She called to the lascars for assistance, but the only reply she received from the two men for'ard was: "No good; him dead man."
Mahmed, however, although he had no doubt that he was handling a corpse2, came to her aid, although he worked with an averted3 face. Even with his assistance Olive had a hard task, but at length Peter was unceremoniously bundled over the gunwale, and placed in the stern-sheets close to the unconscious Preston.
Anxiously the girl gazed at his pallid4 face, hoping to detect some sign of life. Then she began the operations as laid down in the instructions for restoring the apparently6 drowned.
In her schooldays Olive had been taught this useful knowledge, but she had never before had an opportunity of putting the knowledge to the test. She felt none too sure of it. Once or twice she found herself wondering whether she was doing the wrong thing.
For a full half-hour she kept up the respiratory exercises, until, in the uncertain light of the lantern, she fancied that the colour was stealing back to Peter's face.
"He is alive; your master isn't dead!" she exclaimed to the hitherto apathetic7 Mahmed.
The announcement had an electrical effect upon the Indian boy. Peter dead was nothing to him; Peter living was his master for whom he had undoubted affection and devotion.
He began chafing8 Mostyn's hands, while Olive, now deadly tired, doggedly9 continued her efforts.
Mostyn's heart was now beating. His nostrils10 were quivering. He was breathing faintly, but with steadily11 increasing strength. Though partially12 choked by the water he had involuntarily swallowed when carried down by the ship, he had been saved from suffocation13 by his lifebelt, which kept his head clear of the water after he had regained14 the surface.
Restoring the circulation was the next step. Fortunately both the water and air were warm, and the dangerous consequences of a prolonged immersion15 were mitigated16. Had the disaster occurred in other than tropical waters, the comparatively low temperature would have been fatal.
At length Peter opened his eyes. He was quite at a loss to grasp the situation. The lamplight puzzled him. At first he was under the impression that he was in his bunk17, and that either Watcher Partridge or Watcher Plover18 had roused him to take in a signal. Somehow that didn't seem correct. Awkwardly he fumbled19 for the edge of the bunk board. Instead, his fingers encountered the stern-grating. Then his attention was wonderingly attracted by one of the knees of the after thwart20. It had been split, and the sight of it irritated him, although he didn't know why, exactly.
He was beginning to realize that he was in a boat. How he got there, and why he should be in it, was a perplexity. It might be the Old Man's motor-launch—but no! Something was wrong somewhere.
A dozen fantastic theories flashed across his mind, only to be dismissed so unsatisfactorily that the failure made him angry. One thing he was certain of. Miss Baird was with him, but what she was doing there was a baffling problem. He wanted to speak to her, but hesitated lest that certainty should turn out to be an unreality.
He was still cudgelling his brain when he fell into a fitful and uneasy sleep.
The short tropical dawn was breaking when Peter awoke. He was now fully21 conscious of the events leading up to the foundering23 of the West Barbican, but was still at a loss to account for his presence in the boat. Stranger still it was to find that he had not been labouring under a hallucination with regard to Olive Baird.
The girl was sleeping on the bottom-boards, her head pillowed on a lifebelt. On the next thwart sat Mrs. Shallop, looking extremely dishevelled, with her black hair streaming in the wind. For once she was silent. On recovering consciousness she had grumbled24 considerably25. Now there was no one to listen to her complaints. Peter had been asleep; Olive was still slumbering26. Preston, although awake, was decidedly light-headed. As for Mahmed and the two lascars, they were huddled28 together in the bows awaiting the appearance of the sun with its beneficent warmth.
Peter sat up wonderingly. His head swam a little, and he felt as weak as the proverbial kitten. Some one had covered him with an oilskin. He wondered who?
It came as a nasty shock to see poor old Preston stretched alongside, with one half of his face looking as if it had been battered29 in. The Acting30 Chief looked at Peter, but there was no recognition in the look.
"Hello, old man!" exclaimed Mostyn. "How goes it?"
The greeting was ignored. Preston made an effort to place his hand on his head. The attempt failed. With a groan31 the Acting Chief rolled over on his side.
"Water!" he gasped32 feebly.
Peter dragged the beaker from under the stern bench and moistened the injured man's lips. His own throat felt dry and parched33, but already he realized the absolute necessity for husbanding the precious fluid.
Preston sighed and closed his eyes. For the time being Peter could do nothing more for the badly injured Acting Chief.
The Wireless34 Officer was feeling far too "groggy35 on his pins" to stand. Supporting himself by the gunwale, he knelt up and scanned the horizon. The wind was fresh and the sea fairly high, though regular. The boat, not under control, was driving broadside on to the wind, her high freeboard and comparatively light load allowing her to scud36 at quite a steady rate. Also, owing to the same circumstances, she rode the seas well, only an occasional flick37 of spray finding its way inboard.
The rain had ceased during the night, but the bottom-boards were awash. The masts and sails were still rolled up and stowed in a painted canvas cover. Beside them was a bundle of oars38, and on top of them a rudder.
The fact that the boat was not under control stirred Peter to action. Having made sure that none of the rest of the West Barbican's boats was in sight, he aroused the inert39 lascars.
"Hai! hai!" he shouted. "Aft, you hands, and set sail."
The men showed no great haste to execute the command.
"Where go? India?" asked one.
"Lay aft, both of you," exclaimed Peter sternly, although in his weak state he found himself asking how he could enforce obedience40. He knew enough of the native temperament41 to realize that if he gave a command and failed to see it carried out, his authority over the lascars was as good as gone for ever.
"Me tired," objected the other. "No pani, no padi."
Without another word Mostyn produced and ostentatiously displayed his automatic. There were great odds42 against its efficacy, after being submerged for several hours. The cartridges43 were supposed to be watertight, and were well greased. He had little fear on that score. The difficulty lay in the fact that the delicate mechanism44 of the pistol might have been deranged45 through the action of the salt water.
He felt confident that he could rely upon Mahmed. The boy was a devoted46 servant, and true to his salt. And Peter had no doubt about Miss Baird's ability to aid him if the lascars proved openly mutinous47. For the present Preston was out of the running, while Mrs. Shallop was literally48 and figuratively a "passenger".
Greatly to Mostyn's relief the sight of the automatic acted like an electric shock upon the two lascars. With great agility49 and speed they began casting off the sail-cover and setting up the heavy mast.
While they were hoisting50 the lug51-sail Mahmed shipped the rudder, and soon the boat was slipping along before the breeze.
Peter had been puzzling over the course for some considerable time. Against the westerly breeze he knew that days might elapse before the boat made the Mozambique coast. Being light and not provided with a centre-board, she was unable to sail at all close to the wind. In fact, it was doubtful whether she would make to windward at all. On the other hand, she would run well, and, with the knowledge that the island of Madagascar was somewhere under his lee—it might be anything between two hundred and four hundred miles—Mostyn decided27 that the best chance lay in making for it. There was, of course, a great possibility of several vessels52 being in the vicinity. If the boat were sighted, so much the better. If not—well, they would have to "stick it out" on very short rations5.
A thorough search in the after locker53 disclosed the fact that there was an airtight tin containing fourteen pounds of biscuits, another lantern and a pound of tallow candles, a lead-line, some rusty54 fishing hooks and lines (relics of a long-forgotten fishing expedition), a hatchet55, grass rope, and half a dozen signal rockets. Elsewhere in the boat were a small compass, a water-beaker about three-quarters full, spare oars, baler, boat-hook, grapnel, and a jib and mizzen sails, besides the lug that had already been set.
The baler had been nearly filled with rain-water during the night, but the lascars had drunk every drop. Peter, of course, was ignorant of this, and when he served out a small quantity all round the lascars must have congratulated themselves on their astuteness56.
The tin of biscuits was then broached57, and one biscuit handed to each person in the boat. Preston munched58 his ravenously59, although every movement of his jaw60 caused him intense agony. He was still lightheaded, muttering incoherently about taking over the middle watch.
Olive was hungry and ate the "hard tack61" with zest62, but Mrs. Shallop pettishly63 declined her share as being unfit for a lady to eat. She even began her now well-known speech of self-advertisement, when Peter cut her short.
"I can offer you nothing better," he said curtly64. "I would advise you to keep it, because you'll want it badly before long. And please understand there must be no grumbling65. It has a bad effect upon the lascars."
"Surely I can talk if I want to?" protested the woman.
"Within limits, yes," replied Mostyn. "But I would point out that it would be far better if you did something useful. There's Preston, for instance, he requires pretty constant attention."
"Oh, Miss Baird can see to him," declared Mrs. Shallop. "She's younger than I am."
"Considering Miss Baird had three cases on her hands during the night—you, Preston, and myself—I think she's done more than her fair share," said Peter, and, filled with disgust, he turned to the helm, which Mahmed had temporarily taken.
He could see Olive's face flush under the selfish rudeness of the parvenue, but the girl, repressing her impulse to reply heatedly, remained silent.
A stiff glass of brandy, and the sound sleep resulting from it, had kept Mrs. Shallop in ignorance of her narrow escape from death in the disaster to the West Barbican. She was in the habit of consuming the contents of a bottle of strong waters per week. "By Dr. Selwyn's orders," she would explain. "He says I must have it, and it must be the very best." And Selwyn was never more astonished than when he heard of the prescription66 that was attributed to him. When the ship shook under the explosion a steward67 had rushed to Mrs. Shallop's cabin, and, unceremoniously dragging that lady from her bunk, had carried her along the alleyway to the companion ladder. Here the lady promptly68 collapsed69. Meanwhile Mr. Shallop, who had been in the smoking-room, had gone on deck. In the darkness he saw nothing of his wife, and concluded that she was amongst the first to get away in the boats. At which he congratulated himself. He was spared the ordeal70 of being cooped up with Mrs. Shallop, who would to a certainty vent22 her anger upon him for having taken the sea voyage, although it was entirely71 on her suggestion that the ill-assorted couple booked passages on the S.S. West Barbican.
"This isn't going to be a picnic, I can see," soliloquized Peter, as he glanced to wind'ard. "It's up to me to do something now. I wonder if the Old Man would have logged me for this? Decent old chap, Bullock. I suppose he's gone."
Mostyn was steering72 due east by compass. He had no idea of the magnetic variation in this part of the Indian Ocean, neither had he any knowledge of the deviation73 of that particular compass. By steering due east he was hoping to effect a landing between the north and south of Madagascar—a fairly generous target of 1000 miles in length.
It was responsibility with a vengeance74. Not only had the Wireless Officer to take over executive duties; he had to navigate75 the boat, regulate the supply of food and water, and maintain discipline until such times as Preston recovered and was able to take command. Judging by the injured man's appearance that day was still very remote.
Meanwhile Peter Mostyn, hiked by fate into the joys and difficulties of command, accepted the situation with typical British grit76.
"I'll just carry on and make the best of it," he decided. "It won't be for want of trying if I don't get the boat safely to shore."
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1
cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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6
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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8
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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10
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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11
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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12
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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13
suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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14
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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15
immersion
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| n.沉浸；专心 | |
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mitigated
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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18
plover
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| n.珩，珩科鸟，千鸟 | |
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19
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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23
foundering
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| v.创始人( founder的现在分词 ) | |
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24
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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25
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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26
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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27
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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28
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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29
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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30
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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31
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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32
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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33
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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34
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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35
groggy
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| adj.体弱的；不稳的 | |
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36
scud
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| n.疾行；v.疾行 | |
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37
flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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38
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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39
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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40
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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41
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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42
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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43
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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44
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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45
deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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46
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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47
mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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48
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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49
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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50
hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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51
lug
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| n.柄，突出部，螺帽；(英）耳朵；（俚）笨蛋；vt.拖，拉，用力拖动 | |
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52
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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53
locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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54
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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55
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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56
astuteness
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| n.敏锐；精明；机敏 | |
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57
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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58
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
ravenously
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| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
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60
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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61
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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62
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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63
pettishly
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64
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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65
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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66
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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67
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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68
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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69
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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70
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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71
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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72
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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73
deviation
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| n.背离，偏离；偏差，偏向；离题 | |
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74
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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75
navigate
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| v.航行，飞行；导航，领航 | |
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76
grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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