Chapter Six.
The Mermaid’s Crew witness a Catastrophe.
The Mermaid carried the south-east trade winds until she was well south of the parallel of Rio de Janeiro; and then she ran into the Doldrums; these being belts of calm, broken into at intervals by light baffling airs from various directions, with occasional violent squalls, or terrific thunderstorms, just to vary the monotony. These belts of exasperating weather are to be met with to the north of the north-east and the south of the south-east trade winds, interposed between the trade winds and those outer regions where a steady breeze of some sort may usually be reckoned upon.
And here the unfortunate crew of the brig encountered their full share—and a little over, some of them said—of the annoyances that usually accompany a passage across these belts; their first experience being a calm that lasted five days on end without a break, save for the occasional cat’s-paw that came stealing from time to time over the glassy surface of the ocean, tinging it here and there with transient patches of delicate evanescent blue. And as these cat’s-paws were all that they could rely upon to help them across the calm belt, it was necessary to maintain a constant watch for them, and to trim round the yards in such a manner as to make the most of them during their brief existence. This constant “box-hauling” of the yards was no trifling matter, accomplished as it had to be under the fierce rays of a blazing sun; and as it often happened that after laboriously trimming the yards and sheets to woo a wandering zephyr, it either expired before reaching the brig, or capriciously turned in another direction, passing her by without causing so much as a single flap of her canvas, it is not to be wondered at that the grumbling among all hands was both loud and deep.
At length, however, with the dawn of their sixth day of these vexatious experiences, there appeared to be a prospect of something more helpful than mere cat’s-paws coming their way; for although the calm still continued, the morning broke with a dark, lowering, and threatening sky through which the rays of the sun were unable to pierce. This last was in itself a relief to everybody; for although the heat was still so oppressive that the slightest exertion threw one into a profuse perspiration, the stinging bite of the sun was no longer to be reckoned with. Furthermore, the eyes of those on board the brig, weary of continually gazing upon a bare horizon since the day upon which the friendly whaler had vanished from their view, were now gladdened by the sight of another craft, a small barque, that had drifted above the southern horizon during the night, and now lay some five miles away from them.
As the morning wore on towards noon the aspect of the sky steadily, though by insensible degrees, assumed a more threatening character, the huge masses of cloud that overspread the entire dome of the visible sky darkening in tint to such an extent that the scene became enwrapped in a murky kind of twilight. That wind, and plenty of it, was brewing, seemed evident from the fact that the clouds, although not drifting across the sky, were working visibly, writhing and twisting into the most extraordinary and fantastic shapes, as though influenced by some powerful impulse within themselves. One of the most frequent of these manifestations was the sudden darting forth of long sharp quivering tongues from the bodies of the blackest and most lowering of the clouds. With the appearance of the first of these Leslie knew what to expect, for he had beheld the same phenomenon more than once before, and quite understood what it portended. So he turned to Miss Trevor, who was on deck interestedly watching the subtle changes in the aspect of the sky, and said to her—
“Have you ever seen a waterspout, Miss Trevor? No? Then the chances are that you will see several before you are many hours older. Have you noticed those long, black, quivering tongues that dart out and in from the bodies of the darkest clouds? Well, those are the forerunners of waterspouts. See, there is one now. Do you mark how it seems to be striving to reach down to the surface of the sea? Ah! it has shrunk back again. But sooner or later, unless I am greatly mistaken, one of those tongues will reach down, and down, until it begins to suck up a column of water from the ocean; and there you will have a full-grown waterspout.”
He gazed round the sky intently; then went to the skylight and as intently studied the barometer—or “glass” as sailors very commonly call the instrument. The mercury in it had fallen somewhat since he had last looked at it, though not sufficiently to cause alarm. Nevertheless, short-handed as the brig was—such small craft are usually sent to sea with at least two hands too few in the forecastle—he deemed it best to err on the right side, if err he must; so as it was by this time noon he ordered eight bells to be struck; and when the watch had come on deck he set them to work to clew up, haul down, and stow everything save the two topsails and the fore-topmast staysail; after which he ordered them to go to dinner.
Dinner in the cabin was served at the same time as in the forecastle on board the Mermaid; when Leslie and Miss Trevor, therefore, went below, the deck was left in charge of one man only, namely the carpenter. This, however, did not particularly matter, since the brig was well snugged down, while Chips might be trusted to keep a sharp look-out and give timely warning of the approach of anything of an alarming nature. Nothing, however, occurred; and Leslie and his companion were allowed to finish their meal undisturbed.
It was now Leslie’s watch below, and in the ordinary course of events he would have retired to his cabin for the purpose of securing an hour or two of rest. But, with such a lowering and portentous sky as that overhead, he scarcely felt justified in entrusting the carpenter with the sole responsibility and care of the brig for so long a time; and he accordingly accompanied Miss Trevor on deck again.
They found the aspect of the sky more gloomy than ever; the clouds had formed themselves into heavier masses, and donned a deeper tinge of black than they had worn during the forenoon, and they were displaying a still greater degree of activity. Tongues of cloud were still darting out and back again, but they seemed no nearer to the formation of waterspouts than during the morning; and Leslie began to think that, perhaps, for once in a way he was going to prove a false prophet. Meanwhile, although during the whole of the morning and up to that moment, there had not been the faintest breath of wind, the two craft—the barque and the brig—had closed on each other to within a distance of some three miles, in the mysterious manner characteristic of craft becalmed within sight of each other. The barque, Leslie noticed, had followed his own example, and stripped to precisely the same canvas as that exposed by the brig.
The conditions were not conducive to animated conversation; and judging from Miss Trevor’s brief replies to his remarks, that she would prefer to be left to her own thoughts for awhile, he presently left her leaning over the rail gazing at the barque—which the swing of the brig had now brought abeam—and seating himself upon the short bench alongside the companion, proceeded to fill a pipe. He was lighting it with an ordinary match, the unshielded flame of which burned as steadily as though he had been in a hermetically scaled room, when Miss Trevor suddenly cried out—
“Oh, look, Mr Leslie, look! Surely there is one of your waterspouts at last!”
Leslie sprang to her side and looked in the direction toward which she pointed, where, at a distance of some eight miles away, he beheld a fully formed waterspout moving very slowly and majestically in a southerly direction.
“Yes,” he agreed, “that is a real, genuine waterspout, and no mistake. But it is too far off for you to see it to advantage. Did you actually behold it come into existence?”
“No,” she answered; “I was watching the ship yonder, and only caught sight of it accidentally, after it had become fully formed. I should really like to witness the genesis of a waterspout.”
“Then keep your eye on that cloud,” he recommended her, pointing to an especially black and heavy one that hung a few degrees from the zenith and apparently about half a mile astern of the barque. “If I am not greatly mistaken it is about to develop a very fine specimen in a few minutes. Do you note that black tongue that is slowly stretching down from it? Although it lengthens and shortens you will observe that it does not shrink back altogether into the cloud; on the contrary, every time that it lengthens it becomes perceptibly longer than it was before; and observe how steadily its root—where it joins the cloud—is swelling. Now watch, see how it continually stretches down, further and further towards the water. Ah, and do you see that little mound forming in the sea immediately beneath it? See how the water heaps itself up, as though striving to reach up and join the down-stretching tongue of cloud. Ah! there the two unite and you have the perfect waterspout. And a very noble example of its kind it is. They will be having a splendid view of it from yonder barque, for, see, it is moving in her direction, and is about to pass close to her, rather too close to be altogether pleasant, unless my eyes deceive me!”
He sprang to the companion, and seizing the telescope, applied it to his eye.
“Why,” he exclaimed excitedly, after a moment or two, with his eye still glued to the instrument, “what are they about aboard that barque? Why don’t they fire at the thing and break it? It will be upon them in another moment, to a dead certainty, unless it changes its course! No—yes—yes, it is going to hit her! Heavens! look at that!”
And as he stood there gazing he saw that vast column of water sweep steadily down upon and over the barque, completely hiding her from view for a moment. Then it suddenly wavered in the middle and broke, collapsing with a tremendous splash and commotion of the sea, the sound of which came drifting down to the brig with startling distinctness some ten or twelve seconds later. And there, in the very midst of the tumbling circle of foaming whiteness left by the vanished waterspout there floated the barque, no longer trim and all ataunto as she had shown a few seconds before, but a dismasted, mangled wreck, with bulwarks gone, boats swept from her davits, all three masts snapped short off at the level of the deck and lying alongside with all attached, a mere tangled mass of wreckage still fast to the hull by the standing and running rigging.
Leslie stamped his foot upon the deck in sympathetic vexation at the ruin thus wrought in a moment, and again applied his eye to the telescope. The carpenter, whose watch on deck it now was, stood beside him, eagerly impatient to discuss with him the details of the catastrophe that they had just witnessed; while the watch, forward, leaned over the bows alternately muttering to each other their opinions, and glancing round in apprehension lest a waterspout should steal upon the brig unawares and treat them as the crew of the barque had been treated.
It was this same crew—or rather the entire absence of any sign of them—that was now disturbing Leslie.
“I can see nothing of them,” he muttered impatiently, searching the wreck with the lenses of his telescope. “Here, Chips, take a squint, man,” he continued, thrusting the instrument into the eager hands of the carpenter. “His decks are as bare as the back of my hand; there is not enough bulwark left standing to make a matchbox out of—nothing but the stumps of a few staunchions here and there. I can see the coamings of the hatches rising above the level of the planking; I can see the windlass; I can just make out the short stumps of the three masts, and I can find where the poop skylight stood; but hang me if I can see anything living aboard her!”
The carpenter in turn applied his eye to the telescope, and gazed through it long and anxiously.
“No, sir,” he agreed at length, “what you says is perfekly true; there ain’t nobody a-movin’ about on that there vessel’s decks. Question is, what’s become of ’em? Be they down below? Or have they been swep’ overboard? Stan’s to reason that when they found theirselves onable to steer clear o’ that there spout they’d go below and shut theirselves up as best they could, knowin’ as nothin’ livin’ could surwive a waterspout tramplin’ over ’em, as one may say; but where be them there chaps now? If they was all right they’d be out on deck by this time—wouldn’t they?—lookin’ roun’ to see the extent o’ the damage. Would the bustin’ o’ the thing kill ’em, d’ye think, sir—they bein’ shut up below?”
“It is difficult to say,” answered Leslie, meditatively. “It would depend almost entirely upon the strength of their defences. We can see for ourselves what it has done to the craft herself; it has made a clean sweep of everything on deck, and reduced her to the condition of a sheer hulk. Hang this weather! I don’t like the look of it; it is not to be trusted! If it were only a shade or two less threatening I should feel strongly tempted to send away a boat to see just what has happened aboard there. There may be a number of poor fellows somewhere on that wreck just dying for want of assistance. But—”
He paused, and again glanced anxiously round the horizon, noting that the aspect of the sky was still as full of menace as ever.
“No,” he continued, “I dare not do it; it would be risking too much. Ha! look there; here it comes! Fore and main-topsail halliards let go, and man your reef-tackles!” he shouted, as a long line of white foam appeared on the western horizon, slowly widening as it advanced.
The men sprang to their stations in an instant, galvanised into sudden and intense activity by the urgency that marked the tone of the commands, and the next instant there was a rattling and squeaking of blocks and parrells as the topsail-yards slid down the well-greased topmasts and settled with a thud upon the caps. Then, as the men began, with loud cries, to drag upon the reef-tackles, Leslie shouted—
“Call all hands, carpenter, to close-reef topsails. Look alive, lads; if you are smart you may have time yet to get those reef-points knotted before the squall strikes us. Well there with the reef-tackles. Belay! Now away aloft with you all, and hurry about it. You, too,” he added to the man who had been standing by the useless wheel, “I will look after her.”
And, so saying, he mounted the wheel-grating while the whilome helmsman slouched along the deck, and, climbing the rail, began to claw his deliberate way up the main rigging.
It took the hands about five minutes to pass the weather and lee earings, by which time the squall was close to the brig, its approach being heralded by a smart shower of rain that drove Miss Trevor to the shelter of the cabin. Then, while the men were still upon the yards, tying the reef-points, the wind came roaring and screaming down upon the brig—fortunately from dead astern—and, with a report like that of a gun, her topsails filled and, with the foam all boiling and hissing around her and her bluff bows buried deep in the brine, the Mermaid gathered way and was off, heading south-south-west; which was as nearly as possible her proper course.
The men aloft, meanwhile, although nearly jerked off the yards by the violence and suddenness with which that first puff struck them, stuck manfully to their work until they had tied their last reef-point, when they leisurely descended to the deck, squared the yards, took a pull upon and belayed the halliards, and then went below to change into dry clothes and oilskins—an example which Leslie quickly followed as soon as he was relieved at the wheel.
The squall lasted for a full half-hour—during which the dismasted barque vanished in the thickness astern—and then it settled down into a strong gale that swept them along before it to the southward for nearly thirty hours, moderating on the following day about sunset.
The following morning dawned brilliantly fine, with a light breeze out from the westward that was just sufficient to fan the brig along, under everything that would draw, at a bare four knots in the hour over a heavy westerly swell.
“Why, what is the meaning of this, Chips?” demanded Leslie, as he emerged from the companion-way, at seven bells, clad in bathing-drawers only, on his way forward to take his matutinal douche under the head pump; “is this swell the forerunner of a new gale, or has it been knocked up by something that we have just missed?”
“Well, sir,” answered Chips, “I’m inclined to think as your last guess is the proper answer. We struck the beginnin’s of this here swell about two bells this mornin’, and the furder south we goes the heavier the run seems to be gettin’—as though we was gettin’, as you may say, more into the track of a breeze that have passed along just about here. Besides, the glass have gone up a goodish bit durin’ the night, and is still risin’!”
As the day progressed, appearances seemed to favour the correctness of the carpenter’s theory, for the weather remained fine, with less wind rather than more; while, after a time, the swell appeared to be dropping somewhat. It happened, that after the men had taken their dinner that day, it being the carpenter’s watch on deck from noon until four o’clock p.m., he—acting now in the capacity of boatswain—took it into his head to go aloft, with the object of examining the brig’s upper spars and rigging, to see how they had fared in the late blow. Taking the foremast first, he ascended to the royal-yard, and from thence worked his way conscientiously down to the slings and truss of the lower yard. While on his way aloft, however, he was observed to pause suddenly in the fore-topmast crosstrees and gaze intently ahead, or rather in the direction of some two points on the lee bow. He remained thus for nearly five minutes, and then proceeded in the execution of his self-appointed duty, taking first the foremast and then the mainmast, and subjecting everything to a most scrupulous and thorough overhaul; with the result that everything was found satisfactory aloft, except that certain chafing gear looked as though it would be all the better for renewal.
Meanwhile the watch on deck, who were engaged upon sundry odd jobs which they were able to execute on the forecastle, had noted the action of the carpenter, and had come to the conclusion that his keen eyes had detected some distant object of more or less interest ahead; and they accordingly snatched a moment from their tasks, at fairly frequent intervals, to cast an inquiring glance over the bows. And their watchfulness was at length rewarded, just as seven bells was striking by the sight of something that showed for a moment as it and the brig were simultaneously hove up on the top of a swell. It bore about a point on the lee bow; was some two miles distant; and, so far as could be judged from the momentary glimpse they had obtained of it, appeared to be a floating mass of wreckage. Its appearance was to them ample justification for a general knocking-off of work to watch for its next appearance, one of the more energetic of them even exerting himself to the extent of ascending the fore-rigging high enough to get a view over the fore-yard. From this elevation an uninterrupted view of the object was to be obtained; and after long and careful scrutiny the man made it out to be the dismasted hull of a ship that was either water-logged, or upon the point of foundering.
“Deck ahoy!” he hailed, in approved fashion; “d’ye see that dismasted craft out there on the lee bow?”
“Ay, Jim,” growled the carpenter, “I’ve seen her this hour an’ more. Ye may come down an’ get on wi’ your work, my lad; you’ll get a good enough view of her from the deck afore long.”
At eight bells the carpenter went below and called Leslie, who had been lying down in his cabin, and at the same time reported the sighting of the wreck, which was by this time clearly visible from the deck, except when hidden from time to time by an intervening mound of swell. Knowing exactly where to look, Leslie caught sight of her immediately over the lee cathead, the instant that he stepped out on deck. She was by this time about half a mile distant, and clearly distinguishable as a craft of some six hundred tons register. She was submerged almost to her covering-board, and the whole of her bulwarks being gone between her topgallant forecastle and long full poop, the sea was making a clean breach right over her main deck, leaving little to be seen above water but a short length of her bows and about three times as much of her stern. Seen through the powerful lenses of the brig’s telescope, Leslie made out that she had once been a full-rigged ship, and from the little that showed above water he judged her to be American-built. Her three masts were gone by the board, also her jib-booms, which were snapped close off by the bowsprit end. There was no sign of any floating wreckage alongside her, from which Leslie was led to surmise that her masts must have been cut away; a circumstance that, in its turn, pointed to the conclusion that she had been hove over on her beam-ends—probably by a sudden squall—and had refused to right again. But what had become of the crew? A glance at the craft’s davits answered that question. There were no boats to be seen, while the davit-tackles were overhauled and the blocks in the water. This clearly pointed to the fact that the boats had been lowered; the presumption therefore was that the crew had abandoned the craft, fearing that she was about to founder. Nevertheless, the weather being fine, and the condition of the sea such that the craft could be boarded without much danger or difficulty, Leslie determined to give her an overhaul; and accordingly the brig, having by this time arrived almost directly to windward of the seeming derelict, he gave orders to back the main-yard, and instructed the carpenter to take the lee quarter-boat, with three hands, and go on board.
“Well, Miss Trevor,” said Leslie, as the two stood together near the binnacle, watching the boat rising and falling like a cork over the long hummocks of swell as she swept rapidly down toward the wreck, “what think you of that for a sight? Is it not a very perfect picture of ruin and desolation? A few days ago—it can scarcely be more—that craft floated buoyantly and all ataunto, ‘walking the waters like a thing of life,’ her decks presenting an animated picture of busy activity, as her crew went hither and thither about their several tasks; while yonder poop, perchance, was gay with its company of passengers whiling away the time with books, games, or flirtations, according to their respective inclinations. And over all towered the three masts, lofty and symmetrical, with all their orderly intricacy of standing and running rigging, and their wide-spreading spaces of snow-white canvas; the whole combining to make up as stately and beautiful a picture as a sailor’s eye need care to rest upon. And now look at her! There she lies, clean shorn of every vestige of those spacious ‘white wings,’ that imparted life and grace to her every movement; her decks tenantless and wave-swept; her hull full of water, and the relentless sea leaping at her with merciless persistency, as though eager to drag her down and overwhelm her! Can you conceive a more sorrowful picture?”
“I could, perhaps; although I grant you that it must be difficult to imagine any sight more grievous than that to a sailor’s eye,” answered the girl, gazing upon the scene with eyes wide and brilliant with interest and excitement. “How fearlessly that little boat seems to dance over those huge waves! She reminds me of one of those birds—Mother Carey’s chickens, I think they are called—that one reads about as sporting fearlessly and joyously on the tops of the wave-crests during the height of the fiercest storms. Ah, now they have reached her,” she continued, clasping her hands on her breast unconsciously as she watched the wild plunges of the boat compared with the deadly slow heave of the water-logged hulk. “Oh, Mr Leslie, how could you order those men to undertake so desperately dangerous a task? They will never do it; they cannot; their boat will be dashed to pieces against that great, ponderous wreck!”
“Never fear,” responded Leslie, cheerfully; “Chips knows what he is about. See, there; how keenly he watched for his chance, and how neatly he took it when it came. He saw that rope’s-end hanging over the stern long before he came to it, you may depend; and now inboard he goes, and there he stands on the poop without so much as a touch of the boat against the wreck. And there goes the boat round into the sheltered lee of the hull, where she will lie quite comfortably. And thither we will go, too, in readiness to pick them up when they shove off again.”
The brig bore up and, wearing round, came-to again quite close under the lee of the wreck; so close, indeed, that it was quite easy to see with the unassisted eye everything that was going on aboard her, as well as to obtain a more comprehensive and detailed view of the havoc that had been wrought on her by the combined effects of wind and sea.
Their attention, however, was for the moment attracted rather to what was happening on board, than to the condition of the wreck herself; Miss Trevor being an especially interested spectator. After all, it was not very much: simply this, that under the lee of a hencoop on the poop, that had somehow resisted the onslaughts of the sea, Chips had discovered a very fine Newfoundland dog crouching—or perhaps lying exhausted; and he was now endeavouring to induce the animal to leave his shelter with the view of coaxing him into the boat. But for some reason or other the brute refused to move, responding to the carpenter’s blandishments only by a feeble intermittent beating of his tail upon the deck.
“Oh,” exclaimed Miss Trevor, when she grasped the state of affairs, “I hope he will be able to rescue the poor creature! He is a beautiful animal; and I am so fond of dogs.”
“What is the matter with him, Chips? Won’t he trust you?” hailed Leslie, sending his powerful voice to windward through the palms of his hands.
The carpenter stood up and faced about. “Seems to be pretty nigh starved, so far as I can make out, sir,” he replied. “The poor beggar’s just nothin’ but skin and bone, and too weak to stand, by the looks of ’im.”
“Then take him up in your arms and drop him overboard,” suggested Leslie. “And you, there, in the boat, stand by to pick him up. He’ll have sense enough to swim to you.”
So said, so done; Miss Trevor watching the apparently somewhat heartless operation with tightly clasped hands. Leslie’s conjecture as to the creature’s sagacity was fully justified; for upon finding himself in the water the dog at once began to paddle feebly toward the boat, and in less time than it takes to tell of it a couple of men had seized him and dragged him into the boat, in the bottom of which he lay shivering and panting, and rolling his great trustful eyes from one to the other of his rescuers.
After this there was little more that the carpenter could do on board. It was impossible for him to pass along the main deck from the poop to the forecastle, for the sea was sweeping that part of the derelict so continuously and in such volume that, had he attempted any such thing, he must inevitably have been washed overboard. Nor could he, for the same reason, enter the poop cabin from the main deck; but he peered down into it through the opening in the deck that had once formed the skylight; and presently he swung himself down into it and disappeared from view. Meanwhile the brig, being buoyant, was settling rapidly to leeward, and soon drifted out of hailing distance. In about ten minutes from the time of his disappearance the carpenter was seen to climb up out of the cabin on to the deck and beckon to the men in the boat, who at once paddled cautiously up alongside; when, watching the roll of the hull and the heave of the boat alongside, Chips seized a favourable opportunity and lightly sprang into the smaller craft. The men in her at once shoved off and, pulling her bows round, gave way for the brig, the carpenter carefully watching the run of the sea as he sat in the stern-sheets and steered.
“Here they come!” exclaimed Leslie, watching them. “Lay aft here, men—all hands of you—and stand by to sway away as soon as they have hooked on. See that those tackles are well overhauled—give them plenty of scope to come and go upon!”
Coming down before wind and sea, the boat took but a few minutes to traverse the distance between the derelict and the brig; and presently, slipping close past under the stern of the latter, she rounded-to in the “smooth” of the brig’s lee, and shot up alongside. As she did so, the man who pulled “bow,” and Chips, respectively made a lightning-like dash for the bow and stern tackles, which they simultaneously got hold of and hooked into the ring-bolts, flinging up their arms as a signal to those on board to haul taut. Meanwhile the remaining two hands in the boat laid in their oars and, rising to their feet, cleverly sprang into the main chains as the brig gave a heavy lee-roll.
“Haul taut fore and aft, my hearties,” shouted Leslie, balancing himself on the lee rail and grasping a backstay, as he anxiously watched the dancing boat. “Out you come, Chips, and you also, Tom. Capital! Now, hoist away fore and aft; up with her smartly, lads, while this lee-roll is on! Good! very neatly done! Catch a turn, now, for a moment; and you, Chips, jump into her again, and pass out the dog. Take care that you don’t drop him overboard! Well done! Now hoist away again, men. Well, there; two blocks; Belay! Haul taut and make fast your gripes. Good dog, then; poor old fellow! Why you are just skin and bone, as Chips said. Never mind, old chap, your troubles are over now, and we will soon set you on your pins again. Here, steward, bring along some water for this dog—not too much to start with; and give him a little food. Now, carpenter, what were you able to make out aboard there? Fill your main-topsail, lads, and bring her to her course.”
Meanwhile, Miss Trevor was on her knees beside the dog—a magnificent black Newfoundland—patting his head, and speaking loving words to him; to which attentions the poor beast responded by whining pitifully as he licked her hands and slapped the deck feebly with his tail. When the steward brought the food and water she took them from him and herself gave them to the dog, allowing him first to drink a little, and then to take a mouthful or two of food; then another drink, and then more food, and so on, until he had taken as much as she thought good for him for a first meal.
“Well, sir,” responded the carpenter, as he turned to walk aft with Leslie, “there wasn’t much to learn aboard that there hooker beyond what you could see for yourselves from the deck of this brig. I ’low she was hove down upon her beam-ends in a squall, some time durin’ the night, most likely; and then they had to cut away her masts to right her again. Anyhow, her masts was cut away, that’s sartin’, because the lanyards of the riggin’ showed the clean cuts of the tomahawks clear enough. And I reckon that, when she was hove over, she started butt, or somethin’ o’ that sort, because she was full o’ water, and it was only her cargo—whatever it may ha’ been—that kept her afloat. She’d been a fine ship in her time, her cabin bein’ fitted up most beautiful wi’ lookin’ glasses and white-and-gold panels, velvet cushions to the lockers, and a big table o’ solid mahogany, to say nothin’ of a most handsome sideboard wi’ silver-plated fittin’ up agin’ the fore bulkhead. Then, on each side of the main cabin, there was a row of fine sleepin’ berths—six on side—and four others abaft the after bulkhead, all of ’em fitted up good enough for a hemperor. But there weren’t nobody in ’em, in course; they and the main cabin bein’ up to a man’s waist in water, all loppin’ about wi’ the roll o’ the ship, and fine cushions and what not floatin’ about fore and aft and athwartships. I couldn’t find no papers nor nothin’ worth bringin’ away wi’ me—unless it were the aneroid, tell-tale, and clock what was fixed to the coamin’s where the skylight had been, and I couldn’t unship none o’ them without tools; but the tell-tale and the clock bore the name o’ Flying Eagle—Philadelpy; that I take to be the name an’ port o’ registry o’ the craft.”
“No doubt,” agreed Leslie. “And how long do you think the craft had been as you found her?”
“Well, not so very long, sir, I should say,” answered Chips. “Everything looked fairly fresh aboard of her; the paintwork weren’t noways perished-like wi’ the wash of the water, and the polish on the mahogany was pretty nigh as good as a man could wish; but the cushions was certingly a good bit sodden. I should say, sir, as he’d been desarted a matter o’—well, perhaps three or four days.”
“Ah,” commented Leslie, speaking to himself rather than to the carpenter, “then it could not have been the same squall that struck us. No, certainly not, the distance is altogether too great for that. It means, however, that there has been bad weather in these regions of late; so we will keep our weather eyes lifting lest we should be caught unawares by a recurrence of it. Thank you, carpenter; you have done very well. And now, if you will keep a look-out for a few minutes, I will go below and enter a full account of the matter in the log-book while the particulars are fresh in my memory.”
Miss Trevor had all this time been looking after the dog, petting him and making much of him, until the animal, revived and strengthened by the food and drink that he had taken, had struggled to his feet and was now staggering after her along the deck, as she slowly and carefully induced him to take a little exercise. Then, after the lapse of about an hour, she fed him again, somewhat more liberally than at first; until by dint of care and assiduity on her part the poor beast was once more able to walk without much difficulty.
The sun went down in a clear sky that night, and although the breeze held, the swell rapidly subsided, thus clearly indicating that it was not the forerunner of an approaching gale, but the last remaining evidence of one already past—in all probability the same gale the initial outfly of which had worked the destruction of the Flying Eagle.
The life of a sailor is usually one of almost wearisome monotony, despite what landsmen have to say as to its excitements. True, the individual who is fortunate enough to possess an eye for colour and effect, and the leisure to note the ever-varying forms and tints of sea and sky—especially if he also happens to be endowed with the skill to transfer them to paper or canvas—need never pass an uninteresting moment at sea. Such fortunately circumstanced people are, however, few and far between, and it is more especially to the ordinary mariner that reference is now made. To him there are, broadly speaking, only two experiences, those of fine weather and of storm. Fine weather means to him usually little more than the comfort of dry clothes, his full watch below, and perhaps not quite such hard work; while bad weather means sodden garments, little and broken rest, and—unless the ship be snugged down and hove-to—incessant strenuous work. To him the constantly changing aspects of the sky appeal in one way only, namely, as forecasts of impending weather.
And the incidents of sea-life, apart from the changes of weather, and the sighting of occasional ships, are few. Derelicts are not fallen in with every day; nor is the overwhelming of a ship by a waterspout a frequent occurrence. Yet extraordinary events—some of them marvellous almost beyond credence—unquestionably do occur from time to time, and nowhere more frequently than at sea. And it is quite within the bounds of possibility for one craft to circumnavigate the globe without encountering a single incident worth recording, while another, upon a voyage of less than half that length, will fall in with so many and such extraordinary adventures that there will not be space enough in her log-book to record the half of them.
This, it would almost appear, was to be the experience of the Mermaid; for upon the afternoon of the day following that of their meeting with the Flying Eagle, her crew were privileged to witness a sight that a man may follow the sea for years without beholding.