A Desperate Voyage. E. F. Knight
He thought, too, he could distinguish a man's head in the water near her. The derelict had disappeared. Waterlogged as she was, it had only needed that last great sea to send her down bodily.
But all this while his two companions were drowning. Why did Carew stand there idle? He was sailor enough to know his duty. He could have sailed the yacht close to the men, thrown a life-buoy to them, and have possibly succeeded in dragging them on board. He stood on the deck, as if dazed. Had he lost his head for a time? He only hesitated for two or three seconds, but they were invaluable—then it was too late!
A sudden squall of wind and rain swept down upon the sea, and all was obscured in a whirling smoke of spray and vapour. It was impossible to see even a few yards through it; and when the squall had passed, there were no men and no dinghy to be seen.
The dark and stormy night settled down upon the waters, and Henry Carew was left alone in the middle of the North Sea!
CHAPTER III
"Am I a murderer?"
So asked of his conscience, in fear and trembling, Henry Carew, as he stood alone upon the deck of the labouring vessel, surrounded by a waste of tumultuous waters.
"Not a murderer!" he cried aloud. "Oh no, not that!"
Then he argued with himself. "Had I done all that a man could, I think I should have been unable to save them. True, I lost my presence of mind. I did not stir a hand to help them; but that is not murder. Poor Allen! poor Allen! But no; this is a morbid fancy. At least I am innocent of that crime."
He looked round at the wild sea, invisible on that starless night save for the white foam that hissed on the tops of the waves.
"And now to make the best of my position. How fortune has turned! I, who two days back was surrounded by dangers, have nothing to fear now."
Then he broke into a wild laugh, not of merriment or exultation, but a sort of hysterical effervescence that came of a mind that had long been tasked beyond its strength by violent emotions.
But he fully realised what a great advantage the loss of his two companions signified for him. Yes, even at that moment when he beheld them drowning before him, the profit their death would bring him had flashed across his brain. Little wonder that he asked his conscience that terrible question, "Am I a murderer?"
How simple his course seemed now! It needed little thought to decide on it. He knew that Allen was accustomed to undertake long cruises, and therefore would not be missed for some time. Again, the barrister was somewhat careless in his correspondence; so the fact of his neglecting to write to his friends would surprise and alarm no one. How easy, then, for Carew to impersonate him! He would sail the yacht into some Dutch port—no very difficult task; and once there, he could rely on his wits to make the most of the opportunities chance should throw in his way. Most probably he would sell the yacht and take a passage on some vessel bound for a South American harbour. Like most educated fugitives from justice, he turned to the Argentine Republic as being the safest of sanctuaries.
Carew's eyes, accustomed to observe the signs of the weather, told him that the wind was likely to freshen; so he set about making himself as comfortable as possible for the night. He lowered the foresail, and still further reduced the mainsail by tricing up the tack. Then, with jib-sheet hauled to windward and tiller lashed, the yacht lay hove-to. After watching her for a few minutes, Carew saw that she was behaving admirably, and that he could with safety stay below the whole night if he chose, and leave the little vessel to take care of herself.
"It will have to blow a good deal harder to hurt her," he thought; "it's only collision I have to be afraid of now. Well, I can considerably lessen the chances of that."
So he went below, found the side-lamps, lit them, and fastened them to the shrouds.
So dark had become the night that nothing could be distinguished from the yacht's deck, save when, as she rolled from side to side, the port and starboard lights cast an alternate ruddy and sickly green glare on the foaming water. To be out in the North Sea on so small a craft during a gale is terrifying in the extreme to one not inured to the sea; the roaring of the waves and the howling of the wind sound so much louder than on a larger vessel, and the quick, violent motion often confuses the brains even of sailors if they are accustomed only to big ships. But Carew was, as Allen had said, a smart man on a fore-an-after. He felt that, with this good boat under him, he was as safe as if he had been on shore.
"She's snug enough," he said. "I'll go below and try to make out from the chart where I am; then I'll turn in and sleep—if I can."
He looked at the chart, roughly calculated the distance the yacht had run since Allen had taken his "departure" from the Naze, and found that he was about half-way between the English and Dutch coasts. "That is good," he thought; "I have no lee-shore near me; I have plenty of room. I'll just stay where I am, hove-to, till the wind moderates, then make sail for Rotterdam."
He lay down in his bunk and tried to sleep, but all in vain. His brain was too excited with thoughts of what had passed and what was still to happen. Plans to secure his safety, and visions of possible accidents, passed through his mind, weaving themselves in delirious manner into long and complicated histories of his future life—some happy, some terrible with retributive calamity. Unable to stay the feverish activity of his brain, he came on deck at frequent intervals to see that all was well.
The vessel plunged and rolled throughout the night, her timbers groaning, and the wind shrieking through her rigging. But towards daybreak the gale began to moderate, and the glass rose slowly. Carew saw that the bad weather was over and that the heavy sea would soon subside. On the shallow German Ocean the sea rises quicker than elsewhere, and with its steep and breaking rollers is more perilous than can be experienced on any other of our home waters, as the fishermen of the Doggerbank know to their cost. On the other hand, here it soon becomes smooth again as the wind drops.
An hour or so after dawn the sky was almost cloudless, and only a fresh breeze was blowing. The waves, no longer dangerous, broke into white foam that sparkled in the sunshine. It was a day to gladden a sailor's heart.
Carew stood on deck, and under the joyous influences of that bright morning a calm fell on his soul, and his conscience ceased to trouble him. There is a sort of magnetic relation between a man and his surroundings. Out at sea, far away from land, with nothing but pure air and pure water near, even a great villain is wont to forget that he himself is not pure as well. In London, as he walked through the crowded streets, Carew knew that he was constantly jostling against men as bad as himself. In them he saw his own vices and crimes reflected as in a mirror, so that he could never put his guilt out of his mind. Again, fearful as he had been lately that those around him suspected him, he was unable to feel, even for one delusive moment, the sense of innocence.
But out here on the great sea, so far removed from human passion, with nothing to remind him of his offences, it was, on the contrary, difficult for him to realise what manner of man he was. He was conscious of what he imagined were virtuous impulses. He began to flatter himself that he was naturally a good man, that he was more sinned against than sinning, and that it was foolish of him to allow a sensitive conscience to torment him about occurrences, regrettable indeed, but the blame of which was scarcely his. The fact was that he mistook the joyous feelings inspired by a sunny day at sea for the reawakening of his better self—a frequent mistake that. His soul was in complete harmony with the Nature around him; and Nature, whatever her actions, knows nothing of crime or remorse.
So Henry Carew, in no unhappy frame of mind, began to consider what he should do next; and as he pondered, all his pluck and energy returned to him.
"In an hour or so," he said to himself, "the sea will have gone down still more; then I can get the vessel under way again. In the meantime, I will make a thorough inspection, and discover what my resources are; for I must have money, or the means of raising it."
He