His Unknown Wife Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  AN UNFORESEEN DISASTER

  During the night the storm developed into that elemental chaos which thelandsman exaggerates into a hurricane and the sailor logs as a strongnorthwesterly gale. Passage along the open decks of the _Southern Cross_became a hazardous undertaking, an experiment just practicable for astrong man clad in oilskins and seaboots, but positively dangerous forone unable to interpret the vagaries of a ship plunging through a heavysea. A broken limb or ugly bruise was the certain penalty of anincautious movement, if, indeed, one was not swept overboard.

  For a passenger--a non-combatant, so to speak--the only certain way toinsure physical safety was to lie prone in a bunk, with a hand everready to seize the nearest rail when an unusually violent lurch tiltedthe vessel to an angle of forty-five degrees and simultaneously droveher nose into a veritable mountain of water.

  Maseden contrived to sleep fitfully until a thin gray light, tricklingthrough a tiny port when momentarily free of wave-wash, told him thatanother day had dawned. The din was incessant. Inanimate things may beinarticulate to human ears, but they speak a language of their own onsuch occasions--an inchoate tongue made up of banging and clattering, ofstunning vibrations, of wind-shrieks, of the groaning of steelframework, riveted plates, and seasoned timber.

  The _Southern Cross_ was tackling her work with stubborn energy, but shecomplained of its severity in every fibre. Ships, like men, prefer easyconditions, and growl in their own peculiar manner when compelled towage a fierce and continuous fight for mere existence.

  Of course a sailor never permits himself to think of his own craft insuch wise. "Dirty weather" is simply an unpleasant episode in theroutine of a voyage. He regards it much as the average city man viewswind and rain--displeasing additions to life's minor worries, but not tobe considered as affecting the daily task.

  In a modern, well-found steamship such negative faith is fullyjustified, and the ship's company of the _Southern Cross_ went abouttheir several duties as methodically as though the vessel were ropedsecurely alongside a pier in the North River.

  The center of the forecastle held a roomy compartment in which mealswere served for the crew, and Maseden took refuge there as soon as hewas dressed. He obtained an early cup of coffee, and derived somecomfort from the fact, communicated by the half-caste sailor he hadsaved from the falling pulley, that about the same time next day theywould sight the Evangelistas light, and soon thereafter be in theland-locked water of the Straits of Magellan.

  He realized, of course, that sight or sound of either Madge Gray or hersister was hardly to be expected during the next twenty-four hours. Infact, he might not see them again before Buenos Ayres was reached.

  On the whole, it would be better so, he decided. A thrilling andmost dramatic incident in a life not otherwise noteworthy for itsvicissitudes would close when he was safe on board a homeward-bound mailsteamer. After that would come some small experience of a court of law.

  For the rest, if he contrived to cheat the newspapers of the fulldetails, he would actually risk his repute as a veracious citizen if hetold the plain truth about one day's history in the Republic of SanJuan.

  Once, in his teens, when in London during a never-to-be-forgottenEuropean tour, a friend of his father's pointed out a small, alert man,dressed in gray tweeds, who was hailing a cab in Pall Mall, and said:

  "Look, Alec! That is Evans of the Guides. I met him five years ago inLucknow, and even at that date he had killed his sixty-first tiger onfoot and alone. He never shoots stripes any other way. He says it isn'tquite sporting to tackle the brute from the comparative safety of ahowdah or a _machan_--a platform rigged in a tree, you know."

  Philip Alexander Maseden, aged sixteen, neither knew nor cared what a_machan_ was. His faculties were absorbed in the difficult task ofreconciling a dapper little man in a gray suit, skipping nimbly into acab in Pall Mall, with a redoubtable Nimrod who had bagged sixty-onetigers after tracking them into their jungles.

  And that was the record of five years earlier. Perhaps in the meantimethe bold _shikari_ had added dozens to the total. A mighty hunter,Evans, but hard to reconcile with his environment.

  Seated in the wet, creaking cabin, and watching through a window whichopened aft the turmoil of seas leaping venomously at and over the stoutbulk of the _Southern Cross_, Maseden thought of Evans of the Guides,and his cohort of tiger-ghosts. Yet not one tiger among the lot hadbrought Evans so near death as he, Maseden, was when Steinbaum enteredhis cell on that fateful morning, and, in the closest shave Evans wasever favored with, a violent end had not been averted by stranger means.

  How would the story of "Madeleine," Suarez, and Captain Gomez's bootssound if told in a cosy corner of a Fifth Avenue club?

  By reason of his position in the fore part of the vessel, Maseden couldsurvey the bridge, chart-house and some part of the promenade deck.The head of the officer on watch was visible above the canvas screenwhich those who go down to the sea in ships have christened the"devil-dodger." The officer's sou'wester was tied on firmly, and theplacid expression of the strong, weather-stained face was clearlydiscernible. For the most part, he looked straight ahead, with anoccasional glance back, or over the side into the spume and frothchurned up by the ship's passage. Once in a while he would draw awayfrom the screen and compare the course shown by the compass with thatsteered by the quartermaster at the wheel.

  For lack of something better to occupy his mind, Maseden followed eachmovement of the man on the bridge. Thus, singularly enough, next to theofficer himself, and possibly a look-out in the bows, he was the firstperson on board to become aware of a peril which suddenly beset the_Southern Cross_.

  What that peril was he could not guess, but he saw that the officer wasshouting instructions to the quartermaster, and in the same instant theclang of a bell showed that the engine-room telegraph was in use.

  Almost immediately the ship's speed slackened, and as she yielded to thepressure of wind and wave the clamor of her struggle sank to comparativesilence.

  A few seconds later the captain appeared on the bridge. He, like theofficer, gave particular heed to something which lay straight ahead.Evidently he approved of the action taken by his subordinate, because,as well as Maseden could judge, he stood beside the telegraph, with ahand on the lever, but made no further alteration in the ship's speed.

  Naturally Maseden wondered what had happened and watched closely fordevelopments. In better weather he would have gone outside, but it waspositively dangerous now to stand close to the ship's rail, or, indeed,remain on any part of the open deck, while the shadow of an attempt onhis part to climb the forecastle ladder would have evoked a gruff orderto return.

  Within a minute or less, however, he made out that the _Southern Cross_was passing through a quantity of wreckage, mostly rough-hewn timber.Here and there a spar would unexpectedly thrust its tapering pointhigh above the tawny vortex of the waves; at odd times a portion of abulkhead and fragments of white-painted panels would be revealed foran instant. Some unfortunate sailing ship had been torn to shreds bythe gale, and the steamer was just passing through that section of thesea-plain still cumbered by her fragments, though the tragedy itself hadprobably occurred many a mile away from that particular point on themap.

  By this time the stopping of the engines had aroused every member of thecrew not on watch. Some of the men, bleary-eyed with sleep, gathered inthe cabin, and their comments were illuminating.

  "Wind-jammer gone with all hands," said one man, after a critical glanceat the flotsam on both sides of the ship.

  "What for have we slowed up?" inquired another. "The old man ain'tthinkin' of lowerin' a boat, is he?"

  "Lower a boat, saphead, in a sea like this!" scoffed the first speaker.

  "Wouldn't he try to rescue any poor sailor-men who may be clingin' tothe wreck?" came the retort.

  "As though any sort of blisterin' wreck could live in this weather! Tryagain, Jimmy. We're dodgin' planks an' ropes; that's our special
stuntjust now. One o' them hefty chunks o' lumber would knock a hole in usbelow the water-line before you could say 'knife'. An' how about a sailan' cordage wrappin' themselves lovin'ly around the screw? Where 'ud_we_ be then?... There you are. What did I tell you?"

  A heavy thud, altogether different from the blow delivered by a wave,shook the _Southern Cross_ from stem to stern. The captain looked overthe port side, and followed the movement of some unseen object until itwas swept well clear of the ship. The engines, which had been stoppedcompletely, were rung on to "Slow ahead" again. They remained at thatspeed for half a minute, not longer. Then they were stopped once more,and the officer of the watch quitted the bridge hurriedly.

  "What the devil's the matter _now_?" growled the more experienced criticanxiously. "That punch we got can't of started a plate, or all handswould 'a' bin piped on deck!"

  Singularly enough, he either forgot or was afraid to voice his ownprediction as to a possible alternative. The big foremast which hadstruck the ship's quarter was stout enough, most unluckily, to support athin wire rope, and this unseen assailant had fouled the propeller. Inall likelihood, had the captain given the order "Full speed ahead," theevil thing might have been thrown clear before mischief was done.

  As it was, the very care with which the _Southern Cross_ was navigatedled to her undoing. With each slow turn of the screw the snake-like ropewhich was destined to choke the life out of a gallant ship had coileditself into a death grip.

  Soon some of the strands were forced between propeller and shaft-casing.The solid steel cylinder of the shaft became fixed as in a vise. Theengines were powerless. To apply their force was only to increase theresistance. They could not be driven either ahead or astern.

  The _Southern Cross_ promptly fell away to the southeast under thestress of wind and tide. After her, forming a sort of sea-anchor,lolloped the derelict foremast which, by its buoyancy, was the firstcause of all the mischief.

  Mostly it was towed astern. Sometimes a giant wave would snatch it upand drive it like a battering ram against the ship's counter.

  These blows were generally harmless, the rounded butt of the sparglancing off from the acute angle presented by the molded stern-plates.Once or twice, however, the rudder was struck squarely, so the chiefofficer, aided by some of the men, quickly put an end to the capacityof this novel battering-ram for inflating further damage by lassoingand hauling aboard the whole mass of wreckage--mast, yards and tatteredsails alike.

  Then a gruesome discovery was made. Tied to the mast was the corpseof a man, but so bruised and battered as to be wholly unrecognizable.The poor body, nearly naked, and maimed and torn almost out of humansemblance, was stitched in a strip of wet canvas, weighted with a fewfurnace bars, and committed to the deep again without a moment's lossof time.

  But its brief presence had not been helpful. Singularly enough, sailorsare not only fatalists, which they may well be, but superstitious. Noman voiced his sentiments; nevertheless, each felt in his heart the shipwas doomed.

  Collectively, they would try to save the ship. As individuals, theparamount question now was--how and when might they endeavor to savetheir own lives?

  Of course there was neither any sign of panic nor shirking of orders.The ship was stanch and eminently seaworthy. She was actually far morecomfortable while drifting thus helplessly before the gale than whenbattling through it.

  Yet every sailor on board, from the captain down to the scullery-man,knew that some forty miles ahead lay a shore so forbidding andinhospitable that the United States government charts--than which thereare none so detailed and up-to-date--give navigators the significantwarning to keep well out to sea, as the coast-line has not been surveyedin detail.

  Yet the case was not immediately desperate. Forty miles of sea-room wasbetter than none. If the gale abated, and an anchor was dropped, it wasprobable that the engineers' cold chisels would soon cut away the wireoctopus.

  Moreover, there was a chance that some other steamer might pick them upand earn a magnificent salvage by a tow to Punta Arenas.

  So after breakfast the uncanny harbinger of disaster provided by thebody of the drowned sailor was, if not forgotten, at least generallyignored. Pipes were lighted. Men not otherwise occupied gathered ingroups, while every eye strove to pierce the gray haze of the spindriftwhipped off the waves by each furious gust, each hoping to be the firstto discover the friendly smoke-pall of a passing ship.

  Certain ominous preparations were made, however. Boats were cleared oftheir wrappings and stocked with water and provisions. Life-belts wereexamined, and their straps adjusted.

  As the day wore, and noon was reached, the chance of encounteringanother ship became increasingly remote. Sea and wind showed no signs offalling. Indeed, a slight rise in the barometer was not an encouragingtoken. "First rise after low foretells stronger blow" is as true to-dayas when Admiral Fitzroy wrote his weather-lore doggerel, and theprinciples of meteorology hold good equally north and south of theequator.

  For a time the captain tried to steady the ship with the canvasfore-and-aft sails which big steamships use occasionally in fine weatherto help the rudder. This devise certainly got the _Southern Cross_ undercontrol again, and the crew were vastly astonished when bid furl thesails after half an hour.

  Surprise ceased when some of them got an opportunity to squint into acompass. The wind had veered from northwest to a point south of west.

  Only a miracle could save the ship now. It seemed as though the veryforces of nature had conspired to bring about her undoing.

  From that moment a gloom fell on the little community. Men mutteredbrief words, or chatted in whispers. A few paid furtive visits to theirbunks, and rummaged in kit-bags for some treasured curio or personalbelonging which could be stowed away in a pocket. It was not a questionnow as to whether the _Southern Cross_ would survive, but when andwhere she would strike, and what sort of fighting chance would be givenof reaching a bleak shore alive.

  Every one knew that it would be the wildest folly to lower a boat insuch a heavy sea. The sole remaining hope was that the ship would escapethe outer fringe of reefs, and drive into some rock-bound creek wherethe boats might live.

  By means of a properly constructed sea-anchor the captain kept thevessel's head toward the east. Thus, when land was sighted, if anysemblance of a channel offered, it might be possible to steer in thatdirection.

  Men were told off to be in readiness to hoist the sails again at amoment's notice. The anchors were cleared, both fore and aft. Nothingelse could be done but watch and wait, while the great ship rolled intoyawning gulfs or slid down huge curves of yellow-gray water, rolled andslid ever onward to sure destruction.

  During those weary hours, so slow in passing, so swift in successionwhen sped, Maseden had not once set eyes on his wife or her sister. Hehad seen Sturgess talking to the captain and first officer, but neitherof the ladies appeared on deck.

  Still it was an easy thing to imagine just what was going on. The twowomen were the only persons on board left in ignorance of the certainfate awaiting the _Southern Cross_. They were told the half truth thatthe engines were disabled, but that the vessel was in no immediatedanger.

  It was better so. Of what avail to frighten them needlessly? The shipwould have been absolutely safe if the gale blew from the east insteadof the west. Even now she might survive. Her chances were of theslenderest nature, but there would be ample time to get the womeninto an upper deck saloon or the chart-room when the position becamedesperate. Why embitter the few hours of life yet remaining by knowledgeof the dreadful fate which threatened when the end came?

  About two o'clock an undulating blur on the eastern horizon told ofland. To the best of the captain's judgment the _Southern Cross_ was offHanover Island when the accident happened, and her relative longitudehad altered but very slightly during the forty-mile drift. It was now ornever if anything was to be done to save her.

  The forbidding and mountainous coast-line straight ahead was broken upby all ma
nner of deep-water channels, each giving access, by deviousways, to the sheltered Smyth's Channel; but so barricaded by sunkenreefs and steep islets as to present almost insuperable obstacles tothe free passage of a large vessel.

  Small whalers and guano-boats would not dare any of these straits infine weather. For the _Southern Cross_ to make the attempt, evenprovided she ran the gantlet of the barrier reef, was indeed theforlornest of forlorn hopes.

  The chief engineer had already assured the captain many times that anyfurther pressure by the engines would inflict irreparable damage, so,risking everything on the throw of the dice and wishful to know theworst, at any rate, before daylight vanished, he ordered the sails tobe hoisted again.

  All hands were brought on deck, life-belts were adjusted, and boats'crews stood by. At that moment Maseden caught a glimpse of the twogirls. They, with other passengers, were summoned by the ship's officersand placed in the smoke-room, which, by reason of its situation beneaththe bridge, provided a convenient gathering ground in case the boatswere lowered.

  He saw them only for a moment--two cloaked figures, wearing cloth capstied tightly to their heads with motor-veils. He could not distinguishMadge from Nina.

  It was a strange and most bizarre notion that when the gates of eternitywere opening a second time before his eyes the woman who was his lawfulwife should now be sharing his peril, yet be separated from him farmore effectually than in the Castle of San Juan.

  The incongruity of their position did not trouble him greatly, however.Soon he ceased thinking about it. He realized that he, as an individual,could do nothing but obey orders and abide by the decree of Providence.

  He was not frightened. Some hours earlier, knowing the physical featuresof the western coast of South America, he had decided that the odds werea thousand to one against the escape of the ship and her seventy-fouroccupants. He hoped that when the end came it might not be a longdrawn-out agony--that was all. For the rest, he looked forward with acertain spice of curiosity to the fight which captain and crew wouldmake against the giant forces of nature.

  An awesome panorama of mighty cliffs, inaccessible islands and isolatedrocks over which the seas dashed with extraordinary fury, was opening upwith ever-increasing clearness. A mist of driven froth and spindrifthung low over the surface of the water, but the great hills of theinterior were distinctly visible.

  Irregular white patches near their summits marked the presence of hugeglaciers. Lower down the valleys were choked with black masses of firs.Countless generations of trees had grown, and fallen, and rotted,ultimately forming a new, if unstable, basis for more recent growths.

  An occasional red scar down a hillside revealed the latest landslide. Acascade would leap out from the topmost part of a forest and bury itselfagain in the depths.

  These outstanding features were all on a huge scale. It was a weird,monstrous land, a place utterly unfitted for human habitation, a part ofcreation quite out of keeping with the rest of the world. Surveying itimpartially, one might wonder whether it had traveled far in advance ofthe general scheme of things or lagged millions of years behind.

  But its aspect was sinister and forbidding in the extreme, and neverhave its depressing characteristics been etched in darker shadows thanwhen viewed that January day from the decks of the ill-fated _SouthernCross_.