At dawn Barbara awakened perfectly refreshed. She felt that she had
been asleep for an indefinite length of time, and although she made a
slight effort, further sleep was impossible. How long before the hour
for her bath, and how stuffy their little stateroom had become!
Barbara occupied the upper berth. Swinging herself a little over the
side she saw that Eugenia was breathing deeply. Asleep Barbara conceded
that Eugenia might almost be called handsome. Her features were well
cut, her dark hair smooth and abundant, and her expression peaceful.
However, even with consciousness somewhere on the other side of things
Eugenia still looked like an old maid. Barbara wondered if she had
ever had an admirer in her life. Although wishing to give Eugenia the
benefit of the doubt, she scarcely thought so. It would have made her
less difficult surely!
Twice Barbara turned over and burrowed her curly brown head in her
pillow. She dared not even move very strenuously for fear of waking
her companion and arousing her ire. Of course, it was irritating to be
awakened at daylight, but then how was she to endure the stupidity and
stuffiness of their room without some entertainment? If only she could
read or study her French, but there was not yet sufficient daylight,
and turning on the electric light was too perilous.
Staring up at the ceiling only a few feet above her head where the life
belts protruded above the white planking, Barbara had a sudden vision
of what the dawn must be like at this hour upon the sea. How she longed
for the rose and silver spectacle. Had she not been wishing to see the
sunrise every morning since coming aboard ship? And here at last was
her opportunity. Should Eugenia be disagreeable enough to awaken she
must simply face the music.
Noiselessly Barbara’s bare toes were extended over the side of the
berth and then she reached the floor with almost no perceptible sound.
She was so tiny and light she could do things more quietly than other
people. A few moments later she had on her shoes and stockings, her
underclothing and her heavy coat, with the little squirrel cap over her
hair. It would be cold up on deck. But one need not be particularly
careful of one’s costume, since there would probably be no one about
except a weary officer changing his watch. It was too early for the
sailors to have begun washing the decks, else she must have heard the
noise before this. Their stateroom was below the promenade deck.
As Barbara closed the outside door of their room she heard Eugenia
stirring. But she slipped away without her conscience being in
the least troublesome. If Eugenia was at last aroused, she would
not be there to be reproached. The thought rather added zest to
her enterprise. Besides, it was wrong for a trained nurse to be
a sleepy-head; one ought to be awake and ready at all times for
emergencies. Had Barbara needed spurs to her own ideals of helpfulness
in her nursing, she had found them in Eugenia’s and in Dick Thornton’s
openly expressed doubts of her. Whatever came, she must make good or
perish.
The deck was not inspiring. Barbara had anticipated the sunrise. Over
toward the eastern line of the horizon the darkness had lifted, but
as yet there was no color. The sky and water were curiously the same,
a translucent gray. One felt but could not see the light beneath. The
ship was making steady progress because there was now no wind and the
surface of the sea appeared perfectly smooth.
For a few moments the girl walked up and down to keep warm and to wait
for the dawn. Then she found her steamer chair, pulled it into such
a position that it commanded an unbroken view of the horizon, and
covering herself with steamer blankets, stared straight ahead.
A little later at some distance away she saw something black thrust
itself above the surface of the water and then disappear. It looked
like a gigantic nose.
Barbara’s breath began to come more quickly and grasping hold of the
arms of her chair she half arose. But now the black object had appeared
again and was coming closer to the ship. Of course, she had been
thinking of a submarine. However, she could now see that the creature
was being followed by a perfectly irrepressible family connection of
porpoises, dipping their heads under the waves, flirting their tails in
a picturesque fashion and dancing a kind of sea tango.
Then the porpoises disappeared. Calmer than she had ever imagined grew
the entire face of the water, stiller the atmosphere. This was the
strange moment of silence that follows the breaking of each new day.
Perchance it may be nature’s time for silent prayer.
Anyhow Barbara was familiar enough with this moment on land. It is the
moment in nursing the sick when one must be most watchful and strong.
Then life struggles to get away from the exhausted body on strange new
quests of its own. But Barbara had never faced a dawn upon the sea.
She wished now that she had called Mildred and Nona; perhaps they
too would have cared for the oncoming spectacle. Then Barbara forgot
herself and her soul filled with wonder. The sun had risen. It threw
great streams of light across the sky like giant banners, of such
colors as no army of the world has ever fought under, and these showed
a second time upon the mirror of the sea. A few moments they stayed
like this, and then melted together into red and violet and rose, until
after a while the day’s serener blue conquered and held the sky.
Weary from the beauty and her own emotion, Barbara closed her eyes,
meaning to go downstairs as soon as the sailors came on deck. However,
she must have fallen asleep for a few moments. Reopening her eyes she
had a distinct conviction that she must be dreaming. Undoubtedly she
was seeing an impossible thing. A few feet away from her chair, forcing
its way between the planks of the floor, was a small spiral column of
smoke.
It could not be smoke, of course, one felt convinced of that; yet it
was odd that it should look and behave so much like smoke.
Barbara got herself disentangled from her steamer rugs and jumped to
her feet. This was a reliable method of waking oneself up. She took
a single step forward and then turned and ran along the deck to the
stairway more swiftly than she had ever run in her life. She was not
mistaken, it _was_ smoke issuing from underneath the deck. Possibly
this meant nothing serious, no one in the world could know less of a
ship than she did. Then there was a possibility that their steamer
might be on fire, when the crew must be alarmed at once. Barbara had
not studied to become a trained nurse without learning coolness. Under
no circumstances must she cry fire and so create a panic. She had no
other conscious thought except that she must find one of the ship’s
officers or sailors and give the alarm.
But before she was more than half along the companion way the girl
heard a noise like the explosion of a muffled gun. Straightway she
pitched face forward down the steps. Nevertheless she was not hurt.
The next instant she was up and running along the hall, reached the
door of her own stateroom just as Eugenia flung the door open. At the
same time Nona’s and Mildred’s white faces stared forth.
“Put on some clothes quickly. There has been an accident, I don’t know
how serious,” Barbara commanded. But the information was scarcely
necessary. Already the ship seemed alive with running feet. Commands
were being shouted, while as by magic stewards were urging the
passengers to be calm, insisting there was no danger. The trouble was
probably not serious, yet they must be prepared.
Barbara entered her stateroom. Her pocketbook and a few valuables she
must try to save in case they had to take to the life-boats.
In the middle of the room she found Eugenia Peabody in her nightgown,
shaking with terror and making not the least effort to get dressed.
Barbara forgot the respect due to their chaperon. Deliberately she
seized her by the shoulders and began shaking her severely. It was
absurd, or would have been under other circumstances. Eugenia was so
much taller and larger and older than her companion that it looked as
if a governess were being disciplined by a small pupil.
However, the younger girl was terribly in earnest. “Don’t lose your
senses,” she protested angrily. Then darting about the tiny room in an
incredible time she secured the other girl’s clothes and got her into
them in a haphazard fashion.
Finally Eugenia fled to the closed door, only to be dragged back by her
companion.
“Your shoes and stockings, please, Miss Peabody,” Barbara argued
determinedly. “There is no immediate danger or we would be warned.
Now let us find the other girls. Remember we are Red Cross nurses and
not young society women.” If the ship had been sinking Barbara Meade
felt that she must have fired this sarcasm. But really Eugenia was so
frightened she was beginning to like her better. It was human to be
frightened; she was terrified herself. But it would do no good to go
to pieces.
Nona and Mildred were both ready. So the four girls went together into
the big saloon where all the other ship’s passengers were gathering.
The fire was not supposed to be dangerous. The men were fighting it,
but they must wait to find out if it could be controlled. No, no one
had an idea of what had caused the explosion.
Of course, a number of the women were crying and some of the men were
white as ghosts, others were laughing foolishly.
Mrs. Curtis was distinguishing herself by having an attack of hysteria
in the arms of her son. Very quietly Mildred Thornton went up and took
hold of the older woman’s hand.
“Let us find a seat somewhere and talk,” she said soothingly. But Mrs.
Curtis did not wait to be seated.
“You see,” she sobbed, clutching Mildred’s arm, “the explosion occurred
right in our corridor. I was asleep when suddenly there was a dreadful
noise and my room filled with smoke. Brooks managed to get to me
the next instant. No one could have felt the shock as much as I did,
except Lady Dorian. Her room is across from mine and I believe she was
slightly injured. Has anyone seen her?”
At this moment the second officer entered the saloon. His face was
white, but his lips wore a steady, automatic smile.
“Captain Miller wishes me to inform you that there is no further
danger,” he shouted. “The ‘Philadelphia’ will continue her journey to
Liverpool. We have discovered the cause of the fire and the men have
smothered it. The passengers will kindly return to their staterooms and
breakfast will be served at as early an hour as possible.”
At this moment Barbara Meade felt a light touch on her arm. Mildred was
over in a corner with Brooks Curtis and his mother; Eugenia was talking
to a number of equally excited strangers. So it was Nona Davis who said:
“Don’t you think, Barbara, we might go and offer our services to Lady
Dorian? If she really is hurt, as Mrs. Curtis said, perhaps we may be
able to do something for her. In any case I feel we ought to show our
interest. She is not popular on board ship, and even if she resents our
coming I think we shall have done the kindest thing.”
Barbara nodded her agreement, glancing admiringly at Nona Davis. Nona
was such an embodiment of refinement in manner and appearance that it
would be difficult to treat her ungraciously.