Kerry (16 page)

Kerry had gone to her room in a strange daze of peace. She wondered at herself. She did not understand what had happened or why she should feel this way. It was not only that she had had a wonderful evening with a wonderful companion. She tried to be honest with herself. No, it was not entirely the touch of that strong hand holding hers and leading her to God that had thrilled her so, though that was warm and dear to remember—and—he had called her “my dear” at the end when the storm came. Of course he did not realize what he was saying. Just a pleasant, gentle way of being kind. He meant nothing personal by it, and she had not taken it that way. It had been a fellowship far above mere earthly things, that little hour out there on the deck, alone together, and God so near! No, it had not been just one man’s presence, dear and beautiful as that was. But there was something else. She had something new in herself. Something untried as yet, but she already felt it to be powerful, something she could lean upon, believe and lean upon.

Then she opened at random the little book he had given her and read these amazing words: “If we receive the witness of men, the witness of God is greater: for this is the witness of God which He hath testified of His Son. He that believeth on the Son of God, hath the witness in himself.”

With this strange message ringing in her heart she lay down to sleep. She put her manuscript under her pillow that night, but the little book she held in her hands, close to her heart. The storm increased all that night, but she slept with a smile on her lips and a new peace in her heart that was not disturbed by booming waves or tossing ship. She had taken Christ on board her little bark, and felt safe.

Kerry had always been a good sailor. She was not alarmed by the rolling of the ship. But looking out of her porthole the next morning at the great wall of water that seethed past as if it would obliterate everything, she wondered at the strange new sense of safety that pervaded her. She sensed that the storm was unusual, but somehow it seemed as if a new assurance had driven out ordinary fears.

It was difficult dressing with the floor taking continually a new slant.

Before she left her stateroom she paused thoughtfully, her hand on her door. Then she turned back and dropped to her knees beside her bed.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, “teach me what You want of me, please!” Then after an instant she added, “I ask it in the name of Jesus.”

The phrase was to her a new one, but she would never forget its sweetness as McNair had used it out on deck when he prayed for her.

There were not many people around, though it was by no means early. Walking was not easy with such an uncertain floor, but Kerry made her way toward the dining room, and found McNair awaiting her. They were the only ones at their table except an old man who soon finished his breakfast and left them.

Kerry had with her the copy of her father’s letter, and she brought it out now and showed it to McNair, keeping careful watch of the door lest Dawson should enter while he was reading it.

But Dawson did not appear on the scene at all that day. In fact even the dining room had very few occupants.

Kerry and McNair had the main cabin mostly to themselves, and spent a happy morning together. They went carefully over the changes Kerry had made in her father’s manuscript. It was good that she could recall whole paragraphs from memory, for they dared not take the precious book out of its hiding. Kerry learned wonderful things about the new life she had entered as McNair in making a suggestion here and there opened up new truth to her. She drank it in like a thirsty flower.

But the day was a wild one. The vessel rolled from side to side, and it was difficult to keep a location gracefully. People were constantly falling and crying out. Frequent crashes of dishes added to the weirdness of the occasion.

As the day wore on it became apparent that something unusual was going on, and McNair went to inquire. He returned gravely but did not seem disturbed. His face wore a kind of exalted look, as if whatever came his soul had wings. That was the way Kerry thought of it afterward—and there came an afterward, when she went over every little detail of that wonderful time.

But McNair took it all calmly.

Something had gone wrong with the ship, some of its inner workings. He had not been able to pry much information out of the officials. They were working at it and hoped to right matters.

He did not tell Kerry that the matter was serious and that he had gathered from listening to asides from the captain and those in charge that the danger was extreme, that there was grave doubt whether the ship could ever weather the storm in her present condition. He merely said, “We are in our Father’s hands. He holds the sea in the hollow of His hand, you know. We are safe even if the ship goes down. It will not hinder us from being present when our Lord returns!”

He gave her a confident smile that warmed her heart as it had never been warmed before, even with her father’s beloved smile.

“Oh, I should have been so frightened now,” she said, smiling bravely back, “if it hadn’t been for you—for what you have taught me.”

When he went again to inquire he discovered that a seam in the ship had been wrenched apart, and the water was coming in fast, faster than the pumps could take care of it. To make it worse a fire had broken out in the region of the kitchen, for a cauldron of oil had escaped from its moorings and upset near an open flame. The fire at present was under control, and the crew was hard at work, but McNair saw that if it went much further there would be something worse than a storm to face; the whole shop would be in flames within a few short hours.

He slipped away to his stateroom, cut up an expensive coat of oiled silk, and presently brought two large pieces to Kerry.

“You know, in a storm like this,” he said quietly, “there is always a possibility of having to take to the lifeboats. I was just thinking about your precious manuscript. Couldn’t you wrap it carefully in this so that in case anything happened it would not get wet? You might need to have it ready for sudden warning, you know. Don’t be alarmed, but it does no harm to be ready for emergencies. How about those notes, too, that you told me about? If I were you I would get ready anything valuable that could be easily carried. It can do no harm, and may save you a lot of anxiety later.”

He said it all so quietly that Kerry could not be unduly alarmed, but Kerry was not a child. She knew there must be grave danger. She made no outcry, showed no sign of fright, but accepted the oilskin gratefully and went to her cabin to do as he suggested. She not only wrapped the manuscript in several thicknesses of oilskin, but got out her notes also, and protected them, and then she planned a way to safely and swiftly bind them beneath her garments in case of sudden alarm, so that there would be no risk of having them snatched from her, or knocked from her grasp if there should be a panic.

All that day and night the storm raged madly. People crept to their berths like rats to their holes. The fearful sounds of straining timbers, the terrible booming of the mountain-like waves as each one crashed and threatened to overwhelm the frail ship, which seemed like a toy in the tempest, the cries of people who had been thrown down or catapulted across the cabin, the constant knocking about of furniture that had broken away from it moorings, the crashing of more dishes created pandemonium.

McNair sent Kerry to her stateroom late in the evening, promising to call her if there was any need. He knew the strain was telling upon her and she needed to rest.

Kerry did not undress. She prepared herself for sudden call, for any emergency that might arise, as far as she knew how.

She bound the manuscript, her money, and her few small valuables beneath her garments, not forgetting the tiny Testament that McNair had given her. She laid her coat and hat close at hand, and then she lay down.

She had not expected to sleep, but when the morning dawned and she was awakened by a steady tapping at her door, she found that she must have slept all night.

She arose hastily and opened her door.

McNair was standing in the corridor, his wan face gray in the dim light. There was a long black smudge down one cheek, his collar was off, and his hair was rumpled wildly. He had been fighting fire all night.

For the fire had broken out again in a new place where the oil had seeped through into some flammable stuff. It had eaten its way well into the heart of the ship before it was discovered.

He told her very quietly, but his anxious eyes belied his tired voice.

“The captain thinks there may be a possibility that we must take to the lifeboats,” he said. “A fire has broken out in the hold, and if it cannot be controlled pretty soon it will be pleasanter for the passengers in the lifeboats.”

That was a nice way to put it perhaps, but even as he said it Kerry heard the booming of the large waves and felt the crouching of the ship like a whipped creature under their lashing. As if it could be pleasant out there in that water! That awful water! Could anything be worse than trusting to a little lifeboat in such a raging sea?

But the young man’s steady voice went on.

“The captain would like us all to gather on the forward deck and be ready to obey orders. He still hopes it may not be necessary, but if the fire should manage to break through the forward hatchway, there would have to be swift work to get everybody off in time. Will you bring whatever you must have with you in an emergency and come as soon as you can to the deck?”

“I am quite ready!” said Kerry, swinging on her coat with one swift motion and pulling down her little hat around her face.

“Where are your valuables? Have you forgotten your book?”

“Here!” laughed Kerry bravely, laying her two hands on her breast.

“I fixed them so they cannot get away.”

McNair looked down at her, a kind of hunger in his tired, worn face.

“You brave, dear girl!” he said, and suddenly his arm went around her, and stooping, he touched his lips reverently to her forehead. It was as if a benediction had been given her.

Then suddenly a door far down the corridor snapped open, and a crazy figure burst out, clad uncertainly in stocking feet and trousers, with a dress shirt flapping its tails wildly above it. It staggered frantically down the corridor, bringing up against first one side, then the other, but bumping on, and crying madly in a hoarse maudlin scream, “Fire! Fire! FIRE! This ship is on FIRE!!!”

Kerry saw to her horror that it was Dawson gone fairly mad with fear.

From every door on either side there burst other figures now, all in strange array, and began to rush along after him, falling, screaming, climbing over one another, in deadly blind panic, coming on like a stampede of wild cattle.

McNair pushed Kerry behind him into her doorway, and shielded her by stepping in front of Dawson and extending his arms as he tried to plunge past.

“Get out of my way!” screamed Dawson, kicking blindly at McNair. But McNair put out his foot and neatly tripped up Dawson, sending him sprawling on the floor. Then holding up his hands to stop the rest, he spoke in a clear, commanding voice.

“Stop! Right where you are! Don’t go another step!”

Strangely enough they obeyed him. The motley crowd in nightgowns and pajamas, with hair in curl papers, and one with no hair at all, stopped short and looked at him.

He seized the instant’s quiet and attention at once.

“Friends, there’s no such cause for hurry! It may be several hours before a crisis will arise. The warning was only sent out that you all might be prepared for a possible emergency, which we hope will not come. The crew is working hard to make everything safe for us, but the captain thought it best to ask you to get ready if there should be need to take to the lifeboats. He would like you to come on deck within the next ten minutes if possible. Bring any small valuables, and put on warm clothes. You may have to stand in the wind for some time. Go back and prepare yourselves. Go back, I tell you! Look at yourselves! You don’t want to go on deck looking like that!”

As rapidly as they had come out they all scuttled back, all but Dawson, who was crawling frantically away on hands and knees, casting a green furtive glance back at his late assailant. A more abject ghastly face Kerry thought she had never seen. He disappeared around the corner, and McNair turned to Kerry, reaching out his hand for hers.

“Come!” he said. “Let’s get on deck before the mob returns. There’s time enough. Don’t get
excited—dear!”

Kerry’s heart beat wildly, but she grasped his hand as if she had been a little child, and let him lead her to the companionway and help her up.

Just ahead was Dawson, struggling up, lunging full-length on the deck, picking himself up frantically, and backing against the wall of the outer cabins, his hands outspread, his black hair blowing straight up, his eyes distended, his shirttails flapping in the wind. And straight before him as the ship lurched suddenly there rose a mighty sheet of water, towering mountains high, and curved as if it would engulf them all.

Almost lying on his back against the cabins as the ship heeled over, Dawson sprawled, and uttered another of those unearthly yells, beyond all reason, or thought of sense, just clean frightened out of his wits, a fox caught in a snare.

“Fire, WATER, FIRE!”

McNair steadied Kerry against a doorway and seizing Dawson shook him!

“Look here, man, haven’t you any sense? Shut up! You’ll create a panic. If you say that once more I’ll gag you so you can’t talk!”

Dawson, too sick to resist, hung there in the grasp of the taller man, and dropped his jaw open, gave a frightened assent, and dropped down on the deck with his back against the wall and closed his eyes. If he had not been such a pathetic sight it would have been funny. Kerry found her Irish giggle coming in her throat, and curving around her lips even in such a time as this. To think a man could become so abject. His shirttails flapped around him, and he seemed to have no thought but fear as he lay back and clutched for hold against the ship.