The life in the wilderness, and then in the dominance
and masterdom of enterprise, had hardened and strengthened him into more
self-reliant manhood, giving him greater forbearance and a more practical
view of things. When he took ship in the _Dominion_, a large cargo-boat with some
passengers running to London, he had a vague purpose of visiting in
secret Norcester, whence he could manage to find out how matters were at
Normanstand. He would then, he felt, be in a better position to regulate
his further movements. He knew that he had already a sufficient disguise
in his great beard. He had nothing to fear from the tracing of him on
his journey from Alaska or the interest of his fellow-passengers. He had
all along been so fortunate as to be able to keep his identity concealed. The name John Robinson told nothing in itself, and the width of a whole
great continent lay between him and the place of his fame. He was able
to take his part freely amongst both the passengers and the officers. Even amongst the crew he soon came to be known; the men liked his
geniality, and instinctively respected his enormous strength and his
manifest force of character. Men who work and who know danger soon learn
to recognise the forces which overcome both. And as sufficient time had
not elapsed to impair his hardihood or lower his vast strength he was
facile princeps. And so the crew acknowledged him; to them he was a born
Captain whom to obey would be a natural duty. After some days the weather changed. The great ship, which usually
rested even-keeled on two waves, and whose bilge keels under normal
conditions rendered rolling impossible, began to pitch and roll like a
leviathan at play. The decks, swept by gigantic seas, were injured
wherever was anything to injure. Bulwarks were torn away as though they
had been compact of paper. More than once the double doors at the head
of the companion stairs had been driven in. The bull's eye glasses of
some of the ports were beaten from their brazen sockets. Nearly all the
boats had been wrecked, broken or torn from their cranes as the great
ship rolled heavily in the trough, or giant waves had struck her till she
quivered like a frightened horse. At that season she sailed on the far northern course. Driven still
farther north by the gales, she came within a short way of south of
Greenland. Then avoiding Moville, which should have been her place of
call, she ran down the east of Britain, the wild weather still
prevailing. CHAPTER XXXI--THE LIFE-LINE


On the coast of Angleshire the weather in the early days of September had
been stormy. With the south-west wind had come deluges of rain, not a
common thing for the time of year on the east coast. Stephen, whose
spirits always rose with high wind, was in a condition of prolonged
excitement. She could not keep still; every day she rode long distances,
and found a wonderful satisfaction in facing the strong winds. Like a
true horsewoman she did not mind the wet, and had glorious gallops over
the grassy ridge and down the slopes on the farther side, out on the open
road or through the endless grass rides amid the pine woods. On the Tuesday morning the storm was in full sweep, and Stephen was in
wild spirits. Nothing would do her but to go out on the tower of the
castle where she could walk about, and leaning on the crenellated parapet
look over all the coast stretching far in front and sweeping away to the
left and right. The prospect so enchanted her, and the fierce sweep of
the wind so suited her exalted mood, that she remained there all the
morning. The whole coast was a mass of leaping foam and flying spray,
and far away to the horizon white-topped waves rolled endlessly. That
day she did not even ride out, but contented herself with watching the
sea and the storm from the tower. After lunch she went to her tower
again; and again after tea. The storm was now furious. She made up her
mind that after dinner she would ride down and see its happenings close
at hand. When she had finished dinner she went to her room to dress for her ride. The rush and roar of the storm were in her ears, and she was in wild
tumultuous spirits. All her youth seemed to sweep back on her; or
perhaps it was that the sickness of the last two years was swept away. Somewhere deep down in Stephen's heart, below her intention or even her
consciousness, was a desire to be her old self if only for an hour. And
to this end externals were of help. Without weighing the matter in her
mind, and acting entirely on impulse, she told her maid to get the red
habit she had not worn for years. When she was dressed she sent round to
have out her white Arab; while it was getting ready she went once more to
the tower to see the storm-effect in the darkening twilight. As she
looked, her heart for an instant stood still. Half-way to the horizon a
great ship, ablaze in the bows, was driving through the waves with all
her speed. She was heading towards the little port, beyond which the
shallows sent up a moving wall of white spray. Stephen tore down the turret stair, and gave hurried directions to have
beds prepared in a number of rooms, fires everywhere, and plenty of
provisions. She also ordered that carriages should be sent at once to
the fishing port with clothing and restoratives. There would, she felt,
be need for such help before a time to be measured by minutes should have
passed; and as some of her servants were as yet strange to her ways she
did not leave anything to chance. One carriage was to go for the doctor
who lived at Lannoy, the village over the hill, whence nothing could be
seen of what was happening. She knew that others within sight or hailing
would be already on their way. Work was afoot, and had she time, or
thought of it, she would have chosen a more sedate garb. But in the
excitement no thought of herself came to her. In a few seconds she was in the saddle, tearing at full speed down the
road that led to the port. The wind was blowing so strongly in her face
that only in the lulls could she hear the hoof-strokes of the groom's
horse galloping behind her. At first the height of the road allowed her to see the ship and the port
towards which she was making. But presently the road dipped, and the
curving of the hill shut both from her sight; it was only when she came
close that she could see either again. Now the great ship was close at hand. The flames had gained terribly,
and it was a race for life or death. There was no time do more than run
her aground if life was to be saved at all. The captain, who in the gaps
of the smoke could be seen upon the bridge, knew his work well. As he
came near the shoal he ran a little north, and then turned sharply so as
to throw the boat's head to the south of the shoal. Thus the wind would
drive fire and smoke forward and leave the after part of the vessel free
for a time.