King o the Beach | Page 5

said the doctor, with his lips to the man's ear.
"Right, sir; but it can't be much worse till the sea gets up. It's blown flat just now."
The man gave a lingering look at the insensible boy, and then crept through the door, passing out quickly as if to keep some of the din from entering the cabin.
The doctor bent over his patient again, and then leaned forward to unscrew the fastening of the circular pane of glass which formed the port-hole.
But he opened it only a few inches and then clapped it to and fastened it again to keep out the rush of wind and spray which entered with a wild shriek and rocked the lamp to and fro, threatening to put it out.
He returned to his seat and watched, paying no heed whatever to the terrific roar of the storm nor the quivering of the great vessel, which was evidently being driven at great speed dead in the teeth of the storm, though really making very little progress.
And then hours went by, with the doctor as insensible to the progress of the terrific hurricane as the boy he watched. There were plenty of passengers below, but no one came near, and the two within that dimly-lit cabin seemed to be the only living beings on board, so perfectly uninterrupted did they remain.
This did not trouble the doctor in the least, for all he required was to be left undisturbed with Nature, that she might have time to work her cure, for as far as he was concerned nothing could be done.
He knew that a tremendous storm was raging, though there was so little sea on that the motion of the vessel was not violent, for the simple reason that the tops of the waves were cut off by the terrific wind, which literally levelled the white waste of waters through which they tore.
It must have been about midnight when the cabin door was opened again, and the old sailor crept in and close up to the doctor's side.
"How is he, sir?" said the man, with his lips close to the doctor's ear.
"Very, very bad, my man," was the reply.
"Poor dear lad!" growled the old sailor. "So we are up yonder, sir."
"Oh!" said the doctor, quietly, but without taking his eyes from the patient.
"Engine's running at full speed to keep us head to wind."
"Oh!" said the doctor, in the same low, uninterested tone.
"Wust storm I was ever in, sir, and if it don't soon lull goodness knows what will happen next."
"Indeed?" said the doctor. "But go now. Quietness is everything for my patient now."
"Well, I'm blest," said the man to himself; "it's like talking to anyone in his sleep. Quietness, eh? Hang it! I didn't make half so much noise as the wind. He's thinking of that poor lad and of nothing else."
It was so all through the night, the doctor hardly noticing the refreshments brought in by the white-faced steward, who tried to get up a conversation, but with very little success. "Terrible storm, sir."
"Yes," said the doctor.
"Bad for poor young Mr Cranford, aren't it, sir?"
"Very bad."
"Lot of the passengers ill, sir, and asking for you, sir."
"Sea-sick?" said, the doctor, with a momentary display of interest. "Awful, sir."
"I could do nothing for them, and I cannot leave my patient," said the doctor, slowly.
The steward ventured upon another remark, but it was not heard.
During the next few hours the captain sent down twice for news, but did not once leave the deck, the storm raging with, if possible, greater violence; but the vessel fought bravely, backed as she was by the guidance of skilful hands, and evening was approaching, with everybody on board growing worn out with anxiety or exertion.
The night came on weird and strange, the white spray and the peculiar milky phosphorescent surface of the sea relieving the darkness, but giving in its place a terribly ghastly glare.
It was about seven, for the doctor had just glanced at his watch to see if it was time to repeat the medicine under whose influence he was keeping his patient, when all at once there was a tremendous shock as if there had been an explosion, a crashing sound heard for the moment above the tempest's din, and then the doctor was conscious of a change, and he knew what it meant. The thrill and vibration of the screw had ceased, and that could only mean one thing, the falling off of the propeller or the breaking of the shaft on which it turned.
He had proof of this a few minutes later in the movement of the great vessel, which no longer rode steadily over the swell, head to wind, but gradually fell off till she lay rolling in the hollows, careened over by the pressure of the storm, and