Tollemache tried to grip his pipe in his teeth. He failed. It fell on

the iron floor.

"Oh, this is rotten!" he growled. "Why couldn't he have been spared? No

one would have missed me. I don't suppose Jennie would care tuppence."

The Kansas rolled heavily. He waited a few seconds for the expected

shock, but she swung back to an even keel. Then he stooped to pick up

his pipe, and his mouth hardened.

"'Spared!' by gad!" he said. "What rot!" That roll of the ship was

caused by an experimental twist of the wheel. Courtenay, peering into

the darkness through the open window of the chart-house, saw that the

Advertisement..

weather was clearing. He had evolved a theory, and, for want of a

better, he was determined to pursue it to a finish. The Kansas was

being swiftly carried along in a strong and deep tidal current. Happily,

the wind followed the set of the sea, else there would be no chance of

success for his daring plan. His expedient was the desperate one of

keeping the vessel in the line of the current, and, if day broke before

he reached the coast, he would steer for any opening which presented

itself in the fringe of reefs which must assuredly guard the mainland.

With his hands grasping the taut and, in one sense, irresponsive

mechanism of a steering-wheel governed by steam, a sailor can "feel" the

movement of his ship, a seaworthy vessel being a living thing, obedient

as a docile horse to the least touch of the rein. But, in the unlikely

event of fortune favoring Courtenay to the extent of giving him an

opportunity to see the coming danger, it was essential that the ship

should have a certain radius of action apart from the direction and force

of the ocean stream. The two sails were helpful, and it was to assure

himself of their efficiency that he put the helm to starboard. The

Kansas obeyed with an answering roll to port, showing clearly that she

was traveling a little faster than the inrushing tide would take her

unaided. He brought her head back to nor'east again, and glanced over

his shoulder at the ship's chronometer. It was a quarter to one. Two

hours must pass before he would discern the first faint streaks of light.

At any rate, if he were spared to greet the dawn, it would be right

ahead, and, as a few seconds might then be of utmost value, that was a

small point in his favor. Yet, two hours! Could he dare to hope for so

long a respite? How could the ship escape the unnumbered fangs which a

storm-torn land thrust far out into the Pacific for its own protection?




Most Popular