Part 5 (1/2)

And again there were shrieks, followed by a panic and an insane rush for the life-boats; already some of the pa.s.sengers were fighting for places. . . .

Simon did not hesitate. Isabel was a good swimmer. They must make the attempt.

”Come!” he said. The girl, standing beside him, had flung her arms about him. ”We can't stay here! Come!”

And, when she struggled, instinctively resisting the course which he had proposed, he took a firmer hold of her.

She entreated him:

”Oh, it's horrible . . . all these children . . . the little girl crying! . . . Couldn't we save them?”

”Come!” he repeated, in a masterful tone.

She still resisted him. Then he took her head in his two hands and kissed her on the lips:

”Come, my darling, come!”

The girl fainted. He lifted her in his arms and threw one leg over the rail:

”Don't be afraid!” he said. ”I will answer for your life!”

”I am not afraid,” she said. ”I am not afraid with you. . . .”

They leapt into the water.

CHAPTER III

GOOD-BYE, SIMON

Twenty minutes later, they were picked up by the _Castor_, the yacht which by this time had pa.s.sed the _Queen Mary_. As for the _Pays de Caux_, the steamer sailing from Dieppe, subsequent enquiries proved that the pa.s.sengers and the crew had compelled the captain to flee from the scene of the disaster. The sight of the huge waterspout, the spectacle of the s.h.i.+p lifting her stern out of the waves, rearing up bodily and falling back as though into the mouth of a funnel, the upheaval of the sea, which seemed to have given way beneath the a.s.sault of maniacal forces and which, within the circ.u.mference of the frenzied circle, revolved upon itself in a sort of madness: all this was so terrifying that women fainted and men threatened the captain with their levelled revolvers.

The _Castor_ also had begun by fleeing the spot. But the Conte de Bauge, detecting through his field-gla.s.ses the handkerchief which Simon was waving, persuaded his sailors, despite the desperate opposition of his friends, to put about, while avoiding contact with the dangerous zone.

For that matter, the sea was subsiding. The eruption had lasted less than a minute; and it was as though the monster was now resting, sated, content with its meal, like a beast of prey after its kill. The squall had pa.s.sed. The whirlpool broke up into warring currents which opposed and annulled one another. There were no more breakers, no more foam. Beneath the great undulating shroud which the little waves, tossing in harmless frolic, spread above the sunken vessel, the tragedy of five hundred death-struggles was consummated.

Under these conditions, the rescue was an easy task. Isabel and Simon, who could have held out for hours longer, were taken to the two cabins and supplied with a change of clothing. Isabel had not even lost consciousness. The yacht sailed away immediately. Those on board were eager to escape from the accursed circle. The sudden subsidence of the sea seemed as dangerous as its fury.

Nothing occurred before they reached the French coast. The oppressive, menacing lull continued. Simon Dubosc, directly he had changed his clothes, joined the count and his party. A little embarra.s.sed in respect of Miss Bakefield, he spoke of her as a friend whom he had met by chance on the _Queen Mary_ and by whose side he had found himself at the moment of the catastrophe.

For the rest, he was not questioned. The company on board the yacht were still profoundly uneasy; the thought of what might happen obsessed them. Further events were preparing. All had the impression that an invisible enemy was prowling stealthily around them.

Twice Simon went below to Isabel's cabin. The door was closed and there was no sound from within. But Simon knew that Isabel, though she had recovered from her fatigue and was already forgetting the dangers which had threatened them, nevertheless could not shake off the horror of what she had seen. He himself was still terribly depressed, haunted by the vision so frightful that it seemed the extravagant image of a nightmare rather than the memory of an actual thing. Was it true that they had one and all lost their lives: the three clergymen with their austere faces, the four happy, cheerful boys, their father and mother, the little girl who had cried, the child that had smiled at Isabel, the captain and every single individual of all those who had covered the _Queen Mary's_ decks?

About four o'clock, the clouds, unrolling in blacker and denser ma.s.ses, had conquered the heavens. Already the watchers felt the first breath of the great squalls whose precipitous onset was at hand, whose battalions, let loose across the Atlantic, were about to rush into the narrow straits of the Channel and mingle their devastating efforts with the mysterious forces rising from the depths of the sea. The horizon was blotted out as the clouds released their contents.

But the yacht was nearing Dieppe. The Count and Simon Dubosc, each gazing through a pair of binoculars, cried out as with one voice, struck at the same moment by the most unexpected sight. Looking at the row of buildings, which line the long sea-front like a tall rampart of brick and stone, they could plainly see that the roof and upper storey of the two largest hotels, the Imperial and the Astoria, situated in the middle, had collapsed. And the next instant they caught sight of other houses which were tottering, leaning forward, fissured and half-demolished.

Suddenly a flame shot up from one of these houses. In a few minutes there was a violent outbreak of fire; and on every side, from one end of the sea-front to the other, a panic-stricken crowd, whose shouts they could hear, came pouring down the streets and running to the beach.

”There is no doubt about it,” spluttered the Count. ”There has been an earthquake, a very violent shock, which must have synchronized with the sort of waterspout in which the _Queen Mary_ disappeared.”