CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
AN OMEN.
There was the usual clatter of knives and forks, and chinking ofglasses, and scurrying of stewards in the well-lighted saloon, andduring dinner the derelict they had just passed took up a largeproportion of the conversation. As to this the captain's tableconstituted no exception.
"What sort of ship would she have been, Captain Lawes--English?" Thespeaker was the lady passenger we heard making inquiries as to seasuperstitions. She was a bright, rather taking woman of about thirty,making the homeward voyage with one child, a sweetly-pretty little girl,who was made a great pet of among the passengers--indeed, a great dealmore than was good for her.
"Can't say for certain, but am inclined to think so. She must have beena timber ship or she'd hardly have kept afloat for so long."
"How long do you think she's been like that?"
"Can't say either for certain. She may have been months, and, from thelook of her, a good few of them. Or she may have been years."
"And do you think there's anyone on board?" The captain stared.
"Anyone on board?" he echoed. "Well, not anyone living, of course. Butit's hardly likely anyone would have remained on board. The fact of herbeing still afloat shows that they had plenty of time when theyabandoned her."
"But if there is? What a ghastly idea it seems, that old ship floatingabout for ever in those oily seas, a floating coffin for some poorwretches imprisoned within her! Ugh! it's horrible!"
"You've got a lively imagination, Mrs Colville," said the captain drily."You're not a novelist, are you?"
"Oh no; I wish I were. But isn't a half-sunk ship like that, right inour way, rather dangerous to navigation?"
"That's exactly the wording of our log-book when we report theoccurrence: `Dangerous to navigation.'"
"But why don't you sink her, then, and get her out of the way?"
The captain stole a quick, comical glance at the passenger on his otherside.
"In the first place, as the American lady said when she was asked whyshe didn't get married: `I guess I haven't time.' You see, I don't ownthis boat, Mrs Colville, nor yet her cargo. What would my owners say ifI spent half the night hanging around trying to sink every derelict onepasses at sea? We're behind time as it is, thanks to the barnacleswe've accumulated. Again, she may be worth salvaging, though I don'tthink so."
"Mr Ransome was saying she had been around here quite a long while. Hecalled her the Red Derelict; said she was a sort of Flying Dutchman, andit was unlucky to sight her."
"I know he did," answered the captain grimly, with a complacentrecollection of the savage wigging that rash youth had received at hishands. The other passenger struck in:
"I told him it would have been still more unlucky if we hadn't sightedher till--say, an hour later. She was right bang in our course."
The captain looked not altogether pleased at this remark, but thespeaker was a personage of some consideration on board.
"We keep a look out, you know, Mr Wagram," he said.
"Of course. But I always notice that the first hour of these tropicalnights is the darkest, perhaps because of the suddenness with which itrushes down. Now, a hulk like that, flush with the surface and showingno lights, would it be discernible until too late?"
The captain knew that the chances were twenty to one it wouldn't, butfor expediency's sake he was not going to own as much. As he had saidbefore, passengers were a skeery crowd, and didn't want any extrafrightening.
"Chances are it would," he answered, "especially in a smooth sea likethis. There's always a disturbance on the surface as the thing risesand falls, an extra gleam of phosphorus, or something that the lookoutman on the forecastle can't miss."
"That's satisfactory," rejoined the lady. "Do you believe in luck, MrWagram?"
"In the sense in which we are going to be unlucky because we've seen adismantled hulk--decidedly not. The idea is too puerile even fordiscussion."
"Oh, I wish I were as strong-minded! Do you know, I'm terriblysuperstitious."
"Really? Well, I believe many people are," he answered politely, with afaint dash of banter.
"Mrs Colville was trying to get at me on that very subject thisafternoon," laughed the captain. "She thought all sailor-men were bornfetish-men."
"It's all very well, no doubt," she answered. "You may laugh, and allthat, but, all the same, I wish we hadn't seen that Flying Dutchman ofyours. I'm sure it'll bring us ill luck."
Hardly were the words uttered than a hush fell upon the saloon. To theclatter of knives and forks, the chink of glasses, and the loud hum ofvoices--at this stage of the dinner at its highest--had succeeded a deadsilence. It had seemed compulsory, for it had begun without. Theregular, monotonous thrashing of the propeller--which had become almosta necessity, so habitual was it by now--had ceased. The ship lay stillupon the smooth, oily waters. The engines had stopped.
Those who have experience of sea voyages will be familiar with theeffect produced by such an occurrence. So thoroughly has the churningbeat of the propeller become a part of one's existence that the suddencessation thereof is enough to awaken the soundest sleeper, and when itbefalls during waking hours, and in mid-ocean, why, then, it is not theconstitutionally timid alone who can plead guilty to a misgiving, andthe conjuring up of a disabled ship rolling helplessly on the swell, andwaiting for assistance that may be long enough in coming.
Such was the prevailing state of mind among the passengers of the_Baleka_ at that moment. The timid decided that it was a case ofbreakdown; those not timid hoped it was not. Tongues began to wagagain, but not so briskly, and immediately a steward came in andreported something to the chief engineer, who presided at another tablein the saloon. The latter went out.
"What has gone wrong, captain?" said Mrs Colville, not without a dash ofanxiety. "Have the engines broken down?"
"I haven't been down to the engine-room to see yet," was the blandreply. "McAndrew has just gone out, so we shall know directly."
"Ah! There now, Mr Wagram, look at that!" she exclaimed. "Didn't I saythat wretched derelict would bring us ill luck? And just as I wassaying so we stop."
"Is that ill luck?" said Wagram, with a smile. He himself had made nocomment whatever on the occurrence, but was going on with his dinner asif nothing had happened. "It is no uncommon event at sea for theengines to stop for a few minutes for various intelligible and harmlessreasons. Am I right, Captain Lawes?"
"Perfectly."
"But why don't they send up to let you know what's gone wrong, captain?"persisted the lady. "I should have thought that's the first thingthey'd do."
"The fact that they don't shows that there's nothing the matter.McAndrew knows better than to set up a scare among the passengers bysending despatches into the saloon in the middle of dinner."
And the speaker, like Wagram, continued tranquilly to ply his knife andfork. At heart he felt annoyed at the turn events had taken. He knew--while despising it--the depths of asininity to which the average humanunderstanding will plunge in the matter of "luck" and "ill luck," andsuch a coincidence as that which had befallen was sufficient to startsome idiot among the passengers getting it into the newspapers onarrival in England. Moreover, he knew, of course, that a merchantcaptain is by no means the almighty little tin god that most landsmenthink him, even while at sea, and that in the eyes of owners he is offairly small account. And, strange as it may seem to the enlightenedmind, the reputation of an "unlucky ship" is easier gained than lost.So when, a minute or two later, a note was brought to him from theengine-room he at once stood up and addressed the saloon.
There was no cause whatever for alarm, he explained. The stoppage wasdue to something wrong with the machinery, but of a trifling nature, andwhich was even then nearly repaired. Any minute they might be under wayagain.
There was clapping of hands at this, and cries of "Hear, hear!"Reassured tongues began to wag again, and the lowered voices and murmursof
misgiving were heard no more. And lo! even before dinner was done,there came a pulsation through the fabric of the ship, gentle at first,then increasing. The beat of the propeller was heard as well as felt.They were on the move again, and now a marked increase of hilarity wassignificant of reaction after the recent depression of alarm.
"The world is very full of prize idiots, Mr Wagram," observed thecaptain when the bulk of the passengers had gone out, including the ladyat his right. He had purposely sat on longer than usual.
"Yes. You could scrape together a considerable fool show out of it,"laughed the other, filling his glass. "But between ourselves, now thatwe are alone, why don't the naval people send out a gunboat to look forthis confounded hulk and sink her? They can't have so much to do onthis West Coast Station, and she must be infernally dangerous toshipping."
"So she is really. But at sea we have to take a lot of chances--a sightmore than you landsmen would dream of, I don't mind telling _you_."
"So I should imagine. Look at this." From a notecase he extracted anewspaper cutting and handed it to the captain. It was the identicalaccount of the appearance of the derelict which Haldane had read outthat happy summer morning at dear old Hilversea, and something of a sighescaped him at the recollection. "Think it's the same?"
"`The _Rhodesian_... Latitude 10 degrees 5 minutes North, longitude 16degrees 38 minutes West... about 900 or 1000 tons'" ... went on thecaptain, skimming the report. "H'm, h'm--it's rum, certainly, but itmight easily be. The description seems to tally exactly. Why, it'squite a long while ago too. And the latitude isn't far out with ourpresent position. Yes; it's rum."
"But how the deuce can the thing stick about in one place? Seems as ifit were bound to drift away, Heaven knows where--perhaps on shore andget broken up."
"Ever heard of circular currents, Mr Wagram? It's that that forms theMaelstrom. There are some queer currents hereabouts too, which mayaccount for the thing hanging around here till the crack of doom. Iknew she'd been a long time in the water by the look of her. But may Iask, without being curious, what made you keep that cutting--let alonecarry it about with you?"
"That's more than I can tell you, for I hardly know myself. I supposethe circumstance struck me as an out-of-the-way strange one, so when allat once I made up my mind for a voyage or two it came back to my mind,and so I hunted up the number it was in and cut it out."
"Yes; it's a rum thing, very," repeated the captain, glancing againthrough the newspaper cutting. "`About eight feet of iron foremaststanding, and rather more of mizzen-mast, with some rigging trailingfrom it.' That's exactly the description of the hooker we've justpassed, except that there was no rigging trailing from it. But that mayhave carried away or been knocked off."
"Well, it's behind _us_, at any rate," said Wagram, rising. "Let's hopeit'll soon go to the bottom of its own accord. I suppose the thing canhardly keep afloat for ever."
To his fellow-passengers Wagram was a sealed book, in that allconjectures as to his identity and his circumstance failed. He was veryreticent, and this they were at first inclined to resent; but a certaincharm of manner and a never-failing courtesy to all quickly dispelledany idea that "side" might be the underlying motive of such reticence.The fact that he had paid extra for the privilege of having a cabin tohimself, and that nearly the best on the ship, seemed to throw somelight upon his circumstances. Though reticent, however, about himselfhe could not exactly be called unsociable, for he would spend hisevenings in the smoke-room, entering into the current chat over a pipeor so. But who he was, and where from--that nobody knew.
Not much inclined for sociability was he to-night. The incident of thederelict had brought back the past--the old happy past--and again heseemed to live through those bright sunny days at Hilversea, surroundedby all that made life joyous, and, underlying all, the ecstatic sense ofpossession. But now--! Well, his quest was ended. He had carried itout conscientiously, energetically, and--nothing had come of it.
No; nothing whatever. He had followed out Develin Hunt's directions tothe letter--sparing not himself. He had betaken himself, always withcare and absence of ostentation, to the locality in which that worthyhad pronounced his half-brother to be, but of the latter he could learnnothing. Once he had lighted on what seemed a clue, but it had ended insmoke. Then, acting upon another, he had taken ship for Australia, andhad followed it up, with like result. Once more he had returned toSouth Africa, to meet again with no reward to his efforts. At last,baffled at every turn, he had concluded he might legitimately abandonthe search, and so here we find him again on his way homeward.
His wanderings, although he had spared no expense towards the attainmentof his object, had been undertaken on no luxurious lines. He hadroughed it in strange wild places, had undergone real hardships, and onoccasions real peril, and the experience had hardened him. He was insplendid condition, dark, sunburnt, and as hard as nails. But now hadcome upon him a great home-sickness, and he was regretting theeasy-going lack of foresight which had moved him to take passage onboard the _Baleka_ instead of upon one of the more crowded but swiftersteamships of the regular mail line.
Pacing the deck in the tropical starlight he recapitulated to himselfthe whole situation. All had gone below now, but he remained, as hiscustom was; the swirl of the phosphorescent lines from the stem of theship; the muffled clank of the engines; the weird, long-drawn cry of thelookout on the forecastle as the bells were struck every half hour--thesole accompaniment to his meditations. It all came back--the weeks ofblank desolation following upon his father's death, and how the voice ofconscience, proving stronger than that of his advisers, had spurred himforth upon his fruitless quest. Well, it had proved fruitless, whichseemed to point to the certainty that his advisers had been right.
It all came back. The wrench of that uprooting--of tearing himself awayfrom Hilversea, and all it involved; the farewells, too, though he hadavoided these as much as possible--in cowardly fashion he now toldhimself. Haldane's hearty regrets and expectation to see him soonagain; Yvonne's blue eyes brimming with tears, which the affectionatechild was at no pains to conceal; the genuine grief of his humblerfriends; the last Mass in the chapel; and the final shutting out ofeverything behind him as the carriage whirled him off to Bassinghamstation in the murk of the winter day. Delia Calmour, too, whom hecould not but think that he and his father and the indirect influencesof their surroundings had been incidental, under Heaven, in guiding intothe way of light. Poor child! He knew she would miss him, as herecalled the brave effort she had made to subdue all manifestation ofthe extent of her regret when he had bidden her good-bye; and he smiledto himself as he remembered certain arrangements which he had made withhis solicitors providing that, in the event of anything happening tohim, this girl whom he and his father had befriended should never bethrown upon the world to combat that uncompromising enemy with her ownunaided resources.
Yes; Hilversea rose up before him now, fair, pleasant, restful in itssunshine as the very plains of heaven. Soon he would be within itagain. He had trampled all considerations of self under foot and hadfollowed the voice of conscience--and the result had been "As you were!"Surely he had done enough. Clearly his stewardship was his still, and,Heaven help him, he would endeavour to fulfil it to the utmost of hispower, and would teach his son to do the same after him. Gerard? Hemust have grown quite tall, he reflected. What a splendid-lookingfellow he would be.
Pacing up and down, hour after hour, Wagram's thoughts ran too fast forhis mind--and ever the silence, the swirl of the sea, and the streakingfall of a star in the murky tropical zenith. Then came a sudden jar,and a crash that shivered the ship from stem to stern. For a fewmoments this horrible jarring vibration continued, then the whole fabricgave a convulsive kind of heave, and the tremor ceased. All was still--but the thrash of the propeller was no longer felt, no longer heard.The throbbing of the engines had ceased--again.
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