On deck he found a crowd. The passengers were being allowed to go to the boats. Taking into consideration the darkness, the roaring sea, and the hopelessness of it all, the organization was wonderful. The children were going first. A quarter-master stood at the head of the gangway steps and held the people in check. When Skeen arrived, Mrs. Judge Barrowby was giving this man a piece of what she was pleased to call her mind.
“Man,” she was saying, “let me pass! You do not know who I am. I am the wife of Judge Barrowby.”
“Marm, you may be the wife of the harkangel Gabriel as far as I knows; but I've my orders. Stand aside please. Any more babies in arms?” he cried.
But Mrs. Judge Barrowby knew the value of a good useful life, and persistently blocked up the gangway.
“One woman is as good as another,” she said.
“Ay, except the mothers, and they're better,” said the man, pushing her aside to let a lady and her child pass.
“THAT woman!” cried Mrs. Judge Barrowby. “A woman who has been the talk of the whole ship--before ME--a flirting grass widow!”
“Gawd knows,” said the man, holding her back. “It's little enough to fight about.”
“Yes, marm, to the good God, and I ain't afraid o' HIM! NOW you may go!”
And, fuming, Mrs. Judge Barrowby went down to her death. Not one boat could reach the shore through such a surf, as captain and crew well knew; but there are certain formalities vis-a-vis to human lives which must be observed by ship-captains and doctors and others.
Skeen ran to the other side. Lights were twinkling through the spray; the land was not two hundred yards off, but it was two hundred yards of rock and surf. There was only one chance.
Skeen kicked off his boots and ran back to the saloon. It was all a matter of seconds. For a few moments the brilliant lights dazzled him, and he looked round wildly for Evelyn Crafer. A great fear seized his heart as in a grip of cold iron--but only for a moment. He saw her. She was kneeling by the table, unaware of his presence.
“Oh God,” she was praying aloud, “save him--save HIM from this danger!”
He heard the words as he stopped to lift her like a child from her knees--bringing her back from God to man.
And the end of the Mooroo was a girl sitting before a driftwood fire in the cottage of the old cure of the Ile de Sein, while at her feet knelt a man with his broken arm bound to his side. And he was stroking her hands softly and repeatedly. He was trying to soothe her and make her understand that she was safe.