THE WRECK OF THE YACHT.
It is a dreadful thing to have the honeyed chalice dashed from one’s
lips just as he is about to drink the nectar.
I certainly never had such a rude shock in all my life as when that
terrific crash sent a shudder through the yacht, and every one knew
instinctively that the worst had happened.
This was the beginning of the end.
There could no longer be felt that free movement to tell us the vessel
was running before the gale or even rising with each billow.
Instead we experienced a peculiar shivering sensation over the whole
fabric, which was accentuated with the rush of each wave that beat up
against her.
Hildegarde had half started from her seat, as white as snow--if there
was terror in her azure eyes, it was mute.
Not so Diana, who shrieked as though crazed with fear; I could also
hear the voice of Gustavus amid the chaotic confusion, but whether he
were endeavoring to calm his frenzied wife, or had lost his own head in
the horror of the moment, it was impossible for me to guess.
I staggered to my feet.
The weight of monumental disaster appeared to be upon my shoulders.
Death was very near us all.
If the boat slipped off the rock upon which a giant billow had
mercilessly hurled her, the chances were she must sink immediately, for
from the horrible grinding noise below I must believe a hole had been
stove in her bottom large enough to overwhelm us.
On the other hand, if the force of the impact had been so terrific as
to plant the ill-fated yacht upon the reef so firmly that she could not
be washed over, then there was a chance of her holding together for
some hours--perhaps, Heaven alone knew, until daylight.
Between the bombardment of each wave we had a breathing spell, when
words shouted at the top of the voice could be heard.
I knew I must leave Hildegarde; it would only be for a brief time, but
there was no escaping my duty to those others who had stuck by their
posts with such faithful heroism.
First I sprang over to where many cork life-preservers were kept in a
rack especially prepared; Diana had monopolized the major portion of
these, without any regard for the rest of us--fright sees only personal
danger I am fain to believe--but luckily a couple remained, and these I
snatched up.
Back to Hildegarde I hurried.
She stood up and allowed me to fasten the cork and canvas affair under
her arms.
I felt her look of mute entreaty--so the gazelle might gaze upon its
executioner, but surely I had little of the power of life and death in
my hands, else gladly would I have exercised it in order to save us all.
One thing certain, I could not leave her without some expression of
hope.
Man is but an actor at best--the emotions sway him at their will.
For her sake, then, I crushed down the great fear that kept tugging at
my heart, and even attempted to look as though our situation did not
possess the horror of being face to face with doom.
“We are fast on a reef--we may stay here for hours, even until morning.
I do not believe the danger is imminent. Perhaps, God grant it, the
sea may go down as suddenly as it arose, and leave us here safe. At
the worst, I shall be with you. Be courageous--it will increase your
chances of safety. Do you understand, Hildegarde?”
Of course, I had to shout this.
She nodded her head.
I could see that she was a heroine, and even in that dreadful hour
my heart did her homage. Yes, I could understand why she had always
admired valor in man, why she had been so disappointed because in those
old days I refused to be a hero to please her.
Well, the time had come, and my hand was forced through sheer
necessity--I had proved that no coward blood ran in my veins, though
if we were doomed to die thus miserably, the advantage and triumph must
be short-lived.
There was eagerness in her look now, and I could almost declare I saw
the light of love there as she followed my every motion.
“I must leave you for a short time--it is necessary that I go on deck
to see what damage has been wrought--to confer with my poor fellows, if
they have not already been swept overboard,” I continued.
The wave of fear that passed over her white face was for me.
“You will be careful, Morgan,” I heard her say, as a brief lull came.
Her trembling hand was on my arm, her eyes looked into mine, and
if I had died for it the next moment, I could not have refused the
opportunity. Love laughs at storm and wreck, yes, often at grim death
itself.
So I snatched her to me--whether she resisted or not I can hardly say,
for I did not notice. I rained kisses upon her face, her hair, her
lips, and then releasing her sprang away.
When I glanced back I saw her standing there holding on to the table
and looking after me with an expression I could never forget.
As I passed the partly open door of Thorpe’s stateroom I believed it
my duty to say at least a few reassuring words, for they evidently
expected each minute to be their last, and looked to see the cruel sea
bursting in upon them, eager for its victims.
Diana was about exhausted, and so I found a chance to shout what had
happened, and how much of a chance we had.
Heaven knew it was slender enough in my mind, but for a little deceit,
a little of cheerfulness in a good cause, I might be forgiven.
Then I made for the deck.
It was a dreadful sight that met my eyes as I looked forth.
The night was not inky dark, as I had expected; even stars were to be
seen overhead when the storm-racked clouds parted here and there.
But the wind still howled, and the sea gave little promise of abating
its fury until morning.
Everywhere I looked there were the same tumbling, riotous waves,
curling and hissing; while the wind snatched away their foamy masses,
and hurled the spume through the air with all the stinging emphasis of
hail.
It was impossible to see any distance from the spot where we were
wedged upon the reef; consequently, although I might feel almost
positive that the land must lie at no great distance to leeward, mortal
eyes could not distinguish the outlines of that shore until morning
came, however wistfully they might be turned thither.
So far as I could tell, we were lodged securely enough upon the rocks,
and the chances of being washed off were slender, unless some tidal
wave, like the one that must have thrown us there, came along.
The question at issue was of another character, that affected our
future just as much--how long could the yacht stand this terrific
hammering from the billows that broke over her?
When she gave way it meant the end.
I had reason to rejoice over her unusual stability--she had been known
more as a sturdy sea craft than for any great speed, a vessel in which
a man might meet the vicissitudes of the ocean without more fear than
if abroad some monster Atlantic liner.
This quality must serve us now--indeed, our lives depended upon how
long the yacht could hold out against such constant battering.
Having comprehended our condition as well as such a hasty survey would
allow, my next thought was of my crew.
What had become of Robbins, Cummings and the rest? Were they forward
somewhere, awaiting the end, or had the monster already seized them in
his insatiable maw?
Even as I looked I saw a human figure stagger across the deck, coming
directly toward me; a wave flooded the vessel more or less, but when it
rolled away, amid the churn of yeasty foam, the figure was still there,
hanging to a rope.
Again he advanced, another wave broke, and this was so much heavier
than the first that I gave a faint cry of alarm, confident that its
tremendous force must have torn him loose from his moorings, and
carried him into the midst of that tumbling madness beyond.
But no, there the resolute fellow stood still, and with one more charge
he reached the spot where I awaited him.
It was Robbins.
Wet as he was, I threw my arms around my old friend and shipmate. The
presence of a man, and such a man, served to arouse new life.
Even the ceaseless howl of the storm seemed to lose some of its terror
when I found myself in contact with him, for the personality of a brave
man may be a tower of strength in cases of emergency.
Only by shouting at the top of our voices could we make ourselves heard
out there.
“This is awful,” I said.
“A bad job, Morgan.”
“There is little hope?”
“She may hold out--it is a chance; but the sea must go down very
slowly. Be prepared for the worst--it may mean every soul,” with a
quick look to leeward, as if calculating what a miserable showing the
stoutest man might have in that awful whirl.
“What of the men?” I asked.
“Hardly know--I saw two carried away at the time we struck.”
He did not tell me then that in endeavoring to save one of them
he came within an ace of also losing his hold; but such an act
was characteristic of the man, and he could not do less under any
conditions.
“Cumming?” I shouted, filled with apprehension lest he might have been
one of them.
“Is forward in the wheelhouse--I’m afraid he’s hurt by being thrown
down when we struck; but he’s a game one.”
“We must get him here; at any moment that wheelhouse may be carried
away. If there are others, tell them to come. It is a common danger we
all face, and let this be no time for class distinction. A man is only
a man when death hovers near.”
“I’ll go,” he said, readily enough.
Without another word he was about to leave me, when I caught his arm.
“What can we do with the women?”
“Nothing but put the cork belts on ’em, and ask them to pray for us. If
the vessel holds until morning we have a chance; if not--God receive
our souls.”
Evidently my friend did not believe there was any hope for the best of
us, once the yacht broke and hurled us into the clamorous sea; he was a
sailor who knew what frightful forces operate to strangle the boldest
swimmer when overwhelmed by waves that battle against each other to
heave and splash and whirl like the madness of Niagara’s rapids.