CHAPTER V
NEXT day came the monsoon, a slapping breeze which curled woolly tufts upon a sapphire Indian Ocean and lessened the tension for everybody from the firemen in the stoke-hole to the mate on the bridge. Selwyn, however, did not seem affected in the least; he adopted an air of outraged dignity which in Vi's eyes would have been funny had there not been the fear, corroborated by uncle and officers, of what trouble an owner's son could produce.
For three days the farce continued. Selwyn spoke to nobody except Chi Loo, who served him champagne and cigars from midday to night. Compelled to talk and boast to some one, Selwyn used the Chinaman as a vehicle of expression of his contempt for and loathing of everybody on board “the old tub,” as he was so fond of calling the Hesperus.
Moods of hilarious idiocy would alternate with periods of sullen temper when he would lean against a rail or lounge in his chair savagely chewing his cigar-butt, glaring either at Vi or at the form of the second mate on the bridge above him. At table he would order Chi Loo to open some canned dainty from his private store, eat a portion and loudly command the Chinaman to finish the rest; then without apology he would leave the table.
At length his crazy humor, nourished on champagne, began to manifest itself through the medium of conversation with his yellow familiar.
“You're the only civilized being on board,” he would inform Chi Loo, holding up a bumper of Moët & Chandon, “and when we get to Calcutta we'll go home 'Mail' and by I'll make you my butler. How will you like that, my yellow boy, what? Nothing to do but steal my cigars and dance around in a pigtail and a blue gown instead of slaving in those dirty rags on a rotten old tub for a set of coal-tramps, eh?
“And women, bags of 'em! They'll be awful mashed on your slit-eyed melon of a face my boy. Anything for a change. And maybe we'll take in your bally country on the way and have a of a time, what?”
“My countly no savvee man allee samee you,” Chi Loo would respond blandly.
“What d'you mean, you wall-eyed yellow rabbit?”
“Allee samee I tell you, you cussee too muchee. No good for lie down man cussee too muchee. Plenty tlouble come long plenty quick. I tell you one time all leady. You no wantee listen Chi Loo.”
“Rot, ol' dear,” Selwyn would reply, grinning. “You go along and open another bottle of the best and don't talk so much.”
“All lightee. One time you savvee.”
Sometimes Selwyn would insist upon talking about Chinese women in a manner calculated to insult those who, he knew, could probably not help but overhear. Once Chi Loo, who probably did not understand a quarter of Selwyn's allusions, took offense at his reference to a supposititious Chinese princess.
“You no come long my countly,” advised Chi Loo.
“Why not, you mandarin you?”
“'Cos you come 'long you talkee too muchee. 'Nother feller come long cut off head plenty quick.”
Selwyn roared boisterously with laughter at this statement.
“You no laffee for me,” warned Chi Loo without a vestige of expression. “You laffee too muchee! Chi Loo make you dance too long.”
“THAT young man wants a good thrashing,” commented Carnell upon the bridge to Vi.
“Oh, he's drunk,” said Vi disgustedly.
“Is that an excuse then?” demanded Carnell, gazing at her with a smile.
“Oh, well,” answered Vi, and turned away.
That evening Vi, unable to support the presence near her of the “odious Selwyn creature,” as she termed him, fled to the upper bridge, where the presence of a mere male afforded a sanctuary.
Just after one bell, while pondering upon the mischance that had thrown them together and spoiled what might have been an interesting sea-voyage, she noticed that the glow of a cigar beneath the bridge was still there. However, she was too much worried over the possible effects that the man's malice might cause for her uncle to have any inclination to sleep.
“Good evening, Miss Kelvett. Not turning in yet?” asked Carnell.
“No, I don't feel at all sleepy,” she replied.
“I'm very glad to hear it,” responded Carnell in a low tone and, turning away, repeated the course from the mate, who in turn, as eight bells clanged out, retired to his watch below.
When the new man had taken over the wheel the Second came and leaned beside her on the rail, where she was still engrossed in her musings, watching the phosphorescent glimmers of the sea hurrying toward the infinity of the horizon, lulled by the rhythmic throb of the engines against the hum of the monsoon through the halyards. After a while of silence he said in the same low voice—
“Miss Kelvett, I wonder whether you understand how much I owe you?”
“W-what?” stammered Vi, startled.
“I—er—said that I wondered whether you realize how much I owe you,” he repeated a little uncertainly.
“'Owe you'—me? What— I'm afraid I don't understand. What can you owe me? Rather I owe you for—defending me or—”
“Oh, no, no, please. That never entered my head,” he hastened to say with a note of distress in his voice. “I merely meant— Oh, don't you understand what gave me the impulse to—give up the drink?”
“Why, you told me—” began Vi.
“Yes, yes; but a fellow doesn't, you know. Unless—there's something—somebody who—well, makes life worth while.”
“Oh!” gasped Vi. “I never dreamed”
“Of course not. You wouldn't. But I just wanted to tell you that—that— Well, I know I'm only a second mate, but sometimes one can do far more when”
“Oh, Heavens!” stuttered Vi. “Please don't! I mean I can't— That is— Oh, what have I done!”
He made a sound like an animal that is hurt.
“Oh, please, Mr. Carnell, don't!”
“All right, I won't,” he replied. “I can't expect— Perhaps I am a little sentimental. But—” He stopped and turned his head away slightly. “I must tell you one thing, and I'll never refer to it again. I just want you to know that—I love you.”
“Oh, why, why!” exclaimed Vi, taken with an impulse to scream with laughter. “We might have been such good pals, and”
“I'm sorry,” he said humbly. “I apologize. I won't offend again.”
“Oh, please don't!” said Vi. “I mean— Oh, I don't know what I mean. I think I'd better go to bed.”
“As you will,” said he quietly. “Good night.”
“Oh, yes; good night!” exclaimed Vi, and rushed for the ladder.
As she reached the deck, trying hard to suppress the impulse to laugh, a glow of a cigar confronted her and Selwyn's voice said:
“Miss Kelvett, I have been a cad and I really want to apologize sincerely, I”
“Oh, go to the devil,” squealed Vi in agony, and ran across the deck for the companion stairway muttering:
“Oh, men! What on earth did I ever come on this beastly boat for? One wants”
The end of the sentence was amputated by a motion that sent her into a dive beyond the door of the companionway, sprawling across her own chair. As she scrambled to her feet, wondering what had happened, the ship seemed to shiver and lurch to port. Instantly the mate's whistle screamed shrilly. She heard running feet and the voice of her uncle shouting—
“Vi! Vi! Where are you?”
She was conscious that the deck was sloping strangely. Queer noises were issuing from the depths of the ship and the engines appeared to have gone mad. She ran toward the bridge ladder, shouting to her uncle reassuringly:
“All right; uncle. I'm all right.”
“Keep near me,” he commanded from the bridge.
The Second dashed past her and disappeared. The patter of rushing feet sounded in the darkness. A bellow of steam began, nearly drowning the shouting of orders. Cool and quiet, she remained on the bridge suppressing a desire to ask her uncle what the matter was. A white form appeared beside her.
“For God's sake, what's the matter?” yelled Selwyn above the noise. “A mine?”
“Yes, I think so,” shouted Vi calmly.
AGAINST the violet darkness of the white-smudged sea she could make out that the forecastle of the ship was at a sharp angle and much nearer the water.
“Its blown the bows off her,” she thought, “and she's sinking fast.”
Figures of men seemed running aimlessly beneath her. She saw one boat hanging out in the davits. The Second rushed up the ladder, yelled something at the captain and leaped down again. Captain Kelvett took her by the arm and shouted in her ear:
“She's going, Vi. Don't get excited. You haven't got time to get anything. Follow me.”
“Oh, right, uncle,” returned Vi calmly. “I'm coming.”
On the deck beneath, which was tilted heavily, she followed her uncle to the port side. A boat surrounded by a crowd of jabbering men was hanging outboard. Carnell appeared at her elbow.
“Here, Miss Kelvett, let me lift you!”
“No, no,” shouted Vi; and, catching hold of the falls, she slid into the boat, in which there were already several men. Almost on top of her came Selwyn.
“Are you all right?” she shouted. “She's going fast. Look out!”
The boat tilted and swayed and tipped bow-downward, nearly throwing them all into the sea; rocked and hit the water with a splash. Fortunately it was the leeward side. Amid shouts and yells the men tried to fend her off from the black, roaring hulk above them. Others swarmed down the falls.
“Uncle, where are you?” screamed Vi as shrilly as she could. She thought that she heard him reply, but at that moment came another terrific roar.
“Cut her off!” screamed Selwyn. “Her boilers are blowing up.”
Some of the crew had oars out and were pulling and pushing frantically. One block had been loosened. Some one cut the other tackle. Vi saw against the sky that everybody had disappeared except one figure sliding down the falls. She grabbed at the block as the boat began to make way, screaming:
“Wait! Wait! The captain's coming!”
But the men either did not hear in the uproar or were too excited to attend. Vi hung on desperately to the block at the end of the falls and shouted to Selwyn beside her to hold her. He caught her round the waist.
For several seconds the two bodies held the strain of the men rowing and the tug of the boat under the sea. Then the captain half-slid, half-tumbled into the boat.
Vi let go and collapsed in a heap in the bottom of the boat. As they sorted themselves out the crew were pulling vigorously. As they made way from the lee of the ship the boat began to tumble about in the seas.
“The fools smashed No. 4 boat,” said Captain Kelvett, manipulating a steering-oar and watching his command wallowing low in the water. “And I'm afraid the chief and the engineers have gone. She must have ripped her bottom right out. She went as quick as the Titanic.”
“Was it a mine?” queried Selwyn.
“No, no. Derelict. Probably a waterlogged wooden wind-jammer sunk by the Huns. Are you all I right, Vi? Hey who's there? Bo's'n?”
Several men echoed the word.
“Ain't 'ere, sir,” responded one. “'Chips' is ere.”
“Well, some one get a lantern and step the mast. Can you see any of the other boats?”
“One over there, sir,” said another man. “Ow!” he yelled. “There she goes!”
Looking back at the Hesperus, they saw her apparently try to stand on her tail against the sky. A burst of fire came from her funnel and as she began to slide backward a dull roar reached them.
“Just got away in time, by !” remarked Selwyn.
“Now you savvee one time you cussee too muchee,” commented a voice in the gloom.