West Wind Drift Part 14

"I don't want to talk to you. Get in!"

"We have as much right to remain on this s.h.i.+p as anybody else," shouted another. "We paid for our pa.s.sage. We are honest, hard-working--"

"No use! I'll give you ten minutes to climb into those boats."

There was a moment's silence. "And what will you do if we refuse to leave the s.h.i.+p?" cried one of the men.

"Be quiet!" he bawled at the whimpering women. "We cannot hear what the gentleman has to say."

"You'll soon find out what I'll do, if you don't obey me inside of ten minutes," replied Percival.

"But the s.h.i.+p is not going to sink any more," protested another, looking over the rail timidly. "She is safe. We do not wish to leave now."

Captain Trigger and Mr. Mott joined Percival. In an undertone he told them what he had said to the mob.

"And now, gentlemen," he whispered in conclusion, "it's up to you to intercede in their behalf. They're as tame as rabbits now. They know the s.h.i.+p's all right, and they believe I intend to blow 'em to pieces if they once put off in the boats. Start in now, Captain, and argue with me. Plead for them. They know who I am. They know I come from the hills and they think I'm a bloodthirsty devil. They're like a lot of cattle.

Most of them are simple, honest, G.o.d-fearing people,--and if we handle them properly now we'll not have much trouble with them in the future.

And only the Good Lord knows what the future is going to bring."

So the three of them argued, two against one. Finally Percival threw up his hands in a gesture of complete surrender.

"All right, Captain. I give in. Perhaps you are right. I suppose it would be butchery."

There were a few in the crowd who understood English. These edged forward eagerly, hopefully. They called out protestations against the "slaughter."

"Tell them you have reconsidered, Mr. Percival," said the Captain. "They are to remain on board."

Excited shouts went up from the few who understood, and then the word went among the others that they were to be spared. There were cries of relief, joy, grat.i.tude, and not a few fell upon their knees!

Percival stood forth once more. Silence fell upon the throng.

"The Captain has put in a plea for you, and I have decided to grant it.

You may remain on board. Now, listen to me! No one is to leave this s.h.i.+p until tomorrow morning. We are safe here. We are stuck fast on the bottom, and nothing can happen to us at present. Tomorrow we will see what is best to be done. Every man and woman here is to return to the task he was given by Mr. Mott at the beginning of our troubles. We've got to eat, and sleep, and--Wait a minute! Well, all right,--beat it, if you feel that way about it."

He stood watching them as they excitedly withdrew toward the bow of the s.h.i.+p, breaking up into clattering groups, all of them talking at once.

Captain Trigger laid his hand on the young man's shoulder.

"If it had not been for you, Percival, this deck would now be red with blood,--and some of us would be dead. You saved a very ticklish situation. I take off my hat to you, and I say, with a full heart, that I shall never again doubt your ability to handle men. No one but an American could have tricked that mob as you did, my lad."

From various points of vantage the foregoing scene had been witnessed by uneasy, alarmed persons from upper cabins. Overwhelmed and dismayed by the rush of the yelling mob, the elect had fled for safety, urged by a greater fear than any that had gone before,--the fear of rioting men.

A few of them, more daring and inquisitive than the rest, had ventured recklessly into the zone of danger. Among them were Ruth Clinton and Madame Olga Obosky, who, disregarding the command of Mr. Mott, were the only women to venture beyond the protecting corner of the deck building.

They stood side by side, bracing themselves against the downward slope of the deck. Half-way forward were Trigger and the armed gunners, and beyond them the dense, irresolute ma.s.s of humanity. Percival, in rounding the corner to go to the a.s.sistance of Captain Trigger, observed with dismay the exposed position in which the two women had placed themselves. He paused to cry out to them sharply:

"What are you doing here? Get back to the other side. Can't you see there is likely to be shooting? Don't stand there like a couple of idiots! You're right in line if that gang begins to fire."

"He is tearing off his bandages," cried Ruth, as Percival hurried on.

Madame Obosky was silent, her gaze fixed intently on the brisk, aggressive figure of the man who had called them idiots. She understood every word he uttered to the Portuguese. Her eyes glistened with pride when he stepped forward to tackle the mob single-handed, and as he went on with his astonis.h.i.+ng speech she actually broke into a soft giggle.

Her companion looked at her in amazement.

"Why do you laugh?" she demanded hotly. "Those dreadful creatures may tear him to pieces. He is unarmed and defenceless. They could sweep him--"

"You would laugh also if you understood," interrupted Olga, her eyes dancing. "Oh, what a grand--what do you call it?--bluff? What a magnificent bluff he is doing! It is beautiful. See,--they whisper among themselves,--they have back down completely. Wait! I will presently tell you what he have said to them."

"I never dreamed any man could be so fearless. Look at the odds against him. There are scores of them,--and they--"

"Pooh! Do you suppose he would stand up and fight them if they rushed at him? Not he! He would turn and run as fast as he could. He is no fool, my dear. He is a very intelligent man. So he would run if they make a single move toward him."

"I think this is rather a poor time to accuse him of cowardice, Madame Obosky, in view of what he--"

"Have I accused him of cowardice?"

"I'd like to know what you call it. You say he would run if they--"

"But that would not be cowardice. It would be the simplest kind of common sense. He is so very sure of himself. It is not courage. It is confidence. That is his strength. He would be a fool to stand in front of them empty-handed if they were to charge upon him. Maybe when you have known him as long as I have, you will realize he is not a fool,--about himself or any one else."

Ruth stared at her. "Unless I am greatly mistaken, Madame Obosky, I have known Mr. Percival as long if not longer than you have."

"You do not know him at all," rejoined the Russian brusquely. "Be still, please! I must hear what he is saying to them now." A little later she turned to the American girl and laid her hand on her arm. "For-give me, if I was rude to you. I am so very much older than you that I--how old are you, Miss Clinton?"

"I am twenty-five," replied the other, surprised into replying.

"And I am twenty-six," said Madame Obosky, as if she were at least twice the age of her companion. "See! They are dispersing. It's all over.

Come! Let us go back to the other side."

"I am not ready to go back to the other side," protested the American girl, resisting the hand on her arm. "Why should we go back, now that the danger is over?"

"Because we must not let him catch us here," urged Olga in some agitation.

"And why not, pray?"

The Russian looked at her in astonishment. "But surely you heard him tell us to go back to the other side. You heard him call us idiots, Miss Clinton?"

And Ruth Clinton suffered herself to be hurried incontinently around the corner of the deck building.

"Once, in Moscow, I saw a Grand Duke confront a mob of students who had gathered in the street near his house. They were armed and they had come to destroy this man himself. There were hundreds of them. He walked straight toward them, his head erect, his shoulders squared, and when they stopped he spoke to them as if they were dogs. When he had finished, he turned his back upon them and walked away. They might have filled him with bullets,--but they did not fire a shot. At the corner he entered his carriage and disappeared. And then what did he do? He fainted, that Grand Duke, he did. Fainted like a stupid, silly young girl. But while he was standing before zat---that mob of terrorists he was the strongest man in Russia. Nevertheless, he was afraid of them.

You have therefore the curious spectacle to perceive, Miss Clinton, of one man being afraid of hundreds, and of hundreds of men at the same time being afraid of one. Man, he is a queer animal, eh?"

It was not long before the doubts and fears of all on board the Doraine gave way to a strange, unnatural state of exhilaration. It represented joy without happiness, relief without security, exultation without conviction,--for, after all, there still remained unanswered the question that robbed every sensation of its thrill. While they were singing the hymns of thanksgiving in the saloon that night, and listening to the fervent prayers; while they ate, drank and were merry, their thoughts were not of the day but of the morrow. What of the morrow? In the eyes of every one who laughed and sang dwelt the unchanging shadow of anxiety; on every face was stamped an expression that spoke more plainly than words the doubts and misgivings that const.i.tuted the background of their jubilation. They had escaped the sea, but would they ever escape the land? Had G.o.d, in answer to their complaints and prayers, directed them to a land from which the hand of man would never rescue them? Were they isolated here in the untraversed southern seas, cast upon an island unknown to the rest of the world? Or were they, on the other hand, within reach of human agencies by which the world might be made acquainted with their plight?

Uppermost in every mind was the sickening recollection, however, that for days they had ranged the sea without sighting a single craft. They were far from the travelled lanes, they were out of the worth-while world. Hope rested solely on the possibility that the hills and forests hid from view the houses and wharves of a desolate little sea-town set up by the far-reaching people of the British Isles.

The story of Percival's achievement was not long in going the rounds.

It went through the customary process of elaboration. By the time it reached his ears,--through the instrumentality of Mr. Morris s.h.i.+ne, the motion picture magnate,--it had a.s.sumed sufficient magnitude to draw from that enterprising gentleman a bona fide offer of quite a large sum for the film rights in case Mr. Percival would agree to re-enact the thrilling scene later on. In fact, Mr. s.h.i.+ne, having recovered his astuteness and his courage simultaneously, was already working at the preliminary details of the most "stupendous" picture ever conceived by man. His deepest lament now was that he had neglected to bring a good camera man down from New York, so that on the day of the explosion he could have "got" the people actually jumping overboard, and drowning in plain sight--(although he did not see them because of the trouble he was having to get a seat in one of the life-boats),--and the wounded scattered over the decks, the fire, the devastation, the departure and return of the boats, the storm and all that followed, including himself in certain judiciously preserved scenes, and the whole production could have been made at practically no cost at all. There never had been such an opportunity, complained Mr. s.h.i.+ne the moment he felt absolutely certain that the opportunity was a thing of the past.

"No wonder he got away with it," said Mr. Landover to a group of rejuvenated satellites. "He is hand in glove with them, that fellow is.

I wouldn't trust him around the corner. Why, it's perfectly plain to anybody with a grain of intelligence that he's the leader of that gang of anarchists. All he had to do was to speak to them,--in their own language, mind you,--and back they slunk to their quarters. They obeyed him because he is their chosen leader, and that's all there is to this--What say, Fitts?"