XVICOURAGE VERSUS FOOLHARDINESS
WHILE yet thinking about Adele, Paul stood near the stern of the vessel, overlooking the foamy roadway produced by the constantly revolving propeller; he noticed the rapid progress made by the ship which bore him onwards. Looking outwards his thoughts at first turned hopefully towards the future—towards the region to which they were going; but soon, very soon, that which was before his very eyes drew his mind towards the past, suggested by the boiling wake extending in imagination clear back to the land they had quitted. Yet as a matter of fact it was neither the past nor the future that was just then most urgent with a crucial test for him; he was about to realize that the present is always more urgent and important than either.
Paul stood musing about this luminous pathway which led back to their native land, their home, yet each moment took him farther away from such associations, to meet strangers from whom in the very nature of things he could not expect such spontaneous sympathy as with his own countrymen.
Phosphorescence shone upon the troubled waters, marking the wake of the ship for some distance. The sky clear, and in the sheen of the moonlight details of the white-crested waves could easily be defined. It was one of those glorious evenings when the seascape appears artistically perfect, but cold and unsympathetic. Moonbeams are not inherently sympathetic, they have no warmth, they come not direct from that source of heat and life which gives the vital energy to all materialthings. But to imagination and in idealization moonbeams may excite or allay fear, and they often give a clearer vision of what sympathy really is, namely, hope and succor when most needed. Nature is always kind if we have the spiritual discernment to appreciate her, but variable according to her own methods.
Paul had but little of the red-hot-heroic in his physical make-up, nor was he especially romantic, but he did have something a great deal better. As often with those of his type, his sound mind in healthy body was supplemented by a keen sense of duty. Moonbeams and romanticism he could joke about, but underneath the jokes he had most decided opinions that a fellow ought to help others when necessity arose, and also his own ideas as to what was practical and what was foolhardy.
While still musing he could not avoid admiring the scene, and spontaneously associating it with one he knew could enjoy it; the picture was complete, ready to be admired. “I think Adele would enjoy it, she ought to see it. The ship is not going too rapidly, so the noise of the propeller amounts to little. I’ll go and find her,” and he turned to seek her whose pleasure was now more to him than heretofore.
Hurrying away, he had taken but a few steps before his attention was arrested by a commotion forward. There were voices, then the rapid patter and scuffling of feet on the deck, then a sharp cry, a cry the most soul-stirring a landsman can hear when in mid-ocean:
“Man overboard!”
“Which side?” exclaimed Paul, spontaneous.
“Port, sir!”
This caused such a complete revolution in Paul’s emotion that for an instant he was confused. Like many a landsman, with little fear of the water itself, yet with little or no practice at sea, the simplest nautical phrase was apt to convey confused ideas. He could not on the instant remember whether he should look forward or aft (as in a theatre) to determine portfrom starboard on board ship, and as usual rushed over to the wrong side. The light was bad, the moon shone the wrong way to see clearly, he rushed back again, leaned over the hand rail and thought he saw something bobbing about on the water, but was not sure—only an instant, then could distinguish the waving arms of some one struggling. The figure was yet ahead, but approaching, not quite near yet, but about to pass as he looked on.
The situation was painfully dramatic, but from the deck as Paul saw it not so perilous if actions were prompt.
“Where are those life preservers?” and with pocket-knife he cut one loose and threw it overboard, then a second, and some smaller cork-floats. Why several? He did not stop to think, for another cry, this time from the deep, reached his ear, the cry of a drowning man. It came sharp on the night air, like a personal appeal, and so sounded to Paul—a personal appeal, for none could have now heard it as clearly as he.
This was more than Paul could stand without making instant response. Two more rips of the knife blade, this time on his own shoe-strings, off went the shoes, then coat and waistcoat.
He answered with his college call, “All right, old fellow!” then sprang on the hand rail and plunged headlong into the ocean, a clear dive from the deck outwards, to find the drowning man.
None but a deck hand caught a glimpse of the youthful figure springing into space, of course too late for him to interfere. “Two overboard!” cried the sailor promptly, then giving vent to his own reflections, “Some blasted fool who wants to do the thing hisself!” mumbling as he went forward to report.
Increased excitement, passengers calling for help.
“Where was the other man?” exclaimed several voices among a group coming aft to the new center of interest. “Where?”
“There, ma’am!” said the deck hand, pointing; “he left his boots.”
“Poor fellow!” exclaimed Miss Winchester. “Oh, Adele, what a legacy! Just think of it, boots!”
The crowd rushed to look at the boots. They were held up for inspection. Frank Winchester no sooner turned her eyes upon them than she rushed forward, recognized the coat and waistcoat, and stood aghast.
“It’s Paul!”
Adele did not move, she seemed turned to stone.
Her eyes were fixed, looking straight ahead, trying to pierce the shadowy deep, the boundless expanse. The ocean seemed enormous, terrible, and, oh, so cold, heartless, consuming! “What! There? Lost!”
But she was quiet only for an instant, then seizing any loose articles she could find threw them overboard, and with strong emotion invited others to do the same. “Anything that will float—will float! It may reach them; it may, it must!” and the passengers followed her example.
More life preservers, several deck stools and steamer chairs then followed overboard before the enraged boatswain could interfere to stop their useless efforts.
“Don’t you see we’re b’arin’ round?” growled the old salt. “The boats’ll pick ’em up. There’s no sea on now.”
“I truly hope so,” breathed Adele.
“They’ve got plenty of floats already,” said the sailor.
“How do you know?” demanded Miss Winchester, nettled at the fellow’s brusque manner.
“Well, he’s got plenty anyway. Look here!” and it was indeed a great relief to see the dangling ends of those cut ropes, cut by Paul only a few minutes before, not insignificant items, for they told of presence of mind and foresight instead of reckless venture.
A lull followed, while the vessel began to turn in its course. Several boats were made ready to be lowered into the water.
“Adele,” said Miss Winchester, striving to grasp the situation, “Adele, I knew he could swim, all right, but, really, really I did not take him for that sort of man.”
“H’m!”
“He’s very brave, Adele.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand him as well as I do,” and Adele’s voice betrayed a greater intensity of feeling than she had intended. Then, as if catching herself before too late, she added in a very different tone, and casting her eyes towards the center of the ship, where the officer of the deck was giving directions:
“Frank, he’ll not be left—not if I can help it. Just wait a minute.”
Each had done what she could thus far.