Part 27 (2/2)
The old gentleman could say no more, but continued for a few seconds to wring the hands of his young friend, gaze in his face, and vent himself in gusts of surprise and bursts of tearful laughter, to the great interest and amus.e.m.e.nt of the bystanders.
Mr Durant's inconsistent conduct may be partly accounted for and excused by the fact that Stanley had stepped on the pier with no other garments on than a pair of trousers and a s.h.i.+rt, the former having a large rent on the right knee, and the latter being torn open at the breast, in consequence of the violent removal of all the b.u.t.tons when its owner was dragged into the lifeboat. As, in addition to this, the young man's dishevelled hair did duty for a cap, and his face and hands were smeared with oil and tar from the flare-lights which he had a.s.sisted to keep up so energetically, it is not surprising that the first sight of him had a powerful effect on Mr Durant.
”Why, Stanney,” he said at length, ”you look as if you were some strange sea-monster just broke loose from Neptune's menagerie!”
Perhaps this idea had been suggested by the rope round Stanley's waist, the cut end of which still dangled at his side, for Mr Durant took hold of it inquiringly.
”Ay, sir,” put in the c.o.xswain, who chanced to be near him, ”that bit of rope is a scarf of honour. He saved the life of a soldier's widow with it.”
There was a tendency to cheer on the part of the bystanders who heard this.
”G.o.d bless you, Stanney, my boy! Come and get dressed,” said the old gentleman, suddenly seizing his friend's arm and pus.h.i.+ng his way through the crowd, ”come along; oh, don't talk to me of the s.h.i.+p. I know that it's lost; no matter--you are saved. And do _you_ come along with us Wel--Wel--what's the name of --? Ah! Welton--come; my daughter is here somewhere. I left her near the parapet. Never mind, she knows her way home.”
Katie certainly was there, and when, over the heads of the people--for she had mounted with characteristic energy on the parapet, a.s.sisted by Queeker and accompanied by f.a.n.n.y Hennings--she beheld Stanley Hall in such a plight, she felt a disposition to laugh and cry and faint all at once. She resisted the tendency, however, although the expression of her face and her rapid change of colour induced Queeker with anxious haste to throw out his arms to catch her.
”Ha!” exclaimed Queeker, ”_I knew it_!”
What Queeker knew he never explained. It may have had reference to certain suspicions entertained in regard to the impression made by the young student on Katie the night of their first meeting; we cannot tell, but we know that he followed up the exclamation with the muttered remark, ”It was fortunate that I pulled up in time.”
Herein Queeker exhibited the innate tendency of the human heart to deceive itself. That furious little poetical fox-hunter had, by his own confession, felt the pangs of a guilty conscience in turning, just because he could not help it, from Katie to f.a.n.n.y, yet here he was now basely and coolly taking credit to himself for having ”pulled up in time!”
”Oh, look at the _dear_ little children!” exclaimed f.a.n.n.y, pointing towards a part of the crowd where several seamen were carrying the rescued and still terrified little ones in their strong arms, while others a.s.sisted the women along, and wrapped dry shawls round them.
”How dreadful to think,” said Katie, making a hard struggle to suppress her agitation, ”that all these would have been lost but for the lifeboat; and how wonderful to think that some of our own friends should be among them!”
”Ay, there be many more besides these saved last night, miss,” remarked a st.u.r.dy old boatman who chanced to be standing beside her. ”All along the east coast the lifeboats has bin out, miss, you may be sure; and they don't often shove off without bringin' somethin' back to show for their pains, though they don't all 'ave steamers for to tug 'em out.
There's the Broadstairs boat, now; I've jist heerd she was out all night an' saved fifteen lives; an' the Walmer and Deal boats has fetched in a lot, I believe, though we han't got particklers yet.”
Besides those whom we have mentioned as gazing with the crowd at the arrival of the lifeboat, Morley Jones, and Nora, and Billy Towler were there. Jones and Billy had returned from London together the night before the storm, and, like nearly every one else in the town, had turned out to witness the arrival of the lifeboat.
d.i.c.k Moy also was there, and that huge lump of good-nature spent the time in making sagacious remarks and wise comments on wind and weather, wrecks and rescues, in a manner that commanded the intense admiration of a knot of visitors who happened to be near him, and who regarded him as a choice specimen--a sort of type--of the British son of Neptune.
”This is wot _I_ says,” observed d.i.c.k, while the people were landing ”so long as there's 'ope, 'old on. Never say die, and never give in; them's my sentiments. 'Cause why? no one never knows wot may turn up. If your s.h.i.+p goes down; w'y, wot then? Strike out, to be sure. P'r'aps you may be picked up afore long. If sharks is near, p'r'aps you may be picked down. You can never tell. If you gets on a shoal, wot then? w'y, stick to the s.h.i.+p till a lifeboat comes off to 'ee. Don't never go for to take to your own boats. If you do--capsize, an' Davy Jones's locker is the word. If the lifeboat can't git alongside; w'y, wait till it can.
If it can't; w'y, it can only be said that it couldn't. No use cryin'
over spilt milk, you know. Not that I cares for milk. It don't keep at sea, d'ye see; an's only fit for babbys. If the lifeboat capsizes; w'y, then, owin' to her parfection o' build, she rights again, an' you, 'avin' on cork jackets, p'r'aps, gits into 'er by the lifelines, all handy. If you 'aven't got no cork jackets on, w'y, them that has'll pick 'ee up. If not, it's like enough you'll go down. But no matter, you've did yer best, an' man, woman, or child can do no more. You can only die once, d'ye see?”
Whether the admiring audience did or did not see the full force of these remarks, they undoubtedly saw enough in the gigantic tar to esteem him a marvel of philosophic wisdom. Judging by their looks that he was highly appreciated, it is just possible that d.i.c.k Moy might have been tempted to extend his discourse, had not a move in the crowd showed a general tendency towards dispersion, the rescued people having been removed, some to the Sailor's Home, others to the residences of hospitable people in the town.
Now, it must not be imagined that all these characters in our tale have been thus brought together, merely at our pleasure, without rhyme or reason, and in utter disregard of the law of probabilities. By no means.
Mr Robert Queeker had started for Ramsgate, as the reader knows, on a secret mission, which, as is also well known, was somewhat violently interrupted by the sporting tendencies of that poetical law-clerk; but no sooner did Queeker recover from his wounds than--with the irresistible ardour of a Wellington, or a Blucher, or a bull-dog, or a boarding-school belle--he returned to the charge, made out his intended visit, set his traps, baited his lines, fastened his snares, and whatever else appertained to his secret mission, so entirely to the satisfaction of Messrs. Merryheart and Dashope, that these estimable men resolved, some time afterwards, to send him back again to the scene of his labours, to push still further the dark workings of his mission.
Elate with success the earnest Queeker prepared to go. Oh, what joy if _she_ would only go with him!
”And why not?” cried Queeker, starting up when this thought struck him, as if it had struck him too hard and he were about to retaliate,--”Why not? _That_ is the question.”
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