A NIGHT OF TERROR.
After all, I had not received much genuine encouragement from Mate
Robbins.
I knew his disposition of old, and had seen him make light of many a
danger that to me seemed fraught with gloom.
Apparently his nature had undergone somewhat of a change, or else the
situation was materially worse than anything in his past.
This latter, which seemed to be the truth, was rather appalling.
Still, I would not despair; I had found a new lease of life in the hope
that Hildegarde’s coming had aroused, and I would not give up until the
very last gasp.
When Robbins had made another successful passage across the deck,
thanks to the rope that had been stretched between cabin and
wheelhouse, I thought to go below again.
The charm of Hildegarde’s presence drew me.
I was determined not to leave her again, for should the worst come and
death claim us, it would make the crucial test less cruel if we could
die together.
That, I take it, is the true mission of love, to soothe, to protect, to
save, if possible; but should all these fail, to die for or with the
object of its soul’s worship.
Hildegarde was where I left her.
She had the child at her side, and was endeavoring to soothe her, more
by the caressing touch of her hands than by words.
Her eyes were eagerly fastened upon the cabin door, as if watching for
me, and I saw a look of confidence sweep over her face when I staggered
in.
My hour had come, but I could not glory in it with doom so near at hand.
Should we live, she could never again believe me lacking in those
sterling qualities that go to make the man--thank Heaven for that at
least! and if we died, she would with her last breath know that she was
in my arms, that I had battled against overwhelming forces to save her,
and failing that I chose to share her fate rather than try to win alone.
Sitting down near by I endeavored to tell her how matters stood, and
what a long night of horror it promised to be.
There was no chance for conversation; the terrible din that almost
deafened us prevented this, and kept alive our most excited fancies.
Again and again I feared the vessel was moving, sliding off the reef
into the vortex of waters; and it required a wonderful amount of
self-control to prevent my tell-tale face from communicating these
sudden shocks to the dear eyes that watched me so closely.
Presently Cummings came in.
The poor fellow had been hard hit--I could see that only his grit kept
him up.
I at once brought him a bottle of liquor in the hope that it might at
least prove a temporary stimulant and brace him up.
Between Cummings and myself there was a bond of unusual sympathy;
he mourned a good wife, while I, too, had up to now been bereft;
many times we had talked together, and he had in a measure been my
confidant, the only soul to whom I had poured out the bitterness of a
broken heart.
I saw him look curiously at Hildegarde, and while I waited on him, I
managed to put my mouth to his ear and say:
“She is my wife, my Hildegarde--Heaven has seen fit to unite us,
perhaps to let us atone for it all by dying together. It is well, my
friend.”
Then he squeezed my hand in his warm clasp.
“I rejoice with you, Morgan--perhaps the same kind Heaven means that
I shall no longer be separated from my angel Mary. I feel it somehow,
that she is nearer to me this night than since the hour she died in
these arms. It is as God wills--I am satisfied; without her, life is,
at best, a weariness to the flesh.”
Here spoke a stoic and a philosopher.
I confess I did not share in his views to any extent; why should I when
life meant such a glorious vision to me, with Hildegarde to crown it?
Robbins had gone back for the rest, carrying out my plan that we keep
together to meet the worst, whatever it might be.
I sincerely hoped he would be careful, for his loss would give me a
fearful shock, so much did I depend upon his presence, this man who had
met danger in every guise, and knew how to wring victory out of seeming
defeat.
Diana cried out no more.
She had exhausted herself.
When one faces such terrors the long-continued strain is apt to bring
about contempt from familiarity, or else utter silence from a lack of
ability to find further expression.
That was the poor girl’s case.
She had already experienced the terrors of a thousand deaths, and when
the real one came it would perhaps be less horrible than any of those
that only existed in the imagination.
Well, we were not yet at the last gasp, and who could say what good
luck might befall us?
I was bent on cheering them all I could.
The cook, poor fellow, had disappeared, nor did I ever learn what
became of him; perhaps he was one of those Robbins saw carried away.
I made my way to his galley, and seized upon such food as I could find
amid the fearful confusion existing there.
The “fiddles” were on the table, those storm signals meant to keep the
dishes from waltzing across the board and into one’s lap, and so I
managed to keep the viands I fetched in something like order.
If we were destined to watch through the long and dreadful night, we
might imbibe something of strength by satisfying the inner man, for I
have long since discovered that danger loses one-half its terror if
faced on a full stomach.
Another water-soaked sailor entered--one of the crew, whom I made at
home and forced to partake of food and drink.
By degrees they all assembled, seven, counting Robbins, who came last.
There were five missing, including the cook and poor Karl Wagner.
I shuddered when I thought of their fate, thought of that maddening
abyss of foamy waters; but why should I waste any pity on the poor
fellows when long ere now they were at peace, while we must face the
worst.
How the minutes dragged.
And each hour was an eternity.
I looked at my watch again and again--why, surely it must have stopped
since it could not be only five meager minutes since last I turned my
eyes on its face; but holding it to my ear I could hear its ticking
still.
Midnight!
The wild alarum outside kept up with a terrible monotony--it was like
the devil’s tattoo, sounding our fate in ominous drum beats.
How long could steel and wood stand such a ceaseless, terrific
hammering? Surely the little vessel must be slowly but positively going
to pieces. The agony of that night passes comprehension--if I were to
sit down and write volumes in the endeavor to tell all we suffered and
felt, the actual realization must beggar description.
One bright gleam came to me in the midst of all this horrid darkness;
strange how human emotions will rise to the front in spite of deadly
peril.
I saw Carmencita leave her mistress and make her way into the stateroom.
When she reappeared she carried the little satchel which I had rescued
with Hildegarde.
Though some distance away, trying to talk with Robbins and Cummings, I
could not withstand the fascination of watching what she did.
For I had a certain interest in that bag.
First the woman showed--she took out a little pouch made of soft
chamois skin--I knew it of old to contain her jewelry, numerous
valuable diamonds, and rubies, in rings or some such setting--I had
given them to her when we were traveling in Europe, after fortune had
poured her favors in my lap.
This small bag, no larger than my hand, she proceeded to tie upon her
person.
I did not wonder at all--if one dies, of course the valuables can do no
good; but hope ever reigns in the human soul, and should good fortune
bear one to safety, it is well to be provided with the sinews of war.
What next?
There was something more in that bag. Ah! she took it out, the photo
in the silver frame--I saw her look at it, then turn her eyes toward me.
I accepted that as an invitation, and, rising, came near, somehow I did
not seem to feel as though I were about to be pained--the old jealous
feeling was no longer alive since I had learned that my one time rival,
Hilary Tempest, was still gunning for an heiress.
It was a wretched picture of--myself.
No wonder I had failed to recognize it in the hurried glimpse obtained
at the time she so quickly stowed it away in the bag.
I suppose a man may even become so accustomed to seeing himself in his
glass, “bearded like the pard,” that he may scorn to recognize some
early likeness, with its smooth, boyish face, and this picture had been
taken before my marriage.
At least it was a pleasure for me to realize that she had carried it
with her wherever she went.
I had no objection to that fellow’s picture being set upon her dressing
table, where it must be the last thing her eyes would behold ere she
retired, and the first thing in the morning.
I deliberately took it up and tore it in pieces, despite her entreaty.
“That fellow was a boor, a fool--we’ll try and supplant him by one who
has come to his senses, if we are lucky enough to reach the land,” I
declared, and that ended the episode.
Time still dragged on.
Several of the men slept, but I could not have done so had my life
depended on it; the crisis of my existence was near at hand, and my
nerves were strung to a high tension in anticipation of the battle.
I think Diana was overcome by exhaustion, and had given way to
slumber, for I heard nothing from her for some hours.
Robbins occasionally went out.
I knew what was on his mind; ostensibly he meant to look at the
weather, but in reality it was his mission to discover just how the
doomed yacht was standing her pounding.
“Well?” I asked--it was almost four o’clock and in three hours we would
have daylight.
He shook his head.
“Storm increasing?” I demanded.
“No, going down slowly, but the hulk is almost ready to break in
two--wheelhouse already gone, decks washed clean, and even the bulwarks
broken into bits. The finish is in sight,” was what he said to me.
It gave me a numb feeling of pain.
How eagerly I prayed for delay--at least until dawn, for it is so much
easier to face danger when one can distinguish its terrors, perhaps see
the shore, to reach which every nerve must be strained.
Every time he went out after that I anxiously awaited his return.
Five, six o’clock--would it hold until daylight?
Hildegarde guessed how matters stood, and she sat there smiling at
me--God bless her!--as much as to say she had no fear; but I knew it
was done to encourage me, and that her poor little heart was quivering
with womanly fright.
Then came the summons to the fray--Robbins, with a firm look upon his
face, calling:
“Every one on deck! the day has come and it is dangerous to remain
below. She may break in two at any moment. On deck all, I say!”