AN UNWELCOME PASSENGER.
John can hold back no longer, but gives his oar to the boatman, and
seeks the bow in place of Aunt Gwen, who allows him the privilege.
They are now almost upon the floating swamped boat.
"Careful now. Don't run into the wreck. I see her," and with the last
words, John, who has kicked off his shoes in almost a second of time,
throws coat and vest down in the boat and leaps overboard.
His hands seize upon the gunwale of the nearly submerged boat, over
which each wave breaks. He pulls himself along, and thus reaches Lady
Ruth whom he finds holding on to one of the tiller ropes which has
formed a loop, through which her arm is passed.
"Thank Heaven! You are safe! Here comes the boat! You must let me help
you in, Lady Ruth!" he says, dodging a wave and ready to clutch her if
she lets go.
"I am not alone. You must take him in first," she gasps.
Then John for the first time becomes aware that she is supporting Sir
Lionel, whose arm has also been passed through the rounded tiller rope.
He seems to hang a dead weight.
Amazed at the action of the brave English girl, John at once takes hold
of the soldier. The boat by this time comes up.
In getting him aboard a spill is narrowly averted, and now a new
trouble arises. The boat will hold no more, and is dangerously loaded
even now.
What can be done? Lady Ruth must be taken aboard. Her strength is
almost gone, and John, in deadly fear lest one of the hungry waves
should tear her away before their very eyes, passes an arm around her
waist.
He takes in the situation.
"Here, you!" to the already wet boatman, "tumble overboard, quick now.
We can hold on behind, I reckon."
The man hesitates, and this is a bad time for deliberation.
Professor Sharpe suddenly seizes upon him, and in almost the twinkling
of an eye has the fellow overboard, more through a quick movement than
any show of strength.
"There's a boat from the steamer coming this way. Hail it, Philander!"
exclaims Aunt Gwen, and this gives them new life.
Lady Ruth is now taken into the boat with some degree of caution.
Sir Lionel shows no sign of life, and both ladies are extremely
solicitous about him, so the professor bends down to make a cursory
examination.
"He'll be all right when the water is pumped out of him," he announces.
The boat from the steamer comes up, led to the spot by Philander's
shrill whoops, and the men in the water are rescued.
In ten minutes they reach the side of the steamer and go aboard. A
terrible disaster has been narrowly averted, and John cannot but feel
amazed at the wonderful grit shown by this girl, who saved the baronet
from a watery grave.
It proves his estimation of her qualities at the time she assisted to
bind up his arm was not out of the way.
As the two boatmen are about to go down into their craft again, the one
who has not been in the water beckons John, who has not yet sought his
cabin-room to change his soaked clothes.
"Will the gentleman recover?" he asks.
"You mean Sir Lionel? Oh, yes! He is already back in his senses.
Strangely enough the first question he asked upon learning that Lady
Ruth was saved, concerned your companion, and when he learned that the
boatman had also survived, he said: 'The devil!'"
At this the man chuckles.
"I understand--perhaps you can. I like you, sir, while his ways make me
mad. He thinks we Maltese dogs. I say no more--only look out for him. It
easy to sink when plank in boat loosened."
Without another word the fellow slides down the rope to his boat, and
pushes off with his soaked companion.
When John turns and heads for his state-room, he has something to think
about, and the consciousness that there has been some foul play about
this accident makes him decidedly uneasy.
Now they are off, the passengers who in the morning started on a
pilgrimage to Civita Vecchia having returned in good time.
When Doctor Chicago once more comes on deck, clad in warm, dry clothes,
the lights of Valetta are astern, and the steamer is putting miles
between them.
He paces up and down, reflecting upon the startling event of the evening.
What can the significant words of the boatman mean, if not what he
suspects.
John would not wrong any one, and he believes it policy to keep this
to himself. At the same time he realizes that the game is taking on a
desperate phase, when a gentleman of Sir Lionel's caliber descends to
such treachery, in order to make himself a favorite with the fair
English maid.
Of course, it was his intention to save Lady Ruth and appear the hero.
He trusted in his well-known ability as an expert swimmer to accomplish
this, and never once thought fate would step in and deal him such a blow.
As near as can be learned from what the wet boatman said when picked
up, just when the craft was sinking Sir Lionel must have stumbled and
fallen, striking his head upon the gunwale, which rendered him
unconscious.
John walks up and down, smoking and pondering, and, when his thoughts go
toward Lady Ruth, he smiles as if they are pleasant.
Twice he goes to seek the stewardess to make inquiries concerning the
young woman, and is gratified to hear that the ship's Scotch surgeon has
given her a glass of warm toddy to keep her from taking cold as a result
of her exposure, and that having retired she is now in a perfectly
natural sleep.
Pleased with this, he lights another cigar and resumes his walk, to meet
Sir Lionel, who has quite recovered from his ducking, and is disposed to
treat the whole matter something like a joke.
John engages him in conversation for a purpose, and learns what he can
about the peculiar affair; but the soldier professes to know nothing
beyond the fact that the boatman suddenly cried that the craft was
sinking, whereupon he called out for assistance from the other boat,
and then, as the emergency seemed very close, he sprang up to save Lady
Ruth, when his foot caught in the thwart and he pitched heavily forward.
He was not wholly unconscious, and with some one's help, he knew not
whom at the time, he managed to crook his arm through the rope belonging
to the tiller. After which he knew no more until he came to on board the
steamer and found the surgeon pouring whisky down his throat.
"Perhaps your boatman was crazy. I'm sure our fellow must have been out
of his mind, judging from his actions when leaving the steamer. Why, he
even warned me to keep an eye on you, sir."
At this the Englishman removes his cigar from between his teeth, looks
hard at the doctor, says "by Jove!" several times, and then laughs
heartily.
"That is very funny. Indeed, I can't remember anything that strikes
me as more peculiar. Any one can watch me--my actions are, I hope,
above-board. It is true I am disappointed in not having been able to
have saved Lady Ruth, but so long as some one took her from the water,
what does it matter? The boatmen are mad, because they lost a craft.
Jove! I'd like to teach them a lesson for taking out passengers in a
cranky, rotten boat. Do you know, I believe my foot went clean through
the bottom when I jumped up."
This, spoken in a frank, ingenuous way, quite disarms John.
He does not like to think evil of his fellow human beings, at any rate.
The wind is increasing meanwhile, and clouds hide the young moon.
"I believe we will have a storm," is the last remark Sir Lionel makes,
as he staggers across the rising deck and makes a plunge down into the
cabin, for although a duck in the water, the Briton is no yachtsman, and
possibly already feels the terrible grip of the coming _mal de mer_.
His words are soon verified, however, for the waves and wind continue to
rise until the steamer is mightily buffeted. Still John remains on deck.
There is a fascination for him in the scene that words cannot express.
When he has had enough he will find his state-room and sleep, for surely
he needs it after being awake a good deal of the preceding night at
Valetta.
Darker grow the heavens. Thunder rolls, and the electric current cuts
the air, illuminating the wild scene with a picturesque touch that is
almost ghastly in its yellow white.
The steamer is well built, and in good condition to withstand the
tempest, roar as it may. John tires of the weird spectacle at last,
and he, too, makes a plunge for the cabin, reaching it just in time to
escape a monster wave that makes the vessel stagger, and sweeps along
the deck from stem to stern.
Below he finds considerable confusion, such as is always seen on board a
steamer during a storm. Timid men looking as white as ghosts, frightened
women wringing their hands and screaming with each plunge of the ship,
as if they expect it to be the last.
A few foreign passengers are aboard, and they do not seem free from the
contagion, though inclined to be more stoical than the Europeans.
As the steamer plunges, some of the passengers are huddled in a corner.
Loud praying can be heard, and those who are least accustomed to such
things on ordinary occasions are most vehement now.
A Mohammedan is kneeling on his rug, with his face turned in the
direction of Mecca, as near as he can judge, and going through with
the strange rigmarole of bows and muttered phrases that constitute his
religion.
This scene is not a very pleasant one, but there are features about it
which are worth being noticed, and John stands to gaze before seeking
his room.
He has heard from the captain that the boat is perfectly safe, unless
the storm should grow much heavier, and with this assurance intends to
seek his berth and sleep, if such a thing be possible.
He moves toward his state-room. Just then a billow strikes the steamer
almost amidships, and she rolls. This, not being expected, causes John
to slide across the cabin floor, to the accompaniment of a chorus of
cries from the frightened people, who are huddled in a corner by this
new move on the part of the vessel.
He brings up alongside a state-room door, which is in the act of being
opened, even as he bangs up against it.
Consequently John has the greatest difficulty in maintaining his
balance, and in order to keep from sliding through the door grasps the
sides.
Some one has opened it. A face is exposed close to his own, a face that,
although not terror-stricken, bears the evidence of sudden alarm, as
though the new pitch of the vessel and renewed shrieks from within have
aroused fear--a face that John Craig recognizes with amazement.
"Tell me, are we sinking?" she exclaims.
Then she looks again.
"Ah! Doctor Chicago!"
"You here, Pauline Potter?"
The presence of the actress on board the steamer gives him a sudden
thrill.
It is no mere accident that brings her, but a part of a deep-laid plan,
which perhaps not only concerns him, but one in whom he has taken the
deepest interest--Lady Ruth.
That is why he cries out, and his words have more than an ordinary
amount of astonishment in them.
"Yes, I am leaving Malta. I have no reason to remain there longer. But
tell me the worst, John Craig; are we doomed to go down?"
The vessel does not toss so wildly now, and the wails of the alarmed
passengers grow less in volume.
"I hope not. The captain assured me there was no danger whatever, and
told me to get some sleep, if I could. I am on my way to my berth now.
Be of good cheer, the morning will see us safe enough, I believe."
Then he leaves her, and the state-room door closes.
This encounter makes John think of the other ladies. Are Aunt Gwen and
Lady Ruth among those whose clamor arises from the cabin with each lurch
of the ship?
As the thought flashes upon his mind, some one clutches his arm, and,
turning, he beholds the little professor. There is a wild look in
Philander's eyes, and his teeth rattle like castanets. Really the
situation is terrible enough to appall any one.
"When do we go down, John?" he asks.
"Good Heaven! I trust not at all," and he cheers the other with what the
captain has told him.
"I wish you could tell the ladies that."
"Where are they?" asks John.
"Come with me!"
In a few seconds the doctor sees the ladies, who have a state-room
together. They are fully dressed, and look woe-begone. At each lunge of
the vessel they gasp, and, when a particularly big one occurs, fall into
each other's arms.
Both are brave enough, and yet the situation is such that a strange
feeling creeps over the stoutest heart.
When John appears, and tells them what the captain has said, it
reassures them considerably, and they feel better.
Presently he leaves them, and seeks his berth, where he actually goes
to sleep. Tired nature will assert her power, even under the most
discouraging conditions.
During the night the storm abates.
John Craig is awake early, and can tell that all is well from the easy
motion of the steamer, for her plunges are few and of small moment. A
silence broods over the scene; the tired passengers have gone to sleep;
all John can hear as he lies there is the dull throb of the engines and
the swish of water against the side of the vessel.