Chapter Seven.
Embayed.
It soon became perfectly evident that, muddled with drink though he undoubtedly was, Chips had very effectively executed his work of destruction aboard the Braave, for in half an hour she had sunk to the extent of very nearly three strakes of her planking, and within the hour she had brought her chain-plate bolts flush with the water, at which rate another three hours should suffice to see the last of her. Before that moment arrived, however, a little air of wind came along out from the westward, and, with our port braces slightly checked, we began to creep away on a nor’-nor’-east course for Boeroe Strait. But our progress was so slow that at noon the derelict was still hull-up to the southward, sunk to the level of her covering-board; and when, after dinner, I returned to the poop and took the glass to search for her, she was nowhere to be seen, although, had she still been afloat, her spars and canvas at least should have been visible above the horizon.
Although the Braave had vanished, she had left behind her a small legacy of annoyance for me; for while I was still searching the horizon for some sign of her continued existence I became aware of certain raucous sounds issuing from the forecastle, which I was quickly able to identify as the maudlin singing which seamen are so prone to indulge in when they are the worse for liquor. Presently Polson, who had gone forward to turn-to the watch after dinner, came aft with an expression of vexation upon his weather-beaten countenance, and explained that the carpenter’s boat’s crew, having smuggled aboard several bottles of Schiedam from the scuttled vessel, all hands forward had become just sufficiently fuddled to render them indifferent to such authority as, under the peculiar circumstances of the case, we were still able to exercise over them, and had flatly refused to come on deck, declaring, with much abuse of the boatswain, that they did not intend to do any more work until they had finished the drink which still remained.
“How much have they, Polson?” I asked.
“I dunno, sir,” he answered. “I tried to find out, but the scowbanks wouldn’t tell me. I fancies, however, that they haven’t got so very much, for I don’t see how four men—or even five, if you chooses to reckon Chips in with ’em—could ha’ brought more’n about a dozen bottles aboard among ’em without our findin’ out somethin’ about it; and a dozen bottles won’t go so very far among all hands. I reckon that they’ll finish the lot in the course of the next hour or so, and then they’ll all turn in and have a good sleep, and be ready to come on deck in time for the first watch. Luckily there ain’t no more wind than what we knows what to do with, and not much sign of it freshenin’, so far as I can see; so p’rhaps there won’t be such a very terrible lot o’ harm done a’ter all.”
“Possibly not,” I agreed. “But,” I went on, seizing the opportunity to point a moral, “that is merely a happy accident. Had it been blowing hard, and the weather threatening, it would probably not have made the slightest difference in the conduct of those men. You and Chips, by listening to and falling in with the fantastic proposals of that madman Wilde, have set the men a very bad example, the effect of which is bound to recoil on your own heads sooner or later. By taking part in the seizure of this ship you have broken the law, which is the mainstay of all authority, order, and discipline, and in doing so you have encouraged those ignorant creatures for’ard to become lawless and disobedient. I have pointed all this out to you before, Polson, and now you have an example—a very mild example, it is true—of what inevitably happens under such circumstances.”
“Yes; I sees what you mean, Mr Troubridge,” answered the boatswain. “But, Lor’ bless yer, sir, I don’t think nothin’ at all of a little spree like this here. Discipline’s a first-rate thing, I admit; but a man can have too much of it, and it does him good to chuck it overboard now and again. Them chaps for’ard won’t be none the worse for this here little outbreak of theirs, you’ll see. We all enj’ys a bit o’ liberty occasionally, you know.”
“Ay,” answered I rather bitterly. “The mischief of it is, Polson, that when men in the position of those noisy rascals in the forecastle take it upon themselves to determine when, and for how long a time, they shall indulge in a spell of liberty, they are as likely as not to insist upon having it at a moment when it spells disaster for other people. Liberty is a grand thing, in theory, and within certain well-defined limits; but when it becomes licence—as it is very apt to do—it is a bad thing for all concerned.”
“Well, sir, you may be right, or you may be wrong, I don’t know, never havin’ had any eddication. But Mr Wilde, he’s an eddicated man, and he’s all for liberty and equality; and I don’t mind sayin’ as I prefers his notions to yours.”
“Very well,” I said; “go your own way, Polson, since go you will. But I wouldn’t mind betting the sailorman’s favourite wager—a farthing’s worth of silver spoons—that before another year has passed over your head you will alter your tune. Take care that you do not defer the alteration until it is too late and the mischief has become irrevocable.”
Now it happened that Wilde was, among a great many other things, a stanch teetotaller; he was also an excessively nervous person. When he, with the rest of the emigrants, came on deck after dinner upon this particular day, and heard the maudlin, drunken singing in the forecastle, and furthermore recognised that the ship was, for the time being at least, without a crew, he fell into a tremendous rage, and, rushing forward, precipitated himself into the forecastle, where, believing that the crew, drunk, would accord to him the same reverential attention that they were wont to do when sober, he proceeded to reproach and revile them in no measured terms for their lapse from virtue, actually going to the length, before anybody could stop him, of smashing half a dozen bottles of Schiedam that he caught sight of snugly stowed away in a bunk. So long as he confined himself to merely verbal remonstrance and abuse the men listened to him with the vacuous, good-humoured smile of intoxication, occasionally interrupting him with an invitation to join them in their bacchanalian orgy; but when he took what they deemed a base advantage of their good nature, by smashing the bottles and wasting the liquor that one of the revellers had incautiously revealed to him in support of the jovial invitation, their good humour suddenly evaporated, and, staggering to their feet in indignation, they would probably have done the man a serious injury had they been capable of following him up on deck, whither he precipitately fled. Then, having learned, during his brief visit to the forecastle, that the carpenter was the chief culprit, he rushed into the latter’s cabin, mercilessly aroused poor Chips from the profound sleep that was gradually clearing his muddled brain, and tongue-lashed the bewildered man until he must have scarcely known whether he was upon his head or his heels. Fortunately for the schoolmaster, Chips’s indiscretion had been a mild one indeed compared with those of the forecastle hands, and he therefore accepted Wilde’s rebukes with a tolerably good grace and in silence; but Wilde was one of those enthusiasts who carry even their virtues to excess, and his denunciations of Chips were of so virulent and extravagant a character that they did more harm than good, and—as I discovered later on—converted Tudsbery from a blindly faithful disciple into a sullen, more than half-doubting, and reluctant follower.
The incident ended, as Polson had anticipated that it would, in all hands coming on deck at the end of the first dogwatch, and clearing their brains by plunging their heads into buckets of sea water, after which the boatswain went forward and gave them all a mild and more than half good-humoured dressing-down, at the same time telling them one or two home truths in a tersely sarcastic strain that was far more effective than Wilde’s rabidly intolerant language, which lost its point with those to whom it was addressed chiefly because of its violent exaggeration, through which he contrived, in a few minutes, to lose a measure of influence that it cost him months of strenuous endeavour to regain only partially. The fact is that this incident, comparatively trifling and harmless in its character as it was, led some of the men to question whether they had not thrown off the mild and easy restraints of lawful discipline, only to subject themselves to the grinding tyranny of a single individual of impulsive temper and overbearing disposition.
The sun went down that evening in a sky that glowed like molten copper and was streaked with long tatters of smoky-looking cloud, which seemed to presage both a windy and a dark night, to my great anxiety; for the ship was now navigating a comparatively restricted area of landlocked sea, the chart of which was dotted—much too thickly for my peace of mind—with dangers of various descriptions, the names of many of which, when they bore any names at all, were coupled with that sinister caution (“P.D.”) warning the mariner that the position, as laid down upon the chart, was doubtful, and that therefore an especially good lookout must be maintained lest it should be blundered upon unawares.
These hints as to the necessity for exceptionally careful navigation were supplemented by a further warning given in the directory to the effect that not only were the positions of many of the dangers shown upon the chart exceedingly doubtful, but also that the existence of other dangers, not indicated at all upon the chart, was very strongly suspected! The exhaustive study which I had given to both the chart and the directory had so very effectually impressed upon me the vital necessity for the exercise of the most extreme caution henceforward that, being yet very young, and quite new to the heavy load of responsibility imposed upon me, I was perhaps more anxious than there was any actual need for. Under the pressure of this anxiety I went below, again produced the chart, and very carefully laid down upon it the course and distance, as indicated by the compass and log, which the ship had travelled since noon. I did this chiefly because I had already ascertained that there lay in the ship’s path two known dangers, the positions of which were doubtful; and what I had just done resulted in the discovery that, should the wind freshen sufficiently during the night to increase the speed of the ship to more than six knots, we were likely enough to approach within perilous proximity of those dangers before daylight of the next morning.
Accordingly I mentioned this fact to both Polson and Tudsbery, cautioning them to shorten sail in good time, and to call me should the wind freshen, as it seemed likely to do, during the hours of darkness. As a matter of fact, not only did the wind freshen during the first watch, but it also hauled round over the port quarter, increasing our speed so greatly that at length, when the watch was called at midnight, I—having kept the deck in my anxiety—took the precaution of shortening sail to the three topsails and fore topmast staysail, thus ensuring, as I confidently believed, that we should keep well clear of those pestilent dangers while the darkness lasted. Then, to add further to my anxieties, a drizzling rain came driving down upon us, thickening the atmosphere to such an extent that it became impossible to see anything beyond a ship’s length distant; and, after driving along through this at a speed of about five knots for the next four hours, my nervousness became so great that I gave orders to bring the ship to the wind and heave her to, determining to await the return of daylight before attempting any further progress.
At length a faint paling of the intense darkness astern proclaimed that the long night—wet, hot, steamy, and altogether unpleasant—was drawing to an end, and simultaneously the rain ceased, enabling us to discard the oilskins and sou’-westers in which we had been stewing all night. I took mine down on to the main deck, and hung them up to drain and dry on a hook commonly used to hook back the starboard door giving access to the poop cabins. Then, feeling exceedingly weary with my all-night vigil—for I had never been off the deck since sunset—I went to my own cabin for a few minutes and, filling the wash basin with cold fresh water, indulged in the luxury of a good wash, which had the effect of considerably refreshing me. This done, I returned to the poop, meeting Polson—whose watch it was—at the head of the poop ladder.
“Oh, here you are, sir!” he exclaimed in accents of evident relief. “I was just upon the p’int of goin’ down to ask ye to come on deck again.”
“Indeed,” said I. “Have there been any fresh developments, then, during the two or three minutes that I have been below?”
“Well, I dunno know much about ‘developments’, Mr Troubridge,” replied the boatswain; “but turn your ear to wind’ard, sir, and tell me if you hears anything at all out of the common.”
“Why?” I demanded. “Do you hear anything in particular?” And, as requested, I turned my head in a listening attitude.
Even during my brief absence from the deck the sky away to the eastward had paled perceptibly, and there was already light enough abroad to enable one not only to distinguish all the principal details of the ship’s hull and rigging, but also to render visible the heaving surface of the sea for the distance of perhaps a couple of cable’s lengths, which was as far as the eye could penetrate the still somewhat misty atmosphere. As I glanced outboard my attention was instantly arrested by the short, choppy tumble of the water, and its colour, which was a pale, chalky blue.
“Why, Polson,” I exclaimed, “what has happened to the sea during the night? Look at the colour of it! And—hark!—surely that cannot be the sound of broken water?”
“So you’ve catched it, Mr Troubridge, have ye, sir?” the man replied. “Well, you hadn’t scarcely got down off the poop just now afore I thought I heard some’at o’ the sort, but I couldn’t be sure. And what you told us last night about them there shoals that’s supposed to be somewheres ahead of us have been stickin’ in my mind all night and makin’ me— Ah! did ye hear that, sir?” he broke off suddenly.
Again the peculiar “shaling” sound, as of water breaking over some deeply submerged obstruction, came floating down to me from to windward!
“Yes, Polson, I certainly thought I did,” answered I in a state of considerable alarm; “and, to tell you the honest truth, I don’t half like it any more than I do the movement and colour of the water. Let them get the hand lead and take a cast of it.”
“Ay, ay, Mr Troubridge, I will. That’s the proper thing to do,” responded the boatswain, as he bustled away down on to the main deck and wended his way forward to bring up the lead-line.
The ship was already hove-to; there should therefore be no difficulty in obtaining absolutely accurate soundings. In another couple of minutes a man was stationed in the weather fore chains with the line coiled in his hand and the lead weight, its foot duly “armed” with tallow, sweeping in long swings close over the surface of the water, preparatory to being cast. Presently the weight shot forward and plunged into the sea a fathom or two ahead of the ship, the coils of thin line leapt from the leadsman’s hand, and, as the ship surged slowly ahead, the line slackened, showing that the lead had reached bottom, and the leadsman, bringing the sounding line up and down, proclaimed the depth—eighteen fathoms!
“Eighteen fathoms!” ejaculated I in horrified accents to Polson, who had rejoined me. “That means, Polson, that we are already on top of one of those dangers that I was speaking about last night. Jump for’ard, man, at once; clear away the starboard anchor ready for letting go, and bend the cable to it. And hurry about it, my good fellow, as you value your life. We may need to anchor at any moment in order to save the ship!”
The daylight was by this time coming fast, and it was possible to see with tolerable distinctness all round the ship, to as great a distance as the haziness of the atmosphere would permit. Still at intervals there seemed to float down upon the pinions of the warm, steamy wind that curious suggestion—for it was scarcely more—of the sound of breaking water. But if it were indeed an actual sound, and not an illusion of the senses, what did it mean? Had we already become embayed or entangled among an intricacy of reefs and shoals during the night, or had we in some marvellous fashion blundered past or through them in the darkness, and were already leaving them behind us? As I stood on the poop, asking myself these questions, and sending my glances into the mist that enshrouded the ocean on all sides of me, I fancied that I again caught the mysterious sound which resembled that of breaking water; but this time it seemed to come from ahead. And looking in that direction, I presently became aware of a line of spectral whiteness, stretching right athwart our hawse, that seemed to come and go even as I watched it.
“Stand by to wear ship!” I shouted. As the watch sprang to the braces I signed to the man who was tending the wheel to put it hard up. The ship, with her fore topsail aback, slowly fell off, until she was running dead before the wind; then, just as she was coming to on the other tack, the mist lifted for a moment and I caught a glimpse of a vast expanse of white water foaming and spouting and boiling dead ahead of and, as it seemed to me, close aboard of us!
“Lay aft here, some of you, and haul out the spanker!” I shouted. “Flow your fore topmast staysail sheet, to help her to come to, and call all hands to make sail. Round in upon your after lee braces. Board your fore and main tacks, Polson. We are on a lee shore, here, and must claw off, if we can!”
The furious battering of the boatswain’s handspike upon the fore scuttle brought up the watch below with a rush; and the sight of the white water close to leeward—caught by them the moment that they came on deck—was a hint to them, stronger than any words, of the necessity for haste, causing them to spring about the decks with a display of activity very unusual on the part of the merchant seaman. In a few minutes, the ship having come to on the starboard tack and brought the breakers square off her lee beam, the fore and main tacks were boarded, the sheets hauled aft, and half a dozen of the hands were in the weather rigging on their way aloft to loose the topgallantsails and royals, while two more were laying out upon the jibbooms to loose the jibs. Meanwhile I had sprung into the lee mizen rigging, and from that situation was anxiously scanning the sea ahead and upon the lee bow. To my great relief I presently saw that the ship was looking up high enough to justify the hope that she would claw off from the danger that menaced her to leeward; the sea being merely a short, irregular popple, with no weight in it to set us down toward the white water. Meanwhile the hand in the chains was continuing to take casts of the lead as fast as he could haul in the line, with the result that we seemed to be maintaining our depth of about eighteen fathoms, over a rocky bottom—composed of coral, as I had no doubt, from the peculiar whitish-blue tint of the water.
By the time that the topgallantsails, royals, jibs, and staysails had been set it had become broad daylight, and a few minutes later the sun rose above a heavy bank of thunderous-looking cloud that lay stretched along the eastern horizon, dispersing the mist that had hitherto obscured the atmosphere, and affording us an extended prospect of our surroundings.
The scene thus disclosed was alarming enough; for when, in order to obtain as wide a view as possible, I ascended to the fore topmast crosstrees I discovered, to my consternation, that we were in a sort of lake, of very irregular shape, measuring about eight miles east and west, by perhaps twelve miles north and south, surrounded on all sides by extensive patches of broken water, with narrow, and more or less intricately winding channels of clear water between them. How on earth we had contrived to blunder blindfold into such a trap of a place, in the darkness and thickness of the past night, without touching one or another of the countless reefs by which we were surrounded, passed my comprehension, although I believed I could make out the channel by which we had entered, far away to windward. If I were right in my conjecture we must have hove-to when we were about three or four miles to windward of everything, and then have driven, while still hove-to, along the channel, and finally into the lake-like expanse of comparatively deep water, missing destruction a dozen times or more during the passage by a sheer miracle.
Now, being in the trap, the problem to be solved was, how to get out of it again. Glancing round me, I could see nothing but broken water extending right out to the horizon, look which way I would. With the object of extending my view, I ascended to the royal yard, but even at this elevation the prospect was no more encouraging. Yet, stay, surely that dark streak away there on the northern horizon was blue water! Yes; the longer I looked at it—that thin thread of dark colour, barely visible, and broken here and there by intervening white patches, must be open water. Furthermore, it was to leeward, and therefore to be reached much more quickly and easily than the open water which we had left behind us sometime during the night, and to return to which it would be necessary for us to beat to windward through a more or less intricate and difficult channel. It was undoubtedly true that somewhere out there to windward there existed a channel carrying a sufficient depth of water to float the ship, for she had already passed through it; but our difficulty would be to pick that particular channel out from among the many intersecting streaks of unbroken water that showed so elusively among the breakers. And if it were possible to hit off that channel, or indeed any channel leading without a break into clear water, was the wind sufficiently free to enable us to lay our course along it without breaking tacks? I doubted it very much; and if not, or if at a critical moment the wind should shift a point or two, the ship must inevitably go ashore and become a wreck; for I could nowhere see a channel wide enough to allow the ship to work in. Arguing thus, I soon came to the conclusion that I must look to leeward for the channel that must conduct us to open water and safety.
I accordingly directed my gaze northward; and for some time my eyes searched that vast expanse of seething whiteness for an unbroken channel leading out into blue water from the lagoon-like sheet of water across which the Mercury was then ratching. But all in vain; for while there were plenty of channels leading from the lagoon through the broken water to leeward, not one of them seemed to be continuous all the way across the reef and right out to blue water. They intersected, merged into, and branched off from each other in the most bewildering fashion, and there were at least half a dozen that seemed to lead into open water; but I quite failed to trace a connection between them and those that led out of the lagoon. At length, however, when the ship had reached the easternmost extremity of the lagoon, and the moment had arrived when it became necessary for us to go about and retrace our steps, we suddenly opened out a small patch of unbroken water away to the north-eastward, with a clear, well-defined channel leading from it to the open sea. While I was still regarding this part of the reef I caught a momentary glimpse of another channel leading into the small patch of unbroken water, and intently following its course I presently became convinced that it was continuous, with a channel that opened out close ahead of us, and broad on our lee bow.
This channel was exceedingly narrow and tortuous, but a rapid survey of it satisfied me that the wind was free enough to allow the ship to traverse it, and I at once determined to make the attempt. There was no time for hesitation; whatever was to be done must be done at once. I therefore hailed Polson to keep the ship away a couple of points; and a minute later the Mercury had slid into the channel, and was sweeping rapidly along it to the north-east. For good or for evil the die was cast; for the direction of the wind and the exceeding narrowness of the channel precluded any possibility of return, and a couple of hours would now decide the momentous question, whether or not we were to bring the whole adventure to a premature conclusion by leaving our bones, and those of the ship, on that deadly coral reef.