The Captain of the Kansas Part 14

"I thought you would like to know. How are things up here?"

"Better. The barometer has risen an inch in less than two hours.

Possibly, nearness to the land has some effect, but wind and sea are subsiding."

"You surprise me; yet that is nothing. I have had several surprises to-night. What is the position? Of course, we must hit the South American continent sooner or later; can you fix an approximate time?"

"We are making about six knots, I fancy. If we are lucky, and avoid any stray rocks, we should see daylight before we reach the coast. That is our sole hope. The s.h.i.+p is in a powerful tidal current, and it is high-water at 5.30 A.M. At a rough estimate, Hanover Island is twenty knots distant. Now you know all. The outcome is mere guesswork."

"Why did the furnaces blow up?"

"I was cross-examining Joey on that point when you came in. He reserved his opinion. My own view is that, by accident or design, some explosive substance found its way into the coal."

"Shem, Ham and j.a.pheth! Explosive substance! Do you mean dynamite, or gunpowder, or that sort of thing?"

"Something of the kind. That is only a supposition, but when I whispered it to Walker he agreed."

"Walker! Is he the man who speaks so queerly?"

"If ever you go to Newcastle, don't put it that way. I told him to take Miss Maxwell to her cabin. Did he do so?"

"Yes. I have not seen her since, so I a.s.sume that the bromide, plus the wine, was effective. Well, I must return to my patients. Can I get you anything? I am store-keeper, you know."

"No, thanks."

"Nothing to eat, or drink?"

"Nothing. I shall be ready for a square meal when I am able to come below--not before."

Christobal smiled. Though he was a brave man, he thought such persistent optimism was out of place. Nevertheless, he could emulate Courtenay's coolness.

"Let me know when you are ready. I am an excellent cook," he said.

Then the captain of the _Kansas_ resumed his smoking and humming, with occasional glances at the clock, and the compa.s.s, and the barometer. At two o'clock he felt the s.h.i.+p slipping from under the wheel. The compa.s.s showed that she was heading a couple of points eastward. He helped her, and telephoned instantly to Walker:

"Go forward and try if you can make out anything. Report to me here."

"Ay, ay, sir," came the reply, and anon Walker appeared.

"It's main thick ahead, sir, but I think we-aw pa.s.sin' an island to port," said he.

"I thought so. You had better remain here, Walker. We have not long to wait now for the dawn, and four eyes are better than two."

Walker imagined that the skipper was ready for a chat.

"Things are in a dweadful mess below, sir. I can't make head or tail of the smash."

"Well, that must wait. Don't talk. Keep a sharp lookout."

The engineer could not guess that the captain's pulse was beating a trifle more rapidly with a certain elation. They were undoubtedly pa.s.sing White Horse Island. It revealed its presence by deflecting the tremendous sea-river which ferried the _Kansas_ onward at such a rate.

In fifteen or twenty minutes Courtenay expected to find indications of a more northerly set of the tide, and he watched the compa.s.s intently for the first sign of this return to the former course. If the s.h.i.+p crossed the current one way or the other she would certainly be driven ash.o.r.e on some outlying spur of the island or detached sunken reef. Hence, he must actually guess his way, with something of the acquired sense of the blind, because the slight chance of ultimate escape for the s.h.i.+p and her occupants rested wholly on the a.s.sumption that some ocean by-way was leading her to a deep-water inlet, where it might be possible to drop the anchor.

In eighteen minutes, or thereabouts, the needle moved slightly.

Courtenay once more a.s.sisted the s.h.i.+p with the helm. She steadied herself, and the compa.s.s pointed due northeast again.

Walker, though an engineer, knew enough of navigation to recognize the apparent impossibility of the captain's being able to steer with any real knowledge of his surroundings. The wheel-twisting, therefore, savored of magic; but his orders were to look ahead, and he obeyed.

Soon he thought he could discern an irregular pink crescent, with the concave side downwards, somewhere in the blackness beyond the bows. He rubbed his eyes, and said nothing, believing that the unaccustomed strain of gazing into the dark had affected his sight. But the pink crescent brightened and deepened, and speedily it was joined by two others, equally irregular and somewhat lower. Then he could bear the suspense no longer.

"Captain, d'ye see yon?" he asked, in a voice tremulous with awe.

"Yes. That is the sun just catching the summits of snow-topped hills.

It not only foretells the dawn, but is a sign of fine weather. There are no clouds over the land, or we should not see the peaks."

Walker began to have a respect for the captain which he had hitherto extended only to the superintending engineer, an eminent personage who never goes to sea, but inspects the s.h.i.+p when in port, and draws a fat salary and various commissions.

Ere long a silver gray light began to dispel the gloom. The two silent watchers first saw it overhead, and the vast dome of day swiftly widened over the vexed sea. The aftermath of the storm spread a low, dense cloak of vapor all round. The wind had fallen so greatly that they could hear the song of the rigging. Soon they could distinguish the outlines of the heavy rollers near at hand, and Courtenay believed that the s.h.i.+p, in her pa.s.sage, encountered in the water several narrow bands of a bright red color. If this were so, he knew that the phenomenon was caused by the prawn-like Crustacea which sailors call "Whale-food," a sure sign of deep water close to land, and, further, an indication that the current was still flowing strongly, while the force of the sea must have been broken many miles to westward.

Suddenly he turned to Walker.

"Do you think you could s.h.i.+n up to the masthead?" he asked.

"I used to be able to climb a bit, sir."

"Well, try the foremast. Up there I am fairly certain you can see over this bank of mist. Don't get into trouble. Come back if you feel you can't manage it. If you succeed, take the best observations possible and report."

Courtenay was becoming anxious now. If he dared let go the wheel he would have climbed the mast himself. Walker set about his mission in a business-like manner. He threw off his thick coat and boots, and went forward. Half-way up the mast there was a rope ladder for the use of the sailors when adjusting pulleys.

The rest of the journey was not difficult for an athletic man, and Walker was quickly an indistinct figure in the fog. He gained the truck all right, and instantly yelled something. Courtenay fancied he said:

"My G.o.d! We-ah on the wocks!"

Whatever it was, Walker did not wait, but slid downward with such speed that it was fortunate the rigging barred his progress.

And then, even while Courtenay was shouting for some explanation, a great black wall rose out of the deep on the port bow. It was a pinnacle rock, high as the s.h.i.+p's masts, but only a few feet wide at sea level, and the _Kansas_ sped past this ugly monitor as though it were a buoy in a well-marked channel.

Courtenay heard the sea breaking against it. The s.h.i.+p could not have been more than sixty feet distant, a little more than her own beam, and he fully expected that she would grind against some outlier in the next instant. But the _Kansas_ had a charmed life. She ran on unscathed, and seemed to be traveling in smoother water after this escape.

Walker's dark skin was the color of parchment when he reached the chart-house.

"Captain," he said, weakly, "I 'll do owt wi' engines, but I'm no good at this game. That thing fairly banged me. Did ye see it?"

"Did _you_ see land?" demanded Courtenay, imperatively. His spirits rose with each of these thrills. He felt that it was ordained that his s.h.i.+p should live.

"Yes, sir. The-aw 's hills, and big ones, a long way ahead, but I 'm no'

goin' up that mast again. It would be suicide. I'm done. I'll nev-ah fo-get yon stone ghost, no, not if I live to be ninety."

Then Joey, sniffing the morning, uncurled himself, stretched, yawned loudly, and thought of breakfast, for he had pa.s.sed a rather disturbed night, the second in one week. To cope with such excitement, a dog needed sustenance.