May was very hot in London that year. Denis and Christian planned
a night’s pleasure on the Thames. They rented a steam yacht named
“Aldebaran,” ordered an exquisite meal on board, and Denis sent out
invitations to his friends.
Fourteen members of his set joined the party. The yacht lay near the
houses of Parliament, and shortly before midnight the guests appeared
in evening dress. The son of the Russian ambassador was among them, the
Honourable James Wheely, whose brother was in the ministry, Lord and
Lady Westmoreland, Eva Sorel, Prince Wiguniewski, and others.
On the stroke of twelve the “Aldebaran” started out, and the small
orchestra of well-chosen artists began to play.
When the yacht on its way upstream had reached the railway bridge of
Battersea, there became visible on the left bank in the dim light of
the street lamps an innumerable throng of men and women, close-packed,
head by head, thousands upon thousands.
They were strikers from the docks. Why they stood here, so silent and
so menacing in their silence, was known to no one on board. Perhaps it
was a demonstration of some sort.
Denis, who had had a good deal of champagne, went to the railing, and
in his recklessness shouted three cheers across the river. No sound
answered him. The human mass stood like a wall, and in the sombre faces
that turned toward the gleam of the yacht’s light no muscle moved.
Then Denis said to Christian, who had joined him: “Let’s swim across.
Whoever reaches shore first is victor of the race, and must ask those
people what they are waiting for and why they don’t go home at this
hour of the night.”
“Swim over to _them_?” Christian shook his head. He was asked to touch
slimy worms with his hands and pretend they were trophies.
“Then I’ll do it alone!” Denis exclaimed, and threw his coat and
waistcoat down on the deck.
He was known to be an admirable swimmer. The company therefore took
his notion as one of the bizarre pranks for which he was known. Only
Eva tried to restrain him. She approached him and laid her hand on his
arm. In vain. He was quite ready to jump, when the captain grasped his
shoulder and begged him to desist, since the river, despite its calm
appearance, had a strong undercurrent. But Denis eluded him, ran to the
promenade deck, and in another moment his slender body flew into the
black water.
No one had a presentiment of disaster. The swimmer advanced with
powerful strokes. The watchers on board were sure that he would easily
reach the Chelsea shore. But suddenly, in the bright radiance of a
searchlight from shore, they saw him throw up his arms above his head.
At the same moment he cried piercingly for help. Without hesitation
a member of the little orchestra, a cellist, sprang overboard in all
his garments to help the drowning man. But the current caused by the
ebbtide was very powerful, and both Denis and the musician were whirled
onward by it, and disappeared in the inky waves.
Suddenly the confusion caused by these happenings lifted from
Christian’s mind, and before any could restrain him, he was in the
water. He heard a cry, and knew that it came from Eva’s lips. The
ladies and gentlemen on board scurried helplessly to and fro.
Christian could no longer make out the forms of the other two. The
water seemed to bank itself against him and hinder his movements. A
sudden weakness took possession of him, but he felt no fear. Raising
his head he saw the silent masses of the workers, men and women with
such expressions as he had never seen. Although the glance which he
directed toward them was but a momentary one, he felt almost sure that
their sombre earnestness of gaze was fixed on him, and that these
thousands and thousands were waiting for him, and for him alone. His
weakness increased. It seemed to arise from his heart, which grew
heavier and heavier. At that moment a life-boat reached him.
At three o’clock in the morning, in the earliest dawn, the bodies
of Denis and the musician were found jammed between two beams near
the arches of a bridge. Now they lay on deck and Christian could
contemplate them. The guests had left the ship. Eva, too, had gone. She
had been deeply shaken, and Prince Wiguniewski had accompanied her home.
The sailors had gone to their bunks. The deck was empty, and Christian
sat alone with the two dead men.
The sun arose. The waters of the river began to glow. The pavements of
the desolate streets, the walls and the windows of the houses flushed
with the red of dawn. Sea-gulls circled about the smokestack.
Christian sat alone with the dead men. He was huddled in an old coat
which the captain had thrown around his shoulders. Steadily he gazed
upon the faces of the dead. They were swollen and ugly.