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The Lady and the Pirate, a novel by Emerson Hough |
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Chapter 31. In Which We Take To The Boats |
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_ CHAPTER XXXI. IN WHICH WE TAKE TO THE BOATS I looked at the woman I loved, and self-reproach was in my soul, as I saw a shudder go across her form. She was pale, but beyond a swift look at me made no sign connecting me, either with the wreck or the rescue. I think she had even then abandoned all hope of safety; and in my own heart, such, also, was the rising conviction which I concealed. Under the inborn habit of self-preservation, under the cultivated habit of the well born, to show no fear and to use the resources of a calm mind to the last in time of danger, we stood now, at least, in some human equality. And again I lied and said, "There is no danger," though I could see the white rollers and could hear their roar on the shore. The night grew wilder. The great gulf storm had not yet reached its climax, and none could tell what pitch of fury that might mean. The dull jar of the boat as she time and again was flung down by the waves, the shiver and creak and groan of the sturdy craft, told us that the end might come at any instant, though now the anchor held firm and our crawl on to the shoal had ceased. All around us was water only four or five feet deep, but water whose waves were twice as high. Once the final crash came, and it would be too late to launch a boat, and all of us, overboard in that welter, were gone. Silently, I stepped on deck once more, and motioned to Willy, the deck-hand, to bring me the life preservers. "Put them on," I said to Helena. "Oh, I can't. I can't!" moaned the older woman. "I'm dying--let me alone." "Stop this nonsense, madam," said I sternly--knowing that was the only way--"put it on at once. You too, Miss Emory, and you, my boys. Quick. Then throw on loose wraps--all you can. It will be cold." In spite of all my efforts to seem calm, the air of panic ran swiftly. Mrs. Daniver awoke to swift action as she tremblingly fastened the belt about her. Pushing past me, she reached the deck, and so mad was she that in all likelihood she would have sprung overboard. I caught at her, and though my clutch brought away little more than a handful of false hair, it seemed to restore her reason though it destroyed her coiffure. "Enough of this!" I cried to her. "Take your place by the boat, and do as you are told." And I saw Helena pass forward, also, as we all reached the deck, herself pale as a wraith, but with no outcry and no spoken word. So, at last, I ranged them all near the boat that swung ready at the davits. "We can't all get in that," said Jean Lafitte. "No," said I: and I did not like to look at the tiny dingey which lay on the cabin-top, squat and tub-like, or the small ducking skiff that here on deck was half full of water from the breaking seas. "Peterson," said I, "take charge of the big boat here. Take Williams to run her motor for you. And the ladies will go with you." I turned to the two boys, and my heart leaped in pride for them both; for when I motioned to Jimmy to make ready for the large boat, with the ladies, he stepped back, pale as he was. "Not unless John goes, too," said he. And they stood side by side, simply and with no outcry, their young faces grave. "He must go with us--Jimmy," broke out Helena yearningly: "and so must you." "Shut up, Auntie," exclaimed Jimmy most irreverently. "Who's a-runnin' this boat, like to know?" Which abashed his auntie very much. "We'll take this one," said Jean Lafitte, and already was tipping the duck boat. "It'll carry us three if it has to." And I allowed him and his mate to stand by, not daring to look at its inadequate shell and again at the breaking seas. That left the dingey for Willy and the cook. I glanced at Willy. "Which would you rather chance?" I asked him, "the dingey or the duck boat?" "The dingey," said he quickly,--and we both knew the cork-like quality of this stubby craft. "Very well," said I. "Call John, when the word comes to go." "Aren't you going with us?" asked Helena now, suddenly, approaching me. I took one long look into her eyes, then, "Obey orders," was all I said, and pointed to the larger boat. I said good-by to her then. And, in the swift intuitive justice that comes to us in moments of extremity, I passed sentence upon these young boys and myself. Though they had sinned in innocence, though I had sinned in love, it had been our folly that had brought these others into this peril, and our chance must be the least. Peterson and Williams would be a better team in the big boat than any other we could afford. I saw Peterson step toward us, and divined what was in his mind. "I'm owner of this boat, my man," said I. "Go to your duty. You're needed in the big boat." "I'm last to leave her," whispered the old man. "She's my boat, and I've run her." "Peterson," said I, taking him aside, "I'll buy us another boat. But there is no woman on earth, nor ever will be, like that one yonder. Save her. It is your first duty. I wanted that for myself, but she thinks I'm a coward, and I would be, if I arranged our crews any other way than just as we are. Take your boat through. We others will do the best we can. And give the word for the boats when you're sure we can't ride it out." Silently, the old man touched his cap, and giving me one look, he went to the bows of his boat. The Belle Helene, lashed by the storm, rolled and pulled at her cable, rose, fell thuddingly. And at last, came a giant swell that almost submerged us. I caught Helena to the cabin-top to keep her drier from it, and the two boys also sprang to a point of safety. Mrs. Daniver, less agile, was caught by Peterson and Williams and held to the rail, wetted thoroughly. And by some freak of the wind, at that instant came fully the roar of the surf. We of the Belle Helene seemed very small. I looked now at Peterson. He raised his little megaphone, which hung at his belt, and shouted loud and clear, as though we could not have heard him at this distance of ten feet. "Get ready to lower away!" Williams and the deck-hand sprang to the falls. "Get the women in the boat, you, Williams," called the skipper, "and go in with them to steady her when she floats. Take his place there, Mr. Harry. Lively now!" And how we got the two women into the swinging boat I hardly knew. The old skipper cast one eye ahead as a big wave rolled astern. "Now!" he shouted. "Lower away, there!" The boat dropped into the cup of a sea, rose level with the rail the next instant, and tossed perilously. I saw the two women huddled in the bottom of her, their eyes covered, saw Williams climbing over them and easing her at the bowline. Then, as we seized the next instant of the rhythm, and hauled her alongside, Peterson made a leap and went aboard her, and Williams scrambled back, once more, across the two huddled forms. I saw him wrench at the engine crank, and heard the spitting chug of the little motor. They fell off in the seaway, Peterson holding her with an oar as he could till the screws caught. Then I saw her answer the helm and they staggered off, passing out of the beam of our search-light, so that it seemed to me I had said good-by to Helena forever. We who remained had no davits to aid us, and must launch by hand. For a moment I stood and made my plans. First, I called to Willy, our deck-hand, who had the dingey now astern, some fashion. "Are you ready?" I demanded: but the next moment I heard his call astern and knew that, monkey-like, he had got her over and was aboard her somehow. "Now, boys," said I, "come here and shake hands with Black Bart." They came, their serious eyes turned up to me. And never has deeper emotion seized me than as I felt their young hands in mine. We said nothing. "Now, bear a hand there, you, Jean!" I pulled open the gate of the rail, and ran out the landing stage, on which the flat-bottomed skiff sat. With an oar I pushed it across at right angles as nearly as possible when she cleared. "Quick! Get in, both of you," I called. I was holding the inboard end of the plank under a wedged oar shaft, thrust below the sill of the forward cabin door. They scrambled out and in, Jean grasping the bight of the painter that I handed him, and passing it over the rail. "Now, look out," I called, and dropped the landing stage to meet the swell of the next wave. They slid, tilted, righted, rose high--and held. The next moment I sprang, fell into the sea, was caught by the collar as my hand grasped the cockpit coaming, and so I slid in, somehow, over the end deck, and caught the end of the painter from John's hand and cast her free. The drift carried us off at once, and the next wave almost hid the hull of the Belle Helene. I knew at once we were powerless, and that our one hope lay in drifting ashore. There is no worse sea boat than a low, flat ducking boat, decked though she be, and of good coaming, for she butts into and does not rise to a sea. But now, I thanked my star, one thing only was in our favor. We rolled like a log, already half full of water, but we floated, because in each end of our skiff was a big empty tin air tank, put there in spite of the laughing protest of the builder, who said no room was left for decoys under the decks. Just now, those tin cans were worth more than many duck decoys. "Keep down!" I ordered. "And hold on!" The boys obeyed me. I could see their gaze bent on me, as the source of their hope, their reliance. Jimmy was now free from the first violence of the seasickness, but I saw Jean's hand on his arm. "Gee!" I heard the latter mutter as the first sea crossed under us. "Dat was a peach." I took heart myself, for we lived that one through. "Bail!" I ordered, and they took their cups to it, while I did all I could with the long punt paddle to make some sort of course. Now and then the blazing trail of the Belle Helene's search-light swung across as we rolled, to leave us, the next instant, in blackness. As the seas permitted, we could see her, riding and rocking, sometimes, alight from stern to stern and making a gallant fight for her life, as were we all. So long as the rollers came in oily and black, we did well, but where the top of one broke under us, we sank deep into the white foam that had no carrying power, and our cockpit filled so that we all sat in water. Only the tanks held us, log-like, and we bailed and paddled: and after they saw we did not sink, my hardy bullies, perhaps in the ignorance of youth and boy's confidence that a boy and water are friends, began to shout aloud. We wallowed on. No sound came to us from either of the other boats; and now, very quickly it seemed, we came at the edge of the surf. "I'm touching bottom, boys," I called, and cast the long punt pole adrift as I took up the short paddle I had held under my leg. Now we had under us two feet of water or ten, as the waves might say, and any moment we might roll over; but we wallowed in, rolling, till I knew the supreme moment had come. I waited, holding her head in well as I could so unruly a hulk, and as a big roller came after us, paddled as hard as I could. The wave chased us, caught us, pushed us, carried us in. There was a lift of our loggish bows, a blinding crash of white water about us. Our boat was overturned, but in some way, since the beach was all sand and very gentle, the wave flattened so that the back-tow did not pull us down. In some way, I do not know how, I found myself standing, and dragging Jimmy by the hand. Jean already was ahead, and I heard his shout and saw his hand as he stood, knee-deep but safe. So we all made it ashore, and our boat also, which now we hauled out of the spume. And the long white row of breakers, less dangerous than I had feared, came in, white maned and bellowing. I could still see the rocking lights of the yacht, and the shifting stroke of the search-light on the sea, but I did not hear and see aught else, at the time, and my heart sank. It was Jimmy whose ear first got the sound which came in--the feverish phut-phut of the motor skiff. Then the ray of the great light swung and I saw the boat still outside the breakers--nor could I tell then why we had beaten her in. It seemed Peterson was hunting for us others. "Stay back, boys!" I called to my companions. "You might get thrown down by the waves--keep back." But now I was ready to rush in to meet the long boat, whose keel I knew would leave her to overturn if she caught bottom. But Peterson knew about the keel as well as any, and he caught what he thought was water enough before he yelled to Williams to drive her in. She sped in like an arrow; and again the white wave reared high and broke upon its prey. By then, I was in water to my waist. I caught Helena out with one reach of my arms, just as I saw Williams and Peterson stagger in with Mrs. Daniver between them. In some miraculous way we got beyond danger, and met my pirates, dancing and shouting a welcome to our desert isle. Their advent, thereon, gave the two womenfolk a fervent wish to embrace, sob and weep extraordinarily. I had said nothing to Helena and said nothing now. "Where's the dingey, Peterson?" I called, as he came up, grinning. "Coming in," said he; and forsooth that water-rat, Willy, made a better landing of it than any of us, and calmly helped us now to haul the heavy motor skiff up the beach, a few feet at a time as the waves thrust it forward. "Thank God!" I heard Helena exclaim. "Oh, thank God! We're safe, we're all safe, after all." I looked at my little group for a time, all soaked to the skin, all huddled now close together. Peterson, Williams, Willy--all the crew, yes. Auntie Lucinda and the woman who had called me a coward--the two captives, yes, Jean Lafitte and Henri L'Olonnois and myself, Black Bart--all the ship's owners. What lacked? For a moment I could not tell why I had the vague feeling that something or some one was missing. "Willy," said I at last, "where's John, the cook?" "Why, I don't know," said Willy. "Didn't he come with you?" _ |
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