Tod Moran set to work once more in the bunkers. He carried the lantern now on a barrow handle. The light made only a feeble glow in the profound darkness of the 'tween-decks; the steel walls faded away above; the dust-laden air moved slowly as a mist. Each shrill scrape of the shovel startled the youth in terror. Suspense weighed him down like an iron hand. If he were only above in the fresh cool air! Any place but here, walled in by these oppressive plates of steel. What was happening on the bridge? Was the mate altering the course, steering in the night toward some surf-beaten shoal? Was Captain Ramsey so drunk that he did not notice the ominous approach of danger? And Jarvis—what was he doing? Standing by? Why didn't he act? Why did he allow this ship, so gallant in spite of her rusty hull, to be wrecked on some hidden reef?
In the port bunkers, Tod worked furiously, filling his barrow. In eager haste, he returned to the chute and slid the coal noisily downward. He listened to the iron clang of furnace doors, the hiss of steam from the clinker. At last he heard the sound of the ash buckets in the pits. The end of the watch was drawing near. Eight bells would soon be sounding midnight.
With quickened breath he remembered Jarvis's warning. He wiped his chest with his sweat rag. He was getting nervous as a silly girl. That wouldn't do; he mustn't imagine things. Once more he returned to the end of the port bunkers.
In the very act of sending his shovel into the coal he felt the plates of the 'tween-deck slowly lift. A force beneath his feet flung him upward. The empty bunker opposite tipped toward him. He pitched forward, flat on the coal pile.
To starboard, a long grinding noise ripped the hull. A shudder passed through the Araby. She rose; she quivered for an instant; she settled back in silence.
Tod Moran put out his hand to grasp the falling lantern. It swayed giddily out of reach, turned over, and, rolling down the plates, flickered out. The darkness closed about his heart.
CHAPTER V
ABANDON SHIP!
IN THE silence that followed, Tod Moran fumbled on his knees for the lantern. When it touched his outstretched hand, he grasped it eagerly, even though he had no matches. Rising quickly, he made his way with infinite caution through the velvet blackness toward the passageway.
"Careful, Joe Macaroni," he thought, "there's an opening here in the deck for the coal chute." He lifted his head at the sound of a muffled cry from the stokehole. Before him he saw the oblong entrance aflame with light as though every furnace door were open and belching forth a fiery tongue. With all the blood in his body throbbing in his ears, he stumbled down the incline, the dark lantern aswing in his hand.
Great flares of light leaped on the bulkhead. In the glare he saw the Finn and Blackie Judson climbing like long-armed apes up the fiddley ladder. A low moan to his right made him turn. Backed against the bulkhead, his face drawn with suffering, stood Neil Moran. Tod's gaze fastened upon his brother's right arm which showed a long burning scar.
Tod sprang toward him. "Neil, you're hurt."
His brother spoke between his teeth. "When she struck, the door swung open. It caught my arm."
The youth whirled. Near the engine-room door, he knew, lay a can of grease. He jumped for it, pushed his hands in the mass of yellow stuff, and was back at his brother's side. "Here, this'll help." He smeared the mixture along the scorching wound. Reaching for his sweat rag, he took it, dirty as it was, and wrapped it about Neil's elbow, fastening it tightly with a torn end. "That'll keep the air off."
"Better already. Listen—what's that?"
Above the steady draft of the furnaces a cry drifted down the ventilators: "Abandon ship!"
Tod's heart dropped. Something seemed to clutch his throat. The Araby was sinking.
"Get up the ladder to the boat deck," Neil urged. "Hurry."
Tod crossed the slanting plates. With his hands on the ladder he turned. "Can you make it alone?"
"I'm all right. You go above."
Reluctantly Tod swung up three iron rungs. There he paused as he glimpsed his brother disappear in the darkness of the engine-room tunnel. Why didn't Neil go above? Why was he slipping aft?
He listened a moment. No sound came from above. From the slant of the plates of the flooring he knew that the ship must have shoved her starboard bow high on a reef. Had she torn a hole in her side? Was she filling her holds with water, slowly going down stern first? No water had yet reached the fire room; she couldn't be sinking this suddenly. As he hesitated there on the ladder he heard the sudden jangle of the engine-room bell. Strange. If the command to abandon ship had been given, who, then, was on the bridge and signalling below? He slid from the ladder and ran for the engine room.
Peering from the low doorway, he saw Neil vanish between the engines and the condenser toward the shaft tunnel. His first thought was to cry out: "Come back, Neil—come back!" Then, as he perceived the second engineer ascending the ladder to the middle grating, he stifled the words on his lips. Staring wide-eyed around the corner of the ventilating fan, he saw, high above, the chief engineer swinging with surprising agility down the iron steps.
"Get back, Mr. Phillips," called the chief.
The second engineer hesitated as he reached the middle grating. "The mate's ordered abandon ship, sir," he answered loudly.
"Get back, Mr. Phillips," repeated the chief, his Scotch face flushed with anger. "We're not leaving the ship yet. I'm in charge here."
"She's sinking," the second yelled in a high voice. "We'll be left behind!"
Tod gave a sudden start as the telegraph bell near him jangled shrilly above the pulsing tumult of the engines. The indicator on the dial curved to the words Stand By.
It caught the attention, too, of the men on the steps, "D'ye hear that bell?" thundered the chief. "Mori., would ye desert?"
The second stood irresolute, with one hand on the iron rail. Slowly he backed down the steps as the chief descended from above. Abruptly the younger man stopped. "Hawkes ordered boats got out!" he shrilled with renewed energy. "She hit a reef— ripped open the plates on the sta'b'rd side. She's going down."
The chief's pink face crimsoned with rage. "You fool, the cap'n's on the bridge now. He's drunk; but the ship isn't sinking yet. Hear that anvil chorus? Get back."
Tod Moran, looking at the slim back of the junior officer, suddenly understood. The second was Hawke's man. His plan of action doubtless had been carefully prepared.
"You Scotch imbecile," the second was snarling, "Hawkes won't let her be saved!" He flung himself up the ladder.
The chief blocked his way. "I'm in charge here," he retorted in a voice of fury. "Ye dare disobey your superior?"
Tod stood as though powerless to move. He saw an automatic flash in the second's hand. He heard his voice raised: "Get out o' my way! I'm going on deck."
The chief's step did not falter; his eyes never wavered. As he swung down the rail, the second raised his hand. Above the noise of the engines a shot cracked faintly.
The chief flung his head backward. His arms, pressed close to his sides, thrust clenched fists towards his throat. He swayed; one hand slid down the rail as he pitched forward. He crashed down the steps to the plates.
"Serves you right!" screamed the second as he grasped the rail for support. "You're not goin' to drown me here like a rat." He stared for an instant at the crumpled form on the floor, then turned and sprang up the steps, two at a time.
Tod Moran jerked into action. He ran to the chief v knelt at his side. The man's face was ashen, the eyes closed. On the chest just above the heart, a crimson stain slowly widened. Tod straightened his legs and moved his arms to his sides. In a stirring instant he saw the chief's eyes open. The man regarded him with a questioning glance.