Part 2

"Oh, pretty fair! The rain hasn't started yet, and on this coast we generally get splashes of rain for quite a few hours before the real thing begins. The sea is rising, but not very fast yet. I don't think we'll see very bad weather till to-morrow."

Just then a merry ripple of woman's laughter sounded from away aft.

"Listen to that, Sinclair," said the mate. "That 'sweet Highland girl' of yours has evidently recovered sufficiently to come on deck. She's back there talking to the captain. I hope he may be as gallant as he sometimes is with our rare lady passengers, and may bring her up here to view the scenery. I should just like to see how you and she would act at your first meeting after the little tiff you had to-day. I'm interested in this case, doctor."

"What the deuce is the matter with you anyway, McLeod? You are talking a lot of rot to me about a young woman I have never seen before. Surely our experiences so far have been unpropitious enough. If it were not that I know about a little girl away back on your own Island, I should say that those moonlight promenades between Hong-Kong and Swatow had turned your head."

"Never mind, Doc. You know that a bad beginning makes a good ending. We people of Highland blood have a sort of second sight. We can see a bit into the future. I give you fair warning----"

There was another ripple of laughter, this time from forward, almost under the bridge. Then a woman's voice said:

"Oh, Captain Whiteley, I behaved myself most shockingly to-day."

"Surely not, Miss MacAllister. I couldn't conceive of your doing anything which wasn't charming."

"You told me that you were a Yorkshireman, Captain Whiteley. After such a speech as that I believe that you must have been born near Blarney Castle. But I really did behave shamefully."

"How?"

"I said just awful things to your doctor."

"And what ever did Dr. Sinclair do to deserve those 'awful things'?"

"It was all your fault, Captain Whiteley. When you introduced him, you did not tell me that he was a doctor. I was sea-sick, and--and in just dreadful humour. He offered assistance. I did not know that he was a medical doctor, sauced him, and sent him about his business. And now what shall I do to make amends? It was all your fault----"

Anything more was lost to the ears of the two young men on the bridge, as she and the captain strolled slowly aft. But the rippling laughter reached their ears from time to time.

"Not very penitent, that!" laughed McLeod.

"Did you catch on to the reason she gave for saucing me, because she didn't know that I was a medical doctor? It was just when she found out that I was a doctor that she gave me the worst. Doesn't that beat the Dutch?"

"'O woman! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,'"

quoted McLeod.

In the light of the binnacle lamp the two friends looked into each other's eyes and laughed heartily. There was no cynicism, no cheap scoff at a woman's variableness. Instead there was that manly healthy-mindedness which can afford to laugh at her inexplicable ways, and honour and admire her still.

"By the way, McLeod, Dr. MacKay put it all over Clark this evening, didn't he? I couldn't hear it all. Caught just the last few sentences. But I thought, from what I heard, that he was giving that old Mormon some knockout blows."

"You're right he was. But not half as much as he deserved. There are some white men who come out here who wouldn't be decent company for pigs. Clark is one of them. I'm no paragon of virtue, and I don't set up to preach to others. But there are a lot of us on the China Coast who try to keep decent enough not to be ashamed to go home once in a while and look our mothers and sisters in the face. There are a number of others who are simply rotten. They give us all a bad name. Mormon! Yes, worse than that! He could give points to old Abdul Hamid of Turkey."

A dash of warm rain driving before a sharp squall of wind struck them. The _Hailoong_ was rising and falling with the mighty heave of the great swells which were following each other in regular succession from the south, each apparently bigger than the last. Captain Whiteley climbed the ladder to the bridge.

"Looks as if we were in for a bad night, Mr. McLeod."

"Yes, sir; and a worse day to follow."

"From the way the sea is rising, I'm afraid we cannot make Tamsui before it breaks."

"I am sure we cannot. I'll be satisfied if it only waits till daylight. We may have our hands full even with the light."

"I see that you have been making things snug. That's right. I'll have a look at everything before eight bells."

The captain went down to see that every preparation was made. McLeod spoke to his companion.

"You had better turn in, Sinclair," he said. "Get a bit of rest. You may be needed to-morrow. Good-night."

"Good-night, Mac."

* * * * *

How long he was in his berth, how much of that time he slept, how much was spent in more or less conscious efforts to keep from being thrown about his cabin, Sinclair did not know. Accustomed though he was to the sea and to storms, there came a time when he could remain in his berth no longer. The angle at which the ship lay over told him that she was still holding in her course of the night before. His cabin was still on the lee side. He opened his door and stepped out, grasping the hand-rail with all his might to keep from being hurled off his feet.

Such a sight met his eyes as is rarely seen even by the sailor who spends his life at sea. The _Hailoong_ was heeled over so far that it seemed hardly possible that she could right herself. It appeared to be the force of the wind rather than of the waves which had thrown her on her beam ends, for she did not recover herself as she ought to have done between the assaults of the billows. Held in that position by sheer wind pressure, she was deluged with water, rain, spray, torn crests of waves--the air was full of them, while ever and anon some mountainous roller, higher than its fellows, swept across her decks in a smother of green water and snowy foam.

So dark was it that at first Sinclair could scarcely tell whether it was night or day. Presently he made out some figures clinging desperately to anything which would afford a hold of safety. He made his way slowly towards them. They were McLeod and a couple of the crew, looking to the lashings of the boats.

"Man, but it's a wild morning whatever!" roared the mate in his ear, lapsing into the idiom of his native province when his feelings were greatly stirred.

"How is she standing it?"

"Fine, so far! The starboard boats are smashed. No other damage done that I know of. But it's hard to tell what may be happening to starboard. Nothing to be seen but water!"

"The engines are working all right," said the doctor, as he noted the steady throb and quiver running like an undertone through the succession of terrific shocks the ship was receiving from the waves.

"Ay, and if they don't work all right, it'll not be Watson's fault. Yon's a grand man whatever."

The mate was off, traversing the tilted deck with marvellous agility and sureness of foot. The doctor went below to see if he could be of any service to the passengers. An hour or more passed, and he was again on deck, working his way forward to get as good a view as possible.

There in the shelter of the forward cabin stood Dr. MacKay. He was bareheaded; his long, black beard was blowing in the wind; his white suit was drenched as if he had been overboard; his keen eyes were striving to pierce the murk of cloud and rain and spray which turned the day almost into night. He seemed to be expecting to get a glimpse of the land.

He was not clinging to the hand-rail, but had his hands clasped behind his back. In spite of the distressing angle at which the ship's deck was tilted, in spite of her pitching and plunging, he seemed able to accommodate himself to her every movement. A man of big stature and splendid physical development himself, Sinclair could not help pausing for some minutes to admire the poise and self-control of that comparatively small, spare, but erect and athletic figure. Then he stepped a little nearer and shouted:

"Do you often have storms like this in Formosa?"

"I have seen as bad; perhaps worse: but not often."

"Do you think that we're near Tamsui?"

"We must be."

"Can we make the harbour?"

"Not this time. We'll be late for the tide."

"A bad wind for putting about and getting out to sea again!"

"'Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of His hand?'"

At that instant a tremendous billow tumbled on board with such a weight of water that for some moments it seemed as if the _Hailoong_ could not rise from beneath it. It caught two Chinese deck-hands, tore them from the bridge supports to which they were clinging, and swept them helplessly from starboard to port. Like a flash MacKay's left hand shot out, grasped a thin brown wrist, and swung one of the natives into the shelter of the cabin. But the other was dashed with terrific force against the deck-rail, where he lay motionless.

Sinclair sprang forward to help him. A second wave hurled him against the rail. He did not fall, but performed some weird gymnastics in the effort to keep his feet. And through the shrieking of the wind and the roar of the waves he heard a clear, joyous woman's laugh, the same as he had heard the night before. There in the shelter of the cabin, on almost the very spot where he had stood a moment before, was Miss MacAllister, looking like the very spirit of the storm.

That was too much. Even Sinclair's usually unruffled temper began to give way. He caught up the helpless Chinese as if he had been a child, and with one quick spring was back to shelter.

"You seem to find it very amusing to see men hurt, Miss MacAllister," he said almost fiercely.

"I did not know that you were hurt, Dr. Sinclair, or I should not have laughed. I am so sorry."

"I'm not hurt," said the young man even more ferociously than before; "but this man is injured, seriously injured, I'm afraid. He's still unconscious."

"Oh, but I was not laughing at him. I was laughing at you. You would have laughed yourself if you could have seen the figure you cut going across the deck. Really, Dr. Sinclair, you would. I simply could not help it."

She looked up in his face with such a childlike innocence of expression, such confidence in the validity of the excuse, that even Dr. MacKay's somewhat stern face relaxed, and he turned away to hide a smile. As for Dr. Sinclair, he was helpless. He could not remain angry under the circumstances. His good-humoured laugh broke out as he replied:

"We must accept your confession, believe in your penitence, and grant you absolution."

He and MacKay went below with the injured Chinese, but in a few minutes reappeared on deck.

"I have not seen your father to-day, Miss MacAllister," said Dr. MacKay.

"He is in his stateroom with mother. She is very ill and he will not leave her."

"I must congratulate you on being so good a sailor. You do not show a symptom of sea-sickness. That is quite remarkable in such a storm as this."

She shot a quick glance at Sinclair. He did not seem to be paying attention to what they were saying. But a quizzical smile playing about his eyes and mouth betrayed his interest in the conversation and his remembrance of what had taken place the evening before.

"Indeed, Dr. MacKay, I am not a good sailor at all. I have been sea-sick when there was only a little chop on the water. I was sea-sick yesterday. I should have been sick to-day, only this storm is so interesting that I have not had time to think about myself. When the officers and crew are being tossed about the deck by the waves, like dead leaves on a burn in autumn, it is really too interesting and amusing to be missed."

The rare smile lighted up the missionary's face as he glanced at Sinclair. The latter accepted the challenge, and a quick answer was on his tongue, when McLeod hurried past. He paused long enough to say to Sinclair:

"We're opposite the harbour, doctor, but we can't make it." Then he ran up on the bridge to join Captain Whiteley, who had not left it since midnight.

The words were intended for Sinclair alone. But a momentary lull in the storm made them louder than McLeod anticipated. Sinclair's two companions heard them. Yet neither showed any trace of concern--neither the mature man who had faced death scores of times on sea and on land, nor the young woman who had never knowingly been in danger before.

The same brief lull in the force of the wind brought an equally momentary gleam of light through the darkness, which had up till then made noonday as gloomy as a late twilight. That gleam lighted for a few short seconds the landscape, and showed the storm-tossed company where they were. There directly ahead was the harbour of Tamsui, with the green and purple hills beyond. There on the nearest hill-top was the Red Fort which for two and a half centuries had braved such storms as this. Just beyond it were the low white bungalows of the mission, nearly hidden in the trees, where anxious eyes were watching for one who was on that battling ship. There, too, were the black balls hanging on the yard-arm at the signal station, saying that the tide was falling and the bar impassable. And the two white beacons for a single instant in line, and then widening apart, told the seamen that not only the tempest but the ebb tide, sweeping past the mouth of the harbour, was bearing them full upon the long curving beach of sand and shells which lay just to the north, where the surf was beating so furiously.

It takes time to tell. But in reality the respite lasted only a few seconds. Then the typhoon burst upon them again, with apparently redoubled violence. The darkness and the tumult of wind and waves were appalling.

"I wonder that you are not afraid," said Sinclair to Miss MacAllister, losing sight of their passages at arms in the seriousness of the situation.

"Should I be afraid?" was her reply.

"Most people would be."

"Are you afraid?"

"No: I do not think I am."

"Well, if you and the other officers who know whatever danger there may be are not afraid, I do not see why I should. They know the situation. I do not. When they tell me that there is serious danger, it will be time enough for me to be frightened."

Then for the first time Sinclair turned upon her a look of genuine admiration. Up to that moment she had been to him a mischievous, teasing, whimsical girl, with a quick wit and a ready tongue, who had been amusing herself at his expense. Now he saw another side to her character. There was a strong, brave nature under the light, changeful surface humours he had seen before.

If she were not afraid, there was at least one passenger who was. During the brief lull in the storm Clark, the tea-buyer, had come on deck. He had hardly reached it when the second fury of the typhoon burst upon them. He was now clinging to the hand-rail, with a face so flabby and ghastly that it was terrible to look upon. He was not sea-sick. He was too experienced a sailor for that. But he was afraid, horribly afraid. As the murk and gloom closed down again, and a gigantic wall of water broke over the ship, making her shudder and struggle like a living thing in death agony, Clark's voice was heard rising in a scream above the roar of the elements:

"MacKay, for God's sake, why don't you pray?"

MacKay looked at the man clinging there in abject terror. For a moment the keen, stern face softened as if in pity. Then it seemed as if the memory of something--was it of that wreck on the East Coast, and the evil deeds done in the chapel and the preacher's house there?--flashed through his mind. His face hardened again, and in a voice like ice he replied:

"Men who honour God when the days are fine do not have to howl to Him for help in the time of storm."

What more the terror-stricken boaster of the evening before may have said was lost on his companions, for something was happening which engrossed all their attention. Down in the engine-room bells jangled sharply. The screw began to thresh the water at a tremendous rate. The _Hailoong_ heeled still farther to port, began to forge ahead, bumped something, was caught by a mighty wave squarely on the stern, righted herself, and plunged forward. Then Sinclair realized what was happening.

"Everybody below!" he shouted. "Quick! The next will catch us on this side. Dr. MacKay, help Miss MacAllister."

Seizing the helpless Clark, he flung him by main strength into safety. They were scarcely under cover when a big roller tumbled on board on the port side. The _Hailoong_ had turned almost completely around, and was fighting her way out to sea.

All afternoon and far into the night the brave little vessel battled with the waves to get back to the coast of the mainland. At last her anxious officers were rewarded by a distant, hazy gleam of light through the dense, water-laden atmosphere. Fifteen seconds passed, almost minutes in length. Again the white beam shot athwart the darkness. Then regularly and growing ever nearer, at intervals of fifteen seconds, the great white light flashed, showing the way to safety. It was Turnabout lighthouse, behind which lay Haitan Straits, winding among the islands, and between them and the mainland shore.

Into one of their many natural harbours the _Hailoong_ cautiously felt her way, and cast anchor in a quiet basin among the hills. There nothing but the torrents of rain falling and the roar of the surf beyond the island barrier remained to tell of the dangers they had passed through. Then Captain Whiteley left the bridge for the first time in more than twenty-four hours. Neither he nor his chief officer had found a chance to sleep for forty-eight hours.

For years afterwards only three persons knew exactly what happened on the bridge that day. Then when Captain Whiteley was commanding a Castle boat running to the Cape, and McLeod had a big trans-Pacific liner, the quarter-master, who with a Chinese sea-cunny had been at the _Hailoong's_ wheel, felt absolved from the promise he had made to McLeod to keep the secret, and told what he knew.

When the momentary lifting of the clouds showed the captain that the wind combined with the ebb of the tide had carried them past the line of entrance to the harbour, towards the shoaling beach on which the surf was beating, he shouted to his mate:

"My God, McLeod, we're lost!"

"Not so bad as that yet, sir!" was the reply.

"There isn't room to turn and clear that shoal water. To starboard it's stern on: to port it's broadside on."

"We haven't tried, sir!"

"Then, for God's sake, McLeod, try!"

The words had hardly left the captain's lips when the engineer received the signal for full steam ahead, and the mate, springing into the wheel-house, flung himself on the wheel, and with the combined strength of three men forced it over. The _Hailoong_ responded gallantly. Her head swung directly towards the dreaded shoal, passed it, and pointed out to sea. So close was she that when the wind caught her stern it dropped just for an instant between two rollers on the hard, smooth sand. But the next one lifted her, gave her churning screw a chance, and the ebb tide, which a moment before had been threatening to send her broadside to destruction, now helped to bear her past the long receding curve of the sand bank, out into the open sea.

"That was the tightest corner I ever was in," Whiteley used to say afterwards; "and it was McLeod who took us out."

But McLeod, in a moment of confidence, said to Sinclair:

"Man, but that engineer, Watson, is the jewel whatever! He let his second handle the levers, while himself held pistols to the heads of the Chinese stokers, and told them to shovel or die in their tracks. That's what saved us. He's a jewel. I never saw his likes whatever."

*IV*

*PARRIED*

It was a bright, calm summer day, perfect in its tropical splendour, when the _Hailoong_ arrived off the port of Tamsui. On the blue, smiling sea and rich green shore not a trace remained of the furious storm of two days before. Where, save for one brief gleam, all had been hidden from sight by the blackness of the tempest and the deluge of rain and spray, there now lay before the ship's company as fair a landscape as the eye could wish to look upon.

Immediately in front of them was the broad, brimming river, its sand-spits and oyster-beds hidden beneath the waters of the full tide. On the right or southern shore a mountain rose from its margin in an isolated peak to the height of seventeen hundred feet, clothed with dense verdure to the very summit. To the left, on a hill and plateau two hundred feet high, were the red brick buildings of the old Dutch fort, the residence of the British consul, and the mission schools, and the white bungalows of the missionaries and customs officers. At the foot of this hill and along the river bank, the mean buildings of the Chinese town of Tamsui straggled off until lost to sight around the curve. Its limits were marked by the little forest of masts of the junks which lay along in front of the town. In the centre of the river, directly opposite the mission houses, a trim gunboat rested at anchor. Over all rose the Taitoon Mountains in successive ranges of green and purple and blue, the highest and farthest summits blending with the unclouded sky.

Exclamations of delight burst from those of the passengers who had never looked upon the scene before.

"Father, isn't this just glorious?"

"It certainly is. I have often heard of the beauty of Formosa, but this first view quite exceeds my expectations."

"It was worth while experiencing that typhoon and being delayed for two days. It heightens the enjoyment of a scene like this. We should not have appreciated it so much if we had been favoured with a peaceful voyage. Do you not think so, Dr. MacKay?"

"Perhaps you are right, Miss MacAllister. But Formosa is always beautiful to me. It never loses its charm. I have gone up and down it for more than a dozen years. I never grow weary of it. It never palls upon me. It is still to me as the first day I saw it 'Ilha Formosa,' the Beautiful Isle. It always will be Beautiful Formosa."

There was an accent in his reply which spoke of more than love for the scenery. Miss MacAllister was not slow to detect it. She heard in it the passionate devotion of a heroic soul to the cause to which he had given his life. It struck a responsive chord somewhere in her own being. It was with a softened voice, a voice expressive of sympathy and admiration, that she said:

"You love the island and its people, Dr. MacKay?"

"I do."

And Sinclair, who chanced to be standing near, as once before during the storm, saw the veil of her surface waywardness lifted and caught a glimpse of a character beneath which was capable of serious purpose.

"Mr. McLeod, that sampan over there with the flag is hailing us."

It was the captain's voice which broke in on the conversation of the group on deck.

"Yes, sir," replied the chief. "It came out from the pilot village, and has been waiting for us."

"I wonder what's up?"

"I don't know, sir. Hold on, they are signalling from the Customs."

In an instant the chief officer had a glass focussed on the flagpole at the customs offices. The other officers and the passengers stood silent while the little fluttering oblongs and triangles of red, white, yellow, and blue talked.

"What do they say, chief?"

"Wait for a pilot. Danger."

"A pilot! The devil! What do they take us for? Some tramp which has never been here before? Perhaps the typhoon shifted the bar."