CHAPTER XIV
Mostyn to the Rescue
For a brief instant the danger and suddenness of the catastrophe werehardly realized. Assembled for a pageant the passengers were horrifiedinto silence by the unexpected turn of events. Then a woman shrieked,and the spell was broken. Almost every one of the occupants of thedeck-chairs stood up and rushed to the side, shouting as if noise wouldhelp the two men struggling for their lives.
The lascars too seemed incapable of action. They flocked to the sideof the ship, and gazed seemingly without emotion into the deep-bluewater.
At the shout of "Man overboard!" raised by Anstey, the officer of thewatch, Captain Bullock unceremoniously dashed between the groups ofbewildered passengers and gained the bridge. Even in his haste hisbrain was solving a ready problem. Who was to go away in the lifeboat?The Acting Chief was struggling for dear life in the "ditch". He couldswim well, as the Old Man knew, but after his strenuous wrestling bouthad he sufficient strength to keep afloat until picked up? Anstey, asofficer on duty, could not leave the bridge. There was one executiveofficer short of the ship's complement, and as far as Captain Bullockwas aware, none of the engineers off duty was capable of managing aboat, while a bungler at the tiller meant not only delay but probablyfailure.
Fortunately the _secuni_ in the wheelhouse had acted promptly, puttingthe helm over to port in order to swing the ship's stern clear of themen in the ditch, and thus avoid the danger of their being cut topieces by the propeller. They were now a good four hundred yardsastern, while between them and the ship was a line of lifebuoys thrownwith fine indiscrimination by the passengers. The nearest lifebuoy tothe two exhausted men was at least a hundred yards away.
During the interrupted revels the _West Barbican_ had reduced speed,and already Anstey had rung down for "Stop".
"Let go the lifeboat--away lifeboat's crew," bawled the Old Man, as hemoved the telegraph indicator to full speed astern; then, leaning overthe bridge rails, he hailed a grotesquely garbed figure standingmotionless and alert on the temporary dais:
"Mr. Mostyn: take charge of the lifeboat."
With a feeling of elation Peter rushed to carry out the order. Thistime there was no question of it. The Old Man had spoken. It was atribute to the Wireless Officer's capabilities in a province that wasnot strictly his own.
Urged by the shrill cries of the serang and tindal of the watch thelascars had now formed up on the boat-deck. Some had then their placesin the out-swung boat, while others stood by the falls ready to loweraway.
Although the engines had been going full speed astern the _WestBarbican_ was still forging ahead when Peter jumped into thestern-sheets of the lifeboat. She was still carrying way when thefalls were disengaged and the boat pushed off from the ship's side.
"Soft job this," soliloquized Mostyn. "The sea's calm, the water'swarm, and old Preston and the other fellow have got hold of thelifebuoy. Tumbling into the ditch under these conditions is apicnic--Hello, though--is it?"
* * * * *
To say the least of it, Preston was both surprised and indignant whenhe found himself hurtling through space in the vice-like grip of hisantagonist. It was poor consolation to know that there was someoneelse in the same predicament. What was particularly galling was thefact that he, a veteran officer of the Mercantile Marine, should besuch an ass as to skylark and then fall overboard in so doing.
These thoughts flashed through his mind during the time he droppedthrough thirty odd feet of space between the deck of the ship and thesurface of the water. Then the terrific impact with the Atlantic Oceanabruptly ended his reveries of self-reproach.
To a certain extent it was fortunate that the two men remainedinterlocked during their fall. Hunched up after the manner of a diverdoing a "honey-pot" from a spring-board they got off comparativelylightly, although the impact was fairly severe, and had the effect ofdepriving them of most of the scanty breath left after their strenuousencounter.
"The blighter will grip like grim death," thought Preston, as he sankfathoms down; "I'll have a deuce of a job to shake him off."
But the sudden immersion had the unexpected result that the menmutually released their grip. Perhaps it was that both were goodswimmers and realized that the quickest way to refill their lungs withair was to strike out for the surface.
They emerged almost simultaneously, gasping and spluttering.
"Not that way!" exclaimed Preston breathlessly, as his companion inmisfortune began striking out for the ship's side. "Mind the prop."
The other realized the danger of being caught by the swiftly movingblades of the screw, but even then it was only the prompt action of the_secuni_ at the wheel that saved him from being drawn into the vortex.
"Nothing to worry about," spluttered Preston, as the two bobbed likecorks in the quartering wave. "We'll be picked up all right. My aunt!Look at them! Well, they might have chucked them on our heads."
He referred to the injudicious volley of lifebuoys. Although the shipwas carrying way the passengers were still engaged in dumping theCompany's property into the sea.
His companion laughed. Regaining his breath he was also regaining hisboisterous spirits, although he had to admit that the struggle,followed by a thirty-odd foot fall had severely taxed his splendidbrawn and muscle.
"You don't look in your element, Preston," he remarked, "even thoughyou are Father Neptune."
"Was," corrected the absentee Acting Chief Officer, proceeding torelieve himself of the encumbrance of his scanty garb of trailingseaweed and oyster-shells. "Come on; we may as well strike out for thenearest of that line of lifebuoys. Breast stroke. There's no greathurry, and it's less tiring."
Although the passenger had gone overboard wearing boxing-gloves, thathad remained on his hands despite his wrestling bout, one haddisappeared during his submergence. Preston remarked on it.
"Yes," rejoined the other. "Might just as well hang on to this one,although one's not much use. Cost me a couple of Bradbury's justbefore we left England. I say, do you mind telling me this: I declareI've crossed the Line without being initiated. Is that so?"
"It is," replied Preston feelingly. "If you'd gone through the thingtamely we wouldn't have been in the ditch. Why did you ask me?"
By this time both men had swum to the nearest of the far-flung line oflifebuoys, and, glad of the support, were hanging on lightly atopposite sides of the buoyant "Kisbie".
"'Cause I want corroboration. Last night Murgatroyd bet me a tenner Iwouldn't escape it. Have I won?"
"You have."
"Right-o, Preston!" was the delighted response. "I'll stand you adinner in the swankiest hotel in Adderley Street as soon as we arriveat Cape Town. That's a deal. Hello! They're lowering a boat. Whatare you looking at?"
The Acting Chief Officer had seen the boat being swung out, and wascalculating how long it would take to reach the spot where the lifebuoywas--calculating whether the boat's crew would find only an unoccupiedlifebuoy floating in a patch of blood-stained sea--for less than fiftyyards away was the black, triangular dorsal fin of an enormous shark.
"Nothing much," replied Preston, as calmly as he could, although thestrained expression of his eyes was sufficient to attract hiscompanion's curiosity. "Kick as hard as you jolly well can. Make asplash."
"Shark, eh?" exclaimed the co-partner of the life-buoy. "Right-o! I'mhaving my money's worth this trip anyway."
"Splash, man, splash!" was Preston's only rejoinder.
* * * * *
"By Jove, I guess I look a sketch," thought Mostyn, as he steered thelifeboat towards the two men clinging to the buoy.
He certainly did. Called away hurriedly, he still wore part of hisdisguise as Amphitrite, Neptune's Queen. He had cast off his flowinglocks of tow, but his well-powdered face and a vivid patch of rouge oneither cheek looked absolutely grotesque. His costume of muslin (lentby one of the lady passengers) had suffered h
orribly during his attemptto squeeze through the hatch, while the trimmings of seashells andseaweed added to the weird appearance of the young Wireless Officer.To facilitate his movements Peter had "gathered in the slack" of histrailing garments, since without assistance he could not tackle thenumerous safety-pins that his dresser had used in order to make surethat "nothing would come adrift and carry away".
"Hello, though--is it!" he reiterated, shading his eyes with his lefthand.
Right in the glare reflected in the water his keen eyes had spotted atell-tale swirl. Then above the surface appeared an object thatsettled his doubts. It was the dorsal fin of a shark.
One of the lascars, looking over his shoulder, saw the danger too. Heraised a shrill cry that had the effect of startling his fellow-oarsmenand putting them off their stroke.
"_Chup rao!_" (Shut up), shouted Peter sternly. "Pull like blueblazes."
"Blue blazes" was evidently a stranger to the lascars' vocabulary, butthey understood the word "pull" and guessed the significance of therest.
Redoubling their efforts, they made the heavy boat travel rapidlythrough the calm water; but Peter realized that if the shark attackedwith any promptitude the rescuers would be too late. He saw thatPreston and his companion in distress were doing the best thing theycould in the circumstances--making a violent splash. Whether the sharkwould be scared away was a matter for speculation.
Evidently the tiger of the deep was hungry. He was not devoid ofpluck, for he had begun to swim round and round the two men, the whiledrawing nearer to the buoy. At any moment he might make a dartstraight for his victims.
Peter knew this. He had seen a shark seize a South Sea Islander from acrowd of natives splashing and shouting in the surf. He had seenanother monster seize and devour a dog within ten yards of a boatputting off to the animal's rescue.
There was no rifle in the lifeboat. In the Royal Navy they do thingsdifferently from the Mercantile Marine. Peter had an automatic. Itwas one of the things he took good care to provide himself with afterhis experiences in S.S. _Donibristle_; but the weapon was locked up inhis cabin, and in the present circumstances it was like the Dutchman'sanchor.
The boat was now a hundred yards from the life-buoy--the shark ten.The brute was still circling, sometimes diving, sometimes showing itshead; but up to the present it had shown no sign of preparing to seizeits prey by turning on its back.
A sudden inspiration flashed across Mostyn's mind. In the stern-sheetsof the lifeboat was a box containing amongst other things a Verey'spistol. It was a weapon not of offence but for humane purposes. Itwas fired by means of a cartridge, but, instead of a bullet, it sent upa vivid coloured light to a height of about two hundred feet.
Peter stooped and opened the lid of the box. Thank Heaven! The pistoland cartridges were there. Deftly he opened the breech and thrust homethe cardboard cylinder containing the detonator and explosive light;then, standing on the stern bench and steadying the tiller with onefoot, he levelled the short-barrelled weapon.
For some seconds he waited. The shark in its orbit was immediatelybetween the lifebuoy and the boat. Preston and his companion were inas much danger from the pistol as they were from the shark.
The huge fish dived and soon reappeared, this time well to the left ofthe buoy. It had partly turned on its back, and its wide-open jaws,triple lines of pointed teeth, and greenish-white belly were clearlyvisible, for by this time the whaler was less than twenty-five yardsaway.
It was now or never. The shark was preparing to make a dash for itsvictims under the bows of the boat.
Deliberately Peter pressed the trigger. He had to guess for elevation,knowing nothing of the trajectory of the missile. His aim was good.The rocket must have disappeared down the capacious maw of the shark,for there was no sign of the fiercely burning rocket sizzling on thesurface. The satisfactory part of the business was that the sharkdisappeared and was seen no more.
Quickly the two men were hauled into the boat, both bordering on astate of collapse. Then, ordering the lascars to give way, Mostynsteered for the _West Barbican_, picking up the jettisoned lifebuoys onthe way. He was one who always finished a job properly.