Land At last the electric light really went out.I had looked at my watch just before this happened and wound it up, which, Bickley remarked, was superfluous and a waste of energy.It then marked 3.20 in the morning.We had wedged Bastin, who was now snoring comfortably, into his berth, with pillows, and managed to tie a cord over him--no, it was a large bath towel, fixing one end of it to the little rack over his bed and the other to its framework.As for ourselves, we lay down on the floor between the table legs, which, of course, were screwed, and the settee, protecting ourselves as best we were able by help of the cushions, etc., between two of which we thrust the terrified Tommy who had been sliding up and down the cabin floor.Thus we remained, expecting death every moment till the light of day, a very dim light, struggling through a port-hole of which the iron cover had somehow been wrenched off.Or perhaps it was never shut, I do not remember.
About this time there came a lull in the hellish, howling hurricane; the fact being, I suppose, that we had reached the centre of the cyclone.I suggested that we should try to go on deck and see what was happening.So we started, only to find the entrance to the companion so faithfully secured that we could not by any means get out.We knocked and shouted, but no one answered.My belief is that at this time everyone on the yacht except ourselves had been washed away and drowned.
Then we returned to the saloon, which, except for a little water trickling about the floor, was marvelously dry, and, being hungry, retrieved some bits of food and biscuit from its corners and ate.At this moment the cyclone began to blow again worse than ever, but it seemed to us, from another direction, and before it sped our poor derelict barque.It blew all day till for my part I grew utterly weary and even longed for the inevitable end.If my views were not quite those of Bastin, certainly they were not those of Bickley.I had believed from my youth up that the individuality of man, the ego, so to speak, does not die when life goes out of his poor body, and this faith did not desert me then.Therefore, I wished to have it over and learn what there might be upon the other side.
We could not speak much because of the howling of the wind, but Bickley did manage to shout to me something to the effect that his partners would, in his opinion, make an end of their great practice within two years, which, he added, was a pity.I nodded my head, not caring twopence what happened to Bickley's partners or their business, or to my own property, or to anything else.
When death is at hand most of us do not think much of such things because then we realise how small they are.Indeed I was wondering whether within a few minutes or hours I should or should not see Natalie again, and if this were the end to which she had seemed to beckon me in that dream.
On we sped, and on.About four in the afternoon we heard sounds from Bastin's cabin which faintly reminded me of some tune.Icrept to the door and listened.Evidently he had awakened and was singing or trying to sing, for music was not one of his strong points, "For those in peril on the sea." Devoutly did I wish that it might be heard.Presently it ceased, so I suppose he went to sleep again.
The darkness gathered once more.Then of a sudden something fearful happened.There were stupendous noises of a kind I had never heard; there were convulsions.It seemed to us that the ship was flung right up into the air a hundred feet or more.
"Tidal wave, I expect," shouted Bickley.
Almost as he spoke she came down with the most appalling crash on to something hard and nearly jarred the senses out of us.Next the saloon was whirling round and round and yet being carried forward, and we felt air blowing upon us.Then our senses left us.As I clasped Tommy to my side, whimpering and licking my face, my last thought was that all was over, and that presently Ishould learn everything or nothing.
I woke up feeling very bruised and sore and perceived that light was flowing into the saloon.The door was still shut, but it had been wrenched off its hinges, and that was where the light came in; also some of the teak planks of the decking, jagged and splintered, were sticking up through the carpet.The table had broken from its fastenings and lay upon its side.Everything else was one confusion.I looked at Bickley.Apparently he had not awakened.He was stretched out still wedged in with his cushions and bleeding from a wound in his head.I crept to him in terror and listened.He was not dead, for his breathing was regular and natural.The whisky bottle which had been corked was upon the floor unbroken and about a third full.I took a good pull at the spirit; to me it tasted like nectar from the gods.Then I tried to force some down Bickley's throat but could not, so I poured a little upon the cut on his head.The smart of it woke him in a hurry.
"Where are we now?" he exclaimed."You don't mean to tell me that Bastin is right after all and that we live again somewhere else? Oh! I could never bear that ignominy.""I don't know about living somewhere else," I said, "although my opinions on that matter differ from yours.But I do know that you and I are still on earth in what remains of the saloon of the Star of the South.""Thank God for that! Let's go and look for old Bastin," said Bickley."I do pray that he is all right also.""It is most illogical of you, Bickley, and indeed wrong,"groaned a deep voice from the other side of the cabin door, "to thank a God in Whom you do not believe, and to talk of praying for one of the worst and most inefficient of His servants when you have no faith in prayer.
"Got you there, my friend," I said.
Bickley murmured something about force of habit, and looked smaller than I had ever seen him do before.
