II
HOW A GIRL APPEARED OUT OF THE NIGHT
O'Neil felt for the little bracket-lamp on the wall of his stateroomand lit it. By its light he dragged a life-preserver from the rackoverhead and slipped the tapes about his shoulders, reflecting thatAlaskan waters are disagreeably cold. Then he opened his traveling-bagsand dumped their contents upon the white counterpane of his berth,selecting out of the confusion certain documents and trinkets. Thelatter he thrust into his pockets as he found them, the former hewrapped in handkerchiefs before stowing them away. The ship had listednow so that it was difficult to maintain a footing; the lamp hung at agrotesque angle and certain articles had become dislodged from theirresting-places. From outside came the gentle lapping of waters, agurgling and hissing as of air escaping through the decks. He couldfeel the ship strain. He acknowledged that it was not pleasant thus tobe left alone on a sinking hulk, particularly on an ink-black night--
All at once he whirled and faced the door with an exclamation ofastonishment, for a voice had addressed him.
There,--clinging to the casing, stood a woman--a girl--evidently drawnout of the darkness by the light which streamed down across the slopingdeck from his stateroom. Plainly she had but just awakened, for she wasclothed in a silken nightrobe which failed to conceal the outlines ofher body, the swelling contour of her bosom, the ripened fullness ofher limbs. She had flung a quilted dressing-gown of some sort over hershoulders and with one bare arm and hand strove to hold it in place. Hesaw that her pink feet were thrust into soft, heeless slippers--thather hair, black in this light, cascaded down to her waist, and that hereyes, which were very dark and very large, were fixed upon him with astare like that of a sleep-walker.
"It is so dark--so strange--so still!" she murmured. "What hashappened?"
"God! Didn't they waken you?" he cried in sharp surprise.
"Is the ship-sinking?" Her odd bewilderment of voice and gaze puzzledhim.
He nodded. "We struck a rock. The passengers have been taken off. We'rethe only ones left. In Heaven's name where have you been?"
"I was asleep."
He shook his head in astonishment. "How you failed to hear thathubbub--"
"I heard something, but I was ill. My head--I took something to easethe pain."
"Ah! Medicine! It hasn't worn off yet, I see! You shouldn't have takenit. Drugs are nothing but poison to young people. Now at my age theremight be some excuse for resorting to them, but you--" He was talkingto cover the panic of his thoughts, for his own predicament had beenserious enough, and her presence rendered it doubly embarrassing. Whatin the world to do with her he scarcely knew. His lips were smiling,but his eyes were grave as they roved over the cabin and out into theblackness of the night.
"Are we going to drown?" she asked, dully.
"Nonsense!" He laughed in apparent amusement, showing his large, strongteeth.
She came closer, glancing behind her and shrinking from the oily waterswhich could be seen over the rail and which had stolen up nearly to thesill of the door. She steadied herself by laying hold of himuncertainly. Involuntarily he turned his eyes away, for he felt shameat profaning her with his gaze. She was very soft and white, a fragilething utterly unfit to cope with the night air and the freezing watersof Halibut Bay.
"I'm wretchedly afraid!" she whispered through white lips.
"None of that!" he said, brusquely. "I'll see that nothing happens toyou." He slipped out of his life-preserver and adjusted it over hershoulders, first drawing her arms through the sleeves of herdressing-gown and knotting the cord snugly around her waist. "Just as amatter of precaution!" he assured her. "We may get wet. Can you swim?"
She shook her head.
"Never mind; I can." He found another life-belt, fitted it to his ownform, and led her out upon the deck. The scuppers were awash now andshe gasped as the sea licked her bare feet. "Cold, isn't it?" heremarked. "But there's no time to dress, and it's just as well,perhaps, for heavy clothes would only hamper you."
She strove to avoid the icy waters and finally paused, moaning: "Ican't! I can't go on!"
Slipping his arm about her, he bore her to the door of the main cabinand entered. He could feel her warm, soft body quivering against hisown. She had clasped his neck so tightly that he could scarcelybreathe, but, lowering her until her feet were on the dry carpet, hegently loosed her arms.
"Now, my dear child," he told her, "you must do exactly as I tell you.Come! Calm yourself or I won't take you any farther." He held her offby her shoulders. "I may have to swim with you; you mustn't cling to meso!"
He heard her gasp and felt her draw away abruptly. Then he led her bythe hand out upon the starboard deck, and together they made their wayforward to the neighborhood of the bridge.
The lights he had seen upon coming from the forward hold were still inview and he hailed them at the top of his voice. But other voices werecalling through the night, some of them comparatively close at hand,others answering faintly from far in-shore. The boats first launchedwere evidently landing, and those in charge of them were shoutingdirections to the ones behind. Some women had started singing and thechorus floated out to the man and the girl:
Pull for the shore, sailor, Pull for the shore.
It helped to drown their cries for assistance.
O'Neil judged that the ship was at least a quarter of a mile from thebeach, and his heart sank, for he doubted that either he or hiscompanion could last long in these waters. It occurred to him thatBrennan might be close by, waiting for the Nebraska to sink--it wouldbe unlike the little captain to forsake his trust until the lastpossible moment--but he reasoned that the cargo of lives in theskipper's boat would induce him to stand well off to avoid accident. Hecalled lustily time after time, but no answer came.
Meanwhile the girl stood quietly beside him.
"Can't we make a raft?" she suggested, timidly, when he ceased toshout. "I've read of such things."
"There's no time," he told her. "Are you very cold?"
She nodded. "Please forgive me for acting so badly just now. It was allso sudden and--so awful! I think I can behave better. Oh! What wasthat?" She clutched him nervously, for from the forward end of the shiphad come a muffled scream, like that of a woman.
"It's my poor horses," said the man, and she looked at him curiously,prompted by the catch in his throat.
There followed a wait which seemed long, but was in reality of but afew minutes, for the ship was sliding backward and the sea was creepingupward faster and faster. At last they heard a shuddering sigh as sheparted from the rocks and the air rushed up through the deck openingswith greater force. The Nebraska swung sluggishly with the tide; then,when her upper structure had settled flush with the sea, Murray O'Neiltook the woman in his arms and leaped clear of the rail.
The first gasping moment of immersion was fairly paralyzing; after thatthe reaction came, and the two began to struggle away from the sinkingship. But the effect of the reaction soon wore off. The water wascruelly cold and their bodies ached in every nerve and fiber. O'Neildid his best to encourage his companion. He talked to her through hischattering teeth, and once she had recovered from the mental shock ofthe first fearful plunge she responded pluckily. He knew that his ownheart was normal and strong, but he feared that the girl's might not beequal to the strain. Had he been alone, he felt sure that he could havegained the shore, but with her upon his hands he was able to make butlittle headway. The expanse of waters seemed immense; it fairly crushedhope out of him. The lights upon the shore were as distant as fixedstars. This was a country of heavy tides, he reflected, and he began tofear that the current was sweeping them out. He turned to look for theship, but could see no traces of her, and since it was inconceivablethat the Nebraska could have sunk so quietly, her disappearanceconfirmed his fears. More than once he fancied he heard an answer tohis cries for help--the rattle of rowlocks or the splash of oars--buthis ears proved unreliable.
After a time the girl began to moan with pain an
d terror, but asnumbness gradually robbed her of sensation she became quiet. A littlelater her grip upon his clothing relaxed and he saw that she wascollapsing. He drew her to him and held her so that her face layupturned and her hair floated about his shoulders. In this position shecould not drown, at least while his strength lasted. But he was rapidlylosing control of himself; his teeth were clicking loosely, his musclesshook and twitched It required a great effort to shout, and he thoughtthat his voice did not carry so far as at first. Therefore he fellsilent, paddling with his free arm and kicking, to keep his bloodstirring.
Several times he gave up and floated quietly, but courage was ingrainedin him; deep down beneath his consciousness was a vitality, aninherited stubborn resistance to death, of which he knew nothing. Itwas that unidentified quality of mind which supports one man through agreat sickness or a long period of privation, while another of morerobust physique succumbs. It was the same quality which brings one manout from desert wastes, or the white silence of the polar ice, whilethe bodies of his fellows remain to mark the trail. This innate powerof supreme resistance is found in chosen individuals throughout theanimal kingdom, and it was due to it alone that Murray O'Neil continuedto fight the tide long after he had ceased to exert conscious control.
At length there came through the man's dazed sensibilities a sounddifferent from those he had been hearing: it was a human voice, mingledwith the measured thud of oars in their sockets. It roused him like anelectric current and gave him strength to cry out hoarsely. Some oneanswered him; then out of the darkness to seaward emerged a deeperblot, which loomed up hugely yet proved to be no more than a life-boatbanked full of people. It came to a stop within an oar's-length of him.From the babble of voices he distinguished one that was familiar, andcried the name of Johnny Brennan. His brain had cleared now, a greatdreamlike sense of thanksgiving warmed him, and he felt equal to anyeffort. He was vaguely amazed to find that his limbs refused to obeyhim.
His own name was being pronounced in shocked tones; the splash from anoar filled his face and strangled him, but he managed to lay hold ofthe blade, and was drawn in until outstretched hands seized him.
An oarsman was saying: "Be careful, there! We can't take him in withoutswamping."
But Brennan's voice shouted: "Make room or I'll bash in your bloodyskull."
Another protest arose, and O'Neil saw that the craft was indeed loadedto the gunwales.
"Take the girl--quick," he implored. "I'll hang on. You can--tow me."
The limp form was removed from his side and dragged over the thwartswhile a murmur of excited voices went up.
"Can you hold out for a minute, Murray?" asked Brennan.
"Yes--I think so."
"I'd give you my place, but you're too big to be taken in withoutdanger."
"Go ahead," chattered the man in the water. "Look after the girl beforeit's--too late."
The captain's stout hand was in his collar now and he heard him crying:
"Pull, you muscle-bound heathens! Everybody sit still! Now away withher, men. Keep up your heart, Murray, my boy; remember it takes morethan water to kill a good Irishman. It's only a foot or two farther,and they've started a fire. Serves you right, you big idiot, for goingoverboard, with all those boats. Man dear, but you're pulling the armout of me; it's stretched out like a garden hose! Hey! Cover up thatgirl, and you, lady, rub her feet and hands. Good! Move over please--sothe men can bail."
The next O'Neil knew he was feeling very miserable and very cold,notwithstanding the fact that he was wrapped in dry clothing and lay soclose to a roaring spruce fire that its heat blistered him.
Brennan was bending over him with eyes wet. He was swearing, too, in aweak, faltering way, calling upon all the saints to witness that theprostrate man was the embodiment of every virtue, and that his deathwould be a national calamity. Others were gathered about, men andwomen, and among them O'Neil saw the doctor from Sitka whom he had meton shipboard.
As soon as he was able to speak he inquired for the safety of the girlhe had helped to rescue. Johnny promptly reassured him.
"Man, dear, she's doing fine. A jigger of brandy brought her to,gasping like a blessed mermaid."
"Was anybody lost?"
"Praise God, not a soul! But it's lucky I stood by to watch the old tubgo down, or we'd be mourning two. You'll be well by morning, forthere's a cannery in the next inlet and I've sent a boat's crew forhelp. And now, my boy, lay yourself down again and take a sleep, won'tyou? It'll be doing you a lot of good."
But O'Neil shook his head and struggled to a sitting posture.
"Thanks, Johnny," said he, "but I couldn't. I can hear those horsesscreaming, and besides--I must make new plans."