busy all day long screwing it into as
small a compass as possible in the hold.
Meanwhile Captain Staunton was in great tribulation. The gold-fever was
then at its height in Australia. The precious metal had been discovered
some years before, but about a month previous to the arrival of the
_Galatea_ in Sydney, news had come down the country of the discovery of
a new auriferous region, the richness and extent of which was said to be
something past belief. The result of this rumour was that every idle
loafer who arrived in an Australian port made it his first business to
desert from his ship and start hot-foot for the gold-fields. If the
matter had ended here the shipmasters would have had cause to
congratulate themselves rather than the reverse, but unfortunately for
them it was not so. The gold-fever had stricken _everybody_--merchants
even, mechanics, clerks, all in fact but the few cool hands who realised
that by remaining in the half-deserted towns they were _sure_ of making
that fortune the winning of which at the diggings was problematical; and
one consequence of this was that when seamen deserted a ship no one
could be found to take their places; and Captain Staunton could stand on
his own poop and count at least fifty vessels whose cargoes were on
board, hatches battened down, and everything ready for sea; but there
they lay, unable to sail for want of a crew to man them.
Now the _Galatea_ was not in quite so bad a plight as this; for when the
last bale of wool had been screwed in and the hatches put on, there
still remained in her forecastle eight good men and true--six belonging
to the port watch and two to the starboard--who had resisted all the
alluring dreams of fortunes to be made in a day at the diggings. The
other eight had deserted in a body one Sunday, very cleverly eluding the
police, whose chief duty it then was to prevent such occurrences. The
second mate and the cook were also missing. Hence Captain Staunton's
anxiety. On the one hand, he was averse to the extreme step of taking
his ship to sea half-manned; and on the other, he was haunted by the
constant dread of losing still more of his men if he remained in port
until he had made up his complement.
At length, however, to his infinite relief, he chanced upon half a dozen
men who, in consideration of the payment of fabulous wages, undertook to
ship for the homeward passage. They were as lawless and ruffianly-
looking a set of fellows as one need ever care to encounter; but, as Mr
Bowles observed, they could at least pull and haul, and once at sea and
away from the demoralising influence of the grog-shops, who knew but
they might settle down into steady serviceable hands. At all events
they would not want for a good example on the part of their shipmates,
the remnant of the original crew, for these were without exception
thoroughly steady, reliable men, although one of them was Boyd, the man
who had been shot by Mr Carter for refusal to obey orders.
These men secured, Captain Staunton resolved to avoid all further risk
by sailing at once. It was true that the ship would be still rather
short-handed--which was all the more to be regretted inasmuch as she was
in light trim and a trifle crank--but he reflected that he might lie in
port for the next six months without securing another man; and it
therefore seemed to him best under the circumstances to make shift with
what he had, and get away to sea forthwith. Hasty summonses were
accordingly despatched to the few passengers who had taken berths; and
these all coming on board next day, the anchor was hove up, and evening
saw the _Galatea_ standing off the land and heading to the eastward,
with every sail set and dragging at her like a cart-horse.
The passengers were this time only six in number, namely, Blanche and
Violet, Messrs. Dale, Fortescue, and Brook, who had lost the contract
which they went out in the hope of securing, entirely through the
obstinacy of the head of the firm, and a Mr Evelin, formerly a captain
in the Royal Engineers, who had thrown up his commission to go gold-
digging, and who, thanks to his technical training, supplemented by
arduous special study of geology, had been successful to an
extraordinary degree, and was now returning home master of a handsome
fortune.
Launcelot, or Lance Evelin, was a tall handsome man of about thirty-
five, with the physique of a Hercules, the result of some six months'
toil and exposure at the diggings, deeply bronzed, clear cut features,
half concealed by a heavy moustache and beard of a golden chestnut hue,
clear grey eyes, and wavy hair a shade darker than the beard. He proved
an immense acquisition to the ladies, who would otherwise have been
almost entirely dependent on Rex Fortescue for amusement; Mr Dale being
altogether too savage at his recent failure to make an agreeable
associate, which indeed he never was, even at the best of times; while
Brook, willing though he was to do his best, was too pugnacious, ill-
bred, and illiterate to be more than just barely tolerated. Rex
Fortescue and Violet, it was perfectly clear, were daily sinking deeper
into that condition wherein people are conscious of the existence of two
individuals only--their two selves--in the whole world; so that poor
little Blanche would soon have found herself quite out in the cold had
not Mr Evelin taken compassion upon her and devoted himself to her
amusement. He knew London well; and, on comparing notes, it soon
transpired that he knew several people with whom Blanche was also
acquainted; so they got on capitally together, especially as Lance
possessed in an eminent degree the art of making his conversation
interesting. Later on, too, when he had thawed a little, he would
relate story after story of his adventures at the gold-fields, some of
which convulsed his companion with laughter, while others made her
shudder and nestle unconsciously a little closer to the narrator.
But notwithstanding this Blanche still found time to chat occasionally
with Bob. The lad was very fond of steering, indeed he had won the
reputation of being the finest helmsman in the ship, and he was always
ready to take a "trick" at the wheel during either of the dog-watches,
and so give the rightful helmsman a chance to stay "for'ard" and amuse
himself with his shipmates; and when this was the case Blanche generally
used to seat herself in a deck-chair near him, and chatter away upon any
topic which came uppermost.
She had been thus amusing herself one evening when, as eight bells
struck and Bob walked forward on being relieved from the wheel, Lance
Evelin, who had been smoking his cigar on the break of the poop, and
watching from a distance the "carryings-on" of the men upon the
forecastle, sauntered to her side and opened conversation with the
remark--
"How singularly exact a repetition of the same features you will observe
in some families; doubtless you have often noticed it, Miss Lascelles?
Now, there is that fine young fellow Legerton, _anyone_ would recognise
him as a connection of yours, and I have often been on the point of
asking you in what manner you are related to each, other. Am I
unpardonably inquisitive?"
"By no means, Mr Evelin. It is a question easily answered; I am not
aware that we are related in the most remote degree."
"You are _not_?" he exclaimed in a tone of the greatest surprise. "I am
sure I most earnestly beg your pardon; how very stupid of me to make
such a mistake; but the resemblance between you two is so very striking
that, although no one has ever said a word to lead me to such a
conclusion, I have never doubted, from the moment I came on board, that
you must be closely related. I am sure I am quite at a loss for words
wherewith to express my apologies."
"No apology is necessary, I assure you, Mr Evelin," returned Blanche.
"On the contrary, I feel rather flattered by your supposition, for I
greatly admire Robert's many sterling qualities. And what a bold brave
fellow he is too, notwithstanding his quiet unassuming manner. If you
feel any curiosity as to his history Captain Staunton will be only too
happy to furnish you with full particulars; he can enlighten you far
better than I can, and the story is worth listening to; the manner of
their first acquaintance especially is a romance in itself."
Lance's curiosity was aroused; but, instead of referring to the skipper,
he preferred to hear the story from Blanche's own pretty lips; and
sinking down into a deck-chair beside her he listened with interest to
all that the fair girl could tell him respecting Bob.
"Poor fellow!" he remarked when Blanche had finished her story, "and he
has never been able to find a clue to his parentage! It is very
singular; there surely _must_ be relatives of his still in existence
somewhere. Did the fishermen who saved his life never make any
inquiries?"
"No, it appears not," answered Blanche. "According to Robert's own
account, though he always speaks with the greatest respect and affection
of the old man who adopted him, the people among whom he was thrown are
very simple and ignorant of everything outside the pale of their own
calling, and it would seem that they really did not know how to set
about instituting an inquiry."
"Well, what you have told me has interested me so much, and the lad
himself has made such a favourable impression upon me, that I believe I
shall really feel more than half-inclined to undertake the somewhat
Quixotic task of seeking his relatives myself when we reach England.
Who knows but that it might be my good fortune to gladden the heart of a
father or mother whose life has been embittered for years by the loss of
perhaps an only son?" half laughingly remarked Lance.
"Ah! do not jest upon such a subject," exclaimed Blanche. "You
evidently have not the least idea what a complete blight such a loss may
cast upon a parent's life. I have. There is my poor uncle, Sir
Richard, who has never held up his head since he lost his wife and child
at sea. My mother has told me that before his terrible bereavement
there was not a more genial light-hearted happy man living than uncle
Dick; but he has never been known to smile since the dreadful news first
reached him; and though he has always struggled bravely against his
great sorrow, I feel sure he looks forward eagerly to the time when he
shall be called away to rejoin his wife and his baby boy."
"How very sad!" remarked Lance in sympathetic tones. "I am slightly
acquainted with Sir Richard Lascelles, that is to say, I have met him
once or twice, and I have often wondered what great trouble it could be
that seemed to be pressing so heavily upon him. If it would not
distress you too much I should like to hear how he met with his terrible
loss."
"I have no objection to tell you," answered Blanche. "It occurred very
shortly after I was born. My uncle was then a younger son, with very
little expectation of ever succeeding to the baronetcy, for there were
two brothers older than himself, and he had a captain's commission in
the army. He had married a lady of whom, because she happened to have
no money, his father strongly disapproved, and a serious quarrel between
father and son was the consequence.
"Shortly after his marriage my uncle's regiment was ordered off to North
America, and uncle Dick naturally took his wife with him. The regiment
was moved about from place to place, and finally, when my uncle had been
married about three years, was broken up into detachments; that which he
commanded being sent, in consequence of some trouble with the Indians,
to an important military outpost at a considerable distance up the
Ottawa River.
"Of course it was quite impossible for my aunt to accompany her husband
into the wilds, especially as she was then the mother of a son some
eighteen months old, and the question which arose was, What was she to
do?
"It was at first proposed that she should establish herself in Montreal
until the return of the expedition; but a letter reaching her just at
that time stating that her mother's health was failing, it was hastily
decided that my aunt should return to England, taking of course her
little son with her.
"Everything had to be done in a great hurry, and my uncle had barely
time to pack his wife's boxes and see her safely _en route_ for Montreal
before he set out with his detachment for the post to which he had been
ordered.
"My aunt arrived safely at Montreal, but failing to find there a ship
ready to sail for England, went on to Quebec, which she reached just in
time to embark for London. She had written to my uncle from Montreal,
and she wrote again from Quebec, the letter reaching her husband's hands
as he was on the point of marching out of the fort on a night expedition
against a band of hostile Indians who had been discovered in the
neighbourhood.
"An engagement took place, in which my uncle was desperately wounded and
narrowly escaped falling into the hands of the Indians. His men
succeeded, however, in saving him and making good their own retreat into
the fort, where poor uncle Dick lay hovering for weeks between life and
death. After a long and weary struggle his splendid constitution
triumphed; and with the return of consciousness came anxious thoughts
respecting his wife and child. He remembered the letter which had been
handed to him as he marched out upon that ill-starred expedition, the
letter which he had never had an opportunity to read, and he made eager
inquiries respecting it. It was found in an inner breast-pocket of his
uniform coat, but it had been so thoroughly saturated with his own
blood, poor fellow, that it was practically undecipherable; by careful
soaking and washing he at last succeeded in ascertaining that my aunt
and her baby had actually sailed from Quebec, but on what date or in
what ship it was quite impossible to learn. And that was the last news
he ever heard of them."
"How very dreadful!" murmured Lance. "Of course he made every possible
inquiry respecting their fate?"
"Not immediately," answered Blanche. "He waited patiently for news of
my aunt's arrival in England; but as mail after mail came without
bringing him any intelligence he grew uneasy, and finally wrote to his
mother-in-law asking an explanation of the unaccountable silence. This
letter remained unanswered; but just when his uneasiness had increased
to such a pitch that he had determined to apply for leave of absence in
order to proceed to England, it was returned to him through the dead-
letter office. This decided him at once. He applied for leave and it
was refused. He then threw up his commission, and at once proceeded to
England; the fearful conviction growing upon him that something dreadful
had happened. He stopped at Quebec for a fortnight on his way home,
making inquiry at all the ship-owners' and brokers' offices in the
place, endeavouring to learn the name of the ship in which his wife had
been a passenger; but, strange to say, he could gain no trace of them.
Whether it was that the people of whom he inquired were careless and
indifferent, or whether it was that passenger-lists were not at that
time regularly kept as they now are, it is of course impossible to say,
but it is a fact that he was compelled to leave America without the
smallest scrap of information respecting his dear ones beyond that
contained in the blood-stained letter.
"On his arrival in England he proceeded direct to his mother-in-law's
former residence, to find it, as he feared, in the possession of
strangers. He then, with considerable difficulty, hunted up the lawyer
who had managed Mrs Percival's (his mother-in-law's) money matters, and
learned from him that the old lady had died some seven months before.
And in reply to his further inquiries he was informed that his wife and
child had never reached Mrs Percival's home. The old lady had
certainly expected them, the lawyer said, but she had never received
more than one letter which my uncle had hurriedly written mentioning the
fact of their departure for England.
"Poor uncle Dick now found himself completely at a loss; so, as the best
plan he could think of, he put the affair into his lawyer's hands,
handing him also the blood-stained letter. This letter was soon
afterwards intrusted to a chemist, who, in attempting to cleanse it,
destroyed it altogether, and thus passed away the only clue which my
uncle possessed. It is now rather more than sixteen years since my aunt
sailed from Quebec, and poor uncle Dick has never succeeded in gaining a
trace of her fate to this day."
"Poor fellow!" ejaculated Lance, in an absent sort of way. "I'm sure I
sincerely pity and sympathise with him. What! going below already?
Then allow me to conduct you as far as the companion."
Blanche bade Lance good-night at the head of the saloon staircase; he
raised his smoking-cap, and then returning sauntered up and down the
poop for over an hour, with his hands behind him, and his eyes fixed on
the deck, apparently in a brown study.
A few days after the narration of Blanche's story, Lance Evelin,
noticing Bob at the wheel, strolled up to him and asked him for his
history.
"Miss Lascelles gave me the outlines of it a night or two ago, and it
struck me as so peculiar and interesting that I should like to hear full
particulars," he explained, puffing lazily at his cigar meanwhile.
"Where would you like me to begin, Mr Evelin?" asked Bob.
"At the beginning of course, my dear fellow," laughingly answered Lance.
"I want to know _everything_. Do you remember being found on board the
wreck?"
"Sometimes I think I do; and at other times I think it must be only the
recollection of a dream which has produced a more than usually strong
impression upon me," answered Bob. "Now and then--perhaps not more than
half a dozen times altogether--when I have been lying half asleep and
half awake, a confused and indistinct idea presents itself of a ship's
cabin seen through a half-opened state-room door, with a lamp swinging
violently to and fro; of a woman's face, beautiful as--oh! I cannot
describe it; something like Miss Dudley's, only still more beautiful, if
you can imagine such a thing. Then the dream, or whatever it is, gets
still more confused; I seem to be in cold and wet and darkness, and I
fancy I hear a sound like men shouting, mingled with the roar of the
wind and the rush of the sea; then--then--I seem to have been kissed--
yes--and the beautiful face seems to be bending over me again, but I am
in the light and the warmth once more; and--then it all passes away; and
if I try to carry my thoughts back to the first circumstance which I can
distinctly remember, I see myself again with other boys, paddling about
barefoot on the shore at Brightlingsea."
"Ah!" ejaculated Lance, contemplatively. "I have no doubt but that--if
the truth could be arrived at, which of course it never can be in this
world--this dream, or whatever you like to call it, is the faint
recollection which still remains impressed on your memory of some of the
incidents connected with the wreck of your ship--what was her name, by
the by? The _Lightning_, of London! Um; that's not a very difficult
name to remember, at all events. And the beautiful face of which you
spoke--is your impression of it clear enough to enable you to describe
it? Or, supposing it possible for you to see a picture of the original,
do you think you would recognise it?--Do you mind my asking these
questions? No; that's all right; but if it is in the least painful to
you, I will not put them. You see, Legerton, I have very little doubt
that face was the face of your mother; and I confess I feel a trifle
curious to know how far back a man can carry his remembrance of his
mother. I cannot remember anything about mine previous to my fourth
birthday."
"Well," answered Bob, "I can scarcely remember the face clearly enough
to describe it. All I can say about it is that it was very beautiful,
with tender loving eyes and dark hair, which I am almost sure must have
been worn in curls; but I think that if ever I saw a really good picture
of it I should recognise it directly."
"You would, eh?" said Lance. "Very well, now go ahead--if you are not
tired of talking--and tell me about the old fellow who found you, and
the sort of life you led as a fisherman, and so on; it is all very
interesting, I assure you; quite as much so as any of the novels in the
saloon book-case."
Bob accordingly went ahead, his companion occasionally interrupting him
with a question; and when the story was finished Lance rose and
stretched himself, saying as he turned to walk away--
"Thank you very much. Your story is so interesting that I think I shall
make a few notes of it for the benefit of a literary friend of mine; so
if you meet with it in print some day you must not be very much
surprised."
And as Bob saw him shortly afterwards, note-book in hand; and as this
story actually _is_ in print, it is to be presumed that Mr Lance Evelin
really carried out his expressed intention.
On the day following this conversation the wind, which had been blowing
steadily from the westward for some time, suddenly dropped; and by four
bells in the afternoon watch it had fallen to a dead calm; the ship
rolling like a log on the heavy swell. Not the faintest trace of cloud
could be discerned in the stupendous vault which sprang in delicate
carnation and primrose tints from the encircling horizon, passing
through a multitude of subtle gradations of colour until it became at
the zenith a broad expanse of clearest purest deepest blue. The
atmosphere was transparent to an almost extraordinary degree, the slow-
moving masses of swell rising sharply outlined to the very verge of the
horizon, while the mast-heads of a far-distant ship stood out clear and
well-defined, like two minute and delicately drawn thin lines on the
pale primrose background of the sky.
Suddenly, however, a curious phenomenon occurred. A subtle but distinct
and instantaneous change of colour took place, which made it seem as
though the spectators were regarding the scene through tinted glass.
All the brilliance and purity and beauty of the various hues had died
out. The dazzling ultramarine of the zenith became indigo; the clear
transparent hues of the horizon thickened and deepened to a leaden-grey;
the sun gleamed aloft pallid and rayless, like a ghost of its former
self; and the ocean, black and turbid, heaved restlessly, writhing as if
in torture. An intense and unnatural silence, too, seemed suddenly to
have fallen upon nature, enwrapping the scene as with a mantle, a
silence in which the flap of the canvas, the pattering of the reef-
points, the _cheep_ of blocks, and the occasional clank of the rudder-
chains, fell upon the ear with a sharpness which was positively painful.
The occupants of the _Galatea's_ deck glanced from one to another,
dismayed; Violet Dudley's startled whisper to Rex Fortescue of "What
dreadful thing is about to happen?" being but the utterance of the
thought which flashed through every brain.
Captain Staunton, turning to Mr Bowles, who was standing beside him, in
low tones requested that trusty officer to keep a look-out for a minute
or two; and then hurried down to the saloon to consult his barometer.
He returned to the deck in less than a minute, his face wearing a look
of anxiety and concern which was very rarely to be seen there.
"_The glass has fallen a full inch within the last half-hour_" he
muttered, as he rejoined the mate.
Then in a louder tone of voice he added, "Call all hands, Mr Bowles, if
you please, and shorten sail at once. Stow everything except the lower
fore and main topsails and the fore-topmast stay-sail; I think we are
going to have a change of weather."
The seamen were as much startled as the occupants of the poop, by the
preternatural change in the aspect of the sky; and they sprang to their
posts with all the alacrity of men who anticipate a deadly struggle, and
believe they may have none too much time for preparation. The work of
shortening sail proceeded rapidly but methodically and in an orderly
manner--Captain Staunton had never before in all his experience
witnessed anything quite like what was now passing around him, and was
oppressed by an undefined foreboding of some terrible catastrophe; but
he was too brave a man and too thorough a seaman to allow aught of this
to appear in either countenance, voice, or manner; nor would he allow
the work to be hurried through with inconsiderate haste; he saw that the
men were startled; and it rested with him to steady them, restore their
confidence, and so prepare them for the coming struggle, whatever its
nature might be.
Meanwhile, the atmospheric phenomena were momentarily assuming a more
and more portentous aspect. The sky deepened in tint from indigo to a
purple black; the sun lost its pallid sickly gleam and hung in the sable
heavens a lurid blood-red ball until it became obscured by heavy masses
of dusky vapour which had gathered imperceptibly in the firmament, and
now seemed to be settling slowly down upon the ship's mast-heads,
rolling and writhing like huge tortured serpents, meanwhile. The
silence--broken though it was by the sounds of preparation on board--
grew even more oppressively intense and death-like than before; and
darkness now came to add new terrors to the scene; not the wholesome
solemn darkness of nightfall, but a weird unearthly gloom which was
neither night nor day, a gloom which descended and encompassed them
stealthily and menacingly, contracting the horizon until nothing could
be seen further than half a mile from the ship, and which still seemed
to be saturated with a pale spectral shimmering light, in the which men
looked in each other's eyes like reanimated corpses. The ocean
presented an aspect no less appalling; at one moment black as the waters
of the Styx, and indistinguishable beyond the distance of a cable's
length, and anon gleaming into view to the very verge of the horizon, a
palpitating sheet of greenish ghastly phosphorescent light.
The canvas was stowed, down to the lower fore and main topsail and the
fore-topmast stay-sail, and the men were about to hurry down from aloft
when Captain Staunton stopped them.
"Clew up and stow the lower topsails as well," he shouted; adding in an
undertone to Mr Bowles, "I don't know _what_ to expect; but it
threatens to be something terrible; and the less canvas we show to it
the better. The stay-sail will be quite as much as we shall want, I
expect."
The topsails were stowed, and the men came down on deck again, evidently
glad to find themselves there once more, and huddling together on the
forecastle like frightened sheep.
The passengers were clustered together on the poop, standing in a group
somewhat apart from the skipper and the mate, awaiting pale and silent
the _denouement_. Bob, who had been aloft helping to stow the mizen
canvas, stepped up to them as he swung himself out of the rigging, and,
addressing himself more particularly to Violet and Blanche, recommended
them to go below at once.
"These warnings," said he, "are not for nothing. The precautions which
Captain Staunton has taken show clearly enough that he expects something
quite out of the common; and the change is likely enough to come upon us
suddenly, bringing perhaps some of our top-hamper about our ears; so, if
you ladies will be advised, I would recommend you to go below where you
will certainly be in much less danger."
Blanche and Violet looked at each other inquiringly. "_I_ shall remain
here," said Violet, unconsciously tightening her hold upon Rex
Fortescue's arm as she spoke. "Whatever happens, I would very much
rather be here, where I can see the full extent of the danger, than pent
up in a cabin picturing to myself I know not what horrors."
Blanche expressed the same determination; but Mr Dale hurried at once
to the companion, loudly lamenting that he had ever intrusted his
precious self to the `beastly treacherous sea!'
His remarks attracted Captain Staunton's attention to the party; and he
at once stepped hurriedly toward them exclaiming, "Good heavens, ladies
and gentlemen! let me beg you to go below at once; I had no idea you
were here. The saloon is the safest place for you all at a time like
this; you will be out of harm's way there, while here--"
"Look out!" shouted Mr Bowles. "Here it comes with a vengeance. Take
care of yourselves, everybody."
The gloom had visibly deepened, until it became difficult for those
grouped together on the poop to distinguish each other's features, and a
low deep humming sound was now audible, which increased in volume with
startling rapidity.
"Go below all of you, I beg," repeated Captain Staunton in anxious
tones, "and be as quick as you can about it, please. What is the
matter, Mr Dale?" as that individual stood a few steps down the
staircase, grasping the handrail on each side, neither descending
himself nor allowing anyone else to do so.
"My book," exclaimed Dale; "I left a book on one of the hen-coops,
and--"
His further remarks were drowned in the deafening din of the tempest,
which at this moment swooped down upon the ship with indescribable fury,
striking her full upon her starboard broadside, and hurling her over in
an instant on her beam-ends. The group gathered about the companion-way
made an instinctive effort to save themselves, Rex Fortescue flinging
his arm about Violet Dudley's waist and dragging her with him to the
mizen-mast, where he hung on desperately to a belaying-pin. Brook
nimbly scrambled upon the upturned weather side of the companion.
Evelin, exasperated by Mr Dale's ill-timed anxiety about his book, had
stepped inside the companion-way and down a stair or two to summarily
remove the obstructor, and the two were flung together to the bottom of
the staircase. Blanche, left thus without a protector, clung
convulsively for a moment to one of the open doors of the companion; but
her strength failing her, she let go and fell backwards with a shriek
into the water which foamed hungrily up over the lee rail.
Bob, who had made a spring for the weather mizen rigging, was just
passing a turn or two of a rope round his body when, happening to turn
his head, he saw Blanche fall. To cast himself adrift and spring
headlong after her was the work of an instant, and he succeeded in
grasping her dress just in the nick of time, for in another instant the
ship would have driven over her, and Blanche's fate would have been
sealed. As it was, they both had a very narrow escape, for Bob in his
haste had omitted to take a rope's-end with him, and had consequently no
means of returning inboard, or rather, for the lee side of the deck was
buried in the water, of regaining a place of safety. In this emergency
Brook, who was a witness of the scene, acted in a very prompt and
creditable manner. The rope, by which Bob had been in the act of
securing himself, streamed out in the wind in such a way as to come
within Brook's reach, and by its aid he at once drew himself up to
windward, and, climbing out on to the weather side of the ship,
dexterously dropped from thence a coiled-up rope's-end, which he had
taken off a belaying-pin, directly down upon Bob's head. Bob at once
grasped the rope with his disengaged hand, and with a rapid twist threw
two or three turns round his arm, whereupon Brook, exerting all his
strength, drew his prizes steadily up the steeply inclined deck until
they were able to scramble into the place he had vacated upon the
companion.