The Indian Drum by William MacHarg (classic english novels txt) 📕

"Dear little Connie!" he said aloud. "Dear little Connie! She mustn't marry him—not him! That must be seen to. What shall I do, what shall I do?"

Alan worked nearer him. "Why mustn't she marry him?" he cried to Corvet. "Why? Ben Corvet, tell me! Tell me why!"

From above him, through the clangor of the cars, came the four blasts of the steam whistle. The indifference with which Alan had heard them a few minutes before had changed now to a twinge of terror. When men had been dying about him, in their attempts to save the ship, it had seemed a small thing for him to be crushed or to drown with them and with Benjamin Corvet, whom he had found at last. But Constance! Recollection of her was stirring in Corvet the torture of will to live; in Alan—he struggled and tried to free himself. As well as he could tell by feeling, the weight above him confined but was not crushing him; yet what gain for her if he only saved himself and not Corvet too? He turned back to Corvet.

"She's going to marry him, Ben Corvet!" he called. "They're betrothed; and they're going to be married, she and Henry Spearman!"

"Who are you?" Corvet seemed only with an effort to become conscious of Alan's presence.

"I'm Alan Conrad, whom you used to take care of. I'm from Blue Rapids. You know about me; are you my father, Ben Corvet? Are you my father or what—what are you to me?"

"Your father?" Corvet repeated. "Did he tell you that? He killed your father."

"Killed him? Killed him how?"

"Of course. He killed them all—all. But your father—he shot him; he shot him through the head!"

Alan twinged. Sight of Spearman came before him as he had first seen Spearman, cowering in Corvet's library in terror at an apparition. "And the bullet hole above the eye!" So that was the hole made by the shot Spearman fired which had killed Alan's father—which shot him through the head! Alan peered at Corvet and called to him.

"Father Benitot!" Corvet called in response, not directly in reply to Alan's question, rather in response to what those questions stirred. "Father Benitot!" he appealed. "Father Benitot!"

Some one, drawn by the cry, was moving wreckage near them. A hand and arm with a torn sleeve showed; Alan could not see the rest of the figure, but by the sleeve he recognized that it was the mate.

"Who's caught here?" he called down.

"Benjamin Corvet of Corvet, Sherrill, and Spearman, ship owners of Chicago," Corvet's voice replied deeply, fully; there was authority in it and wonder too—the wonder of a man finding himself in a situation which his recollection cannot explain.

"Ben Corvet!" the mate shouted in surprise; he cried it to the others, those who had followed Corvet and obeyed him during the hour before and had not known why. The mate tried to pull the wreckage aside and make his way to Corvet; but the old man stopped him. "The priest, Father Benitot! Send him to me. I shall never leave here; send Father Benitot!"

The word was passed without the mate moving away. The mate, after a minute, made no further attempt to free Corvet; that indeed was useless, and Corvet demanded his right of sacrament from the priest who came and crouched under the wreckage beside him.

"Father Benitot!"

"I am not Father Benitot. I am Father Perron of L'Anse."

"It was to Father Benitot of St. Ignace I should have gone, Father! ..."

The priest got a little closer as Corvet spoke, and Alan heard only voices now and then through the sounds of clanging metal and the drum of ice against the hull. The mate and his helpers were working to get him free. They had abandoned all effort to save the ship; it was settling. And with the settling, the movement of the wreckage imprisoning Alan was increasing. This movement made useless the efforts of the mate; it would free Alan of itself in a moment, if it did not kill him; it would free or finish Corvet too. But he, as Alan saw him, was wholly oblivious of that now. His lips moved quietly, firmly; and his eyes were fixed steadily on the eyes of the priest.

The message, in blurred lettering and upon the flimsy tissue paper of a carbon copy—that message which had brought tension to the offices of Corvet, Sherrill, and Spearman and had called Constance Sherrill and her mother downtown where further information could be more quickly obtained—was handed to Constance by a clerk as soon as she entered her father's office. She reread it; it already had been repeated to her over the telephone.

"4:05 A. M. Frankfort Wireless station has received following message from No. 25: 'We have Benjamin Corvet, of Chicago, aboard.'"

"You've received nothing later than this?" she asked.

"Nothing regarding Mr. Corvet, Miss Sherrill," the clerk replied.

"Or regarding— Have you obtained a passenger list?"

"No passenger list was kept, Miss Sherrill."

"The crew?"

"Yes; we have just got the names of the crew." He took another copied sheet from among the pages and handed it to her, and she looked swiftly down the list of names until she found that of Alan Conrad.

Her eyes filled, blinding her, as she put the paper down, and began to take off her things. She had been clinging determinedly in her thought to the belief that Alan might not have been aboard the ferry. Alan's message, which had sent her father north to meet the ship, had implied plainly that some one whom Alan believed might be Uncle Benny was on Number 25; she had been fighting, these last few hours, against conviction that therefore Alan must be on the ferry too.

She stood by the desk, as the clerk went out, looking through the papers which he had left with her.

"What do they say?" her mother asked.

Constance caught herself together.

"Wireless signals from No. 25," she read aloud, "were plainly made out at shore stations at Ludington, Manitowoc, and Frankfort until about four o'clock, when—"

"That is, until about six hours ago, Constance."

"Yes, mother, when the signals were interrupted. The steamer Richardson, in response to whose signals No. 25 made the change in her course which led to disaster, was in communication until about four o'clock; Frankfort station picked up one message shortly after four, and same message was also recorded by Carferry Manitoulin in southern end of lake; subsequently all efforts to call No. 25 failed of response until 4:35 when a message was picked up at once by Manitowoc, Frankfort, and the Richardson. Information, therefore, regarding the fate of the ferry up to that hour received at this office (Corvet, Sherrill, and Spearman) consists of the following..."

Constance stopped reading aloud and looked rapidly down the sheet and then over the next. What she was reading was the carbon of the report prepared that morning and sent, at his rooms, to Henry, who was not yet down. It did not contain therefore the last that was known; and she read only enough of it to be sure of that.

"After 4:10, to repeated signals to Number 25 from Richardson and shore stations—'Are you in danger?' 'Shall we send help?' 'Are you jettisoning cars?' 'What is your position?'—no replies were received. The Richardson continued therefore to signal, 'Report your position and course; we will stand by,' at the same time making full speed toward last position given by Number 25. At 4:35, no other message having been obtained from Number 25 in the meantime, Manitowoc and Frankfort both picked up the following: 'S.O.S. Are taking water fast. S.O.S. Position probably twenty miles west N. Fox. S.O.S.' The S.O.S. has been repeated, but without further information since."

The report made to Henry ended here. Constance picked up the later messages received in response to orders to transmit to Corvet, Sherrill, and Spearman copies of all signals concerning Number 25 which had been received or sent. She sorted out from them those dated after the hour she just had read:

"4:40, Manitowoc is calling No. 25, 'No. 26 is putting north to you. Keep in touch.'

"4:43, No. 26 is calling No. 25, 'What is your position?'

"4:50, the Richardson is calling No. 25, 'We must be approaching you. Are you giving whistle signals?'

"4:53, No. 25 is replying to Richardson, 'Yes; will continue to signal. Do you hear us?'

"4:59, Frankfort is calling No. 25, 'What is your condition?'

"5:04, No. 25 is replying to Frankfort, 'Holding bare headway; stern very low.'

"5:10, No. 26 is calling No. 25, 'Are you throwing off cars?'

"5:14, Petoskey is calling Manitowoc, 'We are receiving S.O.S. What is wrong?' Petoskey has not previously been in communication with shore stations or ships.

"5:17, No. 25 is signalling No. 26, 'Are throwing off cars; have cleared eight; work very difficult. We are sinking.'

"5:20, No. 25 is calling the Richardson, 'Watch for small boats. Position doubtful because of snow and changes of course; probably due west N. Fox, twenty to thirty miles.'

"5:24, No. 26 is calling No. 25, 'Are you abandoning ship?'

"5:27, No. 25 is replying to No. 26, 'Second boat just getting safely away with passengers; first boat was smashed. Six passengers in second boat, two injured of crew, cabin maid, boy and two men.'

"5:30, Manitowoc and Frankfort are calling No. 25, 'Are you abandoning ship?'

"5:34, No. 25 is replying to Manitowoc, 'Still trying to clear cars; everything is loose below...'

"5:40, Frankfort is calling Manitowoc, 'Do you get anything now?'

"5:45, Manitowoc is calling the Richardson, 'Do you get anything? Signals have stopped here.'

"5:48, The Richardson is calling Petoskey, 'We get nothing now. Do you?'

"6:30, Petoskey is calling Manitowoc, 'Signals after becoming indistinct, failed entirely about 5:45, probably by failure of ship's power to supply current. Operator appears to have remained at key. From 5:25 to 5:43 we received disconnected messages, as follows: 'Have cleared another car ... they are sticking to it down there ... engine-room crew is also sticking ... hell on car deck ... everything smashed ... they won't give up ... sinking now ... we're going ... good-by ... stuck to end ... all they could ... know that ... hand it to them ... have cleared another car ... sink ... S.O.... Signals then entirely ceased.'"

There was no more than this. Constance let the papers fall back upon the desk and looked to her mother; Mrs. Sherrill loosened her fur collar and sat back, breathing more comfortably. Constance quickly shifted her gaze and, trembling and with head erect, she walked to the window and looked out. The meaning of what she had read was quite clear; her mother was formulating it.

"So they are both lost, Mr. Corvet and his—son," Mrs. Sherrill said quietly.

Constance did not reply, either to refuse or to concur in the conclusion. There was not anything which was meant to be merciless in that conclusion; her mother simply was crediting what probably had occurred. Constance could not in reason refuse to accept it too; yet she was refusing it. She had not realized, until these reports of the wireless messages told her that he was gone, what companionship with Alan had come to mean to her. She had accepted it as always to be existent, somehow—a companionship which might be interrupted often but always to be formed again. It amazed her to find how firm a place he had found in her world of those close to her with whom she must always be intimately concerned.

Her mother arose and came beside her. "May it not be better, Constance, that it has happened this way?"

"Better!" Constance cried. She controlled herself.

It was only what Henry had said to her months ago when Alan had left her in the north in the search which had resulted in the finding of Uncle Benny—"Might it not be better for him not to find out?" Henry, who could hazard more accurately than any one else the nature of that strange secret which Alan now must have "found out," had believed it; her mother,