Part 2 (1/2)
”Decidedly not.” Then after a pause, ”It is not pleasant to be fastened up in a great iron box, doctor. It reminds one of a huge coffin.”
”Not a bit. The _Sirdar_ is the safest s.h.i.+p afloat. Your father has always pursued a splendid policy in that respect. The London and Hong Kong Company may not possess fast vessels, but they are seaworthy and well found in every respect.”
”Are there many people ill on board?”
”No; just the usual number of disturbed livers. We had a nasty accident shortly before dinner.”
”Good gracious! What happened?”
”Some Lascars were caught by a sea forward. One man had his leg broken.”
”Anything else?”
The doctor hesitated. He became interested in the color of some Burgundy. ”I hardly know the exact details yet,” he replied. ”Tomorrow after breakfast I will tell you all about it.”
An English quartermaster and four Lascars had been licked from off the forecastle by the greedy tongue of a huge wave. The succeeding surge flung the five men back against the quarter. One of the black sailors was pitched aboard, with a fractured leg and other injuries. The others were smashed against the iron hull and disappeared.
For one tremulous moment the engines slowed. The s.h.i.+p commenced to veer off into the path of the cyclone. Captain Ross set his teeth, and the telegraph bell jangled ”Full speed ahead.”
”Poor Jackson!” he murmured. ”One of my best men. I remember seeing his wife, a pretty little woman, and two children coming to meet him last homeward trip. They will be there again. Good G.o.d! That Lascar who was saved has some one to await him in a Bombay village, I suppose.”
The gale sang a mad requiem to its victims. The very surface was torn from the sea. The s.h.i.+p drove relentlessly through sheets of spray that caused the officers high up on the bridge to gasp for breath. They held on by main force, though protected by strong canvas sheets bound to the rails. The main deck was quite impa.s.sable. The promenade deck, even the lofty spar deck, was scourged with the broken crests of waves that tried with demoniac energy to smash in the starboard bow, for the _Sirdar_ was cutting into the heart of the cyclone.
The captain fought his way to the charthouse. He wiped the salt water from his eyes and looked anxiously at the barometer.
”Still falling!” he muttered. ”I will keep on until seven o'clock and then bear three points to the southward. By midnight we should be behind it.”
He struggled back into the outside fury. By comparison the st.u.r.dy citadel he quitted was Paradise on the edge of an inferno.
Down in the saloon the hardier pa.s.sengers were striving to subdue the ennui of an interval before they sought their cabins. Some talked. One hardened reprobate strummed the piano. Others played cards, chess, draughts, anything that would distract attention.
The stately apartment offered strange contrast to the warring elements without. Bright lights, costly upholstery, soft carpets, carved panels and gilded cornices, with uniformed attendants pa.s.sing to and fro carrying coffee and gla.s.ses--these surroundings suggested a floating palace in which the raging seas were defied. Yet forty miles away, somewhere in the furious depths, four corpses swirled about with horrible uncertainty, lurching through battling currents, and perchance convoyed by fighting sharks.
The surgeon had been called away. Iris was the only lady left in the saloon. She watched a set of whist players for a time and then essayed the perilous pa.s.sage to her stateroom. She found her maid and a stewardess there. Both women were weeping.
”What is the matter?” she inquired.
The stewardess tried to speak. She choked with grief and hastily went out. The maid blubbered an explanation.
”A friend of hers was married, miss, to the man who is drowned.”
”Drowned! What man?”
”Haven't you heard, miss? I suppose they are keeping it quiet. An English sailor and some natives were swept off the s.h.i.+p by a sea. One native was saved, but he is all smashed up. The others were never seen again.”
Iris by degrees learnt the sad chronicles of the Jackson family. She was moved to tears. She remembered the doctor's hesitancy, and her own idle phrase--”a huge coffin.”
Outside the roaring waves pounded upon the iron walls.
Were they not satiated? This tragedy had taken all the grandeur out of the storm. It was no longer a majestic phase of nature's power, but an implacable demon, bellowing for a sacrifice. And that poor woman, with her two children, hopefully scanning the s.h.i.+pping lists for news of the great steamer, news which, to her, meant only the safety of her husband. Oh, it was pitiful!
Iris would not be undressed. The maid sniveled a request to be allowed to remain with her mistress. She would lie on a couch until morning.
Two staterooms had been converted into one to provide Miss Deane with ample accommodation. There were no bunks, but a cozy bed was screwed to the deck. She lay down, and strove to read. It was a difficult task.