Part 18 (1/2)

A long line of milk-white foam appears upon the horizon, spreading and advancing with awful rapidity; the roar swells in volume until it becomes absolutely deafening; the air grows thick with vapour; a sudden whirl of wind rushes past las.h.i.+ng the skipper's face with rain-drops as it goes--rain-drops? no; they are salt, salt as the brine alongside--and then, with a wild burst and babel of hideous sound and a shock as though the raft had collided with something solid, the hurricane strikes her.

The white water surges up over her stern, and the skipper is hurled forward, face downward and half-stunned, upon her already submerged deck.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE MALAYS!

The occupants of the fort retired to rest that night, as usual, at the early hour of ten o'clock; and, thoroughly f.a.gged out with the day's labour, soon sank to sleep. n.o.body felt in the least degree anxious about the skipper, because, when Gaunt and Henderson took a last look at the weather before turning in, there was nothing particularly alarming in its aspect; they agreed that there was going to be a change, and that it would probably occur before morning; but Blyth, they considered, was not the man to be caught napping; moreover, he had already been absent long enough to make his return possible at any moment; so, with this opinion expressed and understood, all hands sought their bunks with perfectly easy minds.

Manners and Nicholls were the first to awake, which they did simultaneously when the hurricane burst over the island, their sleeping- room happening to be on the weather side of the fort, or that upon which the gale beat with the greatest fury, and they were therefore naturally the first to be disturbed by the uproar of the storm.

”Whew!” whistled Manners, as he settled himself more comfortably in his cosy bunk; ”it's blowing heavily! I'm glad I have no watch to keep to- night. Listen to that!” as the wind went howling and careering past the house, causing it to tremble to its foundations; ”if it's like that down here in this sheltered valley what must it be outside in the open sea?”

”Bad enough, Mr Manners, you may depend on't,” answered Nicholls, who, occupying the adjoining bunk, had overheard this muttered soliloquy, ”bad enough! This is the worst bout we've had since we've been on the island. Why--listen to that, now!--and did ye feel the house shake, sir? Why, it must be blowing a regular tornado--or typhoon, as they calls 'em in these lat.i.tudes. The skipper sleeps pretty sound through it, don't he, sir?”

”He does, indeed,” replied Manners; and then, a sudden recollection of the fis.h.i.+ng expedition coming upon him, he added, ”I suppose he _is_ asleep--I suppose he is in his berth. Did you hear him come in?”

”Not I, sir,” was the answer. ”I dozed off to sleep almost before I had time to make myself comfortable, and I never woke again until a minute or two since when the roar of the gale disturbed me.”

”Are you awake, Captain Blyth?” demanded Manners sharply.

No answer, and both men listen as well as they can through the awful roar and shriek of the gale, hoping to hear the measured breathing of the sleeper. But no such sound is heard; and after listening breathlessly for a few seconds Manners bounds out of his berth, and fumbling about for the matches, finds them at last and strikes a light.

The skipper's berth is empty and undisturbed; it has evidently not been slept in that night.

Manners and Nicholls--the latter having also turned out--look blankly at the bunk and then at each other, the same dreadful suspicion dawning upon them both at the same instant.

”Good heavens!” gasped Manners. ”It cannot be that--and yet it looks like it--is it possible, Tom, that the skipper has not returned--that he is at sea on the raft in this awful gale?”

”I'm blest if it don't look uncommon like it, sir,” is Nicholls' reply, uttered in a tone of desperate conviction. ”Tell ye what 'tis, sir,” he continued, as he hastily proceeds to don a garment or two, slipping his bare feet into his shoes as he does so, ”I'm off down to the creek to see if the punt is there. If she ain't, you may depend on't she's ridin' at the raft's moorin's--if she ain't swamped--and that the raft's at sea, with the poor skipper aboard of her. The Lord have mercy on him if it is so, that's all I says.”

”Stop a moment; I will go with you,” says Manners, also hastily dressing; ”but before we go we had perhaps better inquire of Mr Gaunt or the doctor whether they know anything about him; they are certain to be awake.”

A minute later the two men are groping their way along the wall of the court-yard toward the door of Gaunt's room, in which they can perceive a light. Manners knocks, and instantly receives the response:

”Yes. Who is there?”

”Manners and Nicholls, sir. Do you know anything about the captain, Mr Gaunt? He is not with us, and his bunk has not been slept in to-night.”

”Stay where you are, I will be out in a moment,” is the reply. And almost in the short s.p.a.ce of time named Gaunt emerges.

”Now, then,” he demands, somewhat sternly, ”what is it you say about the captain? Surely I cannot have heard you aright?”

”Indeed I am afraid, sir, you did,” answers Manners, by this time in a state of deep distress as the conviction forces itself upon him that the skipper really is missing.

”I said, sir, that the captain is not with us, and that his bunk has not been slept in to-night.”

”Then G.o.d help him, for I fear he is beyond all human aid!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es the engineer hoa.r.s.ely. ”Have you been down to the creek yet?” he continues.

”No, sir,” says Manners; ”we were about to go down there, but I thought it best to speak to you first.”