TWO OUT OF TWELVE.
It is not good to dwell upon such scenes and moments. To write of them does not make us more composed in them when they come. But, as it proved, things on board the Old Province that night were wonderfully calm after the first breaking of the news. It has been said that the steamer was far from crowded. Many of the men and women were humble. Many of them were brave. The fact that there was indeed ample time and boat room was over and over again pressed on every one’s attention, with excellent effect. The preparations to leave the ship went forward swiftly, orderly. People hurried about with white and frightened faces. Now and then there were exclamations from one or another quarter, but there was no panic. Captain Widgins and his aids seemed to be in all places, cheering the timid and directing every thing. No tug came to the rescue, nor did the steady signaling bring any other[133] help through the murk. The pumps did their duty stanchly. But the water poured through the ill-stopped, ragged hole blown out, far down in the hull; and it gained pitilessly.
Philip and Gerald had little to do. It was only slipping into their state-room and catching up the few things lying ready; some broken sentences together there, of which Philip afterward could remember nothing except his bidding the younger boy be of good heart, for a tug from the shore or a steamer might come to their help at any moment, before they need enter the boats. Gerald used to say that in his sudden dread and bewilderment—poor little fellow!—the cheerfulness Philip managed to keep in his voice did him more good than any of the words that might have been uttered. Philip led their way through the tumbled cabin. They pressed out into the gloom and foggy chill of the open deck and halted, bidden to do so, on the outer edge of the little crowd already huddling together there, waiting—waiting for what was to come next.
After all, there were not so many to be provided for, besides the ship’s officers and crew and servants. The dazed company kept bravely[134] in order. Except for the signals of distress, the hollow roar of the escaping steam behind them, and the bustle of the crew ahead where the boats were making ready, there was a kind of breathless stillness. Philip could hear, now and then, the breaking of the surge below. The mist, thicker than ever, drove into their faces. The lanterns made only too plain its denseness. The strain was too great for them to speak. The solemn thoughts that passed, one after another, through the spirits of each boy, the younger as well as the older, I do not intend to try to describe here. They are less our business than any thing else in this story. Be sure that in such times of sudden danger and defenselessness, no matter how short a time we may have lived in this world, where the best of us leave undone so many of the things that we ought to do and do so often the things we should not, we will have our reflections, best known then and afterward only to our own souls and to God.
Belmont was not discoverable. But one special fear again beset Philip. When the confusion of getting into the boats came might not Gerald be separated from him? That[135] Gerald had also a great doubt and dread of it he knew from the way in which he clung to him and over and over asked, “I shall surely be put into the same boat with you, Philip, won’t I, if we have to go? I don’t mind any thing, if they will only let us keep together.” And what prayers Philip made were confused enough, but no thought repeated itself more earnestly than that Gerald and he might indeed “keep together” through it all, even to the unknown end; and that, doing whatever he could for Gerald—fighting the very wrath of the sea itself for him—he might not fail in his guardianship, even with his uttermost stroke and his uttermost breath.
The disembarking was made into two or three boats at once. Something soon directed Captain Widgins’s eye to where the two waited their turn tremblingly, patiently. He waved his hand. “Quick, my lads!—you two there—next!” he called. “Make way there, Watson!” Before Gerald could realize that the descent was begun, he and Philip found themselves side by side in the nearest of the boats. It seemed to have more packages than people aboard it; and indeed it had. Some consignments of special[136] value were on it, under charge of the second mate, Mr. Eversham. There were ten people besides themselves; but the captain knew best what were the responsibilities on him and what was the proper thing to do. As the boys found their places he called out sharply, “Eversham, are you ready? Give way, then! Quick! Remember, Knoxport Cove! Man the cutter there, next! This way, ladies. You’re wanted now.”
But just as Eversham repeated his orders, and as the loaded boat was being cast off to give place to the great cutter, Philip heard a voice overhead that he well knew. The boat was rising and falling. Gerald held fast to his arm. But he strained his ears for each syllable.
“I say, captain! Captain Widgins!” Belmont shouted. “Stop that boat! I go in her too! My son is aboard her. Halloa, Mr. Eversham!”
The Old Province deck seemed very high overhead. The fog made the lights on it dim. Philip could just make out Belmont’s figure and gestures.
“What boat, sir?” inquired the old captain, angrily. “Why didn’t you speak sooner?”
[137]
“That boat yonder—Eversham’s! Holloa, I say, bring her about a moment till I get aboard!”
Philip hastily said something to Mr. Eversham. Eversham wished no more in the boat in any case. He called out, “His son isn’t here! He’s made a mistake!”
“That’s a lie! He is there! I saw him. I see him now!” cried Belmont, leaning over the companion-ladder. “Let me pass, I say!” This to a sailor barring his way.
“I tell you he’s not here,” returned Eversham, obeying Philip’s prompting willingly, “and the boat’s full. The gentleman’s no business here!” With this, so strong a wave rolled under them that nothing but promptness saved them from a collision with the cutter behind and with the ship’s side.<............