The Stowaway Girl | Page 9

Louis Tracy
face. Soon after Holyhead was passed, it is true, a sailor reported
to the second officer that he had seen a ghost between decks, in the
region of the lazarette. It was then near midnight, a quiet hour on board
ship, and Hozier told the man sharply to go to his bunk and endeavor to
sleep off the effects of the bad beer imbibed earlier in the day.
Now, on this second night of the voyage, while the ship was plodding
steadily southward with that fifteen point inclination to the west that

would bring her far into the Atlantic soon after daybreak, Philip
remembered Mr. Verity's niece, and felt sorry that when she paid those
former visits to the Andromeda, fate had decreed that he should be
serving his time on another vessel. For there was an expression in her
eyes that haunted him. Though she addressed him with that absence of
restraint which is a heaven-sent attribute of every young woman when
circumstances compel her to speak to a strange young man--though her
tone to the more favored cook was kindly, and even sprightly--though
Philip himself was red and inclined to stammer--despite all these
hindrances to clear judgment, he felt that she was troubled in spirit. His
acquaintance with women was of the slightest, since a youth who is
taught his business on the Conway, and means to attach himself to one
of the great Trans-Atlantic shipping lines, has no time to spare for
dalliance in boudoirs. But it gave him a thrill when he heard that this
charming girl knew his name, and it seemed to him, for an instant, that
she was looking into his very soul, analyzing him, searching for some
sign that he was not as others, which meant that there were some whom
she had bitter cause to distrust. Of course, that was mere day-dreaming,
a nebulous fantasy brought by her gracious presence into a medley of
hurrying windlasses, strenuous orders, and sulky, panting men.
At any rate, she had left a memento of her too brief appearance on
board in the shape of the bag. He would contrive to take on his own
shoulders its mission in Monte Video; then, on returning to Liverpool,
he would have an excuse for calling on her. He did not know her name
yet. Possibly, Captain Coke would mention that interesting fact when
his temper lost its raw edge. As a last resource, the cook might
enlighten him.
It was strange that he should be thinking of Iris--far stranger than he
could guess--but his thoughts were sub-conscious, and he was in no
wise neglecting the safety of the ship. The night was clear but dark, the
stars blinked with the subdued radiance that betokens fine weather, and
ever and anon their reflection glimmered from the long slope of a wave
like the glint of spangles on a dress. But it was a garment of far-flung
amplitude, woven on the shadowy loom of night and the sea, and from
such mysterious warp and weft is often produced the sable robe of

tragedy and death. It was so now, within an ace. At one instance, the
restless plain of the ocean seemed to bear no other argosy than the
Andromeda; in the next, Hozier's quick-moving glance had caught the
pallid sheen of some small craft's starboard light. No need to tell him
what might happen. A sailing vessel, probably a fishing smack, was
crossing the steamer's course. He sprang to the telegraph, and signaled
"Slow" to the engine-room. Simultaneously he shouted to the steersman
to starboard the helm, and the siren trumpeted a single raucous blast
into the silence. With the rattle of the chains and steering-rods in the
gear-boxes came a yell from the lookout forward:
"Light on the port bow!"
Hozier repeated the hail, but promised the blear-eyed sentinels in the
bows of the ship a lively five minutes when the watch was relieved.
Slowly the Andromeda swung to the west. Even more slowly, or so it
appeared to the anxious man on the bridge, a red eye peeped into being
alongside the green one. A blacker smear showed up on the black sea,
and a hoarse voice, presumably situated beneath the smear, expressed a
desire for information.
"Arr ye all aslape on board that crimson collier?" it asked in a
Waterford brogue.
"Got the hooker's wheel tied, I suppose?" retorted Hozier, for the now
visible schooner had not attempted to change her course by half a point.
She was now bowling along with every stitch set before a five-knot
breeze from the east; the tilt of her sails was such that she practically
presented only the outline of her spars when first sighted from the
steamer; and her side lights probably had tallow candles in them.
"Bedad, it's
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