CHAPTER XIV.--"HEAVE, AND SHE GOES! HURRAH!"
"All hands on deck! Tumble up, my lads! Tumble up!"
The men needed no second bidding. They did tumble up, every man Jack of them, as merrily as if marriage-bells had called them.
"All hands unship rudder!"
That was the next order. For there was great danger of this being dashed to pieces by the cruel ice.
The rudder was about the only vulnerable portion of the ship indeed.
Two whole hours were spent at this work, for the men, unlike those who sail to Arctic regions, had never been drilled to such work.
The short day had almost worn to a close before the job was finished.
But sail was now got on her, and by means of long poles, twenty men overboard on the ice managed not only to clear the way for her by shoving the pieces to one side, but also to steer the vessel, by keeping her head in the right direction.
Frank was sent to the foretop-gallant masthead to see if he could, by aid of the telescope, descry water to the nor'ards.
The sun was almost setting in the north-west, and there was plenty of light, but no water was visible, only the great white ocean of snow-clad ice, all in motion.
The scene was indeed a strange and impressive one, and after shouting down that there was no open water anywhere in sight, Frank stayed in the cross-trees for quite a long time, hardly ever feeling the cold, so interested was he in all he saw around him.
One thing, however, was evident, namely, that the huge iceberg on which they had spent so many merry hours tobogganing was fast aground down to leeward of them.
The ship passed it slowly.
"Good-bye, old chap," Frank could not help saying. "Sorry we can't take you to England with us, but can't see our way. By, by! See you later on, perhaps."
Then slowly he came below to the deck.
He was happy that it was just tea-time. The ship was now considered out of present danger, but watch after watch must remain on the ice to pole and guide, perhaps for days to come.
"I want," the skipper said, "to make a good offing, for I don't half like the look of the land in there, and should prefer to show it a pair of clean heels, and, please God, we shall before long."
The tea was very comforting, and in spite of the noise above of high winds and flapping sails, the saloon was very jolly and cosy indeed, and Frank was in no hurry to go on deck again.
"Hullo! what is that?" said Talbot, "someone tumbled down the companion?"
"Yes," said Conal laughing, "but it is only Old Pen. He finds that the most expeditious way of getting below now. He just throws himself on his back, head down, and toboggans down the steps."
And a second or two after, Pen appeared in the doorway, and looked wonderingly at the group assembled round the fire.
"You all look very snug here," he seemed to say. "Is there room for poor Old Pen among you?"
"Come along, Pen," said Conal, "we can always make room for you. Sit there on your tail beside Vike, and warm your soles."
"Yah--yah--yah!" cried the monkey, offering Pen a cockroach in quite a friendly way. But delicious as this might be, the bird preferred a bit of tinned salmon.
"Pen," said Duncan, "knows on what side his bread is buttered."
The bird eyed him knowingly, as, leaning on his tail, he held one broad foot up to the blaze.
"Pen", he seemed to say, "prefers his bread buttered on both sides."
It was comparatively late to-night before anyone thought of retiring. Moreover, it was Frank's "all night in", but I do not think he slept a great deal. There was noise enough on deck, aloft, and around the bows on the ice to have awakened Rip Van Winkle himself, but slumber he did at last, though only to revisit in dreams his native land, and the wild and lonesome grandeur of romantic Scotland.
Nay, but I ought not to say lonesome, for how could he feel lonesome with his sweetheart Flora walking by his side, or darting off every now and then to chase a butterfly, or cull some rare and beautiful flower.
Ah! he could not help thinking, even in his dreams, if life were ever ever like this. Late in the middle watch he was awakened in a very unceremonious way indeed. In fact he was well-nigh pitched clean and clear out of his bunk. He wondered what was up, for there was a more sea-like motion about the ship. But, sailor-like, he just turned upon his back and went off to sleep again.
The explanation was simple. The ship had struck a very wide lane of open water. Open to a great extent that is, for many a dangerous and nasty piece of green ice battered the sides of the vessel as, glad to be free, she went dashing through the open water under all sail that could be safely carried. Boats, also under sail, were ahead of her to keep her in the right course.
But at daybreak the captain himself went aloft, and noticing that the open water was visible at least a dozen miles ahead, and that the lane grew wider towards the north, he had the main-yard hauled aback. The boats were then hoisted, and all the crew bore a hand in shipping the rudder once more.
The breeze still held, and a splendid day's record was made nor was there at night any reason to fear danger.
The pieces of ice, however, lay about in all directions, and sometimes three or four appeared ahead, suddenly too. As these could not always be avoided, the plan was to select the largest and steer straight stem-on to that. It is better to do so than to be struck on the broadside by a heavy piece.
But as she sailed through streams of smaller pieces the noise of the cannonading, as heard down below, was sometimes quite deafening.
It would have been very nice for all on board had this lane of water conducted the ship right out into the open northern ocean.
It did not, however, for by and by the wind fell, and slowly, but surely, the sides of the great natural canal came closer and closer together, and finally the good ship Flora M'Vayne was again completely beset, with no signs of water even from the mast-head.
Only all around was the white and dazzling pack. For a whole fortnight, or over, the frost continued, and never a cloud was seen.
One day, however, the active and busy little Frank Trelawney discovered, from the crow's-nest--a barrel high up on the main truck--a cloud no bigger than a man's hand, away down on the southern horizon.
It slowly increased, and before many hours was a huge and rolling mass of cumulus.
Other clouds also were rolling up, and it was evident they were bringing the wind with them.
About the same time the temperature rose, but the glass fell considerably, so that the skipper and Morgan shook their heads ominously.
"We're going to have a big blow, sir," said the latter.
"That is so, mate, and we are not in a very enviable situation."
"Listen, sir!"
The mate held up his finger.
There was a succession of loud reports almost alongside, and the screeching and caterwauling sounds that followed, showed that the ship was being nipped.
"We're in for it, mate; but she has a nicely-rounded bottom, and will rise twenty feet rather than be staved in.
"But," he added, "we can't afford to lose our rudder, so we'll have that unshipped once more."
This was done, and probably only in time, for the pressure increased every hour.
It was evident now the ship would rise if the ice did not go clean through her.
She did rise, and that too with a vengeance, for by next morning she was lying almost on her beam-ends on the adjoining floe.
The yard-arms had been hauled fore-and-aft, else they would have touched the snow.
To live on board now was impossible for days and days to come.
But boats and provisions were landed, and every preparation made to journey northward over the great ice-pack, should the ship go down after again righting herself.
The wind was bitterly cold, even in the poor ship's lee, but they managed to light fires and to cook, though it was indeed a wretched time.
Enveloped in rugs, the boys, with Viking, huddled together at night, but for a long time after lying down sleep was impossible. And when slumber did at last seal their eyes, the dreams they dreamt were far indeed from pleasant.
But now came a warm and almost pleasant wind from the north-north-west, and the ice began to open.
Captain Talbot's anxiety was now at its greatest, for there was water on the starboard side of the ship and the berg or floe on which she lay.
Ropes were therefore attached to her masts, and all hands upon the ice bent on to these, pulling slowly with a long pull and a strong pull.
For more than an hour they made no impression on the vessel, and it was evident the cargo had shifted somewhat.
Talbot gave the steward an order to splice the mainbrace.
He countermanded this almost immediately after, however, for it was now evident the vessel was doing her best to get righted.
"Pull now, lads! Pull steadily all! Heave-oh and she comes!"
Every hand is laid on the ropes; every nerve is braced, and the veins start on the men's perspiring foreheads as they keep up the strain.
Viking barks as if to encourage them.
It is all the poor dog can do.
"Heave and she goes! Heave and she rips! Hurrah! lads, hurrah!"
"She is coming, boys! Heave-oh, again! Another pull does it! Easy! Slack off! Hurrah!"
A wild cheer rent the air as the brave and sturdy barque slid downwards off the floe and took the water like a duck or a penguin.
The men and officers paused now to wipe their faces.
Then all hands got on board and manned the pumps.
No, she was safe. Not a drop of extra water had she made, or was making.
What a relief!
The sun was already sinking low on the horizon, and his last beams lit up the great snow plain 'twixt the ship and sky, as if a canal of crimson blood was there.
Talbot was happy now. The recovery of the ship from her serious position was like a good omen, so, as soon as everything was got on board, he thought it high time to splice the main-brace.
And so did the men also.
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All hands were as merry that night as the winning team after a football match.
The wind had gone down, but the weather continued fairly mild, and there was not a sound to be heard on the pack.
On board, however, there were plenty of sounds--sounds of mirth and music in the galley. For Frank had gone forward with his fiddle, and a dance was the natural consequence.
Johnnie Shingles, and old mother Pen, were once more in glorious form, and their dancing brought down the house, and elicited rounds and rounds of applause.
Then dancing became general.
But the fatigues of the day had been very great, so that it is no wonder pipes were soon got out, and a wide and cheerful circle formed about the fire. Songs and yarns were now to be the order of the evening, and although it was not Saturday night it bore a very strong resemblance to it.
Just one song--written and sung by Frank himself, was to-night twice encored. As to its composition I say nothing, except that everything pleases the true-born British sailor that has got the ring of the sea about it.
FRANK'S SONG.
And now, my boys, sit round the fire,
And pass the glasses round;
Our troubles all we'll soon forget
When we are homeward bound.
Ah! many a danger we've defied,
We've weathered many a gale,
Nor stormiest seas, nor grinding ice,
Have ever made us quail!
Though bergs are still about us, boys,
Far north the billows sound,
And we'll welcome every breeze that blows,
When we are homeward bound.
Why should we mourn for pals we've lost,
Or let the tear-drops fall,
They sleep in peace, their sorrows o'er,
Beneath the snow's soft pall.
So crowd around the fire, dear lads,
And pass the glasses round;
Our friends are moored on heavenly shores--
And we are homeward bound.