A ROMANCE AND A FOG.

Otago Witness, Issue 3019, 24 January 1912, Page 90

A ROMANCE AND A FOG.

By Sirius

The smooth, glassy sea, with its scarcely perceptible southerly swell, was gently rolling the schooner Annie Roberts and swinging the long, stately sails to and fro. A slight creaking of a block aloft was the only sound that broke the stillness of the night, as she lay becalmed beneath a glorious starry sky. In the distance revolved Capo Campbell light, and to the south’ard of it the Kaikoura Mountains stood out plain and white with the snow on their summits, while to the nor’ard Terawhiti could bo discerned dimly. The broad, expansive Cook Strait filled the submarine valley that divided the North and the South Island of New Zealand. The Brothers light flashed oa the edge of the horizon, and cautioned the navigator that .to the ndr’-west, about five miles, lay Cook Rock, where the mysterious tides of the Cook Strait swirled around in their ebb and flow.

The wheel of the Annie Roberts being lashed during the present calm, the helmsman leaned drowsily on the bulwarks, expectorating occasionally, as he turned his chew of tobacco in his mouth. His shipmates were all asleep, and he was alone on the ocean, with the passive scene around him. As he turned his gaze in the direction of Wellington Heads he spied the twinkling lights of a steamer, which drew gradually nearer. Absorbed, for the moment, he was unaware of the crawling grey pall that was advancing from the south-east, and only as the cold, damp draught of it stirred" his hair did lie realise that fog was around him. The sails gently filled out with the light gust, and in a moment the Annie Roberts was enveloped in a damp, clammy mist Which shut out the view of land lights and the oncoming steamer.

The helmsman roused the skipper, who turned out with an imprecation. He ordered a man on the “look-out” with the foghorn, and laid his ship close to the wind that came in fitful breezes. The quiet stillness of the night was broken now by the hoarse, ear-splitting sound of the foghorn giving one prolonged blast.

The turbine ferry-steamer Mohawk, bound for Lyttelton, was about ready to leave Queen’s Wharf, at Wellington, with her usual crowded complement of passengers. The last bag of mails was swung aboard and lowered into the hold, then rails were shipped, gangways drawn ashore, and the crew went to stations. Presently the icantain stepped' on the bridge and ordered “stand by” on the telegraph to the officer awaiting bis instructions. She drew away gradually from the wharf under his careful management, andj heading down stream, sped away towards Halswell Point. The peculiar vibration had the instant effect of driving many of the passengers below, and when clearing Pencarrow light to face the open sea the decks appeared almost deserted. Here and there stood groups of those who still retained their sea-legs, discoursing of the Orthodox shipboard topics—the vessel’s speed, the probability of their having a fine night, and a quick run, etc. Somewhat detached from the other groups, and leaning over the rail, stood Ethel Denniston and Dick Sandringham. The former, a pretty girl of 19, had been, from the time they both were children, Dick’s playmate, and then friend. Put as ho grew to manhood the old friendliness deepened into something more tender, till now he knew that for him, Dick Sandringham, young, handsome, and wealthy, there was nothing in the world more desirable than to win Ethel for his wife. Often had he told her of his love, but she, with all the unintentional cruelty that a girl of her age, rich, pretty, bright, and with many admirers, often inflicts, would never listen seriously to him.

To-night, as they two stood in . a secluded portion of the deck, the maid of his dreams seemed to Dick more alluring than ever. The bewitching, girlish curves of her figure, outlined in a well-cut dark blue coat and skirt that she wore. Her face was beautiful, with the beauty of youth and perfect health. The darkbrown eyes, though they could deepen and soften with her emotions, generally held a touch of coquetry, the cheeks were rounded and bright-coloured, and the nose slightly retrousse. Her hair, of a lovely auburn tint, now loosened in front by the breeze, and escaped from under her sable cap. seemed to be lightly kissing her smooth, white forehead as she now stood with Dick, towering in his six feet of robust manhood. Had there been any to observe they would probably have *'token of the girl in the blue coat and skirt and the man in the Harris tweeds as a handsme con pie.

Dick’s fine, intellectual face was disturbed bv inward emotion—a contrast to F,thel’s laughing one, as she said : “ No, no. Dick, we are the best of friends, and why not remain so? Besides, I am not at all sure that I love yon.” ‘‘Yes,” said Dick, “hut I want tr» know my fate now. I can’t see other fellows looking at yon. and admiring vou. without wanting to kick them, and I’m always dreading that one or other of them will win vou. when I feel that yon are mine only mine, darling. Can you not love me as I do you?” And so poor Dink, more serious than he ever was in his life, and Ethel, perverse and teasing, perhaps because she knew how deep was her old play fellow’s love for her, stood-, oblivious of their surroundings.

They were both from Auckland, being two of a party going to Christchurch for Carnival Week. The other members were their respective parents, and others not relevant to mv story. The Dennistons and the Sandringham.s, besides having kindred commercial interests, were friends

of many years’ standing. There was no doubt that, to the heads of the families, a further cementing of this friendship, by the union of Dick and Ethel, would be highly agreeable, and perhaps in the bottom of their heaids, linked a hope that this trip might prove an important factor in the hastening of events. For p’oor Dick could not hide his devotion, and it was patent to both families. After his appeal to Ethel he, in deadly earnest, had her so cornered against the rail that there was no escape. His hands gripped the top iron bar, and so his arms encompassed Ethel, while, in his eagerness, he loaned very close to her face. He was so near to her that lie was conscious of the faint perfume of her el’othes, while her bewitching eyes made him frantic. Ethel was leaning slightly .back, and, to an observer, it would appear as if she were dangerously near to overbalancing herself but for the support she had. “Dearest, I want an answer now. I will not be trifled with any longer,” said Dick, “and if you still persist in this feminine play, I will return to-mor-row by the steamer.” His breath come fast, and almost choked him. There was a look in his eyes that warned Ethel she was temporising with a man's heart. She realised in a flash, that it was Richard Sandringham speaking as he had never spoken before.

Almost frightened, she lifted her arms to place them around his neck, and nearly kissed him. Ah! that sweet moment of one’s lifetime, the sweet oblivion, with the world far away, even in a modern mail steamer ! Who has not experienced it ? So it was with Dick, his long, patient waiting now over, and raising his arms suddenly, he heard a metallic clang, and then all was over. That part of the deck was vacant, no one saw them, and a few seconds later it was quiet, the two who had stood there passed from the world of light and living of the rapid-steaming ocean liner. In the Lyttelton Times of June, 10 —, there appeared the following:— A SAD FATALITY. S.S. Mohawk, during her passage from Wellington to Lyttelton last night, was the scene of an unusual and melancholy accident. Mr Richard Sandringham, son oT Mr C. Sandringham, of Auckland, was supposed to have been last seen with Miss Ethel Den-n-iston, daughter of Mr R. Denniston, also of Auckland, about 9.30 p.m. on the after part of the passengers’ promenade deck. They were missed about midnight by their respective parents, who were proceeding to Christchurch on a holiday, and on inquiring of the stewards of their whereabouts not a vestige of them was to be seen. By this time the vessel was in the midst of a dense fog. Search was made, however, and the captain acquainted with the matter. The sad conclusion to the whole matter is they must have fallen overboard unseen and unheard by anyone, and some proof of this was discovered by an iron hcokod bar being unshipped from the handrail in a part of the deck not much frequented by passengers They might have leaned against this, and unshipped the catch, precipitating themselves into the water. However, this is only a surmise.

Tiro parents, who are well known in Auckland, both in,business and social circles, are, needless to say, in a protracted state of grief and anxiety. They are returning north ). y this evening’s steamer. Much sympathy was expressed by everyone on board as the news of this seeming fatal and melancholy affair spread. When Dick and Ethel found themselves in the water, the shock was too much for the latter, -who swooned immediately. Dick’s heart thumped painfully as the aw fulness of their predicament dawned on him. Half-articulated prayers went up to the Almighty, and died away in broken whispers lie strained his eyes after the vessel in vain hope of its return. Though he made certain he was looking in the right direction, she had vanished; not a trace of her was to be seen on the wide ocean. This shocked surprise absorbed Inis mental activities for the moment, and served ns an antidote to his shattered nerves. Ho commenced kicking off his ho’ote, and divesting himself of his coat and vest, supporting the inanimate form of Ethel in the meantime. He was a good swimmer, for his favourite pastime of yachting in Auckland Harbour had given him many opportunities to practise. He next proceeded to lighten Ethel by pulling off her coat, for he found her a terrible drag on his arm. While accomplishing this with some difficulty, he was aware of some obscurity in the heavens. He screamed aloud in terror.

“Oh God, have mercy, help us!” he cried, in vain endeavours to keep his nu-ntal balance. Well might he pray. Here was fog in all directions. He understood now why he had lost eight of the Mohawk. So' appalling appeared the situation that his stout heart quailed. Ah! but how sweet life is to one who has almost lived the supreme moment of his existence ! And how terrible to have it snatched from him in this cruel manner! Gould a.sything bo more terrible?

Ethel by this time showed signs of semi-consciousness, and it roused him to meet the situation with fresh nerve. A slow, dazed comprehension passed over the unhappy girl’s mind. Surely it was but a dream. No; here was Dick to prove reality, supporting her in this merciless, still sea. Oh: how cold it was. It numbed her limbs ; her teeth chattered, her whole body seemed deprived of life and action. The salt water, bitter in its taste, choked her, and made her gasp for breath. She moaned in unintelligible language, and it smote Dick’s heart to nncontrolable grief and despair. He felt a momentary pleasure in feeling her form in his arms ; its pliable softness. Oh, the dear, curly hair, all in disorder, and the pale face in misery. He kissed her in the midst of his grief, knowing and feeling nothing, hut the gentle pressure of her lips. It was questionable if they could Hold out much longer, and no one can conceive

of the awful horror of the fog, shutting out stars and drawing a clammy shroud over them—the shrould of death. Lower and lower in the ocean their two heads sank, so close together, with the damp fog sweeping around on the smooth sea. What death more terrible, more lonely, than this slow, feeble struggle against God Himself?

Suddenly a harsh, ear-splitting noise broke the stillness, and Dick, dazed beyond description, awoke again to the realisation of his helpless condition. He had fallen momentarily in a faint; in fact, he was gasping for breath, having been under water more than Ethel.

R-a-ra-ro-ra, the hoarse noise of a mechanical foghorn burst on his asfcon. ished ears. He was not dreaming now. He yelled for aid, screamed with all the might of his spent lungs. Ah! has ever a swimmer been nearly drowned and clutched at any support? Magnify this hundred-fold, and you will grasp the meaning of that sound* to Dick. His heart beat and raced with the anxiety of the moment. “Help! help! God help us, we are drowning. Ship ahoy,” he cried, and yet hie voice seemed so lew to him. There was no need for more, the vessel almost brushed them as she crept along in that dense and deadening fog. “Hallo, there! What is the matter?” cried a voice front the vessel’s deck. “Send us help,” yelled Dick. “For the love of God, seed us help.” In a few minutes a small boat put off from the vessel, which was luffed into the light breeze to stop her way. Dick was soon lifted into it, with the apparently lifeless Ethel; but he was so completely overwhelmed by the shock of recovery that he fainted away. They were soon passed aboard by the aid of willing hands, and taken down to the tiny cabin of the Annie Roberts, where all that was possible in that small and limited space was done for their benefit. The following appeared in the Auckland Herald on July, 19—: A REMARKABLE ESCAPE. RETURNED FROM THE DEAD. The schooner Annie Roberts arrived in Auckland yesterday, and during her voyage from Dunedin, when off Gape Campbell, she was instrumental in saving two lives from a dreadful and agonising death. A week ago the strange and hitherto unexplained disappearance of Mr Richard Sandringham and Miss Ethel Denniston filled the columns cf every newspaper in the Dominion. It had become quite an accepted fact that these two young people had fallen overboard from the s.s. Mohawk, and this was literally true. The schooner Annie Roberts, however, was just on. or near, the scene of the accident, in the dense fog that prevailed at the time. A cry was heard, and a beat put off immediately to the locality, and with providential luck found them. Needless to remark, they vote soon hoisted on board more dead than alive, having been in the water probably about TO minutes or a-qcarter of an hour. Owing to adverse winds and fog, the schooner was unable to put into Wellington to land the unfortunate castaways, so she proceeded on her voyage to Auckland. Though Mr Sandringham lias quite recovered from the effects of his terrible experience. it is quite evident that Miss Ethel Denniston has not. She was taken aahoro in a more or Ices weak condition, but the doctor considers this natural after such a severe mental shock. Both of them are to bo congratulated on their remarkable escape. There is more than a likelihood that this is the prelude to an interesting annonncement shortly. Although it has been a rather adventurous romance, it bids fair to have a happy conclusion..