The Stowaway Girl Part 9

Bullets struck the deck, lodged in the masts, splintered the roof and panels of the upper structure, but not one touched c.o.ke. He coolly made fast each flag in its turn, and hauled away till the Union Jack had reached the truck; then, drawn forrard by a hoa.r.s.e cheer that came from the forecastle, he turned his back on the enemy and swung himself down to the fore-deck.

He was still wearing the heavy garments demanded by the gale; his recent exertions, joined to the fact that the normal temperature of a sub-tropical island was making itself felt, had induced a violent perspiration. As he lumbered along the deck he mopped his face vigorously with a pocket handkerchief, and this homely action helped to convince Iris that she was mistaken in thinking him mad. His words, too, when he caught sight of her, were not those of a maniac.

"Well, missy," he cried, "wot'll they say in Liverpool now? I s'pose they'll 'ear of this some day," and he jerked a thumb backwards to indicate the unceasing hail of bullets that poured into the after part of the s.h.i.+p.

The girl looked at him with an air of surprise that would have been comical under less grievous conditions. She knew, with a vague definiteness, that death was near, perhaps unavoidable, and it had never occurred to her that she or any other person on board need feel any concern about the view entertained by Liverpool as to their fate.

Before she could frame a reply, however, Hozier seemed to recover his faculties. He stood up, walked unaided to the side of the s.h.i.+p, and glanced ahead.

"Shouldn't we try to lower a boat, sir?" he asked instantly.

"Wot's the use?" growled c.o.ke. "Oo's goin' to lower boats while them blighters on the island are pumpin' lead into us? And wot good are the boats w'en they're lowered? They've been drilled full of holes. You might as well try to float a sieve. Look at that," he added sarcastically, as the side of the cutter was ripped open by a ricochetting shot, and splinters were littered on the deck, "they know wot they want an' they mean to get it. Dead men tell no tales. It won't be anybody 'ere now who'll 'ave the job of lettin' the folk at 'ome know 'ow the pore ole _Andromeda_ went under."

"Are none of the boats seaworthy?"

"Not one. They're knocked to pieces. Sorry for you, Miss Yorke. But we're all booked for Kingdom Come. In 'arf a minnit, or less, we'll be on the reef, an' the s.h.i.+p must begin to break up."

c.o.ke was telling the plain truth, but Hozier ran aft to make sure that he was right in a.s.suming the extent of the boats' damages. One of the men, an Italian, climbed to the forecastle deck in order to see more clearly what sort of danger they were running into. He came back instantly, and his swarthy face was green with terror. Though he spoke English well enough, he began to jabber wildly in his mother tongue.

None paid heed to him. It was common knowledge that the vessel must be lost, and that those who still lived when she struck would have the alternatives of being drowned, or beaten to pieces against the frowning rocks, or shot from the mainland like so many stranded seals, if some alliance of luck and strength secured a momentary foothold on one of the tiny islets that barred the way. And at such moments, when the mind is driven into a swift-running channel that ends in a cataract, elemental pa.s.sions are apt to strive with elemental fears. Few among these rough sailors had ever given thought to the future. They had lived from hand to mouth, the demands of a hard and dangerous profession alternating with bouts of foolish revelry. Most of them had looked on death in the tempest, in the swirling seas, in the uplifted knife. But then, there was always a chance of escape, an open door for the stout heart and ready hand; whereas, under present conditions, there was nothing to be done but pray, or curse, or wait in stoic silence until the first ominous quiver ran through the swift-moving s.h.i.+p. So, all unknowingly, they grouped themselves according to their nationalities, for the Latins knelt and supplicated the saints and the Virgin Mother, the Celts roared insensate threats at the islanders who had thrown them into the very jaws of eternity, and the Saxons stood motionless, with grim jaws and frowning brows, disdaining alike both frenzied appeal and useless execration.

Someone threw a cork jacket over the girl's shoulders, and bade her fasten its straps around her waist. She obeyed without a word.

Indeed, she seemed to have lost the power of speech. Everything had suddenly a.s.sumed such a crystal clear aspect that her eyes were gifted with unnatural vision though her remaining senses were benumbed. The blue and white of the sky, the emerald green of the water, the russet brown and cold gray of the land--these shone now with a beauty vivid beyond any of nature's tints she had ever before seen. She was conscious, too, of an awful aloofness. Her spirit was entrenched in its own citadel. She seemed to be brooding, solitary and remote, yet shrinking ever within herself; quite unknowing, she offered a piteous example of the old Hebrew's dire truism that man came naked into the world and naked shall he depart.

In a curiously detached way she wondered why Hozier did not return.

The prayers and curses of the men surrounding her fell unheeded on her ears. Where was Hozier? What was he doing? Why did he not come to her? She felt a strange confidence in him. If he had not been struck down by that calamitous sh.e.l.l he would have saved the s.h.i.+p--a.s.suredly he would have devised some means of saving their lives! Perhaps, even now, he was attempting some desperate expedient! . . . The thought nerved her for an instant. Then a rending, grinding noise was followed by a sudden swerve and roll of the s.h.i.+p that sent her staggering against a bulkhead. An outburst of cries and shouting rang through her brain, and a shriek was wrung from her parched throat.

But the _Andromeda_ righted herself again, though there was another sound of tearing metal, and the deck heaved perceptibly under a shock.

Ah, kind Heaven! here came Hozier, running, thundering some loud order.

"The port life-boat . . . seaworthy!"

There was a fierce rush, in which she joined. She was knocked down. A strong hand dragged her to her feet. It was c.o.ke, swearing horribly.

She saw Hozier leap against the flood of men.

"D--n you, the woman first!" she heard him say, and he sent the leaders of the mob sprawling over the hatches of the forehold.

c.o.ke, almost carrying her in his left arm, b.u.t.ted in among the crew like an infuriated bull. Some of the men, shamefaced, made way for them. Hosier reached her. She thought he said to the captain:

"There's a chance, if we can swing her clear."

Then the s.h.i.+p struck, and they were all flung to the deck. They rose, somehow, anyhow, but the _Andromeda_, apparently resenting the check, lifted herself bodily, tilted bow upward, and struck again. A ma.s.s of spray dashed down upon the struggling figures who had been driven a second time to their knees. There was a terrific explosion in the after-hold, for the deck had burst under the pressure of air, and another ominous roar announced that the water had reached the furnaces.

Steam and smoke and dust mingled with the incessant las.h.i.+ng of sheets of spray, and Iris was torn from c.o.ke's grip.

She fancied she heard Hozier cry, "Too late!" and a lightning glimpse down the sloping deck showed some of the engineers and stokers crawling up toward the quivering forecastle. She felt herself clasped in Hozier's arms, and knew that he was climbing. After a few breathless seconds she realized that they were standing on the forecastle, where the captain and many of the crew were clinging to the windla.s.s, and anchor, and cable, and bulwarks, to maintain their footing. Below, beyond a stretch of unbroken deck, the sea raged against all that was left of the s.h.i.+p. The bridge just showed above the froth and spume of sea level. The funnel still held by its stays, but the mainmast was gone, and with it the string of flags.

The noise was deafening, overpowering. It sounded like the rattle of some immense factory; yet a voice was audible through the din, for Hozier was telling her not to abandon hope, as the fore part of the s.h.i.+p was firmly wedged into a cleft in the rocks: they might still have a chance when the tide dropped.

So that explained why it was so dark where a few moments ago all was light. Iris pressed the salt water out of her burning eyes, and tried to look up. On both sides of the narrow triangle of the forecastle rose smooth overhanging walls, black and dripping. They were festooned with seaweed, and every wave that curled up between the s.h.i.+p's plates and the rocks was thrown back over the deck, while streams of water fell constantly from the ma.s.ses of weed. She gasped for breath. The mere sight of this dismal cleft with its super-saturated air s.p.a.ce made active the choking sensation of which she was just beginning to be aware.

"I--cannot breathe!" she sobbed, and she would have slipped off into the welter of angry foam beneath had not Hozier tightened a protecting arm round her waist.

"Stoop down!" he said.

She had a dim knowledge that he unb.u.t.toned his coat and drew one of its folds over her head. Ah, the blessed relief of it! Freed from the stifling showers of spray, she drew a deep breath or two. How good he was to her! How sure she was now that if he had been spared by that disabling sh.e.l.l he would have saved them all!

Bent and shrouded as she was, she could see quite clearly downward.

The s.h.i.+p was breaking up with inconceivable rapidity. Already there was a huge irregular vent between the fore deck and the central block of cabins topped by the bridge. And a new horror was added to all that had gone before. Swarms of rats were skimming up the slippery planks.

They were invading the forecastle and the forecastle deck. They came in an irresistible army, though, fortunately for Iris's continued sanity, the greater number scurried into the darkness of the men's quarters.

She was watching them with fascinated eyes, though not daring to withdraw her head from under the coat, when she heard a ghastly yell from beneath, and an erie face appeared above the stairway. It was Watts, mad with fright and drink.

"Save me! save me!" he screamed, and the girl shuddered as she realized that the man did not fear death so much as he loathed the scampering rats. He had no difficulty in climbing the steep companion, though, by reason of the present position of all that was left of the _Andromeda_, its pitch was thrown back to an unusual angle. He scrambled up, a pitiable object. A couple of rats ran over his body, and as each whisked across his shoulders and past his cheek he uttered a blood-curdling yell. A big wave surged up into the recesses of the cleft and was flung off in a drenching shower on to the forecastle. It nearly swept Watts into the next world, and it drove every rodent in that exposed place back to the dry interior.

To return, they had to use the unhappy chief officer as a causeway, and the poor wretch's despairing cries were heartrending. He was clinging for dear life to a bolt in the deck when c.o.ke joined hands with a sailor and was thus enabled to reach him. Once the skipper's strong fingers had clutched his collar he was rescued--at least from the instant death that might have been the outcome of his abject terror, for there could be little doubt in the minds of those who saw his glistening eyes and drawn lips that it would have needed the pa.s.sage of but one more rat and he would have relaxed his hold.

c.o.ke pulled him up until he was lodged in safety in front of the windla.s.s. The manner of the welcome given by the captain to his _aide_ need not be recorded here. It was curt and lurid; it would serve as a sorry pa.s.sport if proffered on his entry to another world; but the tragi-comedy of Watts's appearance among the close-packed gathering on the forecastle was forthwith blotted out of existence by a thing so amazing, so utterly unlooked for that during a couple of spellbound seconds not a man moved nor spoke.

CHAPTER V

THE REFUGEES

Watts was whimpering some broken excuse to his angry skipper when a coil of stout rope fell on top of the windla.s.s and rebounded to the deck. More than that, one end of it stretched into the infinity of dripping rock and flying spray overhead. And it had been thrown by friendly hands. Though it dangled from some unseen ledge, its purpose seemed to be that of help rather than slaughter, whereas every other act of the inhabitants of Fernando Noronha had been suggestive of homicidal mania in its worst form.

c.o.ke and Hozier recovered the use of their faculties simultaneously.

The eyes of the two men met, but c.o.ke was the first to find his voice.

"Salvage, by G--d!" he cried. "Up you go, Hozier! I'll sling the girl behind you. She can't manage it alone, an' it needs someone with brains to fix things up there for the rest of us." And he added hoa.r.s.ely in Philip's ear: "Sharp's the word. We 'aven't many minutes!"

Philip made no demur. The captain's strong common sense had suggested the best step that could be taken in the interests of all. Iris, who was nearer yielding now that there was a prospect of being rescued than when death was clamoring at her feet among the trembling remains of the s.h.i.+p, silently permitted c.o.ke and a sailor to strip off a life-belt and tie her and Hozier back to back. It was wonderful, though hidden from her ken in that supreme moment, to see how they devised a double sling in order to distribute the strain. When each knot was securely fastened, c.o.ke vociferated a mighty "Heave away!"

But his powerful voice was drowned by the incessant roar of the breakers; not even the united clamor of every man present, fifteen all told, including the drunken chief officer, could make itself heard above the din. Then Hozier tugged sharply at the rope three times, and it grew taut. Amid a jubilant cry from the others, he and Iris were lifted clear of the deck. At once they were carried fully twenty feet to seaward. As they swung back, not quite so far, and now well above the level of the windla.s.s from which their perilous journey had started, a ready-witted sailor seized a few coils of a thin rope that lay tucked up in the angle of the bulwarks, and flung them across Hozier's arms.

"Take a whip with you, sir!" he yelled, and Philip showed that he understood by gripping the rope between his teeth. It was obvious that the rescuers were working from a point well overhanging the recess into which the _Andromeda_ had driven her bows, and there might still be the utmost difficulty in throwing a rope accurately from the rock to the wreck. As a matter of fact, no less than six previous attempts had been made, and the success of the seventh was due solely to a favorable gust of wind hurtling into the cleft at the very instant it was needed.

The sailor's quick thought solved this problem for the future. By tying the small rope to the heavier one, those who remained below could haul it back when some sort of signal code was established. At present, all they could do was to pay out the whip, and take care that it did not interfere with Hozier's ascent. They soon lost sight of him and the girl, for the spray and froth overhead formed an impenetrable canopy, but they reasoned that the distance to be traveled could not be great; otherwise the throwing of a rope would have been a physical impossibility in the first instance.

Once there was a check. They waited anxiously, but there was no sign given by the frail rope that they were to haul in again. Then the upward movement continued.

"Chunk o' rock in the way," announced c.o.ke, glaring round at the survivors as if to challenge contradiction. No one answered. These men were beginning to measure their lives against the life of the wedge of iron and timber kept in position by the crumbling frame of the s.h.i.+p.

It was a fast-diminis.h.i.+ng scale. The figures painted on the _Andromeda's_ bows represented minutes rather than feet.

Watts was lying crouched on deck, with his arms thrown round the windla.s.s. Looking ever for a fresh incursion of rats, he seemed to be cheered by the fact that his dreaded a.s.sailants preferred the interior of the forecastle to the wave-swept deck. He was the only man there who had no fear of death. Suddenly he began to croon a long-forgotten sailor's chanty. Perhaps, in some dim way, a notion of his true predicament had dawned on him, for there was a sinister purport to the verse.

"Now, me lads, sing a stave of the Dead Man's Ma.s.s; Ye'll never sail 'ome again, O.

We're twelve old salts an' the skipper's la.s.s, Marooned in the Spanish Main, O.

Sing hay---- Sing ho---- A nikker is Davy Jones, Just one more plug, an' a swig at the jug, An' up with the skull an' bones."