CHAPTER VIII

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Below on the promenade-deck all was excitement and confusion. The peal of thunder had spread consternation among the women, and there was a general stampede for shelter.

The first rush of wind played terrible havoc with the bunting. The floral decorations were scattered in all directions. Part of the canvas awning was torn down. Chairs, tables, and glasses crashed to the deck. Amid the uproar were heard the harsh commands of the ship's officers, and the running here and there of sailors, as they hastened to execute orders. The wind squall died away as quickly as it had come, and for a brief spell the turmoil was succeeded by an unnatural quiet. Some of the passengers, inexperienced in weather signs, thought the worst was over, but the wiseacres shook their heads. It was the lull before the onrushing storm.

Grace and Mrs. Stuart had fled inside at the first alarm, and they both stood at the saloon entrance, peering nervously into the darkness beyond the rail, anxiously questioning Professor Hanson and Count von Hatzfeld, who tried to reassure them. The Honorable Percy Fitzhugh, his face white and visibly nervous, was so excited that he stuck his monocle in the wrong eye.

"I don't think it will amount to much," asserted the professor, in his pompous, authoritative way.

The words were barely spoken when he was rudely contradicted. Another blinding flash rent the heavens, revealing great masses of forbidding-looking clouds scudding across the sky and hanging so low that they seemed almost to touch the water. A terrific report followed, which shook the ship.

"Oh, I'm so frightened!" wailed Mrs. Stuart, clinging nervously to Mr. Fitzhugh's arm, much to the annoyance of that gentleman, who felt none too comfortable himself.

"Nonsense, Cora, don't be so foolish!" protested Grace. "We're perfectly safe here, no matter what happens."

"She's beginning to roll," said the professor, as the ship gave a sudden lurch.

"Why are we rolling--is it getting rough?" asked Grace, who was beginning to show signs of trepidation. "There doesn't seem to be any wind."

"It's so deuced dark one can't see a bally thing!" stammered Mr. Fitzhugh.

The night was pitch-dark, and after the brilliancy of the electric lights, to which their eyes had grown accustomed all evening, the surrounding wall of blackness seemed all the more opaque and impenetrable. Still, there was no wind, and the heat was suffocating. The uncanny silence continued. What could be seen of the sea was smooth, and oily, and illuminated in spots with green phosphorescent lights. A deep swell had set in. Rolling in great billows from the south, it caused the steamer to rock so violently that the women had to hold fast in order to keep their feet.

"Isn't this rolling horrible? Each minute I imagine the steamer is going to turn over!" exclaimed Mrs. Stuart, so alarmed that she hardly knew what she was saying.

"A heavy swell like this," explained the professor calmly, "either follows a gale or comes in advance of one. This sea is evidently the forerunner of a storm. The ladies had better go below before it gets any worse."

"I wouldn't think of going to bed," declared Mrs. Stuart emphatically. "Just think if we had to take to the boats and I were in my curl-papers."

Still no wind; only a weird moaning in the distance, which was distinctly audible amid the profound, mysterious silence. The lightning, now more frequent, revealed a sky terrifying in aspect. The suspense was nerve-racking to the stoutest hearted. The captain was heard shouting orders on the bridge. Officers and sailors hurried aft, and, driving the passengers below, closed and barricaded the storm doors. Gathered at the port-holes, their anxiety increasing each moment, the passengers waited and watched. Momentarily, the sea grew more convulsive. The waves increased perceptibly in size, and the ship rocked more violently. Nearer and nearer came that weird, depressing, wailing sound, like the moaning of all the unhappy souls that were ever drowned in the treacherous waters of the deep. Grace and her companions, now thoroughly alarmed, felt that something extraordinary was about to happen, and it did.

All at once it came. There was a blinding sheet of greenish flame, followed by a deafening report. Then hell itself broke loose. The hurricane was upon them. It came with a terrifying rush of air, which, screeching and howling, raced along at a velocity of a hundred miles an hour, accompanied by torrents of rain. Nothing could withstand the whirlwind's fearful force. Everything loose on deck was instantly swept away. The Marconi aerial wires, snapping like twine, were rendered useless in an instant, the life-boats strained at their lashings, the air was full of flying debris, the officers on the bridge held on for their lives. The sea, now rising rapidly and worked into a frenzy by the force of the wind, was nothing but a waste of seething foam. The huge steamer heeled over at the first shock, and great, green seas, capped with foam, began to break upon the decks. Inside, the stewards ran here and there, closing ports, while the passengers, scared out of their wits, were gathered in the big dining-saloon, gathering such comfort as they could by ceaseless questioning of the busy ship's officers.

"Is there any danger, Mr. Brown?" Grace asked the second officer, as he hurried past.

"No--no danger at all!" he laughed unconcernedly. "Just a little blow, that's all. No storm that was ever brewed could sink this ship."

Grace was reassured, and she breathed more freely, but Mrs. Stuart was skeptical.

"Ship's officers never acknowledge there is danger," she said crossly. "They wouldn't admit it even if we were all struggling for our lives in the water."

"Oh, there's no question that the ship is staunch enough," said the professor. "The only cause for alarm would be if the hurricane blew us out of our course and the steamer were to run on a rock."

As he spoke there was a terrifying crash of glass and an inrush of water. Mrs. Stuart screamed, and stewards ran from all directions. A giant wave had broken the great glass dome over the dining-room, and the water was pouring down in torrents.

"What will become of us? Where can we go?" wailed Mrs. Stuart.

"The staterooms are the best place in a storm," said the professor.

"Yes," said Grace. "Let's go to my stateroom. It's large enough to hold us all. We can be miserable together. Come."

They followed Grace, leaving the stewards to mop up the water.

The tempest had now reached its height. The shrieking of the wind and the thunderous blows of the terrific seas, as they broke against the sides of the ship, was terrifying to listen to. The boldest among the men passengers no longer concealed their anxiety, and most of the women were in a mental condition bordering on panic. Mrs. Phelps refused to follow the example of Grace and retire to her stateroom. She preferred, she said, to be where she could get out easily if anything happened. So with a stiff brandy and soda to give her courage, and Count von Hatzfeld to keep her company, the widow prepared to sit out the night in company with a crowd of other frightened passengers, who sat all huddled together in a sheltered corner of the dining-saloon.

Up on the deck, where duty compelled the officers and crew to expose themselves to the full fury of the storm, the scene was wild beyond description. The force of the wind was extraordinary. It was impossible to face it and breathe. The noise was deafening. What with the continual roar of the now raging sea, the screeching of the tempest and the crash of thunder, the tumult was appalling. The officers on the bridge, clad all in oilskins, hung on for their lives, shouting orders through megaphones.

A tremendous sea was running and the _Atlanta_ labored heavily. She rolled so badly that it seemed impossible that she could ever right herself again, and every now and then there came a lurch that strained all the joints, throwing everybody off their feet. The promenade-deck, swept by foaming green water, was practically afloat. One giant comber after another broke over the rail with a thunderous roar, sending up clouds of spray that completely hid the bridge from sight. The night was pitch-dark. Only the intermittent flashes of lightning permitted a glimpse of the raging ocean. It being impossible to see farther than a ship's length ahead, the officers on the bridge were ready for any emergency. The lookouts had been doubled, and the engines slowed down. Captain Summers had left nothing undone to ensure the safety of the passengers entrusted to his care and skill, but it was evident from the way in which he bent forward and strained his eyes in an effort to penetrate the murk ahead, that the situation was critical.

Among those exposed to the weather on the upper decks there was only one who watched with grim indifference the fury of the hurricane. The fiercer the wind blew, the angrier grew the ocean, the higher rose Armitage's spirits. When the tremendous seas began to break over the vessel, the stoker exulted. He was still among the ventilators where Bill had left him, not having had time to retreat before the storm broke. Caught by the first rush of wind, he was hurled violently against an iron stanchion and knocked senseless. When he came to, he found himself clinging desperately to a rail, with the hurricane blowing right over him. The force of the wind was inconceivable. He tried to stagger to his feet and resist it, but he could not move. The atmosphere was full of a rushing, irresistible force which suffocated him. The rain, driven with merciless violence, blinded him. He could neither breathe nor see. His ears were deafened by the unearthly screeching of the wind and the constant roar of the waves. A flash rent the surrounding blackness. He caught a glimpse of the water convulsed in a fury, the decks below swept by foaming seas, the ship's officers and crew running excitedly about.

It flashed upon him suddenly that the steamer was in danger, yet, instead of making him tremble with apprehension, the thought stirred within him a thrill of savage exultation. Why should he care? Only those who enjoyed life had reason to recoil from death. What joys did life hold out to him? He could never redeem the past. He was tired of the struggle. He had knocked about the world long enough. He would be discharged on the steamer's return to port, and it would be hard, if not impossible, to find another job. Luck was certainly against him. What was the use of bucking against one's luck? It would be as well to have done with it all. A jump into the sea, a moment's choking and involuntary struggle with the waves, and all would be over. His jaws closed with a click, and a hard expression came into his eyes. If this was to be the end of all his hardships and suffering, at least he would not go alone. Those first-cabin passengers, with their dainty frocks and fastidious manners--they would have to take the same watery road as he. The rich and the poor, the happy and the wretched--all are equal in the presence of Death. And as each second the hurricane increased in fury, and the ship plunged more heavily, he had a sense of savage joy as, in his mind, he pictured the final catastrophe, the wild scramble for the boats, and the final screams and death struggles in the boiling waves.

Suddenly there was a deafening roar. He heard warning shouts, followed by the splintering of wood and the smashing of glass. Then came a solid wall of green water. A mountainous sea swept clean over the place where he lay, and passed on, leaving him bruised and gurgling for breath. Only the rail had prevented him from being carried bodily over the side. A giant wave had crashed down on the ship, twisting rails, smashing life-boats, and deluging the interior of the ship with tons of water. Below could be heard the shouts of the passengers. A moment later, without further warning, came another and more serious shock, a series of bumps on the ship's bottom, accompanied by a harsh, rending sound. The steamer stopped and trembled from bow to stern. There was a grinding sound. The vessel listed and heeled far over. The engines suddenly stopped. The siren began to blow dismally. The officers were shouting. The _Atlanta_ had run on a rock.

In the saloon and staterooms all was chaos and confusion. The electric lights had gone out, the sudden inrush of water having extinguished the furnaces. Already the scared firemen were climbing up from the stoke-hold like rats escaping from a sinking ship. Every one realized that the steamer was doomed, yet there was no panic. The imminence of the peril seemed to have stricken every one dumb, passengers and stewards alike. Hardly a sound was heard except the quick orders given by the officers and the noise of the passengers' footfalls, as they hastened up on deck. Every one was cool. The men retained their self-possession, the women their fortitude. There was no sign of hysteria. On every one's face was a tense look of quiet anxiety, as if it was realized that death was near, and each had summoned up courage to meet it bravely. Even Mrs. Stuart, white-faced and half fainting, did not give way entirely. She and Grace, assisted by Professor Hanson, made their way as quickly as they could to the deck where, all huddled together, they patiently waited for the sailors to lower the boats. The waves were running mountain high. What use were the life-boats in such a sea? Grace's lips moved in prayer.

Armitage, still clinging to the rail, watched the sailors as they worked rapidly at the davits to lower the boats. This, he said to himself, was certainly the end. No boat could live in those tremendous seas. They would all drown like rats. He saw the Honorable Percy Fitzhugh, still in his spats and green Tyrolian hat, but very humble now, and white-faced, standing by the girl he had seen dancing--the proud beauty with the big dark eyes. She was pale and silent, yet she did not give way to hysterical emotion. He admired her for her pluck. She was spunky--that was evident. Some women got into a boat, which was lowered away in safety. Another was let down, loaded to the gunwale with human freight. Just as it touched the water there came a tremendous wave, the fragile boat was tossed high in the air, and in an instant its occupants were struggling in the water. There were women's screams and men's shouts, then a sinister silence. Armitage laughed. At last he had the upper hand. These swell cabin passengers drowning there before his eyes were afraid of death, while he welcomed it. He felt grateful that this much revenge had been vouchsafed him. The cries of the dying, the frightful tumult raised by this death orgy of wind and sea, instead of frightening him, sounded in his ears like the most sublime music he had ever heard.

As the doomed ship settled deeper on the reef, the waves broke on board with redoubled force. It was only a question of minutes when the huge hulk would begin to go to pieces. Suddenly there was a terrific explosion, the deck rose under him, and the next thing he knew he was in the sea, battling with the waves.

He was an expert, powerful swimmer, and he found himself struggling for life in spite of himself. He tried to stop swimming, to let himself sink. He could not. The instinct of self-preservation was too strong. So he swam on, now resting, now floating. He saw nothing of the ship or of the boats. He presumed some got away. He heard shouts, but paid no heed. Steadily he swam on, wondering when his strength would give out and nature would let him drown. All at once he bumped against something soft.

"Save me!" cried a woman's voice weakly.

Instinctively he put out his hand and caught her by the hair just as she was going down for the second time. Her eyes were closed and her face pale as death. It was the tall girl with the dark eyes. If she had not spoken he would have thought she was dead. Supporting her firmly with one hand and keeping her head above water, he swam on. He wondered why he took the trouble. He would tire soon and then both must sink. But he swam on, with Grace limp, unconscious, half drowned at his side. He felt he was unable to stay afloat much longer. His left arm was already numb from the girl's dead weight. Every muscle in his body ached. The end must soon come. Why not let her go now and have done with it?

Suddenly he heard a sound that gave him renewed energy. It was the roaring noise of heavy surf beating on the shore. They must be close in land. Another determined effort and perhaps he could get in. Desperately exerting the last of his great strength, he swam on. A monster wave carried him forward, high on its crest, and as the water retired he felt sand underneath his feet. Another billow carried them in still farther. He was in a maelstrom; he could not see; there was a rushing, roaring sound in his ears. A wave knocked him down, and they were both nearly suffocated as they rolled over and over in the boiling water. He staggered to his feet and was again dragging her in when a receding wave snatched them back. Then came another and bigger wave which threw them in again. This time he dug his feet desperately in the shifting sand, and, by a herculean effort, resisted the deadly suck of the undertow. The wave receded, leaving them still higher. Before another could reach them he had picked his unconscious companion up in his arms, and staggered up the beach safe out of the clutch of the water.

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