The Iron Trail | Page 4

they came, and they were followed by the chief engineer. To them Johnny spoke, his words crackling like the sparks from a wireless. In an incredibly short time he had the situation in hand and turned to O'Neil, who had been a silent witness of the scene.
"Glory be!" exclaimed the captain. "Most of our good passengers are asleep; the jar would scarcely wake them."
"Tell me where and how I can help," Murray offered. His first thought had been of the possible effect of this catastrophe upon his plans, for time was pressing. As for danger, he had looked upon it so often and in so many forms that it had little power to stir him; but a shipwreck, which would halt his northward rush, was another matter. Whether the ship sank or floated could make little difference, now that the damage had been done. She was crippled and would need assistance. His fellow-passengers, he knew, were safe enough. Fortunately there were not many of them-- a scant two hundred, perhaps--and if worse came to worst there was room in the life-boats for all. But the Nebraska had no watertight bulkheads and the plight of his twenty horses between decks filled him with alarm and pity. There were no life-boats for those poor dumb animals penned down yonder in the rushing waters.
Brennan had stepped into the chart-room, but returned in a moment to say:
"There's no place to beach her this side of Halibut Bay."
"How far is that?"
"Five or six miles."
"You'll--have to beach her?"
"I'm afraid so. She feels queer."
Up from the cabin deck came a handful of men passengers to inquire what had happened; behind them a woman began calling shrilly for her husband.
"We touched a rock," the skipper explained, briefly. "Kindly go below and stop that squawking. There's no danger."
There followed a harrowing wait of several minutes; then James, the first officer, came to report. He had regained his nerve and spoke with swift precision.
"She loosened three plates on her port quarter and she's filling fast."
"How long will she last?" snapped Brennan.
"Not long, sir. Half an hour, perhaps."
The captain rang for full speed, and the decks began to strain as the engine increased its labor. "Get your passengers out and stand by the boats," lie ordered. "Take it easy and don't alarm the women. Have them dress warmly, and don't allow any crowding by the men. Mr. Tomlinson, you hold the steerage gang in check. Take your revolver with you." He turned to his silent friend, in whose presence he seemed to feel a cheering sympathy, "I knew it would come sooner or later, Murray," he said. "But--magnificent mummies! To touch on a clear night with the sea like glass!" He sighed dolefully. "It'll be tough on my missus."
O'Neil laid a hand upon his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, and there will be room in the last boat for you. Understand?" Brennan hesitated, and the other continued, roughly: "No nonsense, now! Don't make a damned fool of yourself by sticking to the bridge. Promise?"
"I promise."
"Now what do you want me to do?"
"Keep those dear passengers quiet. I'll run for Halibut Bay, where there's a sandy beach. If she won't make it I'll turn her into the rocks, Tell 'em they won't wet a foot if they keep their heads."
"Good! I'll be back to see that you behave yourself." The speaker laughed lightly and descended to the deck, where he found an incipient panic. Stewards were pounding on stateroom doors, half- clad men were rushing about aimlessly, pallid faces peered forth from windows, and there was the sound of running feet, of slamming doors, of shrill, hysterical voices.
O'Neil saw a waiter thumping lustily upon a door and heard him shout, hoarsely:
"Everybody out! The ship is sinking!" As he turned away Murray seized him roughly by the arm and thrusting his face close to the other's, said harshly:
"If you yell again like that I'll toss you overboard."
"God help us, we're going--"
O'Neil shook the fellow until his teeth rattled; his own countenance, ordinarily so quiet, was blazing.
"There's no danger. Act like a man and don't start a stampede."
The steward pulled himself together and answered in a calmer tone:
"Very well, sir. I--I'm sorry, sir."
Murray O'Neil was known to most of the passengers, for his name had gone up and down the coast, and there were few places from San Francisco to Nome where his word did not carry weight. As he went among his fellow-travelers now, smiling, self-contained, unruffled, his presence had its effect. Women ceased their shrilling, men stopped their senseless questions and listened to his directions with some comprehension. In a short time the passengers were marshaled upon the upper deck where the life- boats hung between their davits. Each little craft was in charge of its allotted crew, the electric lights continued