The Wreck of the Titan or, Futility by Morgan Robertson

Author:Morgan Robertson [Robertson, Morgan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ships -- Fiction, Shipwrecks -- Fiction, Sea stories, American
Published: 2008-03-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

"Fully committed," muttered Denman, as he drew back from the deadlight. "They'll stop at nothing now."

He was about to open his door to visit Florrie, if she had descended, when it was opened from without by Billings, who had brought his breakfast.

"We'll have better grub for a while, sir," he said, as he deposited the tray on the desk. "Suppose you know what happened?"

"Yes, and I see life imprisonment for all of you, unless you are killed in the catching."

"Can't help it, sir," answered Billings, with a deprecatory grin. "We're not going back to jail, nor will we starve on the high seas. All we're waiting for is the course to the African coast—unless—" He paused.

"Unless what?" demanded Denman, leaning over his breakfast.

"Well—unless the vote is to stay at sea. We've got a good, fast boat under us."

"What do you mean? Continued piracy?"

"I can't tell you any more, sir," answered Billings, and he went off, after carefully locking the door behind him.

When Denman had finished his breakfast, he quietly let himself out. Tapping on the after door, he saw Florrie's shadow on the translucent glass, and opened it.

She stood before him with the bandages removed, and he saw her features for the first time since she had come aboard. They were pink, and here and there was a blister that had not yet disappeared; but, even so handicapped, her face shone with a beauty that he had never seen in a woman nor imagined in the grown-up child that he remembered. The large, serious, gray eyes were the same; but the short, dark ringlets had developed to a wealth of hair that would have suitably crowned a queen.

Denman stood transfixed for a moment, then found his tongue.

"Florrie," he said, softly, so as not to be heard from above, "is this really you? I wouldn't have known you."

"Yes, I know," she answered, with a smile, which immediately changed to a little grimace of pain. "I was badly scalded, but I had to take off the cloth to eat my breakfast."

"No," he said. "I didn't mean that. I mean you've improved so. Why, Florrie, you've grown up to be a beauty. I never imagined you—you—looking so fine."

"Don't talk like that, Billie Denman. I'm disfigured for life, I know. I can never show my face again."

"Nonsense, Florrie. The redness will go away. But, tell me, why didn't you go aboard that yacht? I overheard you talking to Sampson. Why didn't you go, and get away from this bunch?"

"I have just told you," she answered, while a tint overspread her pink face that did not come of the scalding. "There were women on that yacht. Do you think I want to be stared at, and pitied, and laughed at?"

"I never thought of that," said Denman; "but I suppose it is a very vital reason for a woman. Yet, it's too bad. This boat is sure to be captured, and there may be gun fire. It's a bad place for you. But, Florrie—let me tell you.

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