Chapter Seven.
Dismasted!
It was about one bell in the first dog-watch; the weather was fine, the water smooth, the breeze light; and the brig, with little more than bare steerage-way upon her, was laying her course, with squared yards, both clews of her mainsail hauled up, and studding-sails set on both sides, her topsails occasionally collapsing and flapping to the masts for lack of wind to keep them “asleep.” Miss Trevor was, as usual, on deck, seated in a deck-chair, with a book on her lap and the fingers of one hand playing abstractedly with an ear of the great dog that lay stretched contentedly upon the deck beside her. Leslie, also with a book in his hands, was seated right aft upon the taffrail, with his feet upon the stern grating, in such a position that he could look past the helmsman right forward and command the entire starboard side of the deck, as far forward as the windlass-bitts—and, incidentally, study the varying expressions that flitted athwart Miss Trevor’s face as she read. The carpenter, with the rest of the men, was on the forecastle, looking after them and busying himself upon some small job that needed attention. The stillness of the peaceful afternoon seemed to have fallen upon the vessel; the men conversed together intermittently in subdued tones, that barely reached aft in the form of a low mumble; and the only sounds heard were the occasional soft rustle and flap of the canvas aloft, with an accompanying patter of reef-points, the jar of the rudder upon its pintles, the jerk of the wheel chains, and the soft, scarcely audible seething of the water alongside.
Upon this reposeful quietude there suddenly broke the sound of a gentle “wash” of water close alongside, then a long-drawn, sigh-like respiration, and a jet of mingled vapour and water shot above the port bulwark to a height of some ten or twelve feet, so close to the brig that the next instant a small shower of spray came splashing down on the deck in the wake of the main rigging.
So totally unexpected was the occurrence that it startled everybody. Leslie sprang to his feet and looked with mild surprise down into the water; Miss Trevor dropped her book as she shot out of her chair; the dog, who had manifested a readiness to respond to the name of Sailor, leaped up and rushed to the bulwarks, where he reared himself upon his hind legs, emitting a succession of deep, alert barks; and the crew forward shambled over to the port bulwarks, staring curiously.
“Come up here, Miss Trevor,” said Leslie, extending his hand to help the girl up on to the grating beside him. “Here is a sight that you may never have an opportunity to behold again—at least, under such perfect conditions as these.”
The girl, closely attended by Sailor, sprang lightly upon the grating, and following with her eyes Leslie’s pointing finger, gazed down into the blue, transparent depths, where she beheld the enormous black bulk of a large sperm whale, lying right up alongside the brig—so close to her, indeed, that his starboard fin was right under her bilge, about a third of his length—from his blow-holes aft toward his tail—showing shiny as polished ebony, some six inches above water, while his ponderous tail stretched away some forty feet or more beyond the taffrail, where it could be clearly seen gently rising and falling to enable him to keep pace with the brig.
“What a veritable monster!” exclaimed Miss Trevor, gazing down with wide-open eyes of mingled astonishment and dismay at the huge creature, as she clung unconsciously to Leslie’s supporting arm. “Is it dangerous? I hope not, because it looks big enough and strong enough to destroy this ship at a single blow if it chose to do so!”
“You need not be in the least alarmed,” answered Leslie, reassuringly. “He will not hurt us if we do not interfere with him. These creatures are only dangerous if attacked; then, indeed, they have been known to turn upon their assailants, with dire results. But ah! look there!—there is another one!”
And sure enough, up came another of the monsters, breaking water with a rush that showed nearly half his length, at a distance of only some fifty yards from the brig.
“And there is another!” cried Miss Trevor, with unmistakable trepidation, as a third came to the surface and blew close under the brig’s counter.
“Pity as we ain’t a whaler, sir,” remarked the helmsman. “If we was, here ’d be a chance to get fast to two of ’em at once, without so much as havin’ to lower a boat!”
“Yes,” responded Leslie, good-naturedly. “Such chances do not, however, seem to come to whalers. Why, there blows another!” as a fourth whale broke water about a hundred yards on the brig’s starboard beam. “We seem to have fallen in with a whole school of them!”
And so indeed it proved, for within ten minutes there were no less than seventeen of the monsters in view at the same moment within a radius of a quarter of a mile of the brig, which craft appeared to possess a fascination for them; for they not only swam round and round her, but approached her so closely and so persistently that Miss Trevor became seriously alarmed; while even Leslie began to grow somewhat uneasy lest the brutes, whose temper he knew to be rather uncertain, should develop an inclination to attack the craft. To the relief, however, of all hands, the curiosity of the creatures at length appeared to be satisfied, and they drew off from the brig a little, still remaining upon the surface, however. And presently the huge brutes began to develop a playful disposition, that commenced with their chasing each other hither and thither, first of all in a leisurely manner, then, as their excitement grew, their rapidity of movement increased until they were rushing through the water—and round the brig—with the speed of a fleet of steamers. And finally they took to “breaching,” that is, throwing themselves completely out of the water, to a height of from ten to twenty feet, coming down again with a splash, that soon set the water boiling and foaming all round them, and creating a commotion that caused the brig to roll and pitch as though she were in a choppy sea. This exhibition of strength and activity lasted for a full three-quarters of an hour, when the creatures disappeared as suddenly as they had come, much, it must be confessed, to the relief of all hands aboard the brig.
From this time nothing of moment occurred until the Mermaid arrived off Staten Island, the eastern extremity of which she sighted at daylight on a cold, bleak morning some ten weeks after the date when Leslie and Miss Trevor had become members of her ship’s company. The weather had, in the interim, been fine upon the whole, with occasional calms and contrary winds; but, taking everything into consideration, Leslie felt that they had done by no means badly.
On this especial morning, however, appearances seemed to point to the probability that they were about to experience an unpleasant taste of typical Cape Horn weather. The sky was gloomy and overcast, the entire firmament being obscured by a thick pall of cold, leaden-hued cloud lying in horizontal layers, and presenting the appearance described by sailors as “greasy”—an appearance that usually forebodes plenty of wind and, not improbably, rain. The breeze was blowing fresh from the westward, having hauled round from the north-west during the night, and the brig was pounding through a short, lumpy sea under single-reefed topsails. The air was damp and raw, with a nip in it that sent everybody into their thick winter clothing, and called for a fire in the cabin stove; and the deck, as far aft as the waist, was streaming with water that had come in over the weather rail in the form of spray. Everybody on deck, except Miss Trevor, had donned sea boots and oilskins, and the only creature who appeared to enjoy the weather was Sailor, the dog, who trotted about the deck and through the heavy showers of spray with manifest delight. There was no hope whatever of getting a sight of the sun that day; but this was a matter of comparatively slight importance, since Leslie had very carefully taken the bearings of the land, and had thus been able to verify his reckoning.
As the day wore on the wind freshened perceptibly, while with every mile that the brig made to the southward the sea grew longer and heavier, and the air more bleak and nipping. At noon, when the watch was called, Leslie seized the opportunity to take a second reef in the topsails, and to haul up and furl the mainsail; an arrangement that was productive of an immediate change for the better, since the brig went along almost as fast as before, while she took the seas more easily, and was altogether drier and more comfortable. The barometer, however, was falling steadily; a circumstance that, combined with the look of the sky to windward, led Leslie to the conclusion that they were booked for a regular Cape Horn gale. All through the afternoon the weather steadily became more unpleasant, and about one bell in the first dog-watch, it came on to rain—a cold, heavy, persistent downpour—while the wind piped up so fiercely that Leslie decided to haul down the third reef in his topsails, brail up and stow the trysail, and take in the inner jib without further delay, thus snugging the brig down for the night.
The next morning dawned dark, gloomy, and so thick with driving rain that it was impossible to see anything beyond half a mile from the brig in any direction. But within that radius the scene was depressing enough, a steep, high sea of an opaque greenish-grey tint sweeping down, foam-capped and menacing, upon the brig from to windward, while the air was thick with spindrift and scudwater. The foresail had been taken in during the middle watch; and the brig was now under close-reefed topsails and fore-topmast staysail only, under which canvas she was making a bare three knots in the hour, leaving behind her a short wake that streamed out broad on her weather quarter. So unpleasant were the conditions that, except for brief intervals during the fore and afternoon, Miss Trevor remained below, whiling away the time as best she might with a book; disregarding Sailor’s importunate invitations to accompany him on deck.
Meanwhile the gale was steadily increasing, and between five and six bells in the afternoon watch the main-topsail suddenly split with a loud report, and immediately blew out of the bolt-ropes; with the result that, despite the utmost efforts of the helmsman, the brig at once fell off into the trough of the sea. Hearing the report, and the subsequent commotion on deck, Leslie, who had been snatching a little rest in his cabin, dashed up on deck and, taking in the position of affairs at a glance, gave orders for the fore topsail to be at once clewed up, and the spanker to be set; which being done, brought the brig once more to the wind, and extricated her from her dangerous situation. Then he ordered a new main-topsail to be at once brought on deck and bent; having no fancy for leaving the brig all night under such low and ineffective canvas as the spanker—a sail that, with the heavy sea then running, was half the time becalmed.
By the time that the remains of the burst main-topsail had been unbent, and the new sail brought on deck, it was eight bells, and all hands were set to work to bend the sail. This, under the existing weather conditions—with the wind blowing at almost hurricane strength, and the brig flung like a cork from trough to crest of the mountainous, furious-running sea, with wild weather rolls as the seas swept away from under her, succeeded by sickening rolls to leeward that at times laid her almost on her beam-ends as she climbed the lee slope of the next on-coming sea—was a long, difficult, and perilous job for the hands aloft; and Leslie heaved a sigh of relief when at length, having bent and close-reefed the sail, the little party laid in off the yard, and descended to the deck to assist in sheeting it home. This delicate job was happily accomplished without mishap; and, the trysail being brailed in and stowed, the brig was then hove-to under close-reefed main-topsail and fore-topmast staysail.
All through the night and the whole of the succeeding day the gale continued to rage furiously, and although the Mermaid proved herself to be an unexpectedly good sea-boat in such exceptionally heavy weather, riding easily the mountainous sea that was now running, she rolled with such terrific violence that it was impossible to move anywhere on board her, whether on deck or below, without incurring the risk of serious injury. As for Miss Trevor, acting on Leslie’s advice, she kept to her own cabin, and passed the disagreeable time in the comparative safety of her bunk, which she left only at meal times.
The morning of the fourth day brought with it a change. The gale broke about the time of sunrise, and soon afterwards the sky cleared, the canopy of cloud broke up, and drifted away to the eastward in tattered fragments, revealing a sky of hard pallid blue, in which the sun hung low like a ball of white fire. The sea went down somewhat, and no longer broke so menacingly, while it changed its colour from dirty green to steel-grey. Far away on the southern horizon a gleam of dazzling white betrayed the presence of a small iceberg, and the air was piercingly cold.
Gladly welcoming the change, Leslie—who had spent the whole of the preceding night on deck—ordered the close-reefed fore topsail to be set, as well as the foresail and main trysail; under which considerable increase of canvas the brig was soon once more moving with comparative rapidity through the water, and looking well up into the wind. Then, watching for a “smooth,” they wore the craft round, and brought her to on the port tack, during the progress of which evolution the wind shifted a couple of points to the southward, enabling them to lay a course of north-west by west, which Leslie hoped would suffice him to draw out clear of everything, and carry him into the Pacific Ocean.
This hope was strengthened as the day wore on, for the wind continued to draw gradually still further round from the southward, while it steadily decreased in force—though growing colder every hour—thus enabling Leslie to shake out first one reef in his topsails, then a second, and finally the last, also to set his jib and main-topmast staysail; so that by sunset the brig, under whole topsails and main-topgallantsail, was booming along famously, with an excellent prospect of finding herself fairly in the Pacific in the course of the next twenty-four hours.
A disconcerting circumstance, however, that rather tended to damp Leslie’s hopes, was the fact that the barometer persistently refused to rise, although the wind was subsiding so rapidly that it threatened to dwindle to a calm, and as the evening faded into night the stars grew dim and finally disappeared. Still, there was nothing that could be called actually alarming in the aspect of the weather; and as Leslie had been almost continuously on deck during the entire duration of the gale—snatching a brief half-hour of rest from time to time as best he could—and it was now his eight hours in, he decided, after deliberating the matter until four bells in the first watch had struck, to go below and turn in until midnight; leaving instructions with the carpenter to instantly call him in the event of anything occurring to necessitate his presence on deck.
It seemed to him that he had scarcely laid his head upon his pillow and closed his eyes ere he was awakened from a profound sleep by a sudden screaming roar of wind; the brig heeled over to port until she appeared about to capsize; and as Leslie, dazed for the moment by his sudden awakening, sprang from his bunk, a loud crash on deck, immediately succeeded by a lesser one, told a tale of disaster. The brig righted as the harassed man sprang up the companion ladder, clad only in his pyjamas, and dashed out on deck to find everything in confusion, the mainmast gone by the board and hammering viciously at the ship’s side, while a furious banging forward told that the fore-topmast also had gone, and, with everything attached, was hanging to leeward by its rigging. Moreover, a howling gale from the northward was sweeping over the brig and deluging her with showers of cutting spray.
“Where is the carpenter?” was Leslie’s first cry as he emerged from the companion and groped blindly about him in the blackness of the starless night.
“Here I be, sir,” answered Chips, close at hand. “Oh, Mr Leslie, here’s a dreadful business! And I be to blame for it, sir—”
“Never mind, just now, who is to blame,” exclaimed Leslie. “Call all hands, and let them get to work with their tomahawks upon that main rigging. Cut everything away, Chips, and be smart about it, my man, or we shall have the mast punching a hole in the ship’s side, and there will be an end of us all.”
And so saying, without waiting for an answer, Leslie made a spring for the rack in which the tomahawks were kept, and, seizing the first of the small axes that he could lay hands upon, he set an example to the rest by hacking away at the lanyards of the main shrouds. It was a heart-breaking business, that blind hewing and chopping at the complicated gear that held the wreck of the mainmast fast to the hull; but it was accomplished at last, and then, the brig having paid off almost dead before the wind, it drifted astern and went clear, with much scraping and a final bump under the counter that made the old hooker tremble, and must have infallibly destroyed the rudder had it chanced to hit it. Then all hands went to work and attacked the topmast rigging, which, being less complicated, was soon cleared away.
The harassed crew now had a moment in which to collect their energies for fresh efforts, and take stock, as it were, of the extent of the disaster that had befallen them. And the first matter into which Leslie made particular inquiry—after he had gone below and got into his clothes—was the state of the crew; it had been impressed upon him—although he had hitherto been too busy to mention it—that some men seemed to be missing—or rather, he had vaguely felt that there were not so many men on deck as there ought to be.
So he now turned to the carpenter, and said—
“Muster all hands, Chips, and let the steward give them a good, generous tot of grog; they will be all the better for it after their hard work in the wet and cold. Moreover, I wish to satisfy myself that they are all right; it has struck me more than once since I came on deck that some of them are missing.”
“I pray to God that you’re wrong, sir,” answered the carpenter; “but, now that you comes to speak of it, the same thing have struck me too. Here, lay aft, bullies, all of yer, and let’s have a look at ye,” he continued, sending his voice forward to the forecastle, where the men were now grouped, awaiting further orders.
They came aft, slouching along the deck after their usual manner, and grouped themselves about the binnacle, “Why, where’s the rest of ye?” demanded the carpenter, glaring angrily from one to the other; “where’s Bill—and Jim—and Joe? Jump for’ard, one of ye, and tell ’em to lay aft here for a tot o’ grog.”
“We’re all here, Chips—all that’s left of us, that is. Bill, and Jim, and Joe are all missin’; ain’t to be found nowheres. Anyhow, they ain’t in the fo’c’s’le; I’m ready to swear to that!” answered one of the little crowd that grouped themselves round the binnacle, their eyes gleaming in the dim light of the binnacle lamp with that transient horror that sailors feel at the sudden loss of a shipmate.
“Not in the fo’c’s’le!” ejaculated the carpenter, staring wildly about him, “Oh, my God! three men gone, and all of ’em in my watch!” he cried, flinging his clenched fists above his head in his agony of self-reproach. “You’re sure that they ain’t in the fo’c’s’le? Then they ain’t nowhere else aboard this unlucky hooker; they’re overboard—that’s where they are—went when the squall struck us and very nigh throwed us on our beam-ends. And it’s my fault—all my fault; it’s I that have lost them three men. Ye see, Mr Leslie, it’s like this here. I’m a man what can’t do without his proper ’lowance of sleep, and this here last gale have fair knocked me up and made me that stupid that I haven’t knowed what I’ve been doin’ latterly. And the fact is, that in this here last watch of mine I was fair overcome wi’ want of sleep, and I dropped off without knowin’ it, and without wantin’ to; and this here’s the consekence,”—flinging his right hand wildly out to indicate the crippled state of the brig—“this an’ the loss o’ three good men.”
“Well, Chips, it is a pity,” said Leslie, soothingly and sympathetically; “if you had but told me how completely you were knocked up, I would have taken your watch for you, although I am pretty well knocked up myself. The mischief, however, is done and cannot now be helped, so it is useless to worry any more about it. We must not, however, allow the ship to run further to leeward than we can help; so clew up the foresail, lads; we will let her scud under bare poles until daylight. Then we will see what can be done to mend matters. Now take your grog, men; and when you have clewed up and furled the foresail, go below. You, too, Chips. I have had a little rest, and can doubtless hold out until the morning. I will look after the brig until then.”
As the men shambled away forward, leaving Leslie at the wheel, the latter dimly caught sight of something huddled up in the companion-way, at the top of the ladder; and while he stood staring at it in an endeavour to make out what it was, it moved; and the next moment Miss Trevor, enveloped in a dressing-gown, stepped out on deck, and, with teeth chattering with cold, exclaimed—
“Oh, Mr Leslie, what dreadful thing has happened? I was awakened by the terrible noise and confusion—the crashing and thumping, the thrashing of the sails, the howling of the wind, and the shouting of the sailors—and I feared that the ship was sinking—for it seemed just as bad as on the night when the Golden Fleece was run into; so I wrapped myself in this dressing-gown, and have been to and fro between the top of the stairs and my own cabin for quite an hour, I should think. But I would not come out on deck, for I saw at once that you were all extremely busy; and I knew that, if I did, I should only interrupt you, and be in your way.”
“You would, indeed,” answered Leslie, bluntly. “And even now,” he continued, “the deck is no place for you on this wild and bitter night; you will get wet through and ‘catch your death of cold,’ as they say ashore. Therefore I beg that you will forthwith go below and turn in; there is no further danger at present; the brig is scudding quite comfortably, as you may see; and there is nothing that we can run up against between this and the morning; you may therefore finish your sleep in comfort and with an easy mind.”
“But please tell me exactly what has happened,” the girl persisted; “I shall be better able to rest if you will let me know the worst.”
“Well, if you insist on knowing, the brig was caught aback by a sudden shift of wind, and we have lost our mainmast and fore-topmast,” answered Leslie, saying nothing about their further loss of three men, as he did not wish to harrow her mind with such a distressing detail until it became impossible any longer to conceal it, Miss Trevor was not, however, to be so easily put off.
“But I heard the carpenter crying out that he had lost three men,” she said. “What did he mean by that?”
“Precisely what he said,” answered Leslie, reluctantly. “The poor chap was overcome with the fatigue of the last three days, and fell asleep in his watch on deck. The result is the loss of our spars, and—worse still—of three men, who, there can be no doubt, somehow got washed or knocked overboard when the squall struck and dismasted us.”
“Oh, how dreadful!” exclaimed the girl in tones of horror. “This is indeed an unfortunate ship! We have met with nothing but tragedy since we came on board. I wish now—oh, I wish most fervently!—that we had met some other ship into which we could both have changed; we should then have escaped all these horrors.”
“Possibly,” agreed Leslie. “Yet ‘quien sabe?’ as the Spaniards say, who can tell? We might have trans-shipped into some craft quite as, if not even more, unfortunate than ourselves. In any case, it is too late now; and even were it not so, you appear to have forgotten that we could not both have trans-shipped; I at least am bound to go on to Valparaiso in this brig. This, however, is not the moment to discuss these matters; you are shivering and your teeth chattering with cold; I must therefore insist that you go below and turn in at once. And as you pass through the cabin, mix yourself a good stiff glass of grog; it will do you good. I prescribe it.”
“Very, well doctor, I will obey you,” answered the girl. And forthwith she disappeared down the companion, without saying “Good night!” somewhat to Leslie’s chagrin.
The apparent discourtesy was, however, soon explained; for a minute or two later she reappeared, bearing in her hand a tumbler of generously stiff grog, which she handed to Leslie, saying—
“I ‘prescribe this.’ Please drink it at once; for I am certain that you need it far more than I do. Oh yes, I will take some myself, since you so strenuously insist upon it. There, now you will feel better,” as she received the empty tumbler from him. “And now, good night. I wish I were a man, for then I could stay here and help you.”
“God forbid!” ejaculated Leslie, fervently. “Not even to secure the benefit of your help would I have you other than as you are. A thousand thanks for the grog; and now good night; let me not see you again until the morning!”
The disaster to the brig had happened shortly before midnight; and for the rest of that wild and bitter night, until seven bells in the morning watch, Leslie stood there alone at the wheel, keeping the brig stern-on to the fast-rising sea. Then the carpenter and the remainder of the crew appeared on deck, and one of them came aft to his relief. The cook lighted the galley fire; the steward presently brought him aft a cup of smoking hot cocoa; and then, when he had stripped to the skin, been pumped on copiously under the head pump, rubbed down vigorously with a rough towel, and invested in a complete change of dry garments, he felt a new man, ready for another arduous day’s work, if need be. He, however, insisted that all hands should take a thorough good breakfast before starting the day’s work; and the wisdom of this revealed itself immediately that the work began.
Meanwhile it is necessary to say that during those long weary hours of Leslie’s lonely vigil at the wheel, the wind, that at the first outfly had come away from about due north, had gradually veered round until, by sunrise, it was a point south of east, in which quarter it seemed disposed to stick. Furthermore, with the coming of dawn it had evinced a disposition to moderate its violence somewhat, while the sky had cleared for a few brief minutes in the eastern quarter, revealing a glimpse of the sun; and upon examining the barometer, Leslie had noticed that the mercury in the tube showed a convex surface—a sign that it was about to rise; he therefore suffered himself to indulge the hope that with improving weather, they would ere nightfall be enabled, by good steady hard work, to get the brig into such shape as to once more have her under command.
Seen now, in broad daylight, the poor little brig presented a truly pitiful sight as compared with her appearance on the previous evening. She was then all ataunto, with every spar, rope, and sail intact; a thing of life, obedient to her helm, responsive to the will of her commander, and as fit as such a craft could be to cope with any and every possible caprice of wind or weather. Now, she was a poor maimed and disfigured thing; her mainmast gone, leaving nothing of itself but a splintered stump standing some ten feet above the deck; her fore-topmast also gone—snapped short off at the cap; and, of her normal spread of canvas, nothing now remained save her fore-course. And her loss was not confined to that of her spars only, although that of course was serious enough. But, in addition to this, she had lost a complete suit of canvas, and practically all her running and standing rigging—the latter item being one that it would be quite impossible to replace until her arrival at a port. Fortunately for all concerned, her owners had been prudent enough to provide her with two complete suits of sails; and she also carried a fairly liberal equipment of spare spars; it would therefore be no very difficult job to extemporise a “jury rig” for her; but the trouble would be to find the wherewithal to replace the lost standing and running rigging, blocks, and all the other items that would be needed to make that jury rig effective.
Needs must, however, when there is no alternative; and the British sailor is, with all his faults, an ingenious fellow, not altogether devoid of the inventive faculty, and possessed of a pretty turn for adaptation; give him but the idea and he will generally find the means to carry it out.
So while Leslie and Chips went the round of the deck immediately after breakfast, inspecting their stock of spare spars, and the navy man prepared a rough sketch illustrating his idea of the manner in which those spars could be most effectively made use of, the rest of the crew turned-to with a will to overhaul the boatswain’s locker, the sail locker, and the fore-peak, routing out therefrom and bringing up on deck every article and thing that could conceivably be of use in the task that lay before them. Then, when Leslie had completed his arrangements with the carpenter, the latter brought his tools on deck; the spare spars were cast loose and placed conveniently at hand for working upon; and in a very short time everybody but Leslie, Miss Trevor, the cook, and the steward, was busily engaged on the forecastle, measuring, cutting, splicing and fitting rigging, while the carpenter trimmed the spars and otherwise prepared them to go into their destined positions.
As for the others, the cook and steward had their usual duties to attend to, and could not therefore be spared to lend a hand in re-rigging the brig, even had they possessed the necessary knowledge—which they did not; although later on, perhaps, when it came to mere pulling and hauling, their strength would be found useful, and would be unhesitatingly called for. Meanwhile the brig, although under her fore-course only, and running before the wind, needed to be steered; and this job Leslie undertook to personally attend to throughout the day, thus sparing another man for the pressing work on the forecastle.
Luckily for everybody concerned, the half-hearted promise of finer weather that the morning had given was more than fulfilled; for about four bells the sky cleared, the sun shone brilliantly, and the air became pleasantly mild, while although the wind still blew strongly from the east, the sea grew more regular, so that the dismantled brig now scudded quite comfortably, not shipping a drop of water, and forging ahead, at the rate of about three knots per hour, on her proper course.
Miss Trevor had not made her appearance at the cabin table when Leslie had been summoned below to breakfast by the steward, nor had she responded when the former had gently knocked at her cabin door. This circumstance, however, had not aroused any very serious alarm in the breast of the ex-Lieutenant, who, remembering the incident of the night before, when the young lady had come on deck after the accident to the brig, thought it quite probable that, in consequence of her rest being so rudely broken, she was now oversleeping herself. And in the confidence of this belief he had ordered the steward not to attempt to disturb her, but to prepare breakfast for her immediately upon her appearance. And he furthermore instructed the man to notify him if she failed to put in an appearance before four bells. As it happened, the young lady appeared on deck, fresh and rosy as a summer morning, and with Sailor in close attendance, a few minutes before that hour.
“What!” she exclaimed, lifting her hands in dismay as she saw Leslie standing at the wheel, precisely as she had left him on the previous night, “still at that dreadful wheel! Do you mean to say that you have been standing there all this time?”
“By no means, madam,” answered Leslie, cheerfully. “I have since then had a most refreshing bath, changed my clothes, taken breakfast, and done quite a useful amount of very necessary work. It is scarcely needful to inquire after your health, your appearance speaks for itself; yet for form’s sake let me say that I hope you are none the worse for your very imprudent behaviour last night.”
“Oh no,” she answered, with a laugh and a blush that vastly became her—so Leslie thought; “I am perfectly well, thank you. I took the grog that you prescribed, and then went dutifully to my cabin, in obedience to orders, where I at once fell asleep, and so remained until an hour ago. Then I rose, dressed, and had my breakfast; and here I am, ready and anxious to do anything I can to help.”
“Help!” echoed Leslie, with a laugh. “You talked of helping last night—and most kind it was of you to have and express the wish—but in what possible way could a delicately nurtured girl like you help? And yet,” he continued more soberly, “you could render me a little help, once or twice a day, if you would. It is not much that I would ask of you—merely to note the chronometer times for me when I take my observations of the sun for the longitude. I have sometimes thought that Chips has been a little erratic in his noting of the time; and I have more than once had it in my mind to ask you to undertake this small service for me.”
“Why, of course I will,” assented the girl, eagerly. “Why did you not ask me before? And there is another thing that I can do for you, now—this moment—if you will only let me. I can steer the ship for you while you go downstairs and obtain a few hours’ much-needed rest. Your eyes are heavy and red for want of sleep; you look to be half dead with fatigue! And if you should break down, what would become of the rest of us? Please let me try at once, will you? I am quite sure that I could manage it; it looks perfectly easy.”
Leslie laughed. “Yes,” he assented; “I have no doubt it does; because, you see, I happen to know just how to do it. But you would find it very hard work, and would soon be terribly tired. No; you could not possibly steer the craft in this heavy sea, especially as we are running before the wind—which constitutes the most difficult condition for steering. But, if you wish to learn to steer, I shall be delighted to teach you as soon as we again get fine weather and smooth water.”
And with this promise the girl had to be content, although she persisted in believing it to be quite easy to turn the wheel a few spokes either way, and so keep the brig sailing on a perfectly straight course. Meanwhile, the crew got to work and rigged a pair of sheers over the stump of the mainmast, firmly staying it with guys leading aft to the taffrail and forward to the windlass-bitts. Then they rigged at the apex of the sheers the strongest threefold tackle that they could extemporise; and with the assistance of this they swayed aloft a spare main-topmast, that had been carefully prepared by the carpenter for fishing to the stump of the mainmast. This spar was accurately adjusted in the precise position that it was intended it should occupy, and its heel was then firmly secured to the stump of the mainmast by means of strips of stout planking about eight feet long, closely arranged all round and secured in position by a long length of chain wound tightly round, and further tightened by driving in as many wedges as possible. Then the spar was further secured by shrouds, stays, and backstays; thus providing a very respectable substitute for a mainmast. The sheers were then struck; a spare main-yard, fitted with brace-blocks and all other necessary gear, was next swayed aloft and firmly secured to the head of the extemporised mainmast; a spare main-course was bent and set; and by sunset that same evening Leslie had the satisfaction of seeing the brig once more in condition to be brought to the wind when occasion should arise. What the crew had accomplished that day constituted a most excellent day’s work, especially taking into consideration the fact that they were almost worn-out with fatigue, Leslie therefore resolved to call upon them for nothing further in the shape of work that day; but he foresaw that it would be a great help to the craft to have a fore staysail that could be set when sailing on a wind; and a main trysail might also prove useful; he determined therefore that the next day should see these two sails in place, if possible. He would then have accomplished the very utmost that lay in his power, and sufficient, he hoped and believed, to enable him to take the brig to Valparaiso.
His observations, taken at noon and at three o’clock that day, showed him that the Mermaid was far enough to the southward and westward to justify a shift of the helm; and accordingly at four bells in the first dog-watch he altered the course to north-west by West, which he hoped would enable him to just clear Desolation Island and carry him fairly into the Pacific. It also afforded him an opportunity to test the efficiency of his jury rig; and his satisfaction was great at finding that with the yards braced forward the brig, under main and fore-courses only, behaved in a thoroughly satisfactory manner; although what she would do when hauled close on a wind still remained to be proved.
Happily for him the weather had by this time again become quite fine; the wind had softened down to merely a fresh breeze, and the sea had gone down considerably. He was therefore enabled to secure a few hours’ sleep—a refreshment that he now absolutely needed, for he was by this time so completely worn-out and exhausted that he felt he could do no more.
The next day was nearly as busy an one as that which had preceded it, for it saw the completion of Leslie’s plans, and left the brig under fore and main-courses and fore staysail; with main trysail bent and ready for setting when occasion should require. This achievement brought the ex-lieutenant to the end of his resources; but, on the other hand, he felt that the brig was now once more in reasonable trim for facing any contingency except a recurrence of really bad weather; and this last he hoped he would have done with when once the brig had fairly entered the Pacific. Luckily, the weather was now as fine as he could wish; the sky clear enough to enable him to get all his observations; not very much sea running; and a spanking fair wind driving the brig along upon her course at a speed of nearly five knots. Moreover, the fine weather would enable his crew and himself to get a sufficient amount of rest to thoroughly recuperate their exhausted energies, and prepare themselves for future contingencies. On the following morning, just as he had completed his forenoon observations for the longitude, land was sighted broad on the starboard bow, that proved to be the south-eastern extremity of Desolation Island; and at six bells in the afternoon watch the brig had arrived in the longitude of 75 degrees West, and was therefore at last ploughing the waters of the vast Pacific Ocean, to Leslie’s profound satisfaction. He now shifted his course another point to the northward; and began to calculate the probable date of their arrival in Valparaiso.
It was his intention to maintain a north-west course for the ensuing twenty-four hours, in order to obtain a good offing, and then to haul up to the northward; but, to his disgust, when he turned out on the following morning he found that the wind had shifted and was blowing strong from about north-east, and that, with her yards braced right forward, and main trysail set, the brig would look no higher than north-west. It was, however, comforting to reflect that although the hooker was taking a wider offing than was at all necessary, she was edging up to the northward, in which direction lay their port of destination. And sooner or later they would be certain to get a westerly slant of wind that would help them. So, being in fact unable to do better, Leslie kept his starboard tacks abroad, and went driving along to the north-westward. And with every mile of progress that they now made there came an improvement in the weather; the air growing ever softer and more balmy, the water more smooth, and the skies clearer and more deeply and exquisitely blue.
Thus the brig drove steadily and pleasantly enough along, day after day, until the wondering voyagers seemed to have arrived in the lotus-eaters’ region, “where it is always afternoon;” and still the wind hung inexorably in the north-east quarter, and the brig’s bows obstinately refused to point higher than north-west, until Leslie’s patience wore thin, and he grew moody and morose with long waiting for a shift of wind. For this condition of affairs lasted not only for days, but at last mounted to weeks; a circumstance that was practically unique in the history of those waters.