Mr. Blume, the chief mate of the ss. “Centurion,” was pacing the bridge in anything but an angelic mood, which evidenced itself in perpetual growls at everybody with whom he came into contact. The objects of his displeasure, seeing no adequate reason for it, were not disposed to take his fault-finding too meekly, the result being that the atmosphere on board the “Centurion” was decidedly unpleasant.
“I’ll bet my bottom dollar that the mate got jilted last time he was in port,” remarked the second mate to the third engineer, both being off watch together.
“What makes you think that?”
“Oh, lots of things. He was as jolly as any of us when we first got in, and was perfectly killing when he went ashore to see Lottie, as he always has done whenever we have been in Cardiff. He came back much sooner than usual, in a vile temper, and hardly ever went ashore again. Since we left he has been awfully ill-natured, and I am sure Lottie is at the bottom of it.”
“Perhaps she’s ill.”
“Perhaps she’s fiddlesticks. Much more likely is it that she’s found another admirer. Lightly come, lightly go, you know. He’s a very nice fellow when he likes. But he’s only a mate. And if Lottie can see her way clear to pick up a skipper as easily as she picked up our mate, I reckon the poorest man has the least chance.”
“Well, if that’s what’s the matter with him, I’m sorry for him. I’ve been jilted a time or two myself, and I know what it feels like. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a woman again with a view to matrimony.”
“I say, how old are you?”
“Twenty-two. But I’ve had experience enough for forty-two, and——”
“Now don’t try to kid me any more. What about that photograph that hangs over your bunk?”
“Oh, that’s my sister Nellie.”
“Does your sister Nellie write on all her photographs—‘To my darling Jim, from his faithful Dora?’”
“Look here. You have been poking your nose where you had no business to poke it. What about yourself?”
“My dear fellow, I never saw the woman yet that I would tie myself to.”
“You pretend you don’t like them?”
“Nothing of the sort; I worship them. But I believe in variety, and prefer to carry a light heart from one port to another.”
“How does variety affect your pocket?”
“Very conveniently. I admire only respectable girls, and they never know me long enough to prove expensive. Hello, what’s up now?”
As the second mate made this exclamation, he turned his eyes to what seemed to be an object of speculation to many on board. It was trailing along the water a considerable distance ahead, and was as yet somewhat difficult to distinguish. On the bridge the mate was also exercising his mind about it.
“I can’t make the thing out,” he said to the man at the wheel. “It can’t be a boat of any sort; and yet, what else would you expect to see scudding on the water before the wind like that? Here, have a look, Greenaway; your eyes can see further than mine.”
Greenaway did as he was bid, and, after careful observation, remarked quietly, “It’s a dismasted balloon, sir, and there are some fellows hanging on to the rigging.”
“A dismasted balloon! What the deuce do you mean?”
“Well, sir, I mean what I say. She’s dismasted. Leastways, her sail’s flopping about anyhow, and doesn’t help her a bit. I reckon it’s about time them fellows took to their boats. If they don’t they’ll soon be exploring Davy Jones’s locker.”
“I always knew you to be a blamed fool, Greenaway; but, hang me, if you don’t get worse. What makes you call the thing a balloon?”
“Why, I reckon I call it a balloon because it is a balloon. I don’t see that you can have a better reason, sir. Hello! One of the fellows has tumbled overboard. I fancy there isn’t much chance for him. By Jove! one of ’em’s jumped down on deck, and hauled him in again. Are we likely to overtake them? I would like to cheat old Davy.”
By this time Mr. Blume had seized the glasses, and,being now much nearer, could see for himself that the battered and wave-tossed object before him was a balloon in reality, though how its occupants came to be in such a plight he could but faintly conjecture.
“Run and tell the skipper,” he cried eagerly. Then, knowing beforehand what the captain would do, he ordered the man at the wheel to steer for the distressed aeronauts. In another minute the captain was on deck, having been just about ready to sit down to his breakfast. He fully endorsed the mate’s action, for he was not one to refuse succour to victims of the elements.
“Stand by to lower a boat,” he shouted, his order being promptly carried out. When sufficiently near for the purpose the boat was lowered, and her crew soon had the satisfaction of rescuing four exhausted men from the aerial vessel, which, relieved of their weight, slowly rose into the air, and floated southwards in the direction of the African coast.
The condition of the rescued men was truly pitiable, and they were saved none too soon. They had a painful story of peril to relate as soon as warmth, food, and rest had done their beneficent work.
“When we made our ascent from Valetta,” said the captain of the balloon, “the wind was just as I had hoped for it to be, and the people who saw us ascend had little conception of what was before us. Some seemed to imagine that the descent would take place within a few score yards of the place whence we ascended. But I knew better, although I little dreamed of the experience really in store for us. There was not much chance of landing on shore, and I expected to travel a short distance out tosea, and to be picked up, after a simple ducking, by a steamer which I had chartered to follow the balloon. But shortly after leaving the coast-line we noticed that the wind had gained strength, and was carrying us southwards at a rapid rate. Our water anchor was useful for a time, but unfortunately the rope broke; we lost our anchor; and the balloon rose several hundred yards.
“Soon, however, a terrific downpour of rain caused us to descend again, and the balloon was dragged along the surface of the sea. We were now in a very sorry plight, for the car was frequently under water, and we had to cling desperately to the ropes to save ourselves from drowning. We must all have perished hours ago, but for the courage of Mr. Calderon, my assistant, who made frequent dives into the car, and brought up the ballast, one bag at a time, an expedient which only raised the balloon by occasional fits and starts. We next threw away the greater part of our clothing, which was sodden and heavy with rain and sea-water. Even our money and the only bottle of spirits we had went overboard, for life itself depended on our being lightened to the utmost. In this connection I cannot refrain from animadverting on the conduct of Mr. Torrens, one of our passengers. He threw his coat overboard, but declined to part with any more of his clothes, even though very strongly urged to do so. Once, numbed with cold and fatigue, he lost his hold of the rope to which he was clinging, and fell into the sea. He will never be nearer death than he was at that moment, for, lightened of his weight, the balloon began to right itself, and we firmly believe that it would have risen and carried us to a place of safety, if we could have reconciled ourselves to abandoning him to his fate.
“The temptation to do so was a terrible one, I assure you.
“‘If we leave him to drown we shall be saved.’
“‘If we rescue him for the present we shall probably all be drowned.’
“‘His life is worth less than all ours. Why should we die to save him?’
“These were the thoughts that assailed us, and of the three left hanging on to the balloon I am sure that none but Mr. Calderon would have mustered courage and self-denial sufficient to go to the rescue of Torrens, who was drowning fast, he not being able to swim at all.
“We had sighted a great many ships during the night, but were unable to attract the attention of any of them, as we had no light. When day dawned things looked more hopeful, but your help came none too soon, for we were all about dead beat.”
Such was the story of the captain of the balloon, related to the captain of the ss. “Centurion,” and afterwards published in all the principal newspapers of Europe. I may add that these published accounts were supplemented by the grateful acknowledgments of the aeronauts for the kindness and attention shown them by those on board the “Centurion.” At Alexandria the steamer, which was en route for Madras, discharged its passengers, who at once proceeded to arrange for passages elsewhere.
The two professional aeronauts and their Maltese passenger returned to Valetta, but the gentleman unfavourably known as Mr. Torrens preferred to disport himself in fresh fields and pastures new. One of his principal reasons for not returning to Malta was due to a fright he got whenleaving that place. As he rose in the car, feeling perfectly secure against pursuit and detection, and elated by the enjoyment of his novel position, he looked down at the sea of faces below him, and was startled to recognise Miss Cory, whom he knew again as the young lady who was figuring as his sister’s governess when he left home.
Like a flash the truth struck him. “She is shadowing me,” he thought. “I believe it is the girl whom I heard was engaged to Riddell. If so, her presence, first in my father’s house, and then here, bodes me no good, and the sooner I clear out the better. I hope the machine won’t be in too big a hurry to drop, so that I shall have a chance of getting away. It’s lucky I got that belt to carry my property in. It’s much better than either pockets or a bag, and I have left nothing at my lodgings that I need worry about. Hang it, why can’t I be left to enjoy myself without a lot of meddling fools coming after me?”
“You don’t feel upset, do you?” inquired his fellow-passenger, noticing that Mr. Torrens had grown somewhat pale and frightened looking.
“Well, you know, it’s a queer sensation, mounting up here. Still, I shall be all right in a minute.”
So said he, feeling glad that so natural an explanation of his confusion was at hand. But he had no intention of being seen at Valetta again, and when, his balloon adventure over, he was cast upon his own resources in Alexandria, he deemed it desirable to think of some other place to which to proceed. There were certain difficulties in the way. But these must be promptly overcome. For if, as he feared, the face he had seen at Valetta was that of an enemy and pursuer, it behoved him to quit Alexandriabefore the landing place of the rescued aeronauts became too widely known. Unfortunately, all the money he had with him had been in the pocket of the coat he was compelled to throw into the sea. His refusal to doff his waistcoat when urged to do so arose from the fact that it as well as the belt had some valuable diamonds stitched into its lining, and he preferred the risk of drowning to the certainty of poverty.
It was with some reluctance that he found it necessary to try and negotiate the sale of some of his incriminatory property. For anything he knew telegrams might have been exchanged already, and the myrmidons of the law might even now be on his track. Still he could not manage without money, so the risk must be run.
He did run the risk, and though his identity was quite unsuspected by the dealer, he found himself compelled to accept half the value of the stone he offered for sale, or go without money. He was naturally a good bargainer, and it stung him to the quick to feel himself outdone. “But what can’t be cured must be endured” is an axiom which sometimes impresses itself painfully upon us all, and as Mr. Hugh Stavanger, alias Paul Torrens, was no exception to the general rule, he found animadversion useless.
That evening, after writing a long letter to his father apprising him of both his present and his intended whereabouts, he became a passenger on a steamer bound for Bombay, having booked his passage under the name of Harry Staley, as he considered “Paul Torrens” to be no longer a safe appellation.