“How long can you give us?”
The man who asked this question turned his head and looked up through a maze1 of bright machinery2. But he did not rise from his recumbent position. He was, in fact, lying on his face on a steel-bar grating—in his shirt-sleeves—his hands black with oil and steel filings.
The captain of the Mooroo—far up above on the upper platform—leant his elbow on the steel banister and reflected for exactly two seconds. He was in the habit of sleeping and thinking very quickly.
“I reckon that we will be on the rocks in about twenty minutes to half an hour—unless you can get her going.”
The chief engineer muttered something which was not audible above the roar of the wind through the rigging and the wash of the green seas that leapt over the bulwarks3 of the well-deck.
“What?” yelled the captain, leaning over the balustrade.
“D—n it,” reiterated4 the chief, with his head hidden.
They were all down there—the whole engineer's staff of the Mooroo—in their shirt-sleeves, lying among the bright steel rods—busy at their craft—working against time for their lives.
It was unfortunate that the engines should have held good right across the Arabian Sea, through the Red Sea, through the trying “fast” and “slow” and “stand by” and “go ahead” of the Canal—right through to the Pointe de Raz light, which was blinking down upon them now.
The ship had been got round with difficulty. Her sails, all black with coal-dust and the smoke of many voyages, had been shaken out. They served to keep the vessel's bluff5 prow6 pushing into the gale7, but that was all. The Mooroo was drifting—drifting.
While the passengers were at dinner the engines had suddenly stopped, and almost before the fact had been realized, the captain, having exchanged glances with his officers, was out of the saloon.
“Something in the engine-room,” said the doctor and the fifth officer—left at table. The engineer had probably stopped to replace a worn washer or something similarly simple.
The stewards8 hurried to and fro with the dishes. And the passengers went on eating their last dinner on earth in that sublime9 ignorance which is the prerogative10 of passengers.
Mrs. Judge Barrowby, who, in view of the captain's vacant chair on her left hand, took, as it were, moral command of the ship, was heard to state in a loud voice that she had every confidence in the officers and the crew.
Young Skeen, of the Indian Intelligence, who sat within hearing of Mrs. Judge Barrowby, for his own evil ends and purposes, thereafter said that he could now proceed with his dinner—that his appetite was beginning to return.
“Of course,” he went on to say, “if Mrs. Judge Barrowby says that it is all right—”
But he got no farther than this. For a young lady with demure11 eyes and twitching12 lips, who was sitting next to him, whispered that Mrs. Judge Barrowby was looking, and that he must behave himself.
“I have every confidence in Mrs. Judge Barrowby,” he, nevertheless, managed to assure a grave-looking man across the table.
The truth was that Mrs. Judge Barrowby had had her eye on these two young people all the voyage. There was no reason that they should not fall in love with each other, and marry and be happy ever afterwards; but Mrs Judge Barrowby felt that it was incumbent13 upon them to ask her first, or at all events to keep her posted as to the progress of matters, so that she might have the satisfaction of knowing more than her neighbours. But the young people simply ignored her.
Lady Crafer, the mother of the girl with the demure eyes, was a foolish woman, who passed most of her days in her cabin; and Mrs. Judge Barrowby felt, and went so far as to say to more than one person, that the least that a nice-minded girl could, under the circumstances, do was to place herself under the protection of some experienced lady—possibly herself. From the fact that Evelyn Crafer had failed to do this, Mrs. Judge Barrowby intimated that each might draw an individual inference.
While these thoughts were in course of lithography upon the expressive14 countenance15 of the lady at the captain's end of the saloon table, strange things were taking place on the deck of the good steamship16 Mooroo. The entire crew had, in fact, been summoned on deck. The boats were being pushed out—the davits swung round, the tarpaulin17 covers removed, and the awnings18 unbent. Life-belts were being collected in the music-room on deck, and the purser had given orders to the stewards to prolong dinner as much as possible.
“Let 'em have their dinner first,” the captain had said significantly.
And all the while the Mooroo was drifting.
Immediately over the stern rail a light came and went at regular intervals19 on the horizon, while to eastward20, at a higher elevation21, a great, yellow staring eye looked out into the night. This was the light on the westernmost point of Europe—the Pointe de Raz. The smaller beacon22, low down on the horizon, was that of the Ile de Sein, whose few inhabitants live by what the sea brings them in—be it fish or wreckage23. There is enough of both. A strong current sets north and east, and it becomes almost a “race” in the narrow channel between the Ile de Sein and the rock-bound mainland. The Mooroo was in this current.
The captain had said no more than the truth. There are times when nature is too strong for the strongest man and the keenest brain. There was simply nothing to be done but to try and get the repair completed in time—and on deck to send up rockets, and—to prepare for the worst. This the captain had done—even to unlacing his own boots. The latter is always a bad sign. When the captain thinks of his own boots it is time for others to try and remember the few good deeds they may have done.
In ten minutes the passengers knew; for the captain went and told them—before they had their dessert. The result was confusion, and a rush for the saloon stairs. The boats were already lowered and alongside the gangway steps in a terrible sea.
The old ladies did wonderfully well, considering their age and other things. Mrs. Judge Barrowby was heard to say that she would never travel by anything but P. and O. in future, and that it was all her husband's fault. But she was third on the stairs, and in time to select the roomiest life-belt. Lady Crafer was a great believer in stewards. She clung to one, and, calling upon Evelyn to follow her, made very good practice down the saloon.
There was no doubt whatever about young Skeen of the Indian Intelligence. He simply took charge of Evelyn Crafer. He took possession of her and told her what to do. He even found time to laugh at Mrs. Judge Barrowby's ankles as she leapt over a pile of dirty plates.
“Stay here,” he cried to Evelyn. “It is useless going with that rabble24. Our only chance is to stay.”
She obeyed him. Women sometimes do it still. They stood in the gaily25 lighted saloon, and witnessed the rush for the deck—a humiliating sight.
When at length the stairs were clear, Skeen turned and looked into her face. Then suddenly he took her in his arms and kissed her. They had been drifting towards this for some weeks past. Circumstances had hurried it on. That was all.
“Dear,” he said, “will you stay here while I go on deck and see what chances there are? If you once get up there in the dark and the confusion, I shall lose you.”
“Yes,” she answered; and as she spoke26 there was a great crash, which threw her into his arms a second time, and made a clean sweep of the tables. They stood literally27 ankle-deep in wine-glasses, dessert, and plates. The Mooroo had taken the rocks. There was a rolling crash on the deck overhead, and a confused sound of shouting.
“You will stay?” cried Skeen again.
“Yes—dear.”
He turned and left her there, alone.
On deck he found a crowd. The passengers were being allowed to go to the boats. Taking into consideration the darkness, the roaring sea, and the hopelessness of it all, the organization was wonderful. The children were going first. A quarter-master stood at the head of the gangway steps and held the people in check. When Skeen arrived, Mrs. Judge Barrowby was giving this man a piece of what she was pleased to call her mind.
“Man,” she was saying, “let me pass! You do not know who I am. I am the wife of Judge Barrowby.”
“Marm, you may be the wife of the harkangel Gabriel as far as I knows; but I've my orders. Stand aside please. Any more babies in arms?” he cried.
But Mrs. Judge Barrowby knew the value of a good useful life, and persistently28 blocked up the gangway.
“One woman is as good as another,” she said.
“Ay, except the mothers, and they're better,” said the man, pushing her aside to let a lady and her child pass.
“THAT woman!” cried Mrs. Judge Barrowby. “A woman who has been the talk of the whole ship—before ME—a flirting29 grass widow!”
“Gawd knows,” said the man, holding her back. “It's little enough to fight about.”
“I will report you, man.”
“Yes, marm, to the good God, and I ain't afraid o' HIM! NOW you may go!”
And, fuming30, Mrs. Judge Barrowby went down to her death. Not one boat could reach the shore through such a surf, as captain and crew well knew; but there are certain formalities vis-a-vis to human lives which must be observed by ship-captains and doctors and others.
Skeen ran to the other side. Lights were twinkling through the spray; the land was not two hundred yards off, but it was two hundred yards of rock and surf. There was only one chance.
Skeen kicked off his boots and ran back to the saloon. It was all a matter of seconds. For a few moments the brilliant lights dazzled him, and he looked round wildly for Evelyn Crafer. A great fear seized his heart as in a grip of cold iron—but only for a moment. He saw her. She was kneeling by the table, unaware31 of his presence.
“Oh God,” she was praying aloud, “save him—save HIM from this danger!”
He heard the words as he stopped to lift her like a child from her knees—bringing her back from God to man.
And the end of the Mooroo was a girl sitting before a driftwood fire in the cottage of the old cure of the Ile de Sein, while at her feet knelt a man with his broken arm bound to his side. And he was stroking her hands softly and repeatedly. He was trying to soothe32 her and make her understand that she was safe.
“Give her time, my son,” the old cure said, with his deep, wise smile. “She only requires time. I have seen them before taken from the sea like her. They all require time. It is in our nature to recover from all things—in time.”
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1
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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2
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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3
bulwarks
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| n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 )；保障；支柱；舷墙 | |
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4
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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7
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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8
stewards
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| （轮船、飞机等的）乘务员( steward的名词复数 )； （俱乐部、旅馆、工会等的）管理员； （大型活动的）组织者； （私人家中的）管家 | |
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9
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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10
prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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12
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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14
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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15
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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16
steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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17
tarpaulin
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| n.涂油防水布，防水衣，防水帽 | |
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18
awnings
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| 篷帐布 | |
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19
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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20
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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22
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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23
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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26
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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27
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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28
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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29
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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30
fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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31
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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32
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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