But nearly half an hour elapsed before the welcome sound of oars working in rowlocks faintly reached their ears, followed quickly by the shrill note of an officer’s whistle.
“At last!” breathed Dick, in tones of profound relief. “Now is our chance, Mr. Earle. We will shout together: ‘Boat ahoy!’ Take the time from me. Now—one, two, three, Boat ahoy–y–oy!”
The long drawn out “ahoy” had scarcely died on their lips before it was answered by an equally long blast from the whistle, to which they responded by repeating the hail at brief intervals, each answering blast of the whistle telling them that the boat was drawing nearer, until at length the faint loom of the boat showed in the darkness, and a lantern was suddenly held high above a man’s head. Then they heard a voice exclaim:
“There they are, sir—two of ’em—on that block of ice!” And a minute later they were being carefully helped into the stern sheets of the boat, which was already floating deep with a load of motionless forms enwrapped in cork jackets. Whether they were living or dead it was impossible just then to say.
“Any more on the ice?” demanded the officer in charge of the boat. Then, following Dick’s reply in the negative, he continued: “Right! shove off, bow! pull port! Give way all! Now it’s us for the ship. Put your backs into it, lads. A minute or two may make all the difference between life and death for some of these poor chaps that we’ve fished up. Here, have a sip of brandy, you two. You must be frozen pretty nearly stiff.”
“No brandy, thanks—unless my friend here—Mr. Cavendish, fifth officer of the Everest—would care to have another nip. But we’ve already had some—filled a flask and slipped it into my pocket when I realised that the ship was going to sink—and I guess it saved our lives.”
Upon Dick also declining “another nip” the officer in charge held out his hand.
“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Cavendish, and to have picked you up. My name is Urquhart—‘chief’ of the Bolivia. By the way, since we got your S.O.S. and learned particulars of the smash-up, we’ve all been wondering how the mischief you managed to pile up your ship on a berg, after our warning of this afternoon. Was it thick at the time, or—how was it?”
“Your warning!” exclaimed Dick. “Did you warn us, then? If so, it is the first that I’ve heard of it.”
“Oh! we warned you all right,” answered Urquhart, “and got your acceptance of the message.”
“The dickens!” ejaculated Dick. “That’s very queer. Nobody said a word to me of any warning having been received. Yet—no, I cannot understand it. Mr. Brown, our ‘chief,’ you know, and some seven or eight more were down in the ward-room when we hit the berg, and he seemed as much astonished as any of us. If he had heard anything about it, I think he would certainly have passed the word round, but—he didn’t.”
“Ah!” remarked the Bolivia’s chief, with deep meaning. “Were you by any chance trying to break the record?”
“Well,” answered Dick, “I believe the skipper had some such idea in his mind. You see we’ve had the most perfect weather all the way; little or no wind, and water like glass; the ship reeling off her twenty-six-and-a-half knots as steadily as clockwork, and everything going beautifully. I certainly did get a hint that Captain Prowse would like to set up a new record—”
“Exactly!” concurred Urquhart, dryly. “That, to my mind, explains everything. Your skipper got our warning—and simply suppressed it. He was out after a new record, and was willing to ‘take a chance,’ as the Americans say. And here is the result—a brand-new ship gone to the bottom, and, I suppose, hundreds of lives lost. How many did you muster, all told?”
“I couldn’t say, exactly,” answered Dick, “but probably not far short of three thousand.”
“Yes; there you are!” commented Urquhart. “Three thousand; and boats for only about half of ’em. What became of your skipper? Went down with his ship, I expect.”
“I’m afraid so,” answered Dick. “In fact, I should not be very greatly surprised if it should prove that I am the only surviving officer.”
“That so? And how did you manage to escape?” demanded Urquhart.
Whereupon Dick launched forth into the full story of the disaster. But before he had nearly finished, the boat arrived alongside the Bolivia, and her freight, whether living or dead, was quickly passed up on deck to the waiting doctor, who quickly distributed the units here and there about the ship, while the boat departed upon a further quest.
Dick and Earle, being both very little the worse for their adventure, were first taken below and given a hot bath; then they were led to a vacant passenger cabin, packed in hot blankets, and given a certain nauseous draught which quickly threw them into a profuse perspiration and a deep sleep, from which they emerged, some hours later, not a penny the worse for their adventure.
Chapter Three.
Earle’s proposition to Dick Cavendish.
It was the rays of the newly risen sun shining in through the open port that awakened Dick Cavendish on the morning following his great adventure. He was occupying the upper bunk in the cabin, and the first sound to greet his ears was the deep, regular breathing of the still sleeping Earle in the bunk beneath. Dick, being a sailor, awoke with all his senses completely about him; the occurrences of the previous night came back to his memory in a flash, and even before he opened his eyes he was fully aware that he was in the top berth of one of the Bolivia’s cabins, and that it was the companion of his adventure who was in the bunk beneath him.
The next thing of which he was aware was the perfect stillness of the ship, the complete absence of that peculiar tremor due to the throb of the engines and the beat of the propellers when a ship is under way; and the thought that the Bolivia was still “standing by” caused him to open his eyes, rise up in his bunk, and peer through the open port at his elbow. The picture which then presented itself to his gaze was that of a brilliant morning, with a sky of turquoise blue faintly streaked here and there with the merest suggestion of a few mares’ tails, a sea of sapphire blue wrinkling and sparkling under the softest imaginable breathing of a westerly air of wind, the horizon obscured by a thin veil of haze that seemed to be already melting in the warmth of the sun, a great two-funnelled steamer lying motionless about a mile away, with a film of smoke issuing from her funnels and “feathers” of steam trembling at the top of her waste pipes, a whole flotilla of boats pulling slowly and apparently aimlessly hither and thither, and a few masses of ice of varying dimensions, from small fragments of a square foot in area to a great berg fully sixty feet high, thinly dotting the surface of the sea.
Presently there came to Dick’s ear the sound of a quietly spoken order out on deck, followed by a subdued stir, accompanied by certain sounds which the youngster’s experience told him was the prelude to the matutinal rite of scrubbing the decks, succeeded a few minutes later by the gush and splash of water and the sound of scrubbing brushes vigorously applied. Then the cabin door opened, and a steward entered bearing on a tray two cups of steaming coffee and a plate of buttered biscuits.
“Mornin’, sir—mornin’, gen’lemen both,” remarked this functionary as a stir in the bottom berth announced that his entry had awakened its occupant. “Hope you’ve both slep’ well and ain’t feelin’ none the worse for last night’s happenin’s.”
“Good morning, steward,” answered Dick. “Thank you. Answering