CHAPTER XII
"A CALL FOR NERVE"
At midnight it was Jack's wheel and Broncho's look-out.
"How's she steering?" asked Jack, as he took the wheel from Hank.
"Oh, not so dusty. They've got the relievin' tackles rigged, an' she only wants watching. Ain't yew got no lee-wheel with yew, though?"
"No, I guess I can manage."
"Waal, I reckon yew can tiew, though it'll come heavy on yew, durned heavy."
It was now blowing a strong, steady gale, with squalls at intervals—a good fair sample of "running easting down" weather.
The sky was almost clear, and the great Southern Cross gleamed high up in the heavens.
The Higgins required careful watching to meet her in time as she was hurled from mountain to valley. Down, down, down into the depths, down she dropped until the foresail began to shake; then up, up, up she went again, staggering desperately to reach the top as, like a beast of prey, a great hill of whirling liquid with a seething crest of foam swooped upon her.
High up above the helmsman it reared its raging top, a nerve-shaking, a terror-giving sight as it threatened to overwhelm the struggling ship with its huge bulk and roll her over and over, broken, waterlogged, sinking—only one more ship to be posted as missing, gone to an unknown grave in the vast depths of the mighty Southern Ocean. But up swung the stern of the gallant clipper as, held steady by Jack's cool hand, she ran dead before it, and the great roller rushed by harmless and fell with a deafening clatter upon the flooded maindeck.
In such a sea everything depends upon the helmsman, and the bosun kept handy to the wheel, ready to give his powerful aid should the emergency arise.
But the rolling-stone needed no help—he was thoroughly in his element. A magnificent helmsman, a few spokes either way and he kept the Higgins steady on her course.
The thought that the safety of the vessel and the lives of his shipmates depended upon his skill and nerve was pure bliss to him. He rejoiced in it, and mocked at the vainly pursuing seas.
The helm was heavy, however, for one man, and all his strength was needed; yet he felt it not. His muscles rebounded to the call upon them, and he threw the wheel up a turn with easy grace, where another man would have been straining with cracking muscles.
With legs firmly planted on the grating, he stood to windward, swaying easily with the motion of the vessel, whilst with keen eyes he steered by a star at the yardarm, hardly taking a glance at that deceiver, the compass.
This, this was life, strenuous, stern, full of fearful hardship, yet wonderful bewitching joy—the life which sharpens the faculties, quickens the wits, and hardens the backbone of a man, producing at the same time a self-reliance not to be come at by any other method.
It is the strife, the struggle, the fierce endeavour which, once experienced, make the quieter, more tranquil paths of life seem dull and insipid.
It is the sense of safety in this life which palls upon men and drives adventurers forth into the world, seeking anything that will arouse their natures, grown sluggish and torpid in the monotony of the modern daily round.
Some go and shoot big game, others climb mountains, a few explore, and some rush gaily into foreign wars, all for the same reason, to shake off the choking folds of security's sombre cloak and feel the thrill of danger.
What is there to compare with this exulting feeling, this tasting of the juice of peril in realms where the spice of life, the sweets of a hard-fought victory, are known to the full?
In these realms the qualities of nerve and pluck are at a premium, and he who has not sufficient goes under, broken and tossed aside in swift defeat. In these realms a man is thoroughly tested and tempered in the fire, and he must be "clean strain" or he won't survive the ordeal.
Jack gazed with a look of defiance into the heart of the storm.
"Fight me, you raging sea and howling wind," he cried in his exultation; "overcome me, if it is so fated, but I will give you a stiff battle. All my cunning, all my nerve, all my endurance are ready to my call. Exhaust them if you can, break them down, but first you have to break my spirit, strain it, tear it, beat upon it, crush it down; and if you are able to destroy it, you can take my useless body also. Blow, ye winds; smite me, O sea, for I am ready!" And he hummed the famous chanty:
"Blow the man down, Johnny, blow the man down!
To my aye, aye, blow the man down!
If he be white man or black man or brown,
Give me some time to blow the man down."
Meanwhile, on the foc's'le head, Bucking Broncho trudged up and down, five paces to windward and five paces back in a vain attempt to keep himself warm.
"This here seems a pretty tough game I'm into," he mused. "It shore needs sand to make a winnin' against the kyards these tempestuous elements holds up, an' a gent can't drop out o' this game the fates drags him into. He's got to stay with it from his first sun-up to his last moon-rise, for if he lays down an' quits he leaves this mortal game for good, which no critter with the smallest grain o' sand is goin' to do without puttin' up some sort of a fight; yet when Providence begins to crowd the play an' get action this-a-way, it's shore a hard, deep crossin'.
"I never allows I'd have to dig up the hatchet an' go on the war-path with any sech ragin', blisterin' proposition as this. It kind o' shakes the grit out of a man an' makes him feel small an' petty."
As the Higgins rushed madly before the blast, she buried her nose to the cat-heads in each huge comber. At each plunge she threw great masses of spray full fifty feet away from her dripping cutwater to port and starboard.
The wind roared in a voice of thunder out of the foot of the foresail, but with the exception of the fore-topmast staysail the head sails had been made fast, and the long bare jibboom stabbed viciously into the smother as each overtaking sea rushed onward.
Broncho, as he looked ahead with straining eyes, submitted to a strong feeling of awe as each gigantic sea went foaming by, leaving a white curtain of spume and froth in its train as it roared past at headlong speed.
The majesty, the might, the stupendous power of the furious sea, its insolent treatment of the strong ship as it raged around her, its fury, its superb grandeur—all these appealed to the wild soul of the cowboy, and the charm, the fascination of the Great Waters was beginning to wrap itself around him.
It is this great power of fascination and attraction which the sea possesses that gets to the root of men's hearts, and, once there, can never be exorcised.
Suddenly, as Broncho watched the furious battle and meditated thereon, at a moment when the Higgins balanced giddily on the top of a sixty-foot "grey-beard," he caught sight of a ship hove-to on the port tack under lower-topsails, lying right across the down-easter's bows.
"Ship right ahead," he yelled. "We'll be clean over her as we're goin'."
Before he could say more the stranger lay close aboard on the crest of the last roller, in plain view of all.
She was an iron Clyde-built barque, with painted ports, and made a grand picture in the moonlight as she lifted gracefully to the top of the great hill of water. Helpless, unable to move out of the way, she lay at the mercy of the Higgins, and a collision in that sea would mean the loss of both ships with all hands.
"We'll hit her plumb on the port quarter," cried the bosun to Jack. "Down with your helm, down with it, even if we have our decks swept bare," he roared.
To bring the sea on either beam would mean the grave danger of broaching to, with the chance of a capsize and the certainty of having the decks swept fore and aft.
Jack, cool and collected as ever, hove the wheel down a few spokes.
"Right down!" yelled the bosun, who was hanging on to the mizzen backstays. "Right down, or you won't clear her."
"If you leave it to me, I'll clear her all right," said the rover coolly, his eyes glued on the barque.
"Have it your way, have it your way," returned the bosun, giving in to Jack's calm confidence.
"Better order the hands aloft, or some one'll get taken overboard," went on Jack quietly; "and you might hand me the end of that boom-guy."
As Jack hurriedly lashed himself to the wheel, the bosun's deep voice broke through the noise of the gale like a foghorn.
"Aloft, all hands!" he thundered. "Away aloft for your lives."
The men needed no second bidding, but raced up the ratlines, for a gigantic roller was raising its head above them to starboard as it tore down upon the Higgins.
It was a moment of terrible peril. Would they go clear of the barque? Would the huge "grey-beard" destroy them? Two heavy chances against them. Everything depended on Jack's skill, his keen eye, his strong arm, and his nerve—above all, his nerve.
The elements had taken up his wild challenge with a vengeance. He had swung the Higgins four points off her course and stood braced ready for the shock, for that terror of sailors, a pooper, was approaching at terrific speed. The bosun, half way up the mizzen rigging, yelled wildly to him. He caught something about "hanging on," but the rest was lost in the roar of the gale.
Over his shoulder he caught a quick glimpse of the approaching sea, a great wall of water, black and forbidding, which, as it raced in pursuit of the flying clipper, grew momentarily more mountainous, until, having reached the limit of its growth, it burst its whole length of summit into boiling, hissing white water, which gave it more than ever the appearance of a snow-capped ridge of solid earth.
As Jack turned his eyes resolutely away, he realised how the inhabitants of Herculaneum must have felt the moment before Vesuvius poured its molten lava upon them.
Still he stood erect, head up, without a flinch. It was a position sufficient to scare the stoutest heart, and freeze a man's brain into idiocy. Yet his nerve never failed him, whilst the watch clung aloft, shaking with sheer fright, and with wavering eyes stared wildly from the helpless barque to Jack, and from Jack to the swooping demon of a sea, which, roaring and raging in pursuit, lifted its foaming head on a level with their blanched faces.
Broncho, hanging in the fore-rigging, gave his chum up for lost.
"He's shore due to cash in this time," he muttered sadly. "Even if we-alls go clear o' that ship, he'll come through the racket a drowned cawpse. Poor old Jack, standin' thar game as hornets, no more fretted than if he's coolly sittin' down to a poker game."
Jack gave one last look astern at the approaching sea, and then a keen glance at the hove-to Scotchman.
"We'll do it by the skin of our teeth," he murmured, as he put the helm up a few spokes to steady her as she went.
And now the mountain of water was upon him. Catching the Higgins on her starboard quarter, it hit the mizzen-mast half way up to the crossjack yard, and with a fearful din went raging over everything.
It washed over the poop until the spanker boom was hidden; the two quarter-boats were smashed into staves, and there was a crash of splintered glass as the windows of the afterhouse went in.
Jack wondered, as it fell upon him, whether the terrific force of the comber would not tear the wheel up and carry it with himself overboard.
But the stout wheel held, and Jack was crushed furiously against it until all the wind was beaten out of his body, and his ribs almost stove into his lungs.
Still he kept his senses, and never lost his presence of mind. Grimly he grasped the spokes and waited for the end, wondering how long he could live under water without becoming unconscious.
A hideous pain in his chest gradually overcame his will-power, and caused a drowsiness in his brain, which echoed one word again and again.
"Loyola!" it said, "Loyola! Loyola!"
But it is slow work drowning. His eyes shut in agony, there was a rushing sound in his ears, and his head felt as if it would burst. With clenched teeth he fought the growing feeling of insensibility. Seconds would decide it now.
"Goodbye, my darling, goodbye!" cried his fading senses.
It was his last conscious effort. Was this the end? Would the water never clear off? Indistinct pictures of his past life flitted through his dazed brain like blurred dreams.
The notes of a long-forgotten tune tingled in his ears, then suddenly changed to a bugle call; the Reveille was sounding, clear and shrill, to be broken in upon by the deep boom of Big Ben striking the hour; then he heard nothing but a wild moaning, and a sound as of the flapping of countless wings. Flames flashed on his eyeballs; blue, red and green, purple and yellow sparkled before him like a myriad of precious gems; then all was black, a hideous, piercing black.
With a sickly roll the Higgins freed herself, and the tons of water, pouring to leeward, washed over her rail in a smother of foam; then, with a jerk, the gallant vessel gained her level once more.
The breath of the keen westerly gale put new life into the half-drowned man, as he hung crumpled up and stupefied in his lashings, his hands still grasping the spokes with contracted muscles.
Slowly he opened his eyes and gasped for breath like a fish out of water. His scattered senses returned to him, and his keen brain revived with a wonderful vitality; but whilst his mind, recovering rapidly, grasped the situation, his overstrained body remained weak and helpless.
Dimly his dazed eyes perceived the Scotchman rising ahead on the crest of the wave which had just swept over him. He heard wild cries from aloft, but could distinguish no words.
Instinctively he exerted his last pound of strength to meet her as she fell off, and then collapsed into unconsciousness.
And now the Higgins flew upon the stranger with the swoop of an eagle.
All hands but the senseless helmsman gazed fascinated at the nearing peril, whilst the bosun scrambled hastily out of the mizzen rigging and made for the wheel.
But Jack had done his work. It was touch and go, but he had judged the distance exactly. As the Higgins surged past, her bow wave swamped the poop of the barque and poured over her rail.
The Scotchman was close enough to toss a biscuit aboard, and a weird chorus of yells arose from her crew, who had swarmed into her rigging. The Higgins' starbowlines replied with a ringing cheer, and the next moment the barque was almost out of sight astern, only her topmasts showing from behind a big sea.
The bosun ground the wheel up, and the Higgins was put on her course again.
But what a sight were her decks! The two boats were matchwood, the doors of the bosun's locker and carpenter's shop opening to windward were burst in; the heavy poop-rail of brass was bent and twisted into all shapes, whilst the standard compass box lay forced over by sheer weight of water to an angle of forty-five degrees.
The cabin was nearly full of water, which had poured in through the smashed windows, and the foc's'le and midshiphouse were both badly waterlogged. The maindeck was a hideous tangle of gear washed off the pins, and the top of the midshiphouse had been swept bare. Galley funnel, harness casks, rolls of wire, all were gone; whilst of the poop ladders, one lay over-turned, clean wrenched from its supports.
The mate now appeared, followed by the old man and the steward.
"What in hell er yew been doin' with my ship, bosun?" roared the old man, and the bosun started in to explain.
Meanwhile, with tender hands, the senseless form of the rover was unlashed from the wheel and carried forward to the foc's'le, and the old man, on hearing what had happened, had the grace to send the steward along with a stiff glass of grog.
In the foc's'le Jack quickly regained his senses, the men contending eagerly for the honour of attending upon him.
A buzz of conversation went round as the port watch, who had been washed out of their bunks by the big sea, eagerly asked question after question.
Suddenly the bosun stood in the broken doorway.
"How are you feeling, Jack? It were a pretty close call, weren't it? Smite me pink, but you've got the pluck of the devil, an' I'm proud to be shipmates with ye. Your hand, mate," and he grasped the rover's hand in his great paw with a grip of iron.
"I'll be as right as can be, directly," said Jack weakly.
"Well, you just stay where you are and don't think of moving," replied the bosun. "Now then, the rest of you starbowlines, out you come! There's heaps of work to do"; and he retired aft, followed by the watch.
The carpenter was routed out, and whilst some of the men helped the steward in the cabin the rest were kept busy nailing up weather-boards over the broken windows of the afterhouse.