In the Roaring Fifties | Page 3

the Hermit!' gasped Ryan, with an expiration of
intense relief.
Coleman's stony expression instantly relaxed, he recovered himself
with a jerk of the bead.

'Well,' he murmured bitterly, 'of all the stuck pigs! What the blue fury
're ye all sittin' garpin' at like a lot o' demented damn kelpies? Give way
there! How's the young lady, Smith?'
'She don' seem perticler bad,' answered Smith doubtfully. He was
struggling to wrap his charge in a length of stiff, crackling sailcloth,
puzzled by the white face of the girl.
Coleman looked sharply at the young man, who was seated on the
gunwale, but, discovering no encouragement in his set face and careless
eyes, repressed his curiosity, and devoted himself to the task of
overhauling the Francis Cadman. It was a long and trying job, but he
accomplished it without having exhausted his eloquence. Indeed, his
terms of endearment had been cautiously selected throughout, out of a
heroic respect for the lady passenger. The boatswain's idea of language
becoming in the presence of the gentler sex was rather liberal, perhaps;
but in any case his nice consideration was wasted upon the girl, who
heard never a word. She lay as if in the grip of fever, her distorted mind
pursuing quaint visions and trifling and irrelevant ideas. As they drew
near, the rescue-party sent out a breathless cheer, which was answered
from the ship with a wild yell of exultation, and then a broadside of
questions burst from the deck of the Francis Cadman, where every
creature on board excitedly awaited the boat's return. The sonorous and
masterful voice enforced silence again with a sentence.
'How is it, bo's'n?' called the same voice a moment later.
'Got 'em both, sir,' answered Coleman.
'Both!'
'Ay, ay, sir!'
A tumult of voices surged over the ship again; the heads piled
themselves afresh, craning one above the other. Two had gone
overboard! Only one had been reported, and one only was missed.
Interest was doubled. For four weeks the Francis Cadman had been
pottering about the Indian Ocean without discovering a single

adventure to break the stupid monotony of sky and sea, and restore the
faith of the passengers in their favourite maritime authors; but here, at
last, was a sensation and a mystery.
Perhaps, after all, it was no mere accident, but a tragedy. Men and
women thronged the deck, thrilling with sympathy, and yet secretly
hoping for a complete drama, even though someone must suffer.
The girl was first passed up. When the young man followed she had
been carried below. He was barefooted, and clad only in singlet and
trousers; his coat and shirt had been discarded in the sea.
Ryan's expression sprang from every tongue.
'The Hermit!'
The young man stood with his shoulders to the gunwale, facing the
crowd. There was something resentful in his attitude. His face was that
of a man about twenty-two, beardless and boyish, but the firm, straight
mouth, with its compressed, slightly protuberant lips, and the thick line
of dark brows, throwing the eyes into shadows, imparted an appearance
of sullen reserve that belonged to an older face. His scrutiny
condemned men and repelled them. His figure, about three inches
above middle height, was that of a labourer whose strength was
diffused through the limbs by swift and subtle exercise. There was
nothing rugged in his powerful outline, and every attitude had an
architectural suggestion of strength.
Captain Evan peered at the youth closely, and not without a hint of
suspicion. 'Your name's Done, isn't it?' he said.
The Hermit nodded shortly.
'How did all this happen, my man?'
'I was leaning on the gunnel by the main-chains when I heard a cry and
a splash, and saw the girl's body past. I dropped in after her.'

'You saved her life, then?'
'I helped her to keep afloat till the boat reached us.'
'Good boy!' Captain Evan put out his hand as if with the intention of
giving Done an approving pat on the shoulder, but the young man
turned away abruptly, thrusting himself through the men, who had
clustered around him muttering diffident compliments, and
endeavouring to shake him by the hand.
'Blast it all, don't maul a man about!' said the hero sulkily, and the
crowd made way for him.
Below Jim Done stripped hastily, wrung out his wet clothes upon the
littered floors and climbed into his bunk, threatening to tear down a
whole terrace of the crazy structures as he did so.
The Francis Cadman was not ordinarily a passenger boat: she was
commissioned to carry two hundred and fifty sailors to the ships left
helpless in Corio Bay and Hobson's Bay, deserted by their crews, who,
in spite of official strategies, had fled to the diggings immediately after
anchors were dropped in Victorian