Читать книгу Zula - H. Esselstyn Lindley - Страница 11

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The next morning’s sun rose clear and bright, and by nine o’clock the town was swarming with pleasure-seekers. The little steamer lay at the landing awaiting its burden of human freight. The boat was already fast filling up with old and young, grave and gay.

A little party, which consisted of Mrs. Horton, Mr. and Mrs. Platts, Guy, Zula and Carrie, entered the boat.

The boat had been under way a short time, when Carrie exclaimed, with a look of alarm: “Oh, Zula, what is the matter?”

Zula looked up and saw that each face around had become serious.

Guy answered the question, though apparently unconcerned.

“The water is coming into the boat.”

One after another arose to their feet.

“What is it?” ran from mouth to mouth.

“The boat has sprung a leak.”

A wild, despairing cry went up from the frightened crowd, and then the color fled from each face until one looking over the pitiful scene of white and agonized 49 faces turned toward Heaven, would almost have thought the sea had given up its dead.

The water which was fast running into the boat defied the laborious task of bailing, and one brave man after another, overcome with heat and labor, surrendered and was brought on deck fainting. At last when all efforts were found to be unavailing, the captain, with haggard face and ashen lips, gave the command to repair to the upper deck. It was the last hope. The scene of that moment cannot be portrayed. Parents who had left children on the mainland, and children who had gone abroad without their parents, called in vain for loved ones, and wringing their hands, mingled their tears, and praying, cursing, and weeping, words of regret and heart-rending shrieks, all mingled in one mighty cry, went up to Heaven through the still air, while death seemed to stand and mock them in their agony, hopeless, out upon the water in a frail boat, which in a few moments more would go down, down, consigning them to a watery grave.

Mrs. Horton, in mute despair, clasped the hands of her sister and daughter. Guy had stepped a little aside, and with a very solemn look, was studying what course to pursue, as the agony and excitement of all seemed to settle to a dumb despair and a resignation of the fate that awaited them, and one by one they sank to the floor, giving themselves up to the mercy of the waters.

The flag of distress had been raised, but the steamer, yet three miles away from the mainland, where the rowboats lay, was steadily, but slowly and surely going down. Would they reach the sinking vessel in time to 50 save any of the victims? Ah, how anxiously they watch while there seems but a step between them and eternity.

Every eye was directed toward the mainland, from which were coming a large number of rowboats. Nearer they come, one after another, bringing a faint ray of hope to the leaden hearts. The steamer is sinking, sinking, oh, will they reach her in time to rescue the precious load of humanity? Something seems to buoy her up, as though stayed by the hand of Providence. The little boats fairly fly over the water and at last they reach the sinking steamer, and are filled and rowed safely to the island. Back and forth they go until there is one more load left. The last boat is nearly filled and all have descended with the exception of Guy and Zula. How fast they crowd to their places; these frightened people, seemingly so selfish because life is at stake. Guy and Zula hold back. They are both cooler than the rest, and perhaps less fearful.

“Alas,” the pilot says, “the boat will not hold one more.”

“Oh, just one,” Guy says, motioning Zula to go.

“No, not one; it is already a risky load. One more may sink all; you must wait.”

Away goes the heavily laden boat, and faster and yet faster, down—down goes the sinking vessel. The deck but just clears the water, and there stand Guy and Zula waiting, with but a moment between them and death. How calmly they wait. Guy clasps her hand, his face has grown pale.

“Zula,” he says, “I can swim, but you shall not go 51 down alone. The lifeboat cannot possibly return in time to take us away.”

Zula draws her hand away, and, stooping, unfastens and draws her shoes from her feet, then turning to Guy she says in a cool and fearless manner:

“I have no idea of going down.”

“I am not an expert swimmer and perhaps I can do no more than save myself; but I will try to save you.”

“See, we must be quick,” he said, again offering his hand.

She drew back hurriedly, saying:

“Save yourself, Cousin Guy.”

At that moment the boat careened, a splashing of the pipes in the water and down, down, down she went out of sight.

A heart-rending cry arose from the boat nearing the island. Mrs. Horton and Mrs. Platts anxiously watching the two standing on the vessel’s deck saw them strike the water and then all hope was lost. They buried their faces in their hands to shut out the very thought of the terrible sight.

But see! what is that? Each eye is strained to catch the sight.

Their hearts almost stand still as they watch two heads above the water, and as they near the island they are soon followed by Zula, who smiles as she steps on the shore. Guy soon follows, and brushes the water from his hair. The two are soon surrounded by friends and strangers with numerous words of praise for Zula’s bravery. She was glad to get to the hotel, where the ladies were only too eager to provide her with dry 52 clothing. There was nothing else talked of for the remainder of the day, but the disaster and the wonderful heroism of the little black-eyed girl, and when the pleasure-seekers were rowed back to the town by moonlight, all acknowledged that it had been a day which would not soon be forgotten.

The summer passed away, and Zula had been happy, but there was a tiny cloud in the background of her life, a fear that Crisp would, some day steal in upon her happiness and blight her life by taking her back to the old one of shadow and suffering. She had become warmly attached to Carrie and Guy, and often would she look at him and wish so earnestly that Crisp were like him. How happy she would be, and how she would love Crisp if he were like Guy. But Crisp was cruel, heartless and ignorant, never giving her a kind word, but instead cruel taunts and blows. When her mind wandered over those things she could not choke down the feeling of bitterness that struggled in her bosom, and she would whisper to herself that some day she would have her revenge. How little she knew in what way her revenge would be given.

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