THE LOTTERY
Just as the spin of a coin may mean loss or gain in some trumpery
dispute or game of the hour, in like manner, apparently, are the graver
issues of life or death determined at times. It is not so, we know.
Behind the triviality on which men fasten with amazement as the
governing factor in events there lies an inscrutable purpose. Yet, to
those watching the destruction of the splendid vessel, there was little
evidence of other than a blind fury in the fashion of her undoing.
The hoarse words had scarce left Brand's lips before a third wave,
higher and more truculent than its predecessors, sprang right over the
lost ship and smothered her in an avalanche of water. No doubt this
monster swept away some of the officers and crew. It was impossible to
be certain of aught save the one thing--that the steamer would surely
break up before their eyes. The wind, now blowing in fierce gusts, the
sea, rising each minute, the clouds of spray chasing each other in eerie
flights through space, the grinding, incessant, utterly overwhelming
noise of the reef, made all sights and sounds indefinite, nebulous,
almost fantastic.
But when the giant billow receded, leaving the ship like a dark rock in
the midst of innumerable cascades, the catastrophe took place which
Brand would have foreseen were his thoughts less tumultuous. With the
support of the sea withdrawn from half its length the huge hull must
either slip back into deep water or break in two. The slender steel
shell of an ocean liner is not constructed to resist the law of gravity
acting on full five thousand tons. So the solid-looking colossus cracked
like a carrot, and the after part fell back into the watery chasm, there
to be swallowed instantly, amidst a turmoil which happily drowned the
despairing shrieks of far more than half of those on board.
Constance and Enid screamed bitterly in their woe, but again they were
saved from utter collapse by the exigencies of the moment. Brand, who
expected to see the remainder of the ship blown up by the inrushing of
the sea to the furnaces, dragged them forcibly below the level of the
protecting balustrade.
Yet nothing of the sort took place. A vast cloud of steam rushed
upwards, but it was dissipated by the next breath of the gale. This
incident told the lighthouse-keeper much. The vessel had been disabled
so long that her skilful commander, finding the motive power of no
further avail, and certain that his ship must be driven ashore, had
ordered the fires to be drawn and the steam to be exhausted from all
boilers except one. Therefore, her shaft was broken, reasoned Brand.
Probably the accident had occurred during the height of the hurricane,
and her steering gear, of little use without the driving force of the
engines to help, might have been disabled at the same time.
When the horror-stricken watchers looked again at the wreck the forward
part had shifted its position. It was now lying broadside on to the
seas, and the lofty foremast thrust its truck to within a few feet of
them.
They were spared one ghastly scene which must surely have bereft the
girls of their senses. The majority of the first-class passengers had
gathered in the saloon. Some clung like limpets to the main gangway. A
number, mostly men, crowded together in the drawing-room on the
promenade deck. Farther than this they could not go, as the companion
hatchways had been locked by the officer of the watch, the decks being
quite impassable.
When the hull yielded, the spacious saloon was exposed to the vicious
waves. Finding this new cavern opened to them, great liquid tongues
sprang into the darkness and licked out hapless victims by the score. Of
this appalling incident those in the lighthouse knew nothing until long
afterwards.
When the ship struck, the electric dynamos stopped and all her lights
went out. The lighthouse lamp, owing to its rays being concentrated by
the dioptric lens, helped not at all to dissipate the dim and ghastly
vision beneath, but the great frame of the fore part of the vessel
served as a break-water to some extent, and temporarily withheld the
waves from beating against the column.
Hence Brand, straining his eyes through the flying ruck, fancied he
could make out the figure of the captain as he left the bridge, and,
with some of the crew, took shelter behind the structure of the library
and state cabins on what remained of the promenade deck. At the same
moment the frenzied occupants of the library and gangway contrived to
burst open the door of the main companion.
If they had to die they might as well die in the open and not boxed up
in impenetrable darkness. As a matter of fact, the bolts were forced by
a man who fired his revolver at them. The sea quickly discovered this
new outlet. The next wave, passing through the saloon, sent tons of
water pouring through the open hatch. One good result accrued. The
strong canvas awning which prolonged the spar deck was carried away, and
the group of survivors, benumbed with cold and wholly overcome by their
desperate position, could see the entire height of the granite column in
front crowned with its diadem of brilliance. The liberated passengers
saw it for the first time.
The sight brought no hope. Between ship and lighthouse was a true
maelstrom of more than sixty feet of water, created by the back-wash
from the stone-work and the shattered hull. Even if the passage could be
made of what avail was it? The iron entrance door was full fifty feet
above the present level of the sea. It could only be approached by way
of the rungs of iron embedded in the granite, and every wave, even in
the comparative moderation caused by the obstructing wreck, swept at
least twenty feet of the smooth stone tiers. It is this very fact that
prevents rock lighthouses from seldom if ever serving as refuges for
shipwrecked sailors. The ascending ladder is so exposed, the sea usually
so turbulent under the least stress of wind, that no human being can
retain hand-hold or footing.
Yet, there was one faint chance of succor, and it was not a sailor who
grasped it. The first that Brand knew of the desperate venture was the
sight of a spectral man climbing up the shrouds of the fore-mast. On a
steamer, whose yards are seldom used for sails, the practicable
rope-ladder ceases at the fore, main, or mizzen-top, as the case may be.
Thenceforward, a sailor must climb with hands and feet to the truck, a
feat which may occasionally be necessary when the vessel is in dock; it
is hardly ever attempted at sea.
The venturesome individual who thus suddenly made himself the center of
observation carried a line with him. Not until he essayed the second
portion of his perilous ascent did Brand realize what the other intended
to do, which was nothing less than to reach the truck, the very top of
the mast, and endeavor to throw a rope to the gallery.
And he might succeed, too--that was the marvel of it. The tapering spar
came very near to them, perhaps twelve feet distant, and the wind would
certainly carry the rope across the chasm if carefully thrown. A few
strong and active men might use this aërial ferry. Well, better they
than none. Brave fellow; would that the Lord might help him!
Higher and nearer swung the stalwart youngster, for none but a lithe
and active boy could climb a pole with such easy vigor. At last he
reached the truck, and a faintly heard cheer from beneath mingled with
the hysterical delight of Enid and Constance, when, with legs twined
round the mast, he rested his arms for an instant on the flat knob of
the truck.
Here his face came into the lower focus of the light--strong,
clean-shaven, clear-cut features, a square, determined chin, two dark,
earnest eyes, and a mop of ruffled black hair, for his deer-stalker cap
had blown off 'ere he cleared the spar deck.
"Look out for the line," they heard him shout. The wind brought his
voice plainly, but evidently he could distinguish no syllable of Brand's
answering hail:
"Shall I make fast?"
"Can't hear a word," he cried. "If you can hear me hold a hand up."
Brand obeyed.
"Catch the line," he went on. "It is attached to a block with a running
tackle. Haul in and make fast."
"The megaphone!" shouted Brand to Constance. She darted away to bring
it, and when the adventurer clinging to the fore-mast had thrown a coil
successfully, Brand took the instrument.
"Why don't you come this way? The others will follow," he bellowed.
"There are women and children down below. They must be saved first, and
they cannot climb the mast," was the reply.
"All right, but send up a couple of sailors. We are short-handed here."
"Right-o," sang out the other cheerily, though he wondered why three men
should anticipate difficulty.
Down he went. Without waiting, Brand and the girls hauled lustily at the
rope. It was no child's play to hoist a heavy pulley and several hundred
feet of stout cordage. More than once they feared the first thin rope
would break, but it was good hemp, and soon the block was hooked to the
strong iron stanchions of the railing. To make assurance doubly sure,
Brand told Enid to take several turns of the spare cord around the hook
and the adjacent rails.
Meanwhile, Constance and he saw that the rope was moving through the
pulley without their assistance. Then through the whirling scud beneath
they made out an ascending figure clinging to it. Soon he was close to
the gallery. Catching him by arms and collar they lifted him into
safety. He was one of the junior officers, and Constance, though she
hardly expected it, experienced a momentary feeling of disappointment
that the first man to escape was not the handsome youth to whose cool
daring some at least of the ship's company would owe their lives.
The newcomer was a typical Briton.
"Thanks," he said. "Close shave. Have you a light? We must signal after
each arrival."
Enid brought the small lantern, and the stranger waved it twice. The
rope traveled back through the pulley, and this time it carried a
sailor-man, who said not one word but stooped to tie his boot-lace.
"How many are left?" inquired Brand of the officer.
"About eighty, all told, including some twenty women and children."
"All wet to the skin?"
"Yes: some of them unconscious, perhaps dead."
"Can you hold out?"
"Yes; A nip of brandy--"
"I will send some. We must leave you now. These with me are my
daughters."
At last the crust of insular self-possession was broken. The man looked
from one to the other of the seeming lighthouse-keepers.
"Well, I'm--," he blurted out in his surprise. "That American youngster
wondered what the trouble was."
A shapeless bundle hove in sight. It contained two little girls, tied
inside a tarpaulin and lashed to the rope. This, evidently, was the plan
for dealing with the helpless ones.
Brand instantly divided his forces. Enid he dispatched to make hot cocoa
in the quickest and most lavish manner possible. Constance was to give
each new arrival a small quantity of stimulant (the lighthouse possessed
a dozen bottles of brandy and whiskey) and act as escort. The women and
children were to be allotted the two bedrooms. Any bad cases of injury
or complete exhaustion could be disposed of in the visiting officer's
room, whilst all the men fit to take care of themselves were to be
distributed between the entrance, the coal-room, the workshop and the
stairways. The kitchen, store-room and service-room were to be kept
clear, and the store-room door locked. Eighty! Brand was already doing
problems in simple arithmetic.
A similar problem, with a different point to be determined, was
occupying the active mind of the "American youngster" who had solved the
knottiest proposition put forward during that eventful night.
He watched the forwarding of the shrieking, shuddering, or inanimate
women. He timed the operation by his watch, as the reflected light from
the lamp was quite sufficient for the purpose.
Then he approached the captain.
"Say, skipper," he cried, "how long do you give the remains of her to
hold out?"
"It is not high-water yet," was the answer. "Perhaps half an hour. Forty
minutes at the utmost."
"Then you'll have to boost this thing along a good deal faster," said
the cheerful one. "They're going up now at the rate of one every two
minutes. That's thirty in half an hour. Fifty of us will travel a heap
quicker at the end of that time if your calculation holds good."
The captain, who appeared to be in a stupor of grief, roused himself.
A few short and sharp orders changed the aspect of affairs. Frightened
and protesting ladies were securely tied together, and hoisted, four at
a time, like so many bags of wheat. When it came to the men's turn even
less ceremony and greater expedition were used.
Indeed, already there were emphatic warnings that much valuable time had
been lost in the early stage of the rescue. Though the wind was now only
blowing a stiff gale, the sea, lashed to frenzy by the hurricane, was
heavier than ever. The ship was vanishing visibly. A funnel fell with a
hideous crash and carried away a life-boat. The rest of the spar deck
and nearly the whole of the forward cabins were torn out bodily. By
repeated thumping on the reef the vessel had settled back almost onto an
even keel, and the fore-mast, which had so providentially neared the
summit of the lighthouse, was now removed far beyond the possibility of
a rope being thrown.
The survivors on deck worked with feverish energy. The time was drawing
short. They did not know the second that some unusually tempestuous wave
would devour them utterly.
"Now, Mr. Pyne, you next," cried the chief officer, addressing the young
Philadelphian, who, _mirabile dictu_, had found and lighted a cigar.
"Guess I'll swing up along with the captain," was the answer.
"Up with him," shouted the captain, fiercely, himself helping to loop
Pyne to the fourth officer.
All others had gone. The officers were leaving the ship in order of
seniority, the juniors first. Just as the quartette were about to swing
clear of the ship the captain grasped Pyne's hand.
"Thank you, lad," he said, and away they went.
There were left on the vessel the third, second, and first officers,
the purser, and the captain. The others wanted the captain to come with
them. He resisted, held out for his right to be the last to quit a ship
he had commanded for more than twenty years, and hoarsely forbade any
further argument.
Very unwillingly, they left him hauling alone at the rope, though their
predecessors, knowing the need of it, helped vigorously from the
gallery. Indeed, it was with difficulty that Pyne was held back from
returning with the descending rope. They told him he was mad to dream of
such a piece of folly, and perforce he desisted.
But when the captain deliberately cast off the deck-pulley from which
the rope had been manipulated they knew that the boy had read his soul.
The now useless cordage dangling from the gallery was caught by the wind
and sea and sent whipping off to leeward.
Brand, brought from the lantern by the hubbub of shouting, came out,
followed by Constance. He suggested, as a last resource, that they
should endeavor to fire a line across the vessel by means of a rocket.
They agreed to try, for the spectacle of the captain, standing
bareheaded on all that was left of the bridge, moved them to a pitch of
frenzy not often seen in an assemblage of Anglo-Saxons, and especially
of sailors.
Brand turned to procure the rocket, but a loud cry caused him to delay.
The expected wave had come, the vessel was smothered in a vortex of
foam, the tall fore-mast tottered and fell, and when the water subsided
again all that was visible of the great steamer was some portion of her
hull and the solidly built bow, which was not wrenched from the
keel-plate until another hour had passed.
The agonized cry of a strong man is a woful thing. Constance, by reason
of the gathering at the side of the gallery, was unable to see all that
was taking place. But the yell which went up from the onlookers told her
that something out of the common, even on this night of thrills, had
occurred.
"What is it, dad?" she asked, as her father came to her.
"The end of the ship," he said. "The captain has gone with her."
"Oh, dear, why wasn't he saved?"
"I think he refused to desert his ship. His heart was broken, I expect.
Now, Connie, duty first."
Indeed, she required no telling. As each of the shipwrecked men entered
the lantern, she handed him a glass of spirits, asked if he were
injured, and told him exactly how many flights of stairs he had to
descend. But cocoa and biscuits would be brought soon, she explained:
greatly amazed, but speechless for the most part, the men obeyed her
directions.
One of the last to claim her attention was the young American, Mr. Pyne.
Her face lit up pleasurably when she saw him.
"I was wondering what had become of you," she said. "My sister has asked
me several times if you had arrived, and I imagined that I must have
missed you by some chance."
Now all this was Greek to him, or nearly so. Indeed, had it been
intelligible Greek, he might have guessed its purport more easily.
Holding the glass in his hand he looked at her in frank, open-eyed
wonder. To be hailed so gleefully by a good-looking girl, whom he had
never to his knowledge set eyes on, was somewhat of a mystery, and the
puzzle was made all the more difficult by the fact that she had
discarded the weather-proof accoutrements needed when she first ventured
forth on the gallery.
"I'm real glad you're pleased. My name is Charles A. Pyne," he said,
slowly.
It was now Constance's turn to be bewildered. Then the exact situation
dawned on her.
"How stupid of me," she cried. "Of course you don't recognize me again.
My sister and I happen to be alone with my father on the rock tonight.
We were with him on the balcony when you acted so bravely. You see, the
light shone clear on your face."
"I'm glad it's shining on yours now," he said.
"You must go two floors below this," said she severely. "I will bring
you some cocoa and a biscuit as quickly as possible."
"I am not a bit tired," he commented, still looking at her.
"That is more than I can say," she answered, "but I am so delighted that
we managed to save so many poor people."
"How many?"
"Seventy-eight. But I dare not ask you now how many are lost. It would
make me cry, and I have no time for tears. Will you really help to carry
a tray?"
"Just try me."
At the top of the stairs Constance called to her father:
"Anything you want, dad?"
"Yes, dear. Find out the chief officer, and send him to me. He can eat
and drink here whilst we talk."