Читать книгу King o' the Beach: A Tropic Tale - George Manville Fenn - Страница 8

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“Here’s another coming,” roared Bostock, hoarsely. “Back into shelter, or we shall be swept away.”

He set the example, still bearing the insensible boy, and the next minute they had reached the comparative security of the saloon, where the water was now washing to and fro, coming in with a rush and pouring out again.

The first efforts of the two men were now directed towards carefully placing Carey high and dry in an upper berth of one of the state-room cabins, where a lamp was still burning steadily as it swung to and fro.

“Hasn’t killed him, has it, sir?” growled Bostock, excitedly, as the doctor examined his patient.

“No; he is breathing easily, and the bandages have not shifted,” replied the doctor, who then turned upon his companion in misfortune and said in a hard, defiant way: “Well, my man, this seems hard luck; we’re left in the lurch. I suppose the captain will not come back to take us off.”

“Come back and take us off, sir?” said the old sailor, with a bitter laugh. “Not him. He’s got his work cut out to keep that barge afloat. Lord help ’em all, I say, all on ’em in those open boats. There they are afloat among reefs and breakers in a storm like this. For aught we know, sir, they’re all capsized and washing about like so much chaff by now.”

“Then you think we’re better off than they are?”

“No, I don’t,” growled the old man, sourly, as a wave came thundering over the vessel, shaking it from bow to stern. “It won’t be long before one of them breakers’ll make a way in and bust up part of the deck; and after that it won’t be long before she’s ripped in pieces. Lor’ a mussy! the power of a thousand tons o’ water going miles an hour’s awful. Shreds beams into matches, and twists ironwork like wire. It only means a few minutes more to live, doctor; and, as you say, it do seem hard. Poor boy!” he continued, laying his great rough hand tenderly on Carey’s breast. “All his young life before him, and nipped off sudden like this.”

“Poor boy, yes,” said the doctor, gently. “But I’m thankful that he is quite insensible, and will not know the agony we have to face.”

The old sailor looked curiously in his companion’s face.

“Agony!” he said, slowly; “agony! Well, I suppose it is, but I’ve been face to face with the end so many times that I suppose I’ve got a bit blunt. Do you know, sir, it seems to nip me more about that poor young chap than it does about myself.”

The doctor looked at the speaker searchingly for a few moments, and then said, quietly:

“Can we do anything to try and save his life, my man? Life-preservers, raft, or anything of that sort?”

The old sailor laughed softly.

“Life-preserver in a sea like this means being smothered in a few minutes, and such a raft as we could make would be knocked to pieces and us washed off. No, sir; we’re in shelter where we can die peaceably, and all we can do is to meet it like men.”

The doctor’s brow knit, and he looked as if in horrible pain for a few moments. Then a calm, peaceful look came over his countenance, and he smiled and held out his hand.

“Yes,” he said, quietly; “meet it like men.”

The old sailor stared at him for a moment, and then snatched and gripped the extended hand in perfect silence.

“Ha!” he ejaculated at last. “I feel better, sir, after that. Now let’s talk about the youngster there.”

The huge breakers had kept on steadily thundering at the side of the steamer, rising over her and crashing down on her decks with the greatest regularity; but now, as the old sailor spoke and turned towards the insensible boy, it seemed as if a billow greater than any which had come before rolled up and broke short on the reef, with the result that the immense bank of water seemed to plunge under the broad side of the steamer, lifting her, and once more they were borne on the summit of the wave with a rush onward. There was a fierce, wild, hissing roar, and the great vessel seemed to creak and groan as if it were a living creature in its final agony, and old Bostock gripped the doctor’s hand again.

“It’s come, my lad,” he shouted, “and we’ll meet it like men. We shall strike again directly, and she’ll go to pieces like a bundle of wood.”

The two men had risen to their feet, and to steady themselves they each laid the hand at liberty upon the berth which held their young companion.

How long they stood like this neither of them could afterwards have said, but it seemed an hour, during which the steamer was borne broadside on by the huge roller, each listener in the deafening turmoil and confusion bracing himself for the shock when she struck, till the rate at which she progressed began to slacken into a steady glide, the deafening roar of breakers grew less, and at last she rode on and on, rising and falling gently, and with a slow rolling motion each minute growing steadier.

But she did not strike.

The doctor was the first to speak.

“What does this mean?” he said, loudly, for the hissing and shrieking of the wind kept on.

“The rollers have carried her right over the reef into one of they broad lagoons, or else into the quieter water on the lee of the rocks, sir. She mayn’t strike now, only settle down, and sink in deep water.”

As he spoke there was a grinding sound, a sudden stoppage, the vessel having lifted a little and been set down with a great shock which threw the two men heavily against the bulkhead of the cabin in which they stood, and extinguished the lamp.

“We aren’t in deep water, sir,” roared Bostock, scrambling to his feet. “Hold on; here we go again.”

For the great steamer was lifted and glided steadily on for a while, to ground once more with a crashing sound.

“That’s scraping holes in her, sir,” cried Bostock.

Then again she lifted and was borne on, apparently hundreds of yards, to go crashing over the rough rocks again with a strange, deep, grinding sound which lasted for some moments, before they were at rest on nearly an even keel.

“Fast!” cried Bostock. “She’ll never stir again, sir. Ground her way all among the jagged coral rock, and she’s held as fast now as a ship’s boat pitched in a sea o’ spikes.”

Doctor Kingsmead made no reply for some little time, while the old sailor waited in vain for him to speak.

“Hurt, sir?” he cried at last.

“No,” was the reply, followed by a deep sigh but faintly heard in the roar of the wind.

“Then I’ll try if I can’t get a light, sir, afore one of us is. Seems nice to be still once more. Do you know, sir, as we may reckon as we’re saved?”

“Yes,” said the doctor, almost inaudibly; “but I can hardly believe it true.”

There was a clicking noise, and spark after spark of faint phosphorescent light across the black darkness.

This was repeated again and again, but without further effect.

“No go, sir,” cried Bostock then. “Got my matches wet, sir. If I lives to get through this I’ll allus keep ’em corked up in a bottle.”

There was another streak of light directly after, followed by a flash and a wax match burned brightly in the doctor’s fingers, for those he carried in a little silver box proved to be dry.

“Ha!” ejaculated Bostock, reaching up to the lamp, which was slowly subsiding from its pendulum-like motion. “I hate being in the dark, even if it’s only a fog. You never know which way to steer.”

“Can you light the lamp?”

“Yes, sir, all right, in a minute. Wick’s got shook down. That’s better; give me hold, or you’ll burn your fingers; mine’s as hard as horn. Well done; first go.”

For the wick caught and burned brightly, the glass was replaced, and the doctor was able to examine his patient once more.

“How is he, sir?”

“Just the same,” replied the doctor.

“Well done; that’s better than being worse, sir. And I say, it’s blowing great guns still, but nothing like what it was an hour ago. Dessay it’ll pass over before long. Come and let’s see what it’s like on deck.”

They went up together into a storm of blinding spray, which swept by them with a hissing rush; but there were no raging billows striking the steamer’s sides and curling over in turns to sweep the deck, and, getting into shelter, they tried vainly to make out their position.

They had no difficulty in stepping to the side of the saloon deck, for there was no water to wade through, and the great vessel was as steady now as if built upon a foundation of rock, and as soon as they had wiped the spray from their eyes they tried hard to pierce the gloom.

But in vain. It was not very dark, but there was a thick mist which seemed to glow faintly with a peculiar phosphorescent light that was horribly weird and strange, and after a few minutes’ effort they turned to descend to the cabin again.

“This won’t last long, sir,” shouted the old sailor in the doctor’s ear; “these sort o’ storms seldom do. Dessay it’ll be all bright sunshine in the mornin’. We’re safe as safe, with the reef and the breakers far enough away, but the old Chusan will never breast the waves again.”

“And all our friends?”

“Don’t talk about it, sir. They were in sound boats, well manned, and with good officers to each, but—oh dear! oh dear!—the sea’s hard to deal with in a storm like this.”

“Do you think, then, that there is no hope?”

“Oh no, sir, I don’t say that, for, you see, the waves didn’t run high. They may weather it all, but where they’re carried to by the wind and the awful currents there are about here no one knows.”

“But are they likely to get back to us?”

“Not a bit, sir. They don’t know where we are, and they’ll have their work cut out to find where they are themselves.”

“Have you any idea where we are—what shore this is?”

“Hardly, sir. All I do know is that from the time the typhoon struck us we must have been carried by wind and the fierce currents right away to the west and south.”

“And that means where?”

“Most like off the nor’-west coast o’ ’Stralia, among the reefs and islands there. It’s like it is on the nor’-east coast, a reg’lar coral sea.

“Ha!” continued Bostock, when they were once more in shelter. “S’pose we take turn and turn now to watch young Master Carey. We’re both worn out, sir. You take fust rest; you’re worst.”

“No; lie down till I call you, my man.”

“Do you order me to, sir?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Well, sir, I can’t help it; I’m dead-beat.”

The next minute the old sailor was down on the floor in his drenched clothes, sleeping heavily, while, in thankfulness for the life which seemed to have been given back when they were prepared to die, Doctor Kingsmead watched by his patient’s side, waiting for the cessation of the storm and the light of day, which seemed as if it would never come.