A CATASTROPHE
"Oh!" was Peggy's only exclamation, and there was a shadow of
disappointment in her eyes.
"Come in, Peggy, and I'll read aloud," was Monty's cheerful greeting as
he stood before her.
"No, I must go," said Peggy, confusedly. "I thought you might be
nervous about the storm--and--"
"And you came to let me out?" Monty had never been so happy.
"Yes, and I don't care what the others say. I thought you were
suffering--" But at that moment the boat gave a lurch which threw her
across the threshold into Monty's arms. They crashed against the wall,
and he held her a moment and forgot the storm. When she drew away from
him she showed him the open door and freedom. She could not speak.
"Where are the others?" he asked, bracing himself in the doorway.
"Oh, Monty," she cried, "we must not go to them. They will think me a
traitor."
"Why were you a traitor, Peggy?" he demanded, turning toward her
suddenly.
"Oh--oh, because it seemed so cruel to keep you locked up through the
storm," she answered, blushing.
"And there was no other reason?" he persisted.
"Don't, please don't!" she cried piteously, and he misunderstood her
emotion. It was clear that she was merely sorry for him.
"Never mind, Peggy, it's all right. You stood by me and I'll stand by
you. Come on; we'll face the mob and I'll do the fighting."
Together they made their way into the presence of the mutineers, who
were crowded into the main cabin.
"Well, here's a conspiracy," cried Dan DeMille, but there was no anger
in his voice. "How did you escape? I was just thinking of unlocking
your door, Monty, but the key seemed to be missing."
Peggy displayed it triumphantly.
"By Jove," cried Dan. "This is rank treachery. Who was on guard?"
A steward rushing through the cabin at this moment in answer to frantic
calls from Bragdon furnished an eloquent reply to the question.
"It was simple," said Monty. "The guards deserted their post and left
the key behind."
"Then it is up to me to pay you a thousand dollars."
"Not at all," protested Monty, taken aback. "I did not escape of my own
accord. I had help. The money is yours. And now that I am free," he
added quietly, "let me say that this boat does not go to Boston."
"Just what I expected," cried Vanderpool.
"She's going straight to New York!" declared Monty. The words were
hardly uttered when a heavy sea sent him sprawling across the cabin,
and he concluded, "or to the bottom."
"Not so bad as that," said Captain Perry, whose entrance had been
somewhat hastened by the lurch of the boat. "But until this blows over
I must keep you below." He laughed, but he saw they were not deceived.
"The seas are pretty heavy and the decks are being holystoned for
nothing, but I wouldn't like to have any of you washed overboard by
mistake."
The hatches were battened down, and it was a sorry company that tried
to while away the evening in the main cabin. Monty's chafing about the
advantages of the North Cape over the stormy Atlantic was not
calculated to raise the drooping spirits, and it was very early when he
and his shattered guests turned in. There was little sleep on board the
"Flitter" that night. Even if it had been easy to forget the danger,
the creaking of the ship and the incessant roar of the water were
enough for wakefulness. With each lurch of the boat it seemed more
incredible that it could endure. It was such a mite of a thing to meet
so furious an attack. As it rose on the wave to pause in terror on its
crest before sinking shivering into the trough, it made the breath come
short and the heart stand still. Through the night the fragile little
craft fought its lonely way, bravely ignoring its own weakness and the
infinite strength of its enemy. To the captain, lashed to the bridge,
there were hours of grave anxiety--hours when he feared each wave as it
approached, and wondered what new damage it had done as it receded. As
the wind increased toward morning he felt a sickening certainty that
the brave little boat was beaten. Somehow she seemed to lose courage,
to waver a bit and almost give up the fight. He watched her miserably as
the dismal dawn came up out of the sea. Yet it was not until seven
o'clock that the crash came, which shook the passengers out of their
berths and filled them with shivering terror. The whirring of the
broken shaft seemed to consume the ship. In every cabin it spoke with
terrible vividness of disaster. The clamor of voices and the rush of
many feet, which followed, meant but one thing. Almost instantly the
machinery was stopped--an ominous silence in the midst of the dull roar
of the water and the cry of the wind.
It was a terrified crowd that quickly gathered in the main cabin, but
it was a brave one. There were no cries and few tears. They expected
anything and were ready for the worst, but they would not show the
white feather. It was Mrs. Dan who broke the tension. "I made sure of
my pearls," she said; "I thought they would be appreciated at the
bottom of the sea."
Brewster came in upon their laughter. "I like your nerve, people," he
exclaimed, "you are all right. It won't be so bad now. The wind has
dropped."
Long afterward when they talked the matter over, DeMille claimed that
the only thing that bothered him that night was the effort to decide
whether the club of which he and Monty were members would put in the
main hallway two black-bordered cards, each bearing a name, or only one
with both names. Mr. Valentine regretted that he had gone on for years
paying life insurance premiums when now his only relatives were on the
boat and would die with him.
The captain, looking pretty rocky after his twenty-four hour vigil,
summoned his chief. "We're in a bad hole, Mr. Brewster," he said when
they were alone, "and no mistake. A broken shaft and this weather make
a pretty poor combination."
"Is there no chance of making a port for repairs?"
"I don't see it, sir. It looks like a long pull."
"We are way off our course, I suppose?" and Monty's coolness won
Captain Perry's admiration.
"I can't tell just how much until I get the sun, but this wind is hell.
I suspect we've drifted pretty far."
"Come and get some coffee, captain. While the storm lasts the only
thing to do is to cheer up the women and trust to luck."
"You're the nerviest mate I ever shipped with, Mr. Brewster," and the
captain's hand gripped Monty's in a way that meant things. It was a
tribute he appreciated.
During the day Monty devoted himself to his guests, and at the first
sign of pensiveness he was ready with a jest or a story. But he did it
all with a tact that inspired the crowd as a whole with hope, and no
one suspected that he himself was not cheerful. For Peggy Gray there
was a special tenderness, and he made up his mind that if things should
go wrong he would tell her that he loved her.
"It could do no harm," he thought to himself, "and I want her to know."
Toward night the worst was over. The sea had gone down and the hatches
were opened for a while to admit air, though it was still too rough to
venture out. The next morning was bright and clear. When the company
gathered on deck the havoc created by the storm was apparent. Two of
the boats had been completely carried away and the launch was rendered
useless by a large hole in the stern.
"You don't mean to say that we will drift about until the repairs can
be made?" asked Mrs. Dan in alarm.
"We are three hundred miles off the course already," explained Monty,
"and it will be pretty slow traveling under sail."
It was decided to make for the Canary Islands, where repairs could be
made and the voyage resumed. But where the wind had raged a few days
before, it had now disappeared altogether, and for a week the "Flitter"
tossed about absolutely unable to make headway. The first of August had
arrived and Monty himself was beginning to be nervous. With the fatal
day not quite two months away, things began to look serious. Over one
hundred thousand dollars would remain after he had settled the expenses
of the cruise, and he was helplessly drifting in mid-ocean. Even if the
necessary repairs could be made promptly, it would take the "Flitter"
fourteen days to sail from the Canaries to New York. Figure as hard as
he could he saw no way out of the unfortunate situation. Two days more
elapsed and still no sign of a breeze. He made sure that September 23d
would find him still drifting and still in possession of one hundred
thousand superfluous dollars.
At the end of ten days the yacht had progressed but two hundred miles
and Monty was beginning to plan the rest of his existence on a capital
of $100,000. He had given up all hope of the Sedgwick legacy and was
trying to be resigned to his fate, when a tramp steamer was suddenly
sighted. Brewster ordered the man on watch to fly a flag of distress.
Then he reported to the captain and told what he had done. With a bound
the captain rushed on deck and tore the flag from the sailor's hand.
"That was my order," said Monty, nettled at the captain's manner.
"You want them to get a line on us and claim salvage, do you?"
"What do you mean?"
"If they get a line on us in response to that flag they will claim the
entire value of the ship as salvage. You want to spend another $200,000
on this boat?"
"I didn't understand," said Monty, sheepishly. "But for God's sake fix
it up somehow. Can't they tow us? I'll pay for it."
Communication was slow, but after an apparently endless amount of
signaling, the captain finally announced that the freight steamer was
bound for Southampton and would tow the "Flitter" to that point for a
price.
"Back to Southampton!" groaned Monty. "That means months before we get
back to New York."
"He says he can get us to Southampton in ten days," interrupted the
captain.
"I can do it, I can do it," he cried, to the consternation of his
guests, who wondered if his mind were affected. "If he'll land us in
Southampton by the 27th, I'll pay him up to one hundred thousand
dollars."