Chapter XIII: 'spare Her! Spare Her!'

Mrs. Pooley, Bella and Gilbert sat alone in the saloon that night, the faces of the two women being careworn and depressed in appearance, while on that of the young naval officer was a look, if not of consternation, at least of doubt and anxiety. That all of them should present this appearance of perturbation was natural enough, because by this time it was impossible to suppose that any less than a calamity was impending over the _Emperor of the Moon_ and all in her. Two more men, named Burgess and Truby, had been attacked with blindness, while the negro, who had been the last survivor amongst the slaves, was himself now dead.

'It was too awful,' said Gilbert, who had come below to tell the ladies that which had happened above, since to keep silence on the subject was useless, in consequence of the turmoil in the ship which had accompanied the poor creature's last moments. 'He died a raving maniac--nothing short of that. You heard his howls and yells after we had got him safely tied up; _we_ saw a sight that I, at least--and I should think everybody else--hope never to see again. Even roped as he was, his leaps and convulsions were something shocking. Thank God, they soon came to an end. I believe he died of the exhaustion caused by his mania.'

'What is to become of us all?' asked Mrs. Pooley sadly. 'What? The ship moves only by the current; my husband said just now that, if things go on and get worse, there will be none left to control her when the wind does come.'

'The trouble is,' said Gilbert, 'that, if they make sail when the wind springs up, there may be no men to take it in if that wind comes on too strong. And, at all events, it will be serious if more men are attacked. I have offered my services in any capacity if wanted, and will serve either as officer or man if Captain Pooley will let me.'

Bella threw an admiring glance at her lover in approval of what she, in her own mind, probably considered his noble disinterestedness; then she said:

'But surely all are not going to be attacked one after another in this way? And if so, uncle can't possibly think of trying to get to Bombay when the wind does come.'

'I have suggested the same thing to him that Fagg did this afternoon--namely, the Seychelles. They're all right, and the climate is first-rate for the tropics. He says, however, he will see what happens by the time we get a wind. He won't give in if no more men are attacked.'

Meanwhile, even as he spoke, each of the trio were occupied with thoughts which they would not have cared to put into language. Mrs. Pooley's were those good wifely reflections which busied themselves only with her husband's interests, and were disturbed by considerations of what a loss to him the delay would produce should it be further prolonged. Yet, there was also growing upon her, if it were not already full-grown--as was now the case with all others in the ship--a gruesome, indefinable horror of what might be the outcome of this strange affliction that had fallen on the vessel. Suppose, she had asked herself a hundred times in common with all the others on board--the sailors alone expressing their thoughts openly--suppose everyone in the _Emperor_ succumbed to this blindness! What then would happen, even if it were not followed by death? Would they drift about the ocean helplessly if the calm continued, until they were seen and rescued by some other vessel; or, if a strong gale came up, would they--with no one capable of so much as steering the ship be shipwrecked and sent to the bottom? While, as to the horrible idea of death following on blindness, and the _Emperor of the Moon_ drifting about, a floating catacomb--that was not to be thought about! It was too fearful a thing to reflect upon and still preserve one's sanity. Yet, all the same, not only was it thought about but talked about among the sailors, while many ideas were propounded as to what was to be done ere the worst came to the worst. As for Bella, her reflections were all of one kind, and one only. Would Gilbert be spared! For herself she cared but little, though she would scarcely have been the brave, womanly girl she was if she had not repined at the dark cloud which had now settled down over the existence of her lover and herself, and which threatened, if it continued to hover over them and their fortunes, to darken that existence still more. Further than this she did not dare to look, and, consequently, could only pray fervently that the cloud might be lifted ere long, even as she strove to force herself to believe that such would undoubtedly be the case.

Yet Gilbert's meditations were perhaps the most melancholy and bitter of any of the three persons now assembled in the saloon--brave, self-reliant young officer as he was, and full of hope and belief in many happy years still to come and to be passed in the possession of a beautiful and devoted wife, as well as in the service of a glorious profession. For he could not disguise from, nor put away from, his mind the recollection that, with his coming into this ship, with his rescue, there had come also that intangible, mysterious disease which was striking down those around him one by one at extremely short intervals; and, although he knew that he was no more responsible for its presence than if he had never been found in that accursed dhow, he began to think that there were many in the _Emperor of the Moon_ who would regard him as being more or less so. Which, in truth, was a weak supposition, born in his usually strong, clear head by the calamities now happening with great frequency one after the other; a supposition shared by no one else in the ship. For--as he himself knew very well, yet took no comfort in knowing--had he not been in the dhow her other inhabitants would have been rescued all the same and taken off by Pooley, and would have brought on board with them the infection which was now supposed to be at the root of the disasters that were happening.

The meditations of all three were now, however, disturbed by the descent of Stephen Charke to the saloon, he being about to eat his evening meal before taking the first watch. As usual and, almost, it seemed, unjustly so--since never had he said any further words to Bella which she could construe into an approach to anything dealing with his regard for her--his appearance was unwelcome to her. He seemed, however, to be entirely oblivious of what her sentiments towards him might be, and, after giving a slight bow to both ladies, rang the bell for the steward to bring him his supper. Then, as he seated himself at the table, he said:

'I fancy we shall have to avail ourselves of your offer of service after all, Lieutenant Bampfyld, and in spite of our having refused it an hour ago. Fagg,' he went on, as he cut himself a crust from the loaf, 'is attacked with blindness now.'

'Great Heavens!' exclaimed Gilbert, while Bella, scarcely knowing why, burst into tears and hid her head on Mrs. Pooley's ample shoulder.

'Yes, it is too awful. So is Payn, the bo'sun, attacked.'

'My God!'

And now Mrs. Pooley's fortitude gave way too, and she sobbed quietly to herself until, recognising that two tearful women were scarcely in their proper place in the saloon with these young men, she rose, and, taking Bella with her, they went off to their cabins.

'The watch, of course,' went on Charke, 'is nothing now with the ship at a standstill. Yet one has to keep it more or less. Fagg's turn would have been the middle of to-night, but if you like to fall in you can take the first, and I'll----'

'Thank you,' said Gilbert quietly, 'but I have done plenty of watch-keeping, both before and after I was a flag-lieutenant. The middle watch won't hurt me. I will relieve you at midnight.'

'As you like. Of course, the skipper and I recognise that it is a great obligation on your part----'

'Oh, rubbish! We are absolutely and literally "all in the same boat" now, and we've got to make the best of it.' Then Gilbert rose and said: 'By the way, I should like to go and see that poor chap, Fagg, if he is in his cabin. He's a nice young fellow.'

'He is, and a good sailor, though he doesn't make any fuss. Lord knows what's going to be the end of it all. I hope to Heaven those who are struck won't go the way of those niggers, and that their sight will come back before long.'

'I hope so, too; or else this will be one of the most awful calamities that ever fell upon any ship on a voyage. And the worst is, no one knows what the end is to be.' Then he turned on his heel and moved away with the intention of going to Fagg's cabin, while Charke, who was now half-way through his supper, went on steadily with it; yet, as Gilbert reached the gangway outside, the other made a further remark.

'By-the-by,' he said, 'another strange thing has happened. That infernal tiger-cub of Miss Waldron's--her pet!--seems going the same way as the others. It is crawling about the foredeck in a half-blind fashion, and evidently can't see signs made before its eyes. As far as the little beast goes, I shouldn't mind seeing it fall through one of the scuppers back into the sea it was dragged out of. It was rather rubbish to save it at all!'

The words 'that infernal tiger-cub of Miss Waldron's' grated somewhat on Gilbert's feelings, as did also the brutality of the remark about its falling into the sea. Why this was so he did not know, unless it was that he had seen the interest Bella took in the little creature, and in feeding it and calling every one's attention to the extraordinary manner in which it seemed to grow almost hourly. Nevertheless, the observation did grate on him, and he began to tell himself that he did not care much for Stephen Charke. However, like a good many other young naval officers, he had thoroughly learnt the excellent system of controlling his thoughts in silence, wherefore, without making any further remark than saying that he was sorry to hear about 'Bengalee,' he went on his way towards Mr. Fagg's cabin, leaving the first mate to finish his supper by himself.

He left him, also, to some strange meditations which, had they been uttered aloud in the presence of any listener, might have caused that person to imagine that he was the recipient of the babblings of a visionary. Put into words those musings would have taken some such form as this:--

'Supposing this malady or pestilence, or whatever it is, should be followed by madness and death, as was the case with the negroes. And supposing also that, among those who are struck, our friend Lieutenant Bampfyld--the future Lord D'Abernon!--should be one. What happens? Bella'--for so he dared to call her in his thoughts and to himself--'Bella is deprived of him. Suppose, also, that the whole management of the ship falls into my hands; Pooley may be attacked, too--then--then--then----' But here his mental ramblings had to come to a conclusion, because, wild as his riotous thoughts were, his mind was clear enough to perceive that he was just as likely to be attacked by the blindness as was either Pooley or Bampfyld. While he saw very plainly that so, too, was Bella. And this pulled his meditations up with a jerk, since he could imagine nothing more horrible that could occur now than that the majority of all the men on board should remain sound and unstricken, and capable of working the _Emperor of the Moon_ safely into some port or other, while the beautiful girl whom he worshipped and adored so much should succumb to the hateful affliction.

'Oh, my God!' he almost moaned aloud, 'if--if she should be the next. If she should be taken and we left. How--how could I endure that?' And then, because he was a man with the best of impulses beneath all the gall which had arisen in his heart at losing the girl he had once hoped so much to win, he moaned once more: 'Not that--not that. Spare her, at least, Heaven! Spare her, even though I have to stand by and see him win her after all. Spare her! Spare her!'