Kate Beaumont :: :: University of Virginia Library

That was Mrs. Chester; capable of emotions
as fiery as ignited gunpowder; but
capable of holding only one charge at a
time. Moreover, there was a certain restricted
sense in which this wordly and
spunky woman was naturally religious. I
do not say that she was satisfactorily devout;
nor do I undertake to remember
whether she was or was not a church communicant;
my whole statement amounts to
this, that she believed heartily in the other
world, and was afraid of it. Not that she
thought of it profitably or often; she only
trembled at it when it seemed near. If she
was possessed of a devil, as some of her
enemies and some even of her relatives
asserted, it must have been that devil who,
when he was sick, a monk would be.

For the present the secret of the incognito
was not divulged, and Tom Beaumont was

not st'boyed at the foe of his family. In
fact, not ten minutes had elapsed before
Mrs. Chester, having flown to the captain
for consolatory assurances, and got nothing
which satisfied her, was looking up into the
grave, calm, benignant face of Frank McAlister,
and asking of it news of life or
death.

“I believe,” said the deep, mellow voice
of the young man, “that the fire has been
discovered in the hold; or, rather, it has
been suspected there. Investigations are going
on now which will let us know whether
there is any real cause for alarm. If there
is fire, it is in the cargo; probably a case
of spontaneous combustion; badly stored
chemicals, it may be.”

“What a shame!” burst forth Mrs.
Chester, trembling with anger as well as
fear. “Whoever put such things on board
ought to be hung.”

“They are not mine,” he observed, in
answer to her sudden glare of accusation.
“Indeed, I don't know as yet that there is
anything of the kind below. Only, it seems
likely. Otherwise, how account for the
fire?” added this investigator.

“I shall go and see what is there,” she
cried, making a rush in her dressing-gown
towards the stairway.

“It is of no use, madam,” ventured Mr.
Wilkins, who had just come below. “Can't
get near the place. They 're taking out
cargo, and the deck is all littered up; the
Devil's own mess — beg pardon. Nothing
to be seen but smoke coming out of the
hatchway. I don't see, by Jehu, how those
sailors can stand it down there. O, I s'pose
it 'll all come out right,” he concluded, seeing
the terror of Mrs. Chester.

At this moment Duffy arrived, with an
air of bringing a glass or two of grog to the
rescue, inside his jacket.

“The Spouter!” he said, apparently continuing
a conversation with Wilkins. “I
say, Bill Wilkins, the Spouter 'd cool her
off in no time.”

“What is the Spouter?” eagerly asked
Mrs. Chester.

“Our fire-engine, Mrs. Chester. Hartland
fire-engine. I 'm cap'n of the comp'ny.
'Member, Mrs. Chester, how Hutch Holland's
store got fire, 'n' we put the m'chine
at it? Had the m'chine out 'n' on the spot
in five minutes. Took up posish at the
corner —”

Mrs. Chester, totally uninterested in the
prowess of the Spouter, since it could not
help her, turned her back impatiently on
the somewhat tipsy Duffy, while Wilkins
grasped him by the arm and led him to
the other end of the cabin, saying, “Here,
tell me about it.”

Serious hours passed. Now and then a
man went on deck, crawled as near as he
could to the lumbered hatchway, tried to
peer through the boiling whirls of smoke,
came back to the anxious ladies, and reported
— nothing. Tom Beaumont, by this
time as tipsy as Duffy, and much more
noisy in his liquor, was back and forth continually,
talking unreportable nonsense.

“O, why can't you find out something,
some of you?” was the cry of the angered
and terrified Mrs. Chester. “Where is that
Captain Brien? I want him to come here
and tell me what is the matter. I want to
give him a piece of my mind. How dare
he load his ship with combustibles! He
has n't heard the last of this. Not if he
gets us ashore, he has n't heard the last of
it. I 'll follow him up. I 'll ruin him.”

“Cap'n Brien 'sh all right,” declared
Tom. “Cap'n Brien 'sh a gentleman. He 's
up there, workin' like a beaver. Don't y'
hear him holler?” Here a ludicrous idea
struck the young gentleman, and he repeated
with an exasperating smile, “Nigger
in a wood-pile, don't y' hear him holler?”

“Tom!” implored Kate Beaumont, who
seemed even more moved by her brother's
condition than by the common danger.

“O yes, — all right,” laughed the youngster.
“Got little too much aboard. Go
on deck again 'n' cool off. All right pretty
soon.”

“O, what a miserable set!” gasped Mrs.
Chester, stamping with impatience. “Is
there no clergyman on board? I never will
go to sea again without a elergyman on
board. Is there nobody here who can pray?
I would give all I 'm worth for a prayer-meeting.
I wish I had brought old Miriam.
She could pray for us.”

She glared around upon the men, angry
that none of them could pray for her. Kate
Beaumont turned away gravely, walked
with bended head to her state-room and
closed the door upon herself. Was it to
lift a supplication to Heaven for deliverance,
or for resignation? McAlister hoped so,
believed so with inexpressible tenderness
of spirit, and sent his soul after her.

“I think we had better make some preparations,”
he presently said to Mrs. Chester,
as she paced the cabin with clasped
hands and lifted eyes. “The coast cannot
be far off. We may reach it in boats, if it
comes to that. May I advise you to make
up a little package of such things as you
must save, and to tell Miss Beaumont to do
the same? I hope it will not be so bad as
that. But we had best prepare.”

Mrs. Chester gave him a stare, and then
hurried to her room. The young man had
decided that, as for himself, he was ready;
he wanted nothing but his overcoat and the
life-preserver which hung over his berth;
it was folly to think of cumbering a boat
with books and baggage. He now fell to

pacing the cabin quietly; and in so doing
he approached the group of Wilkins and
Duffy.

“I say,” called Duffy, looking up with a
fixed, absurd smile, and striking his fist
hospitably on the table in front of him.
“Take seat, Mr. Mc — McAlister. Know
you. Knew you ten days ago. Sit down
over there. Talk about Hartland.”

“O you drunken blatherskite!” growled
the disgusted Wilkins, pushing away as if
to rise from the table.

“Hold on, Bill Wilkins,” said Duffy,
grasping his friend tightly. “Mr. Wilkins,
Mr. Mc — McAlister. Both Hartland men.
Talking about Hartland.”

“Beg your pardon, sir,” muttered Wilkins,
addressing McAlister. “He 's always
that way when he takes a spoonful. He
has n't had but two glasses under him, and
here he is higher than any other man would
be on a quart.”

“Only two glasses,” declared Duffy, trying
to look sober. “Not tight. Just trying
to cheer the — the occasion. You see, Mr.
McAlister —”

Wilkins squinted a look of apology towards
the young gentleman.

“Never mind,” muttered the latter.
“Disguise is probably of no importance
now. I had my reasons.”

“Certainly,” nodded Wilkins; while the
eager and smiling Duffy, who had not noticed
this aside, went on with his babble.

“You see — talking of Hartland — 'member
the fire there four years ago? O, you
was n't there, excuse me. Hutch Holland's
store. 'Member me — Duffy — keep store
there — right opposite Wilkins? Cap'n of
the fire-engine. Spouter! Had her out
in five minutes. Hose busted. Took out a
length. Busted again. Took out 'nother
length. Rammed her close up to the ole
shanty. Let drive into the cellar — ten
tons of cold water — cleaned cistern all out.
Well, could n't stop the blasted thing.
Why? Well, here 't is — petrolem afire —
don't ye see? Filled the cellar full of water,
'n' histed the pe-tro-le-um,” slowly this time,
resolved to pronounce it. “Went on blazing
'n' ripping 'n' roaring just the same.
Floated — rose to the top, 'n' burnt like
fury — did n't care how much water there
was. More water the better. How should
I know? Nobody said petroleum — pe-tro-le-um,
hang it! If I 'd known 'bout petrolem,
I 'd 'a' pitched in sand, 'n' smothered
it. But water! kept me slinging water on
to petrolem. Would n't stay on it. Petrolem
rose to the surface 'n' burnt right
straight along. Caught the floor at last,
'n' sailed up like sky-rocket. That 's the
way the ole shanty went. None of my fault.
Nobody said petrolem — pe-tro-le-um.”

He paused a moment; his friend Wilkins
smirking slightly, notwithstanding a gloomy
under-thought about the fire in the hold;
and McAlister surveying him gravely, reflecting
on what he had said, rather than
noticing how he said it.

“Well, what was I driving at?” resumed
Duffy. “What was it, Bill Wilkins?
Did n't stop with Hutch Holland's burnout.
Told ye that before.”

“I should think so,” growled Wilkins.
“Forty times. Full load every haul.”

“O, I know — petrolem down there,”
continued Duffy, jerking his head toward
the forward part of the ship. “That 's the
reason water won't catch hold. Want sand.
Won't bring about anything till we get
some sand. An' where 's sand? Bottom
of the ocean. Bound to bust — that 's what
's the matter — settled to bust — bet yer
pile on 't. Let 's have some more whiskey.
I 'll go 'n' hunt the steward.”

As he rose, Wilkins caught him by the
arm and jerked him down again, more effectually
than tenderly.

“No, no, Duffy! We don't want any.
And you 're drunk enough for the whole
ship's company.”

“But Mr. McAlister wants whiskey,”
insisted Duffy. “Let go of me, Bill Wilkins.”

“Nothing for me,” objected McAlister,
raising his voice a little, and awing the
fuddled man into his seat.

“Well, all right, then,” assented Duffy.
“If you say so, that settles it. I only drink
myself on these occasions. Wilkins here
ought to take some. He 's scared, Wilkins
is. I say, Wilkins, ain't you scared?”

“Yes, by Jehu, I am,” confessed Wilkins.
“I wish to gracious I was ashore.”

“Want to live, don't you, Wilkins?”
continued Duffy, still keeping up his fixed,
silly smile. “Find it pleasant world, don't
you, Wilkins? Like to catch 'nother hold
on 't?”

“Yes, I 'd take a contract to live five
hundred years,” said the frank Wilkins, not
apparently a frightened man, either. “I
like it. I 've had a good time here. I don't
feel sure that I shall ever be let into another
world that 'll be so pleasant to me. I 'd
take a contract for five hundred years, and
after that I believe I 'd be willing to take
another.”

“An' be shipwrecked!” asked Duffy,
still simpering.

“Yes, and be shipwrecked.”

“An' fail, Wilkins? Bust up 'n' fail,
now 'n' then?”

“Yes, throw in as many failures as you
like, and all sorts of other bothers.”

“Well, Wilkins,” said Duffy, speaking
with extreme gravity, as if he were really
called on to decide something, — “well,
Wilkins, don't know but I 'gree with you.”

“Wilkins would n't like it in Heaven,”
he added, turning to McAlister. “Not a
'ligious man. Now, I 'm 'ligious; had advantages.
But Wilkins, let him have his
own way, 'n' Wilkins would n't go to
Heaven, — not till all the other places was
shut up.”

At this moment Tom Beaumont slid like
an avalanche into the cabin, got up with
much rubbing of his back, berated the brass
edges of the stairs, and began to beat
aft.

“Another of 'em!” muttered Wilkins.
“By Jehu, here 's what 's a going. I can't
stand so much blathering when I 'm sober
myself.”

Leaning forward, he whispered in Duffy's
ear, “Shut up about that name, will you,
now?”

“Name? O yes, McAlister. Keep shady.
Secret of a gentleman, — word of a gentleman,
I mean.”

And as Tom approached the table, Wilkins
and McAlister left it together, proceeding
towards the deck.

“Those two fools!” muttered Wilkins.
“They 'll get water enough in their rum, by
Jehu, if they 're not looked after. They 'll
be so drunk they could n't jump into a boat
if it was as big as a continent. Hope you 'll
excuse Duffy, sir. He 's not that way often.
It only takes a thimbleful to capsize him.
Good, peaceable, well-meaning fellow. Don't
know a better intentioned man. I like
him, though he is a doughhead, especially
when he 's tight.”

Meeting the steward, he whispered hurriedly:
“Look here. Close up your gin
palace, and lose the key. Some people on
board have crowded themselves too full
already. Lose the key right square off.”

“You don't seem to be alarmed out of
your wits,” said McAlister.

“O, I can stand this sort of thing so so.
I 've had adventures before now. Still I
was honest in what I said to Duffy; I don't
mean to die as long as I can help it; don't
want to die a particle. Hang me if I see
anything gay in it.”

On deck they perceived, by the light of
the stars and a deck-lamp or two, that no
more smoke was curdling up from the
hatchway. The captain, too, instead of
being forward superintending the struggle
with the fire, was standing near the helmsman,
looking now at a chart and now at the
compass.

“All out, Captain?” asked McAlister,
drawing a deep breath of relief. “Shall I
tell the ladies?”

Raising his heavy-lided eyes, red and
watery from the effects of the smoke into
which they had been peering, the skipper
gave his two passengers a sullen, noncommittal
stare.

“What! not out?” exclaimed Wilkins.

“Confound it, no!” in a growl of wrath
and impatience.

“Captain,” said McAlister, in his calmly
authoritative way, “it seems to me that
in such a state of things you had better
tell the passengers plainly what to look
for. It may save a panic when the crisis
comes.”

“Well, the case is just here,” returned
the captain, slowly and sadly. “We can't
get at the fire. It 's low down in the hold,
and yet water won't flood it. Can't unload
enough to reach the spot. No man can stay
below a half-minute. I don't know what
the deuce is burning down there. It sends
up a smoke that no human being can face.
It 's chemicals, or some kind of oil, and yet
there 's nothing of the sort on the freight-bill.
Well, if it 's oil, water will only do
harm; raise the stuff, you see, and set the
deck afire; then we 're gone. What I 've
done is to batten down the hatches, to
keep out the air and smother the flame.
If only the stuff will burn out without catching
the ship! We 're heading now for the
nearest land.”

“Shove her right along and run her high
and dry,” assented Wilkins, cheeringly.

“That 's all that can be done,” groaned
the captain.

“How far to land?” queried McAlister.

“About three hundred miles. The boat
is going her very prettiest. If we can only
keep in her twenty-four hours!”

“Had you not better say all this below?”
insisted McAlister. “Passengers will take
a captain's word for everything.”

“I 'll come down. But my God! is n't
it horrible! First ship I ever lost, gentlemen;
and I fifty-five! By heavens, I 'd
rather have died than seen this day. I hate
to face those women. There 's that girl.
I had a daughter once. I hate to meet that
girl.”

And Captain Brien, all bluster and humbug
swept out of him, wiped away honest
tears of misery.

“By Jehu, yes, we must save that girl,”
struck in Wilkins, energetically.

“Yes!” said McAlister with solemnity.

A few minutes later, the dozen or so of
passengers were gathered in silence about
the captain in the cabin. He told his story,
much as he had told it on deck, and then
added, in a business-like way, as if he were
issuing directions for an ordinary disembarkation:
“Now for your duty. Make up
your little packets for the boats. Get some
ship-bread about you. And then keep cool
and stand by. When I want you, I 'll call
for you. I 'm very sorry, ladies and gentlemen.
It 's not my fault. I did n't stow
the ship. That 's all.”

And, glad to get out of it, glad to escape
from those blank faces which all seemed to
reproach him, the captain slowly wheeled
his short, solid body towards the stairway,
to go on deck and resume his sleepless
watch.

“O you wretch!” Mrs. Chester burst out
in a tremulous scream. “O you worthless,
villanous —”

“Hush, Aunt, hush!” begged Kate Beaumont,
seizing her elder relative around the
waist, and trying to draw her towards her
state-room.

“What 's that? What 's the row?” called
Tom Beaumont, now half crazed with
liquor. “Who 's a fightin'? Who wants to
fight? Let me in.”

“Never mind,” whispered Wilkins, hurrying
the captain towards the stairs. “The
woman 's hysterical, and the boy 's drunk.
You get on deck, captain. It 's all right.”

Tom meanwhile has rushed up to Kate,
his face full of maudlin affection, and his
right hand under his coat skirt. “Anybody
insulted you? say, sis?”

“No, Tom,” cried the girl, full of shame
and terror. “O, do try to be quiet!” And
here she burst into tears.

Wilkins ran back, caught the young
lunatic by the elbow, and walked him aft
with a confidential air, whispering, “Tell
you all about it. It 's nothing but your
aunt 's got the hysterics.”

“O, thaht 's it?” drawled Tom, falling
back from him to the length of his arm,
and staring with head on one side. “Let
her have 'em!”

“Yes, that 's it. But we must get to
work. Make your little bundles for the
boats. There,” pushing him coaxingly on
to a settee; “you lie down out of the way,
won't you? Let me strap up your duds.
Want your overcoat?”

And so on, — the adroit and self-possessed
Wilkins! — thoroughly accustomed
to bummers! In three minutes the wretched
youngster was asleep, leaving Wilkins at
liberty to make his preparations for him,
and then to go about his own.

All the crew were up all night getting
ready to quit the ship at a moment's notice.
There were men enough to manage four
large boats; and these boats were sufficient
to carry thrice as many passengers as there
were, with stores sufficient for a fortnight's
voyage; so that, barring accident or tempest,
there was every probability of getting
all hands safely to land. Kegs of water,
boxes of hard-bread, cases of preserved
meats, etc., were ranged along the deck,
ready for embarkation. Captain Brien's
variegated face gleamed and reddened every
few minutes in the light of the binnacle
lamp, or in the glow which poured out of
the doors of the furnace-room. The firemen
and the engines kept each other hard at
work. So far as McAlister could judge
(and he was not, of course, easy to please
in the matter), everything was being done
that could be done.

“How goes it?” he asked, meeting the
skipper in one of his trottings back and
forth between the engine and the wheel.

“Beautiful!” The captain was almost
gay, his doomed boat was running so gamely.
“That engine is charming. It 's like
a young lady dancing. Fourteen knots!
Never saw the beat of it in a boat of this
size. Is n't it too hard!” he exclaimed,
striking his clubs of fists together and
stamping his fat feet, as short and broad as
a bear's paws. “Here 's this little angel of
a boat gone to smash! And all for some
blasted cargo — the Davy Jones knows
what — that ought n't to have been shipped,
would n't have been if I 'd done the stowing.
O — by — jimmy!”

And, lowering his head like an angry
bull, the captain butted on toward the
helmsman.

Going below and traversing the cabin,
McAlister overheard Tom Beaumont snoring
whole nightmares in his state-room, and
Mrs. Chester either whimpering or scolding
in hers. As he passed the door of the latter,
Kate Beaumont came out and began
walking backward and forwards, apparently
without noticing him. He looked over his
shoulder pitifully at the pallor of the girlish
face.

“Miss Beaumont,” he thought he might
say, “may I walk with you?”

She took his arm mechanically, and presently
she raised her eyes to him, as if suddenly
remembering who he was and what
had passed between them. Well, it was no
time for family feuds; it was no occasion
for nice delicacy in choosing one's companions;
she continued to walk by his side and
lean upon him.

“I trust and believe this will end well,”
he said, longing to cheer her.

“You are very kind,” she replied. “I
am afraid I have not treated you well,
Mr. — Mr. McMaster. I don't know. If I
have done wrong, I beg your pardon.”

“You have done everything right. I
shall always respect you.”

There seemed to be some comfort in this;
of course not comfort enough for the hour.

“You are bearing this bravely,” he went
on, admiring her even then.

“I could bear it, if I only had help.”
And the girl, only eighteen, remember,
sobbed. “Mr. McAlister, I want to ask
one thing of you. We two women will be
cared for. But who will care for my brother?
Will — will you?”

“I pledge myself to it!”

“O, how good you are!” It was no time

to reflect that she was placing herself under
deep obligations to a man who had asked her
hand in marriage. It is probable that, under
the terrible circumstances of the crisis,
she did not think of it. Standing on the
verge of the other world, this world's entanglements
were very vague.

“Could not you and I,” he asked, “when
we get home, put an end to this feud?”

“I don't know. It might be. I will try,”
she replied, with a feeling as if she were
talking in a dream.

“Let us pledge ourselves here to try,” he
begged. “Will you do it?”

“Yes,” she promised.

“And I,” he added.

Then he insisted upon her lying down on
one of the long settees of the cabin. “We
may have a hard day to-morrow,” he said,
“and you must endeavor now to sleep. I
will keep watch.”

In such style passed the remainder of the
night on board the slowly consuming Mersey.