University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

All next day the tame demon of fire and
the wild demon of fire struggled with each
other for the Mersey. The engines never
relaxed the vehement jog of their highest
speed; and the conflagration below never
ceased its muttering, lapping, and gnawing.

“We 're running for land like a man
that 's snake-bit running for a whiskey-mill,”
observed Wilkins, squinting with half-closed,
calculating eyes at the racing bubbles
alongside.

“By George, I wish I could run for a
whiskey-mill,” softly grumbled Duffy, who,
having got sober overnight, was now in
sustained low spirits. “Pretty time to close
bar. Now 's just the chance to hand round
something cheering.”

“Lord bless you, man! you don't want
to go off by spontaneous combustion, do
you? You 'll catch fire soon enough and
stay alight long enough, without troubling
yourself to kindle up.”

Wilkins seemed to be joking, but he
was not; he had a way of saying his most
serious things in this jester fashion; he was
at this moment sincerely anxious to keep
his friend from getting drunk and being
drowned; nor was he at all unmindful of the
gravity of his own danger.

“I don't want to get corned, no such
thing,” insisted Duffy. “I was n't upset
last night, though you thought I was. I can
tell you everything I said.”

“Lord! don't!” implored Wilkins.
“Hutch Holland's store. Petroleum and
sand. Know it all by heart.”

“I 'm going for that steward,” resumed
Duffy, after a minute more of dolorous meditation.
“I can't stand this sort of thing
without a drink.”

“No use,” said Wilkins. “They always
lose the key of the spirit-room at such times.
It 's a thing that happens constant. He
won't find it for you. O, come back! Look
here I 've got a little drop myself; there,
turn up that flask.”

“There 's water in it,” declared Duffy
indignantly, after a long taste. “What the
old boy did you go and put water in it for,
Bill Wilkins?”

“Well, it was wrong, I know,” grinned
Wilkins, who had “thinned out” his whiskey
of a set purpose and for Duffy's good.
“Wrong as a general thing. Wrong in
principle. But never mind. It won't be
the water part of it that 'll hurt you. There,
that 'll do; hand over.”

Seeing Tom Beaumont come on deck,
Wilkins snatched the flask from the sucking
Duffy and hid it in his breast-pocket.

The youngster had slept all night, taken
a late but hearty breakfast, and was now
perfectly sober.

“How are you, gentlemen?” he nodded,
in his free-and-easy, though graceful and
not uncourteous way. “Not up all night, I
hope. By Jove, I used my time; slept from
one end to t' other.”

“I think an eternity of sleep, yes, or an
eternity of cat naps, would be right pleasant,”
said Wilkins.

“I 'd go in for it,” muttered Duffy, “under
the circumstances.”

“How are things?” asked Tom.

“Pretty hot amidships,” was Duffy's bland
reply. Feeling his whiskey a little, Duffy;
not so scared as he had been a minute before.

“The doose!” growled Tom. “I understood
down below that we would make land,
sure. Hot, is it? By Jove, if the thing
breaks through, we 've got, by Jove, to wade
into the boats and make a long pull of it.”

“That 's so,” assented Duffy, gathering
courage every minute, as the liquor climbs
higher in his tottlish head.

“Two hundred miles to skip yet; take us
about sixteen hours. That fetches us ashore
somewhere near midnight. But, if we have
to paddle, Davy Jones knows when we 'll get
there.”

“H—ll!” is the compendious comment
of Tom Beaumont, not frightened in the
strict sense of the word, but realizing the
situation.

In talk more or less like this, in occasional
investigations as to the growing heat of the
deck, in inquiries concerning the working
of the furnace and the speed of the ship,
and in much impatient walking or gloomy
smoking, these gentlemen pass the day. We

must however add, to the credit of Tom
Beaumont, that he runs below every hour
or two, to say a word of cheer to his aunt
or sister. The dissipated youngster is
brave beyond question, and not altogether
lacking in the finer emotions.

“I do hope, Tom,” says Kate, taking him
by the arms and looking him sadly in the
eyes, — “I do hope you won't drink one
drop to-day. You took altogether too
much last night. You made me ashamed
and frightened. I thought, what if you
should die in that state! And what help
could you have been to us?”

“By Jove, sis, don't!” begs Tom, trying
to laugh, but wilting a little. “It was n't
the correct thing; no, by Jove, it was n't;
and I beg your pardon, do, indeed. You
see I was surprised into it, this thing coming
on so sudden. All right to-day; not
the first drop. In fact, can't find it. Steward
got his wits about him and lost the key.
By Jove, I came near giving him a welt;
but he 's right, and I know it; gave him a
dollar. Told him to hold on to his old key
till I was ashore. If I 'm to drown, it 's
more like a gentleman to drown sober. Going
down drunk all very well for common
sailors. But our sort can look the thing
square in the face. O, don't you be anxious.
You are not in danger. Every man
on board is going to devote himself to saving
you. I 'll save you myself, by Jove,
without any help. As for Aunt, there, that 's
different. I 'm glad, by Jove, the old lady
is getting a scare.”

“O Tom!”

“Yes, I am. Hope it 'll do her good
about the region of the temper. What
keeps her so still? Reading her Bible,
hey? Time she did. 'T ain't often she
makes eyes at the patriarchs. Reckon she
must have forgotten where to look for
them.”

“Tom, stop! Our aunt is our aunt.
You must not say such things about her,
and I must not hear them.”

“By Jove, sis, you 'd go straight to
heaven, would n't you?” exclaims the
harum-scarum boy, staring at Kate in a kind
of worshipping wonder.

A few minutes later the girl met Frank
McAlister, and said to him hastily and with
a touching shame: “I need not ask of you
to-day what I did last night. My brother
is capable of taking care of himself. You
must take care of yourself. I thank you.”

“I shall still have an eye to you all,” he
replied. “I shall do what I can,” he added
soberly, remembering how little it might
be.

“I don't know how I could have asked
such a thing of you,” she went on, her mind
reverting to the feud between the families.

“In such times as this all human beings
are brethren. Besides, I had placed myself
at your disposal.”

She did not answer this last phrase, nor
did she even color over it. In her trouble
she perhaps did not hear it, or had for the
moment forgotten his offer of marriage.
The consequence of her silence was that he
believed he had done wrong in alluding to
the offer; and the consequence of this was,
that he wished to make reparation for his
fault by thinking only of her comfort and
safety.

“Have you finished your preparations?”
he asked.

“I have a little packet. I believe there
is nothing more to do.”

“How admirably brave you are!” he
said, as he had said once before.

“O no! I am very anxious. I would
give — O, what would n't I give — to be
ashore.”

“And yet you govern yourself!” he observed,
wanting to kneel down and kiss her
hand. “But you need more rest. Let me
beg you to try to sleep as much as possible
this morning. The day is better than the
night for that. We can see the extent of
our danger best by day, and you can be got to
the boats the easier if it should be necessary.”

“I will lie down in the saloon,” she replied,
after having made one step toward
her state-room. The twin room was occupied
by Mrs. Chester; and that lady's voice
could be heard steadily reading the Scriptures,
for she was in such a fright that she
did not care if all the world knew it; resolved,
at all events, that Heaven should
know it.

Such was the life above and below on
board the unlucky Mersey, as she made her
desperate rush shoreward. All day there
was a dreary watching and waiting; at
times hope predominant, as if by infection,
and every one expecting a safe deliverance;
then again a sorrowful, paralyzing chill settling
upon every spirit. The captain, who
knew the situation best, and, like a wise officer,
knew more than he told, chiefly
dreaded two dangers. The fire might burn
through the wooden sheathing, melt the
copper, and let in a flood of water which
would sink the steamer in a few minutes.
Or the vessel, driving headlong toward a
shore little frequented except by wrecks,
and of which he knew nothing except by
his charts, might strike some hidden rock
or sandbar, and go to pieces far from land.
No time was there for soundings; death,
snarling and tearing below, was creeping
nearer every moment; the hot breath of
the imprisoned tiger was stealing thicker
and thicker through the seams of the planking;
the risk that there was in delay
seemed greater than the risk that there was
in speed.

Still, the bright morning passed safely;
then a humid afternoon, full of sailing mists
and shadows, came and went; and at last
the Mersey was plunging over the sombre
waters of a starless evening. All this while
the wind held fair, balmy, and moderate,
and the sea not too high for boats to be
launched and to live.

Eight bells in the evening; there were
already high hopes on board the vessel;
the lookout aloft was straining his eyes to
catch an outline or a light; the captain,
wearied to death, but constantly on deck,
was rubbing his hands with a little air of
cheeriness. At this moment there came
a change; there was a different feeling under
the feet; people thought, without saying
so, “What is the matter?”

At first insensibly, but in a very short
time quite obviously, there was a diminution
of elasticity and a slowing of speed.
Some of the passengers below had a sensation
as if the ship were in port and coming
quietly to dock. Others, who were on deck
and could see no cause for this singular
change, thought with sudden terror of the
calmness of death stealing upon the convulsions
of a man in delirium.

“What 's all this?” called Wilkins, as
Brien ran by him towards the waist. The
captain stumbled on without answering,
and the passenger hurriedly followed him,
suspecting, with an awful sinking of the
heart, that the end had come. Amidships
they were met by men — stokers and engineers
— rushing up out of the engine-room,
some uttering curses, and others inarticulate
cries of terror, while one, recognizing
his officer, said sharply, “Water around
the furnace!”

“Sure?” screamed the captain. Yes,
there was no doubt of it; a strange hissing,
a new noise on board the steamer, sent up
its horrible confirmation; it was certain that
the fire had let in the ocean, and that the
two were fighting below for the mastery. It
was a frightful struggle of the two giant elements
as to which should destroy the creation
of man's industry and exterminate the
creator. The menagerie of natural forces
had risen upon their tamer. The demons
were in full and triumphant insurrection.

Meantime confused sounds of terror rang
all over the dark decks; the panic reached
below, too, and passengers ran up, shouting
to know their fate.

“Sound the pumps,” called the captain;
and presently a voice answered, “Three
feet in the hold, sir.”

“Pump away, men,” was the next order;
and the thud and rattle of the pumps continued.
Then pealed another voice, “Look
out for an explosion,” followed by a trampling
of feet rushing towards the boats. The
ultimate peril, long as it had been expected,
had come at last, as death always comes,
with paralyzing suddenness. Who could tell
whether the now untended boiler would not
explode? Who could tell how soon the water
which was pouring in below would sink
the vessel? Every one felt that there was
no time to spare; nearly every one was
wildly bent on saving himself.

Below decks the scene was different.
The change in the vessel's movement had
at first been imperceptible, and, even when
noticed, did not for a minute or two create
terror. Kate Beaumont went up to Frank
McAlister with a face which expressed only
a slight wonder, mingled perhaps with a
little hope, and said, “What is it?”

“I beg pardon,” he replied, starting up
from a doze on one of the settees, “I did
not observe anything.”

“I — don't — know,” she murmured, listening
attentively between her words.
“Something — singular.”

Just then Mrs. Chester appeared, dropping
her Bible at the door of the state-room,
and running toward them joyfully.

“We are there!” she laughed. “O, I
knew it. I knew we should be saved. This
horrible voyage! This horrible, horrible
voyage! over at last! O Kate, I am so
happy!”

The gladness of supposed escape had
made a child of her; she was laughing
aloud, and ready to dance, with her groundless
elation.

“O, to think it is over!” she prattled.
“What a horrible thing it would have been
to drown at sea! Or to burn!” she added,
with a shudder. “O, that was the worst.
But it is all over. We are coming into
port. How can we praise Captain Brien
enough! The dear, good man! I could
kiss him, black and blue and brown as he
is. He has managed things so admirably!
Really, if women might do such things, I
am in a fit state to propose to him. — Not
talk so, Kate? Why not? What a prim,
cold little piece you are! Such escapes
don't come once in a lifetime; no, thank
Heaven! not once in a lifetime. I own it.
I am half crazy with joy. What is that?”

The panic above had by this time broken
out in a clamor which could not well be
misunderstood. The startled woman turned
short and stared anxiously at McAlister,
who had delicately withdrawn to a little
distance.

“Go on deck and see!” she ordered, forgetting
who he was. “Go on deck and
find out where we are. O, if I am mistaken!”
she added, as he vanished. “It
can't be. I won't have it. O, why don't
they stop that horrible trampling and shouting?
Let me alone, Kate. I will go up
there. I must see.”

McAlister returned, running down the

cabin stairs, very grave and a little pale.
Mrs. Chester extended her hands toward
him with an agonized gesture of entreaty.

“Don't tell me!” she shivered. In the
next breath she screamed, “O, what is the
matter?”

“Get ready as quickly as possible,” said
the young man. “We must go ashore in
the boats.”

“The ship is sinking,” wailed Mrs. Chester.
“O, I feel it! That worthless, villanous
captain!”

“Don't,” begged Kate. “Do be calm. O,
what shall we do?”

McAlister took the girl under his arm
and hurried her toward the stairway, following
Mrs. Chester, who was already rushing
thither. In the confusion and hurry of the
crisis all the little packets, as well as the
life-preservers, were forgotten in the state-rooms.

Meanwhile matters had been made nearly
desperate on deck by the misbehavior of the
crew. A portion, at least, of the sailors
and firemen had, it seems, got at the spirit-room
during the day and supplied themselves
with whiskey. Several were more
or less intoxicated; moreover, they could
be seen taking bottles out of their pockets
and drinking; it was to be feared that the
alcoholic mischief had only begun to do its
work. Already there was a gang of these
fellows around each of the larger boats,
throwing in provisions and kegs of water
after a reckless fashion, running against
each other, cursing, pushing, and even striking.

“Hold hard there!” shouted the captain,
as he saw some of them grasping the tackle
falls. “No one gets into the boats without
orders. Passengers first. Ladies first.”

But the men kept at their wild, hurrying,
bungling work, without answering him,
and perhaps without hearing him.

“By Heavens!” groaned Brien. “It 's
a worse lot than I thought. Steward! Mr.
McMaster! Some one hurry up those ladies.
Avast, men. Don't let that boat go.
Come out of her, every one of you!”

Finding them ungovernable, he ran below
after his pistols; for he too had been caught
unprepared by the sudden spring of the
catastrophe. Coming back, he was caught
on the stairway by Mrs. Chester, who clung
to him in a sort of delirium of terror, at
once reproaching and imploring, until he
loosened himself by main force.

During this brief interval the crisis, aided
by the drunkenness and panic of the crew,
had hurried along with the terrible swiftness
which it had shown from the outset.
One of the large midship boats had been
let go by the run, and was dragging bottom-up
and stove alongside, with two or three
men drowning under it. Several planks in
the waist had suddenly started and curled
up, and the smouldering hell within the
hull, finding vent at last, sent up tongues of
flame, licking at its prey like a boa. The
motion forward had ceased, and the ship,
settling in a manner sensible to every one,
wallowed with a sickly feeling among the
waves. Its doom from the fire was imminent;
but its doom from the ocean was
still more threatening. The panic-mad sailors
and stokers had gathered around the
starboard boat and were preparing to send
her down the side, some already crowding
into her, and others loosening the falls. It
was a lamentable and shameful exhibition
of cowardice, selfishness, and cruelty. It
would not be easy to cite a worse case.

“We can't go with those drunkards,”
cried the captain. “They would capsize
us.”

He was addressing McAlister and Tom
Beaumount, who had brought up Mrs. Chester
and Kate from below, and were taking
them forward to the waist. Every one on
deck, it must be understood, was now perfectly
recognizable in the light of the hissing
explosions of flame which shot up
from the volcano below, only from time to
time clouded by volumes of smoke.

“Come aft,” ordered the captain. Next,
raising his voice to a yell: “Every sober
man aft! Stand by to let go the quarter
boats. But keep out of them. I 'll shoot the
first one who steps in without orders.”

Then, levelling his pistol at a fellow who
had laid hands on the fall tackle of one of
the small boats, he shouted. “Stand back
there! My God, this is a mutiny.”