Captain Whalley fell on his knees, with groping hands extended in a frank gesture of blindness. They trem-bled, these hands feeling for the truth. He saw it. Iron near the compass. Wrong course. Wreck her! His ship. Oh no. Not that.
"Jump and stop her!" he roared out in a voice not his own.
He ran himself--hands forward, a blind man, and while the clanging of the gong echoed still all over the ship, she seemed to butt full tilt into the side of a mountain.
It was low water along the north side of the strait.
Mr. Massy had not reckoned on that. Instead of run-ning aground for half her length, the Sofala butted the sheer ridge of a stone reef which would have been awash at high water. This made the shock absolutely terrific. Everybody in the ship that was standing was thrown down headlong: the shaken rigging made a great rattling to the very trucks. All the lights went out: several chain-guys, snapping, clattered against the funnel: there were crashes, pings of parted wire-rope, splintering sounds, loud cracks, the masthead lamp flew over the bows, and all the doors about the deck began to bang heavily. Then, after having hit, she rebounded, hit the second time the very same spot like a battering-ram. This completed the havoc: the funnel, with all the guys gone, fell over with a hollow sound of thunder, smashing the wheel to bits, crushing the frame of the awnings, breaking the lockers, filling the bridge with a mass of splinters, sticks, and broken wood. Captain Whalley picked himself up and stood knee-deep in wreckage, torn, bleeding, knowing the nature of the danger he had escaped mostly by the sound, and holding Mr. Massy's coat in his arms.
By this time Sterne (he had been flung out of his bunk) had set the engines astern. They worked for a few turns, then a voice bawled out, "Get out of the damned engine-room, Jack!"--and they stopped; but the ship had gone clear of the reef and lay still, with a heavy cloud of steam issuing from the broken deck-pipes, and vanishing in wispy shapes into the night.
Notwithstanding the suddenness of the disaster there was no shouting, as if the very violence of the shock had half-stunned the shadowy lot of people swaying here and there about her decks. The voice of the Serang pronounced distinctly above the confused murmurs--"Eight fathom." He had heaved the lead.
Mr. Sterne cried out next in a strained pitch--"Where the devil has she got to? Where are we?"
Captain Whalley replied in a calm bass--"Amongst the reefs to the eastward."
"You know it, sir? Then she will never get out again."
"She will be sunk in five minutes. Boats, Sterne.
Even one will save you all in this calm."
The Chinaman stokers went in a disorderly rush for the port boats. Nobody tried to check them. The Malays, after a moment of confusion, became quiet, and Mr. Sterne showed a good countenance. Captain Whalley had not moved. His thoughts were darker than this night in which he had lost his first ship.
"He made me lose a ship."
Another tall figure standing before him amongst the litter of the smash on the bridge whispered insanely--"Say nothing of it."
Massy stumbled closer. Captain Whalley heard the chattering of his teeth.
"I have the coat."
"Throw it down and come along," urged the chatter-ing voice. "B-b-b-b-boat!"
"You will get fifteen years for this."
Mr. Massy had lost his voice. His speech was a mere dry rustling in his throat.
"Have mercy!"
"Had you any when you made me lose my ship? Mr. Massy, you shall get fifteen years for this!"
"I wanted money! Money! My own money! I will give you some money. Take half of it. You love money yourself."
"There's a justice . . ."
Massy made an awful effort, and in a strange, half choked utterance--"You blind devil! It's you that drove me to it."
Captain Whalley, hugging the coat to his breast, made no sound. The light had ebbed for ever from the world--let everything go. But this man should not escape scot-free.
Sterne's voice commanded--"Lower away!"
The blocks rattled.
"Now then," he cried, "over with you. This way.
You, Jack, here. Mr. Massy! Mr. Massy! Captain!
Quick, sir! Let's get--"I shall go to prison for trying to cheat the insurance, but you'll get exposed; you, honest man, who has been cheating me. You are poor. Aren't you? You've nothing but the five hundred pounds. Well, you have nothing at all now. The ship's lost, and the insurance won't be paid."
Captain Whalley did not move. True! Ivy's money!
Gone in this wreck. Again he had a flash of insight.
He was indeed at the end of his tether.
Urgent voices cried out together alongside. Massy did not seem able to tear himself away from the bridge.
He chattered and hissed despairingly--"Give it up to me! Give it up!"
"No," said Captain Whalley; "I could not give it up.
You had better go. Don't wait, man, if you want to live. She's settling down by the head fast. No; I shall keep it, but I shall stay on board."
Massy did not seem to understand; but the love of life, awakened suddenly, drove him away from the bridge.
Captain Whalley laid the coat down, and stumbled amongst the heaps of wreckage to the side.
"Is Mr. Massy in with you?" he called out into the night.
Sterne from the boat shouted--"Yes; we've got him. Come along, sir. It's madness to stay longer."
Captain Whalley felt along the rail carefully, and, without a word, cast off the painter. They were ex-pecting him still down there. They were waiting, till a voice suddenly exclaimed--"We are adrift! Shove off!"
"Captain Whalley! Leap! . . . pull up a little . . . leap! You can swim."
In that old heart, in that vigorous body, there was, that nothing should be wanting, a horror of death that apparently could not be overcome by the horror of blindness. But after all, for Ivy he had carried his point, walking in his darkness to the very verge of a crime. God had not listened to his prayers. The light had finished ebbing out of the world; not a glimmer. It was a dark waste; but it was unseemly that a Whalley who had gone so far to carry a point should continue to live. He must pay the price.
