III
THE IRISH PRINCE
As dawn broke the cannery tender from the station near by nosed her wayup to the gravelly shore where the castaways were gathered and blew acheering toot-toot on her whistle. She was a flat-bottomed,"wet-sterned" craft, and the passengers of the Nebraska trooped to herdeck over a gang-plank. As Captain Brennan had predicted, not one ofthem had wet a foot, with the exception of the two who had been leftaboard through their own carelessness.
By daylight Halibut Bay appeared an idyllic spot, quite innocent of theterrors with which the night had endowed it. A pebbled half-moon ofbeach was set in among rugged bluffs; the verdant forest crowded downto it from behind. Tiny crystal wavelets lapped along the shingle,swaying the brilliant sea mosses which clung to the larger rocks.Altogether the scene gave a strong impression of peace and security,yet just in the offing was one jarring contrast--the masts and funnelof the Nebraska slanting up out of the blue serenity, where she layupon the sloping bottom in the edge of deep water.
The reaction following a sleepless night of anxiety had replaced thefirst feeling of thankfulness at deliverance, and it was not a happycargo of humanity which the rescuing boat bore with her as the sunpeeped over the hills. Many of the passengers were but half dressed,all were exhausted and hungry, each one had lost something in thecatastrophe. The men were silent, the women hysterical, the childrenfretful.
Murray O'Neil had recovered sufficiently to go among them with the samewarm smile which had made him friends from the first. In the depths ofhis cool gray eyes was a sparkle which showed his unquenchable Celticspirit, and before long smiles answered his smiles, jokes rose to meethis pleasantries.
It was his turn now to comfort Captain Johnny Brennan, who had yieldedto the blackest despair, once his responsibility was over.
"She was a fine ship, Murray," the master lamented, staring with tragiceyes at the Nebraska's spars.
"She was a tin washtub, and rusted like a sieve," jeered O'Neil.
"But think of me losing her on a still night!"
"I'm not sure yet that it wasn't a jellyfish that swam through her."
"Humph! I suppose her cargo will be a total loss. Two hundred thousanddollars--"
"Insured for three hundred, no doubt. I'll warrant the company willthank you."
"It's kind of you to cheer me up," said Brennan, a little lessgloomily, "especially after the way I abandoned you to drown, but themissus won't allow me in the house at all when she hears I left you inpickle. Thank God the girl didn't die, anyway! I've got that to bethankful for. Curtis Gordon would have broken me--"
"Gordon?"
"Sure! Man dear, don't you know who you went bathing with? She's thedaughter of that widow Gerard, and the most prominent passenger aboard,outside of your blessed self. Ain't that luck! If I was a Jap I'd splitmyself open with a bread-knife."
"But, fortunately, you're a sensible 'harp' of old Ireland. I'll seethat the papers get the right story, 'o buck up."
"Do you think for a minute that Mrs. Brennan will understand why Ididn't hop out of the lifeboat and give you my place? Not at all. I'mruined nautically and domestically. In the course of the next ten yearsI may live it down, but meanwhile I'll sleep in the woodshed and speakwhen I'm spoken to."
Murray knew that Miss Gerard had been badly shaken by her ordeal, hencehe made no attempt to see her even after the steamer had reached thefishing-village and the rescued passengers had been taken in by theresidents. Instead, he went directly to the one store in the place andbought its entire stock, which he turned over to the sufferers. It waswell he did so, for the village was small and, although the townspeoplewere hospitable, both food and clothing were scarce.
A south-bound steamer was due the next afternoon, it was learned, andplans were made for her to pick up the castaways and return them toSeattle. At the same time O'Neil discovered that a freighter for the"westward" was expected some time that night, and as she did not callat this port he arranged for a launch to take him out to the channelwhere he could intercept her. The loss of his horses had been a seriousblow. It was all the more imperative now that he should go on, since hewould have to hire men to do horses' work.
During the afternoon Miss Gerard sent for him and he went to the houseof the cannery superintendent, where she had been received. Thesuperintendent's wife had clothed her, and she seemed to have recoveredher poise of body and mind. O'Neil was surprised to find her quite adifferent person from the frightened and disheveled girl he had seen inthe yellow lamplight of his stateroom on the night before. She was aspale now as then, but her expression of terror and bewilderment hadgiven place to one of reposeful confidence. Her lips were red and ripeand of a somewhat haughty turn. She was attractive, certainly, despitethe disadvantage of the borrowed garments, and though she struck him asbeing possibly a little proud and cold, there was no lack of warmth inher greeting.
For her part she beheld a man of perhaps forty, of commanding heightand heavy build. He was gray about the temples; his eyes were gray,too, and rather small, but they were extremely animated and kindly, anda myriad of little lines were penciled about their corners. These wereevidently marks of expression, not of age, and although the rugged faceitself was not handsome, it had a degree of character that compelledher interest. His clothes were good, and in spite of their recent hardusage they still lent him the appearance of a man habitually welldressed.
She was vaguely disappointed, having pictured him as being in the firstflush of vigorous youth, but the feeling soon disappeared under thecharm of his manner. The ideal figure she had imagined began to seemsilly and school-girlish, unworthy of the man himself. She was pleased,too, by his faint though manifest embarrassment at her thanks, for shehad feared a lack of tact.
Above all things she abhorred obligation of any sort, and she wasinclined to resent masculine protection. This man's service filled herwith real gratitude, yet she rebelled at the position in which itplaced her. She preferred granting favors to receiving them.
But in fact he dismissed the whole subject so brusquely that he almostoffended her, and when she realized how incomplete had been heracknowledgment, she said, with an air of pique:
"You might have given me a chance to thank you without dragging youhere against your will."
"I'm sorry if I seemed neglectful."
She fell silent for a moment before asking:
"Do you detest me for my cowardice? I couldn't blame you for neverwanting to see me again."
"You were very brave. You were splendid," he declared. "I simply didn'twish to intrude."
"I was terribly frightened," she confided, "but I felt that I couldrely upon you. That's what every one does, isn't it? You see, you havea reputation. They told me how you refused to be taken into the boatfor fear of capsizing it. That was fine."
"Oh, there was nothing brave about that. I wanted to get in badlyenough, but there wasn't, room. Jove! It was cold, wasn't it?" Hisready smile played whimsically about his lips, and the girl feltherself curiously drawn to him. Since he chose to make light ofhimself, she determined to allow nothing of the sort.
"They have told me how you bought out this whole funny little place,"she said, "and turned it over to us. Is it because you have such aroyal way of dispensing favors that they call you 'The Irish Prince'?"
"That's only a silly nickname."
"I don't think so. You give people food and clothes with a carelesswave of the hand; you give me my life with a shrug and a smile; youoffer to give up your own to a boatful of strangers without a moment'shesitation. I--I think you are a remarkable person."
"You'll turn my head with such flattery if you aren't careful," he saidwith a slight flush. "Please talk of something sensible now, for anantidote--your plans, for instance."
"My plans are never sensible, and what few I have are as empty as mypockets. To tell the truth, I have neither plans nor pockets," shelaughed, "since this is a borrowed gown."
"Pockets in gowns are entirely matters of hearsa
y, anyhow; I doubt ifthey exist. You are going back to Seattle?"
"Oh, I suppose so. It seems to be my fate, but I'm not a bit resigned.I'm one of those unfortunate people who can't bear to be disappointed."
"You can return on the next ship, at the company's expense."
"No. Mother would never allow it. In fact, when she learns that I'm outhere she'll probably send me back to New York as fast as I can go."
"Doesn't she know where you are?"
"Indeed no! She thinks I'm safely and tamely at home. Uncle Curtiswouldn't object to my visit, I fancy; at any rate, I've been countingon his good offices with mother, but it's too late now."
"I'm like you," he said; "I can't brook disappointment. I'm going on."
In answer to her questioning look he explained his plan of interceptingthe freight-steamer that night, whereupon her face brightened withsudden hope.
"Can't I go, too?" she implored, eagerly. She was no longer the haughtyyoung lady he had met upon entering the room, but a very wistful child.
"I'm afraid that's hardly---"
"Oh! If only you knew how much it means! If only you knew how badly Iwant to! I'm not afraid of discomforts."
"It's not that---"
"Please! Please! Be a real prince and grant me this boon. Won't you? Myheart is set upon it."
It was hard to resist her imploring eyes--eyes which showed they hadnever been denied. It was hard for O'Neil to refuse anything to a woman.
"If your uncle is willing," he began, hesitatingly.
"He isn't my really uncle--I just call him that."
"Well, if Mr. Gordon wouldn't object, perhaps I can manage it,provided, of course, you promise to explain to your mother."
Miss Gerard's frank delight showed that she was indeed no more than achild. Her changed demeanor awakened a doubt in the man's mind.
"It will mean that you'll have to sit up all night in an open launch,"he cautioned her.
"I'll sit up for a week."
"With the creepy water all about, and big black mountains frowning atyou!"
"Oh, fiddle!" she exclaimed. "You'll be there if I get frightened."Rising impulsively she laid her hand on his arm and thanked him with anodd mingling of frankness and shyness, as if there could be no furtherdoubt of his acquiescence. He saw that her eyes were the color ofshaded woodland springs and that her hair was not black, but of a deep,rich brown where the sun played upon it, the hue of very old mahogany,with the same blood-red flame running through it. He allowed himself toadmire her in silence, until suddenly she drew back with a startledexclamation.
"What is it?"
"I forgot--I have no clothes." Her words came with a doleful cadence.
"The universal complaint of your sex," he said, smiling. "Allow me totalk with your hostess. I'm sure she will let you walk out with yourborrowed finery, just like Cinderella. You'll need a nice thick coat,too."
"But this is her very, very best dress."
"She shall receive, on the next ship, a big box all lined withtissue-paper, with the imprint of the most fashionable dressmaker inSeattle. I'll arrange all that by cable."
"You don't know how she loves it," the girl said, doubtfully.
"Come! Call her in. If I'm to be a prince you mustn't doubt my power."
Nor did the event prove him over-confident. Before he had fairly madeknown his request the good lady of the house was ready to surrender notonly her best Sunday gown, but her fluttering heart as well. MurrayO'Neil had a way of making people do what he wanted, and womeninvariably yielded to him.