The Captain of the Kansas Part 7

CHAPTER IV

ELSIE GOES ON DECK

As a little yeast leavens much flour so does the presence of a few stout-hearted men give strength and courage to a mult.i.tude. Although the rumor soon went the rounds that the giant wave which p.o.o.ped the s.h.i.+p had carried away two of her six boats, there were no visible signs of flurry in the measures taken to equip the remaining boats for use.

The men had confidence in their officers; every one worked smoothly and well.

All told, there were eighty persons on board when the _Kansas_ left Valparaiso. Of these, seventeen, including the officers, were of European birth or lineage. The remaining sixty-three were men of mixed nationalities, ranging from Spanish-speaking Chileans to negroes.

There were eight under-stewards, a cook and his a.s.sistants, and nearly fifty sailors and firemen. Unfortunately, the explosion in the stokehold had killed the chief engineer and one of his juniors, while six stokers were dead and several injured.

It was discovered that, before he died, the chief had shut off steam, and thus prevented the accident from a.s.suming far more serious proportions. The second engineer, a Newcastle man named Walker, who rushed to the engine-room at the first indication of a mishap, found his chief lying in collapse on the lever platform. Walker promptly opened certain levers which allowed the steam to escape freely; then he carried his comrade out of the spume to the deck. It was too late.

Partial suffocation had placed too great a strain on a diseased heart; by the time Dr. Christobal was summoned, a brave man was dead.

Courtenay, who had left instructions that he was to be called when the Evangelistas light was sighted, was sound asleep. In the elevated quarters a.s.signed to the captain, the noise of the explosion differed little from the thunderous blows of the sea. But the stopping of the engines awoke him instantly. He felt the s.h.i.+p lurch away from her course, and saw the quick swerve of the compa.s.s indicator over his head. As he ran down the gangway leading from the bridge he heard the officer of the watch say:

"Something given way in the engine-room, sir."

Several minutes elapsed before he, or Walker, aided by willing volunteers, could penetrate the depths of the stoke-hold. The place was a charnel-house, a stifling pit, filled with the charred contents of the furnaces, which gave off the most noisome fumes owing to the rapid condensation of steam and water escaping from the damaged pipes.

But the gale raging without served one good purpose in driving plenty of air down the ventilating cowls. Gradually, the choking atmosphere cleared. Courtenay was the first to reach the lowermost rung of the iron ladder, whence he looked with the eyes of despair on a scene of death and ruin.

The electric light was uninjured. It revealed the bodies of several men, either dead or insensible, lying amidst the scattered coal.

Shovels, stoking-rods, and pieces of iron plate had been hurled about in wild confusion. The door of one furnace was blown clean out of its bolts; furnace bars and fire-bricks strewed the iron deck, while, each time the s.h.i.+p rolled, the heavy clank of loose metal somewhere in the engine-room proved that the damage was not confined solely to the stoke-hold.

If Courtenay could have dropped quietly into the sea through the stout hull of the _Kansas_ he would have welcomed the certain result in that bitter moment. But he was the captain, and men would look to him for salvation. Well, he would do all that was possible, and, at any rate, die at his post. So, choking back his misery, he organized the work of rescue. Slings were formed of ropes, and those men in whom any signs of life were visible were the first to be lifted to the upper deck.

The stoke-hold was quickly emptied of its inanimate occupants; living and dead alike were carried to the untenanted second-cla.s.s saloon forward. Then Courtenay left Walker to solve the puzzle of the accident and report on its extent, while he climbed back to the bridge, there to tackle the far more pressing problem of the measures to be adopted if he would save his s.h.i.+p.

It was typical of the man that his first act was to wipe the grime of the stoke-hold off his face and hands. Then he drew a chart from the locker in which he had placed it two hours earlier. Mr. Boyle, who had been attending to the signals both by siren and rocket, joined him.

Courtenay pointed to a pin-mark in the sheet.

"We were there at six o'clock," he said, and his voice was so steady that he seemed now to be free from the least touch of anxiety. "The course was South-40-East, and, against this wind and sea, together with a strong current to the nor'east, we would make eight knots under easy steam. Therefore, by eight o'clock, when the furnaces blew out, we were here."

He jabbed in a pin a little further down the chart. Mr. Boyle, whose peculiar gifts in the way of speech were accurately described by Dr.

Christobal, grunted agreement.

"Huh," he said.

Courtenay glanced at a chronometer.

"It is now a quarter to nine," he went on, "and I reckon that since the s.h.i.+p swung round we have been carried at least six knots to the nor'east."

"Huh," growled Mr. Boyle again, but he bent a trifle nearer the chart.

To his sailor's eyes the situation was quite simple. Unless, by G.o.d's providence, some miracle happened, the _Kansas_ was a doomed s.h.i.+p. The pin stuck where the Admiralty chart recorded soundings of one hundred fathoms with a fine sand bed. The longitude was 75-50 west of Greenwich and lat.i.tude 51-35 south. Staring at them from the otherwise blank s.p.a.ce which showed the wide expanse of the Pacific was an ominous note by the compilers of the chart:

"Seamen are cautioned not to make free with these sh.o.r.es, as they are very imperfectly known, and, from their wild, desolate character, they cannot be approached with safety."

Right in the track of the drifting s.h.i.+p lay a vaguely outlined trio of dread import: "Breakers; Islet (conical); Duncan Rock." Behind this sinister barrier stood the more definite White Horse Island, while, running due north and south a few miles away to the eastward, was a wavering dotted line which professed to mark the coast of Hanover Island. Lending a fearful significance to the unknown character of the region, a printed comment followed the dotted line: "This coast is laid down from distant observations on board the Beagle." So the sea face of Hanover Island had not been visited by civilized man for nearly sixty years! There, not three hours' steaming distance from the regular track of Chilean commerce, was a place so guarded by reefs on one hand, and impenetrable, ice-capped mountains on the other, that a proper survey was deemed impracticable even by officers of the British Navy, a service which has charted nearly every rock and shoal and tiny islet on the face of the waters.

Neither man spoke while their practised scrutiny took in these details.

The roaring chaos of the gale told what fate awaited them. The elemental forces had donned the black cap of the judge and sentenced them to speedy destruction.

Mr. Boyle pursed his lips; he looked sideways at Courtenay.

"Huh," he said. "What's to be done?"

"I propose," answered the captain, coolly, "to endeavor--"

It was then that the giant wave leaped madly over the p.o.o.p, as though the sea were resolved to swallow its prey without further warning. The second officer, outside on the bridge, had to cling to a stanchion for his life. Courtenay and Boyle saw two boats wrenched from their davits and carried overboard, while a bulkhead forward was smashed into matchwood. The half-caste quarter-master at the wheel muttered "Madonna!" and tried to remember a prayer.

"I propose," continued Courtenay, raising his voice so that the other might hear, "to give the s.h.i.+p steering-way by hoisting the foresail.

Will you see to it? Then I intend to warn the pa.s.sengers, and make such preparations as are possible before we strike."

"Huh," agreed Mr. Boyle. He took the short cut over the rails. In a few seconds the captain heard a flow of ornate Spanish, and he knew that Mr. Boyle was getting the scared Chileans to work.

Then Courtenay went to his own cabin, in which, in the haste of his exit, he had imprisoned Joey. The dog received him with delight, for Joey knew a real gale from a sham one, as well as any man before the mast. Courtenay patted his head, opened a drawer in the writing-table, and drew forth two photographs, which he kissed. He replaced them, locked the drawer, and went out, letting the dog come with him. That was his farewell to his mother and sister; it was the first and last sign of sentiment he exhibited during that night of great endurance.

When he returned from the saloon, he found the chief officer examining the chart.

"Do you think we have any chance of making Concepcion Strait?" he asked, pointing to the doubtfully marked channel which separates Hanover and Duke of York Islands.

"If we set the mains'le we might bear up a bit."

"Try it."

"Huh," said Mr. Boyle, and he was off again into the spindrift.

Be it understood that the sails carried by a big vessel like the _Kansas_ are of little practical value save under certain conditions of wind and sea, when they are rigged to steady her, and thus give help to helm and propeller. Still, they might serve now to carry the s.h.i.+p a point or two towards the north, and this was the sole avenue of escape which remained. Here, again, was one of those trivial circ.u.mstances which are so potent in the shaping of events. Had either of the sails blown out, or had the mainsail been set at the same time as the foresail, the course followed during the next few hours must have been deviated from to some extent, and the alteration of a cable's length in direction could not fail to exercise the most momentous result on the fortunes of the _Kansas_. But s.h.i.+ps are singularly akin to men in respect to the apparent vagaries of fate. A moment's hesitation, a mere pace to right or left, may mean all the difference between success and failure, safety and danger.

Leaving the chart on the table, where it was secured by drawing-pins, Courtenay went back to his cabin to obtain a pair of sea-boots. Seeing Joey sitting on his tail and s.h.i.+vering, unable to indulge in a comfortable lick because the taste of salt water was hateful, he hunted for a padded mackintosh coat which he had procured for the dog's protection in cold lat.i.tudes. He ransacked two lockers before he found it. Several articles were tumbled in a heap on the floor in his haste, and he did not trouble to pack them away again. He buckled Joey into the garment, fastened his own oilskins, and rejoined the second officer on the bridge. A glance showed him the dark wall of the mainsail rising abaft the after funnel. The quarter-master at the wheel, having recovered his wits, was keeping the s.h.i.+p's nose up to the wind by a steady pressure to port. The gale was as fierce as ever. The second officer shouted in Courtenay's ear:

"I am afraid, sir, the wind has s.h.i.+fted a point."

Courtenay looked at the compa.s.s. The s.h.i.+p was bearing exactly northeast. He had hoped that the sails would enable her to shape due north, at least; unquestionably some spiteful fiend was urging her headlong to ruin. Had the wind but veered as much to the south, he might have chanced the run through Concepcion Strait, or even weathered Duke of York Island. He nodded to his junior, whose presence on the bridge was a mere matter of form, owing to the powerless condition of the s.h.i.+p and the impenetrable wrack of foam and mist that barred vision ahead, and strode off on a tour of inspection. As wind and sea were now beating more directly on the port side, there was some degree of shelter along the covered-in deck to starboard. He found that two boats had been cleared of their hamper and lowered on the davits until they could be swung in on the promenade deck. The men were thus able to provision them more easily than in their exposed berths on the spar deck. He watched the workers for a few minutes, showed them how to stow and lash some biscuit tins more securely, and continued his survey, meaning to look in on Walker and the doctor.

He had to pa.s.s the cabins set apart for the two girls. The ports were lighted, and through one window he could see some one peering out at him. Owing to the thickness of the gla.s.s and its blurred condition, he could not tell whether the occupant was Elsie or Isobel, or Isobel's maid, but, whoever it was, a hand seemed to signal to him to open the door.

He unfastened the bolts, and held a half door slightly ajar. Joey, ever eager to be out of the pelting storm, hopped inside, and Courtenay heard Elsie exclaim:

"Good gracious, Joey! Where is your life-belt?"

"Do you want anything?" asked Courtenay, through the c.h.i.n.k.

Elsie smiled at him. She was wrapped in a heavy ulster, and had a Tam o' Shanter tied firmly on her head by a stout veil.

"Mr. Malcolm thought we had better bring life-belts from our cabins. I came for mine, and I looked out and saw you. I wanted to ask you what had become of Dr. Christobal. I hope you don't mind?"

"Not in the least. I am just going to him. Would you care to come?"