Chapter Four.
The boats in a tornado.
We had scarcely begun to settle down again, and regain the control of our nerves after this distinctly startling adventure, when the dense canopy of black cloud overhead was rent asunder by a flash of lightning, steel-blue, keen, and dazzlingly vivid, that seemed to strike the water within a dozen fathoms of us, while simultaneously we were deafened by a crackling crash of thunder of such appalling loudness and violence that one might have been excused for believing that the very foundations of the earth had been riven asunder. So tremendous was the concussion of it that I quite distinctly felt the longboat quiver and tremble under its influence. And the next instant down came the rain in a regular tropical, torrential downpour, causing the sea to hiss as though each individual drop of rain were red-hot, and starting us to work at once in both boats with the balers, to save our provisions from being ruined. I happened to be looking away in a westerly direction when the flash came, and despite its dazzling vividness I caught a momentary glimpse of the pirate brig in that direction, and not more than a mile distant from us. None of the others in the boats appeared to have seen her, for no one said a word; and I only hoped that no eye on board her had happened to be turned toward us at the moment, or they could not have failed to see us; and she was altogether too near for my liking. I said nothing, for it seemed unnecessary to disturb the men by informing them of her whereabouts; and I comforted myself with the reflection that when the squall should come—as come it now must in a very few minutes,—she, like ourselves, would be compelled to scud before it; and as she would run two feet to our one, she would soon run us out of sight.
We had not long to wait. After the deluge of rain had lasted some three minutes it ceased as abruptly as it had begun, and for the space of perhaps half a minute there was no sound to be heard save the trickling and dripping of water from the drenched sails of the boats. Then, far away to the eastward there gradually arose a low moaning, and a sudden fierce puff of hot air struck us for an instant, filling the sails of the longboat with a loud flap and leaving them hanging motionless again.
“Here it comes, lads,” cried I. “Out with your starboard oars, and get the boat’s head round. That will do. Lay them in again; and one hand tend the mainsheet here aft.”
The moaning sound rapidly grew in intensity until it became first a deep roar, like the bellowing of a thousand angry bulls, and finally a deafening shriek, while away to the eastward a long line of white, foaming water became visible, rushing down toward us with incredible rapidity. The next instant the squall struck us, and the white water boiled up high over the sterns of the boats, burying us so deeply that for a moment I thought it was all over with us, and that, despite our precautions, we must inevitably be swamped. But the good canvas of which the longboat’s sails were made fortunately withstood the strain, as also did the stout hemp rigging which supported the mast, and as the furious blast swooped down upon us we gathered way and were the next moment flying to the westward before the hurricane, our bows buried deeply in the boiling surge. And now we had good reason to congratulate ourselves upon the fact that we in the longboat had taken the gig in tow, for the strain of the smaller boat kept the longboat’s stern down, and in a great measure counteracted the leverage of the mast which tended to depress and bury our bows, but for which I feel convinced that the longboat, stout craft though she was, would have been driven under by the tremendous force of the wind and swamped by an inrush of water over the bows.
The outfly was accompanied by a furious storm of thunder and lightning, the illumination of which was most welcome to us, for it enabled us to see where we were going, and incidentally revealed to us our enemy, the pirate brig, scudding away to leeward under a goose-winged fore-topsail, and with her topgallant-masts struck.
We now had reason to congratulate ourselves upon the foresight which had suggested to us the idea of partially covering in the boats with their sails as a protection against the inroads of the sea; for within ten minutes of the outburst not only was the air full of flying sheets of spindrift and scud-water that, but for the precaution referred to, would have kept us busily baling, but in addition to this a short, steep, tumultuous sea was rapidly rising, which at frequent intervals rose above the boats’ gunwales, and would have pooped us dangerously had the boats been left in their ordinary unprotected condition. As it was, beyond a pint or so of water that occasionally made its way inboard despite all our precautions, and needed to be baled out again, we had no trouble.
The first fury of the squall lasted about a quarter of an hour. During that time the thunder and lightning were incessant, but afterwards they gradually died away, while the wind moderated to a steady gale; and it was by the illumination of the last flash of lightning that we caught sight of the brig hove-to on the starboard tack, under a storm-staysail, with her head to the northward. The sight of her thus was a great relief to me, for it seemed to indicate that we had been fortunate enough to escape detection, and that we need have no great fear of interference from her, since the fact of her having hove-to so early indicated a keen desire on the part of her captain to remain as near as possible to the coast.
As the night wore on the sea rapidly became higher and more dangerous, our difficulties and embarrassments increasing in proportion. Our chief difficulty arose from the necessity to keep the gig in tow, for with the rising of the sea this speedily became more dangerous to both boats, from the frequent fierce tugs of the painter that connected the two boats together. The rope was a new and stout one, and there was not much fear that the boats would break away from each other, but the strain set up by the alternate slackening and tautening of the painter, as first one boat and then the other was urged forward by the ’scend of the sea, was tremendous, and strained both craft to a positively dangerous degree. Yet it was not possible for us to cast the gig adrift, for, had we done so, we should at once have run away from and lost her in the darkness; that is, unless she had set her own sails, and this, of course, could not have been done without depriving her of the protection of them as a covering against the breaking seas, which would have resulted in her being instantly swamped. But at length matters became so serious with us both that it was evident that something must be done, and that very quickly too; for some of the drags were so violent that they threatened to tear the stern out of the longboat, which was by this time leaking badly. After considering the matter, therefore, most carefully, I decided upon a course of procedure that I hoped might better our condition somewhat. It happened that among the stores which we had hurriedly stowed away in the longboat when preparing to leave the schooner was a drum of lamp oil, which we intended to use in our binnacle lamps at night, and which we thought might perhaps also prove very useful for other purposes as well, and this I now ordered the men to find for me. Fortunately it was easy to get at it, and it was soon produced. It was a full can, and had never been opened; therefore I gave instructions that, instead of drawing the bung, it should be punctured with a sufficient number of holes to allow the oil to ooze through pretty freely. This done, I instructed the men to clear away the longboat’s painter and to bend it securely round the boat’s oars in such a manner as to make a sort of sea-anchor of them, leaving about a fathom of the end of the painter clear to which to bend on the oil-can. Then, when everything was ready, I shouted to Simpson in the gig, telling him what I proposed to do, and giving him his instructions, after which we in the longboat hauled down the jib, and, watching our opportunity, rounded-to, threw overboard our sea-anchor, with the oil-can attached, and took in our remaining canvas. This business of rounding-to was a very delicate and ticklish job, for had the sea caught us broadside-on we must inevitably have been capsized or swamped; but we were fortunate enough to do everything at precisely the right moment, with the result that the two boats swung round, head-on to the sea, without accident, and without shipping very much water.
The oars, lashed together in the middle, and kept squarely athwartships by means of a span, afforded, after all, only the merest apology for a sea-anchor, and barely gave just sufficient drag to keep the boats stem-on to the sea without appreciably retarding their drift to leeward; but it was none the worse for this, since, with their drift scarcely retarded, they rode all the more easily; and presently, when the oil began to exude from the can and diffuse itself over the surface of the water, there was a narrow space just ahead of us where the seas ceased to break, with the result that in the course of ten minutes we were riding quite dry and comfortable, except for the scud-water that came driving along. This, however, we soon remedied by converting our mainsail into a kind of roof, strained over the lowered mast, similar to the arrangement in the gig, after which, save for the extravagant leaps and plunges of the boats, which were very trying to the wounded, we had not much to complain of.
The gale reached its height about four o’clock on the following morning, at which hour it was blowing very hard, with an exceedingly heavy and dangerous sea, in which the boats could not possibly have lived but for the precautions which had been taken for their preservation; and even as it was, we repeatedly escaped disaster only by the merest hair’s-breadth, and by what seemed to be more a combination of fortuitous circumstances than anything else. Taken altogether, that night was one of the most tense and long-drawn-out anxieties that I had ever, up to then, experienced. About two bells in the morning watch the gale broke, and from that moment the strength of the wind moderated so rapidly that by eight bells all danger had passed, the boats were riding dry, and we were able to get breakfast in peace and comfort—all the greater, perhaps, from the fact that when day dawned the pirate brig was nowhere to be seen. By nine-o’clock the wind and sea had both moderated sufficiently to enable us to resume our voyage. I therefore, with some difficulty, secured an observation of the sun for the determination of our longitude, and we then proceeded to re-bend our sails, step the masts, and get under way, steering to the northward and westward under double-reefed canvas. Finally, about noon, we were able to shake out our reefs and proceed under whole canvas, the sea by that time having almost completely gone down, leaving no trace of the previous night’s gale beyond a long and very heavy swell, in the hollows of which the two boats continually lost sight of each other.
But although, by the mercy of Providence, we had weathered the gale, we had not by any means escaped scathless, for when we had once more settled down and had found opportunity to overhaul our stock of provisions, it was found that, despite our utmost precautions, an alarmingly large proportion of them had become damaged by rain and sea water, to such an extent, indeed, that about half of them had been rendered quite unfit for use, and we therefore threw that portion overboard, since there was obviously no advantage in wasting valuable space in the preservation of useless stores. And I did this the more readily, perhaps, because I calculated that, despite this heavy loss, we should still have enough left to carry us to our destination—provided that we were not detained by calms on the way.
We made excellent progress all that day, our reckoning showing that at three o’clock that afternoon we had traversed a distance of just forty miles since getting under way that morning, which distance was increased to fifty-eight by sunset. Moreover we had done well in another way, for the wounded had all been carefully looked after, and their hurts attended to as thoroughly as circumstances would allow, with the result that at nightfall each man reported himself as feeling distinctly better, notwithstanding the night of terrible hardship and exposure through which all had so recently passed.
The sunset that evening was clear, promising a fine night, while the wind held steady and fair. We were consequently all in high spirits at the prospect of a quick and pleasant passage to Sierra Leone. But as the night advanced a bank of heavy cloud gradually gathered on the horizon to the northward, and the wind began to back round and freshen somewhat, so that about midnight it again became necessary to double-reef our canvas, while the sea once more rose to such an extent that the boats were soon shipping an unpleasant quantity of water over the weather bow. Moreover the wind continued to back until we were broken off a couple of points from our course; so that, altogether, it finally began to look very much as though we were in for another unpleasant night, though perhaps not quite so bad as the one that had preceded it. It is true that we were not just then in any actual danger, for, after all, the strength of the wind was no more than that to which the Shark would show single-reefed topsails. But it was more than enough for us, under the canvas which we were carrying, and I had just given the order to haul down a third reef when one of the men who was engaged upon the task of shortening sail suddenly paused in his work and gazed out intently to windward under the sharp of his hand. The next moment he shouted excitedly:
“Sail ho! two points on the weather bow. D’ye see her, sir? There she is. Ah, now I’ve lost her again; but you’ll see her, sir, when we lifts on the top of the next sea. There—now do you see her, sir, just under that patch of black cloud?”
“Ay, ay, I see her,” I answered; for as the man spoke I caught sight of a small dark blur, which I knew must be a ship of some sort, showing indistinctly against the somewhat lighter background of cloud behind her. She was about two miles away, and was steering a course that would carry her across our bows at a distance of about a quarter of a mile if we all held on as we were going; and for a moment I wondered whether it was our enemy the pirate brig again putting in an appearance. But an instant’s reflection sufficed to dissipate this idea, for, according to all the probabilities, the pirates ought by this time to be well on toward a hundred miles to the eastward of us, while the stranger was coming down, with squared yards, from the northward.
“We must contrive to attract the attention of that craft and get her to pick us up,” I cried. “Have we anything in the boat from which we can make a flare?”
A hurried search was rewarded by the production of a piece of old tarpaulin that we were using as a cover and protection to our stock of provisions; and a long strip of this was hurriedly torn off, liberally sprinkled with the oil that still remained in the drum, twisted tightly up, and ignited. The flame sputtered a bit at first, probably from the fact that sea water had penetrated to the interior of the drum and mingled to a certain extent with the oil; but presently our improvised flare burst into a bright ruddy flame, which lighted up the hulls and sails of the boats and was reflected in broad red splashes of colour from the tumbling seas that came sweeping steadily down upon us.
All eyes were now eagerly directed toward the approaching ship, of which, however, we entirely lost sight in the dazzling glare of our torch. But when, after blazing fiercely for about a couple of minutes, until it was consumed, our flare went out and left us once more in darkness, there was no answering signal from the stranger, which was coming down fast before the steadily strengthening breeze.
“Make another one, lads, and light it as quickly as you can,” I cried. “We must not let her slip past us. Our lives may depend upon our ability to attract her attention and get her to pick us up. But what is the matter with them aboard there that they have not seen us? Their look-outs must be fast asleep.”
“She’s a trader of some sort, sir; that’s what’s the matter with her,” answered one of the men. “If she was a man-o’-war, or a slaver, there’d be a better look-out kept aboard of her. If I had my way them chaps what’s supposed to be keepin’ a look-out should get six dozen at the gangway to-morrer mornin’.”
“Hurry up with that flare, lads,” I exhorted. “Be as quick with it as you like.”
“Ay, ay, sir! we shall be ready now in the twinklin’ of a purser’s lantern,” answered the man who was preparing the torch. “Now, Tom, where’s that there binnacle lamp again? Shield it from the wind with your cap, man, so’s it don’t get blowed out while I sets fire to this here flare.”
The man was still fumbling with the flare when the stranger, which was now about half a mile distant, suddenly exhibited a lantern over her bows, which her people continued to show until we had lighted our second flare, when the lantern at once disappeared. A couple of minutes later she was near enough for us to be able to make her out as a full-rigged ship of some seven hundred tons; and presently she swept grandly across our bows, at a distance of about a cable’s-length, and, putting her helm down, came to the wind, with her main-topsail to the mast, finally coming to rest within biscuit-toss of us to windward.
As she did so we became aware of a man standing on her poop, just abaft the mizzen rigging, and the next moment a hail through a speaking-trumpet came pealing across the water.
“Ho, the boats ahoy! What boats are those?”
“We are the boats of the slaver Dolores, captured by the British sloop-of-war Shark, and subsequently attacked and destroyed by a pirate,” replied I. “We have been in the boats nearly thirty hours, and several of our people are wounded. We hoped to make our way to Sierra Leone, but narrowly escaped being swamped in a gale last night. I presume you will have no objection to receive us?”
The ship being apparently British, I naturally expected to receive an immediate and cordial invitation to go on board; but, to my intense surprise, and growing indignation, there ensued a period of silence as though the man who had hailed us was considering the matter. I was just about to hail again when the individual seemed to arrive at a decision; for he hailed:
“All right; bring your boats alongside.”
We accordingly dowsed the sails, threw out our oars, and pulled alongside.
As we approached the lee gangway, which had been thrown open to receive us, and about which some half a dozen men were clustered, with lighted lanterns, the man who had hailed us before enquired:
“Will your wounded be able to come up the side; or shall I reeve a whip with a boatswain’s-chair for them?”
“Thanks,” I replied, “I think we may be able to manage, if your people will lend us a hand.”
“How many do you muster?” asked the stranger, presumably the master of the vessel.
“Ten, all told,” I answered, “of whom six are more or less hurt. We were fifteen to start with, but five were killed by the fire of the pirate.”
“I’m afraid you’ve had a bad time, takin’ it all round,” said our interlocutor. “Stand by, chaps, to lend the poor fellers a hand up over the side.”
“What ship is this?” I asked, when at length I went up the side and found myself confronted by a very ordinary-looking individual, attired in a suit of thin, rusty-looking blue serge, with a peaked cap of the same material on his head, who extended his hand in cordial welcome to me.
“The Indian Queen, of and from London to Bombay, twenty-three days out, with passengers and general cargo,” he answered.
“Well,” said I, “I am exceedingly obliged to you for receiving us; for, to tell you the truth, after the experiences of last night, I am very glad to find a good, wholesome ship once more under my feet. Open boats are all very well in their way, but they are rather ticklish craft in which to face such a gale as we had last night.”
“By the by,” he said, “are those boats of yours worth hoisting in?”
“Yes,” I said, “they are both very good boats, and it would be a pity to send them adrift if you can find room for them.”
“Oh, I dare say we can do that,” he answered. “Besides, the skipper might have a word or two to say about it if we was to turn ’em adrift. By the way, Mr—er—”
“Grenvile,” I prompted, continuing—“I must apologise for not having sooner introduced myself. I am senior midshipman of the Shark, and was prize-master of the slaver Dolores, which I had instructions to take into Sierra Leone.”
“Just so; thank’e,” answered the man. “I was going to say, Mr Grenvile, that—well, our skipper’s a very queer-tempered sort of a man—he was second mate when we left home—and as like as not he may kick up a row about my receivin’ you aboard—indeed it wouldn’t very greatly surprise me if he was to order you all over the side again; so I thought I’d just better give ye a hint, so as you may know what to expect, and how to act.”
“Indeed, I am very much obliged to you for your timely warning, Mr —” said I.
“Carter’s my name—Henry Carter,” was the reply. “I’m actin’ as chief mate now, but I was third when we left London.”
“I understand,” said I. “But this captain of yours—he is an Englishman, I presume, and I cannot understand the possibility of his raising any objection to your receiving a party of distressed fellow-countrymen aboard his ship. And how comes he to be in command, now, if he was only second when you left home?”
“Well, sir, it’s like this,” answered Carter, starting to explain. Then he interrupted himself suddenly, saying:
“Excuse me, sir; I see that the hands are about to sway away upon the tackles and hoist in the boats. I’ll just give an eye to them, if you don’t mind, and see that they don’t make a mess of the job.”
With the assistance of the Shark’s people the boats were soon got inboard and stowed, after which my boats’ crews were bestowed in the forecastle and the steerage, there happening by good luck to be just sufficient vacant berths in the latter to accommodate the wounded. This matter having been attended to, the mate remarked to me:
“There’s a vacant cabin in the cuddy; but the stewards are all turned in, and it would take ’em some time to clear it out and get it ready for you; so perhaps you might be able to make do with a shakedown on the cabin sofa for to-night; or there’s my cabin, which you’re very welcome to, if you like, and I’ll take my watch below on a sofa.”
“Thank you very much for your exceedingly kind offer,” said I, “but I couldn’t think of dispossessing you of your own cabin, even for a single night. The sofa will serve my turn admirably, especially as I had no sleep last night, and not much during the night before. But, before I go below, I should like to hear how it comes about that the man who was second mate of this ship when she left England is now master of her. To bring about such a state of affairs as that you must have lost both your original skipper and your chief mate.”
“Yes,” answered Carter, “that’s exactly what’s happened. We’ve had what the newspapers would call a couple of tragedies aboard here. First of all, the skipper—who looked as strong and healthy a man as you’d meet with in a day’s march—was found dead in his bed, on the morning of the fifth day out; and, next, the chief mate—who of course took command, and was supposed to be a total abstainer—was found missin’, as you may say, when the steward went to call him, one morning—he’d only been in command four days, poor chap; and the mate—that’s our present skipper, Cap’n Williams—gave it out that he must have committed suicide, while in liquor, by jumpin’ out of the stern window—which was found to be wide-open, on the mornin’ when poor Mr Mowbray was reported missing.”
“Very extraordinary,” commented I, stifling a prodigious yawn. “And now, Mr Carter, with your kind permission I will go below and lie down, for I feel pretty well tired out.”
“Ay, that I’ll be bound you do,” agreed Carter. “This way, Mr Grenvile, and look out for the coamin’—it’s a bit extra high.”
And, so saying, he led the way into a very handsome saloon under the ship’s full poop.
The craft was not a regular Indiaman—that is to say, she was not one of the Honourable East India Company’s ships,—but, for all that, she was a very handsome and comfortable vessel, and her cuddy was most luxuriously fitted up with crimson velvet sofas, capacious revolving armchairs screwed to the deck alongside the tables, a very fine piano, with a quantity of loose music on the top of it, some very handsome pictures in heavy gold frames screwed to the ship’s side between the ports, a magnificent hanging lamp suspended from the centre of the skylight, with a number of smaller lamps, hung in gimbals, over the pictures, a handsome fireplace, with a wide tiled hearth, now filled with pots of plants, a capacious sideboard against the fore bulkhead, a handsome carpet on the deck, and, in fact, everything that could be thought of, within reason, to render a long sea voyage comfortable and pleasant. The saloon occupied the full width of the ship, the sleeping cabins being below.
With pardonable pride Carter turned up the flame of the swinging lamp—which was the only lamp burning at that hour of the night—to give me a glimpse of all this magnificence.
I quite expected that, having, as it were, done the honours of the ship, Carter would now turn down the lamp and leave me to myself; but he still lingered in an uncertain sort of way, as though he would like to say something, but did not quite know how to begin; so at length, to relieve his embarrassment, I said:
“What is it, Mr Carter? I feel sure you want to tell me something.”
“Well,” said he, “it’s a fact that I have got something on my mind that I’d like to get off it; and yet I dare say you’ll think there’s nothing in it when I tells you. The fact is, our present skipper’s a very curious sort of chap, as I expect you’ll find out for yourself afore many hours has gone over your head. Now, I want you to understand, Mr—er—Grenvile, that I’m not sayin’ this because he and I don’t happen to get on very well together—which is a fact; I’m not jealous of him, or of his position, because I couldn’t fill it if ’twas offered to me—I’m not a good enough navigator for that,—but I think it’s only right I should tell you that, as like as not, he’ll not only blow me up sky-high for pickin’ you and your men up, when he finds out that you’re aboard, but, maybe—well, I dunno whether he’ll go quite so far as that, but he may refuse to let you stay aboard, and order you to take to your boats again. Now, if he should—I don’t say he will, mind you, but if he should do any such thing, take my advice, and don’t go. I don’t know how he may be to-morrow. If he kept sober after he turned in he’ll be all right, I don’t doubt; but if he took a bottle to bed with him—as he’s lately got into the habit of doin’—the chances are that he’ll turn out as savage as a bear with a sore head; and then everybody, fore and aft—passengers and all—will have to stand by and look out for squalls!”
“Thanks, Mr Carter, very much, for mentioning this,” I said. “You gave me a pretty broad hint as to what I might expect, out there on deck, just now, and you may rest assured that I shall not forget it. And you may also rest assured that, should he so far forget what is due to humanity as to order me to leave the ship, I will flatly decline to go.”
“Of course, sir, of course you will, and quite right too,” commented Carter. “But I’m glad to hear ye say so, all the same. It’ll be a great comfort to me—and to the passengers too—to feel that we’ve got a naval officer aboard, if things should happen to go at all crooked. And now, Mr Grenvile, havin’ said my say, I’ll wish ye good-night, and hope you’ll be able to get a good sound sleep between this and morning.”
And therewith Carter at length took himself off. But before he was fairly out on deck I was stretched at full length on the sofa, fast asleep.