Chapter Sixteen.
The cataclysm.
No sooner was the ship round and hove-to, with her fore topsail aback, than Gurney and Saunders slid down into the longboat and hooked on the tackles, which I stood by on deck to haul taut. Then by means of a snatch-block, the watch-tackle, and the winch, we proceeded to lift first the bows and then the stern out of the water, a foot or so at a time. It was slow, tedious work; but we were greatly assisted by the light of the moon, which was by this time well above the horizon; and by working as though for our lives we at length managed to get the boat well above the level of the bulwarks, to transfer her weight from the yards to the stay tackles, and to swing her inboard a few minutes before it became imperatively necessary for us to wear round in order to avoid going ashore upon the barrier reef. By this time, too, we were able to see a great crowd of people gathered upon the south Head watching us; and once or twice we even thought we caught the sound of hailing; but their attempts to communicate with us ended with that, a fear which I had entertained that a number of them might attempt to swim out and scramble aboard while we were all busy with the longboat proving groundless.
We contrived to get the ship round with her head to the northward again, just in time to avoid nicely hitting the reef; and then, upon the principle that it is useless to make two bites at a cherry, we determined to complete our task fully before going outside; we therefore got the yard and stay tackles down and stowed away, and the longboat properly secured in gripes before attempting to pass out through the reef. This kept us busy for nearly another hour, at the end of which we tacked for the last time in the lagoon, and bore away for the passage through the reef, which we successfully negotiated just as the sun’s upper rim flashed above the horizon, the jollyboat and the two gigs that we intended to leave behind having been cast adrift a quarter of an hour earlier.
We were all by this time beginning to feel the need of both food and rest, we therefore decided to treat ourselves to a good, substantial breakfast to start with; after which, the weather being fine, and the glass high, three out of the four of us might safely venture to snatch a few hours’ sleep. Accordingly I went aft to relieve Grace Hartley at the wheel, while she retired to the cabin which had been allotted to her and made a hasty toilet prior to an incursion into the steward’s pantry with the view of arranging for breakfast. But Saunders was beforehand with her; for while she was refreshing herself he entered the pantry and gave it an overhaul, finding a smoked ham, a barrel of cabin bread, coffee, cocoa, sugar, and a number of other articles already stowed there by the steward who was to have accompanied the ship on her projected voyage to China. The ham he promptly cut, carrying several slices, together with the coffee, forward to the galley, where Gurney was already busy starting a fire; after which he returned to the cabin and produced a tablecloth, knives and forks, cups and saucers, plates and dishes, and set the table; thus, by the time that Grace was ready, she found all her intentions anticipated. When breakfast was ready, Saunders came and relieved me at the wheel, while I, in company with Gurney and his sweetheart, sat down to breakfast, at which meal it was arranged that I should take the first watch, steering the ship and keeping a lookout until seven bells in the forenoon, when Gurney was to be called to relieve me while I took the sun, Saunders’s duty being to prepare a makeshift dinner. The next watch, until eight bells in the afternoon, was to be Gurney’s, when Saunders would come on duty for the first dogwatch, while Grace Hartley was to be allowed to prepare the tea—or supper, as it was then the fashion to call the last meal of the day; in fact, we made out a regular watch-bill, setting forth the sequence of the watches, the names of those who were to keep them, and the additional duties which each person was to perform, Grace Hartley being, of course, let off very lightly, her share of the work being principally confined to easy domestic duties.
As soon as I had finished breakfast I went on deck and relieved Saunders, who went forward to the galley to secure the food that was there being kept hot for him, taking it aft and consuming it in the cabin. I had already determined upon the route that I would take, and was glad to find that while I had been below, the wind had veered just sufficiently to allow the ship to lay her course, close-hauled. Half an hour’s further experience revealed the fact that the ship was so nearly steering herself that a very slight adjustment of the helm would enable her to do so entirely, and this adjustment I was able to make with sufficient accuracy within the next twenty minutes to permit of my lashing the wheel and giving my attention to other matters. I therefore got out the chart and spread it open on the cabin table, went on deck again to take the bearings and distance of the island—the latitude and longitude of which I had long ago ascertained and marked upon the chart—and then laid down the ship’s position.
Then, finding that the ship still continued to behave satisfactorily under her lashed helm, I got the telescope and went up into the main topmast crosstrees to take a last look at the island, by that time about ten miles distant. It still lay broad on the horizon astern, and so clear was the atmosphere that I was able to distinguish the boats which we had cast adrift, still about a mile from the shore. I next swept the entire horizon with the telescope, in search of other land, or a sail, but not a hint of the presence of either could I detect in any direction. I was especially anxious to fall in with a ship as soon as possible, it being my intention to borrow a few more men, if I could; for our experiences of the past night had already demonstrated to us that while it was certainly possible for us four to handle the ship in fine weather, it meant heavy work, while in bad weather it might easily prove impossible. The one thing of paramount importance to us, while we were so short-handed, was plenty of sea room; and this I was determined to keep, ay, although to do so should add another thousand miles to the length of the voyage.
Having taken a thoroughly exhaustive look round I descended to the deck and busied myself about a number of odd jobs that needed attention, such as hauling taut and coiling up as much of the running gear as had been cast off the pins during the night.
In this way I contrived to pass a fairly busy morning until seven bells, when I called Saunders to turn out and start work in the galley, afterward taking my sextant on deck to catch the meridian altitude of the sun. Then, immediately after dinner, I retired to my cabin and, throwing off the clothing that I had now worn for more than thirty hours, stretched myself upon my bunk, and slept like a log until Grace Hartley—who had left the cabin an hour or so before—knocked at my door to tell me that it was four bells and supper was ready.
By this time we had all had at least six hours’ sleep, and felt able to face the coming night with equanimity, the more so for the reason that the weather promised to continue fine. The ship was still under her two topsails and fore topmast staysail, under which she was doing very well, her average rate of sailing throughout the day having been, as nearly as possible, four and a half knots. There was a nice topgallant breeze blowing, and we all felt that we should like to have availed ourselves of it to the fullest possible extent; but making sail and taking it in were two very different things—we could make sail at our leisure, but we should probably be in a hurry when the shortening process became necessary; moreover, to swing the topsail and lower yards, with the strength at our command, was quite as much as we could well manage. After talking the matter over together, therefore, we ultimately decided to let everything stand just as it was until we could see a little more clearly what was before us.
In this manner, then, the first two days passed, the ship jogging along to the southward at the rate of about one hundred to a hundred and twenty miles in the twenty-four hours, the weather continuing fine and, on the whole, settled, enabling us all to get an ample sufficiency of rest while attending to the duties which each day brought with it.
On the third night, dating from the beginning of our adventure, it fell to me to take the middle watch; and when I went on deck at midnight I still found the weather everything that could be desired, except that the wind was perceptibly lighter than it had been when I turned in some four hours earlier. This change, Saunders informed me, had been in progress during almost the whole of his watch; but I did not think—nor did he—that it portended any very important alteration in the weather, for the sky was perfectly clear, and the stars shone brilliantly. The utmost that I anticipated was a possible shift of wind; which, however, would be no great matter, since it was just as likely to be in our favour as against us. We stood for a few minutes discussing probabilities, and then Saunders bade me good night and went below.
For nearly two hours I stood at the wheel, holding the ship to her course with ever-increasing difficulty; for the wind still continued to drop until we scarcely had steerage-way. Then, with a final sigh the breeze died away altogether, the topsails hung limp and dew-saturated from the yards, the fore topmast staysail sheet drooped amidships, and the Mercury swung broadside-on to the scarcely perceptible swell.
Abandoning the now useless wheel, I walked forward to the skylight—in which the cabin lamp, turned low, burned dimly—and had a look at the barometer. It was about a tenth lower than when I had last looked at it, two hours earlier, and that might possibly mean an impending change of weather; but if so, the heavens showed no sign of it thus far, for the sky was still clear as crystal, the stars beamed down with undiminished radiance out of the immeasurable depths of the blue-black vault overhead, and the swell was perceptibly flattening. Then I looked at the clock, which, as is usual at sea, was set every day by the sun. It wanted five minutes to two; I therefore had still two hours of my watch to stand; and, to stave off a certain feeling of drowsiness that was insidiously taking possession of me, I went down on to the main deck and proceeded to pace to and fro in the waist, satisfied that I might walk there as long as I pleased without disturbing the rest of my companions, each of whom occupied a cabin under the poop.
As I thoughtfully walked fore and aft between the main and fore rigging, instinctively treading lightly in sympathy with the profound silence of the night, my imagination carried me back to the island, and I was endeavouring to picture to myself Wilde’s rage and disgust upon making the discovery that the ship had prematurely gone to sea, taking with her the girl that he had fully determined to marry, when a low sound, like the muttering of far-distant thunder, awoke me out of my reverie. I sprang up on the poop and flung a hasty glance around the horizon to see if I could anywhere catch the glimmer of distant lightning, thinking that possibly a squall might be brewing. Far away to the northward I did indeed distinctly see what appeared to be the reflection in the sky of certain ruddy flashes, but they hardly looked to me like lightning, or, at all events, like the kind of lightning which I had been accustomed to see.
Meanwhile the low, muttering sound had not died away, as thunder does; on the contrary, it was not only continuous but was steadily growing; in volume with amazing rapidity, proceeding apparently from the direction of those curious ruddy flashes, which were also growing stronger, even as I stood staring and wondering what the phenomenon might mean. As the sound steadily increased so did its resemblance to thunder—or the rapid firing of heavy guns—become more pronounced, a distinct booming, like that of frequent heavy explosions, making itself heard in the midst of the continuous rumble—which seemed to me to be drawing nearer with frightful rapidity. Then, as I still gazed in perplexity toward the spot from which this mysterious and terrifying sound seemed to emanate, I caught the gleam of white water on the northern horizon; and no longer doubting that a heavy squall—of a character quite unknown to me, and perhaps peculiar to those waters—was about to burst upon us, I dashed down the poop ladder and into the cabin, uttered one yell of: “All hands on deck!” and then dashed out again on to the main deck, springing first to the main topsail halyards and letting them run, and then doing the same by the fore.
By the time that I had cast off the fore topsail halyards, Gurney and Saunders, alarmed by my cry, were out on deck, while in the doorway of the cabin stood Grace Hartley with a wrap of some sort thrown over her shoulders.
“What is it, Mr Troubridge—what, in the name of all that is terrible, is happening?” demanded Gurney, gazing about him in amazement.
“Man the reef tackles, for your lives!” I shouted. “Don’t you hear the squall thundering down upon us? If we are not lively it will whip the masts out of her—indeed I am not sure but it will in any case! Here we are; lay hold, and drag—Grace, go back to your cabin—this is no place for you!”
Gurney sprang to one of the reef tackles, while Saunders and I dragged at the other, yelling our “Yo ho’s!” as we did so. Meanwhile the awful booming and crashing sounds seemed to be sweeping down toward us on the wings of the squall, and so heavy had they by this time become that we could actually feel the ship trembling with the reverberation of them. The next second that frightful combination of rumbling and crashing sounds was all about us, mingled now with the hoarse roar of heavily breaking water; the ship suddenly began to pitch and roll with a violence which deprived us of all power to do anything more than just cling for our lives to the nearest object that we could lay hold of; the sea all about us suddenly broke into a mad turmoil of raging waters, white with the glare of phosphorescence, leaping, foaming, and swirling hither and thither with appalling violence; huge masses of water flung themselves high in the air and crashed in over our bulwarks, forward, aft, and amidships, all at the same moment, deluging our decks and threatening to sweep us overboard; and in the midst of it all we felt a succession of violent shocks, as though the ship were being swept over a reef by a violent tide race. But there was no wind; not a breath, save such slight baffling draughts as were probably created by the violent motion of the sea around us.
Those grating, hammering shocks lasted perhaps half a minute, then they suddenly ceased; the deep rumbling, crashing sound swept past us away down to the southward, and gradually died away; the roar of broken water changed its note and became the seething hiss of an innumerable multitude of streams rushing over a rocky bed and cascading from one level to the other; and the ship once more floated motionless, or nearly so. And throughout the whole of this soul-shaking experience the stars beamed calmly down upon us with undimmed splendour.
For a few seconds we three men stood staring at each other in awestruck silence; then Gurney spoke, with a curious little quaver in his voice.
“That was no squall, Mr Troubridge,” said he. “It was a submarine earthquake, and of extraordinary violence, too. I should not be in the least surprised if you find that its effects have been powerful and widespread enough to make your chart of these seas absolutely useless to you. For instance, we are supposed to be a long way off soundings here, are we not? Yet what are we to make of those shocks that we felt just now; were they merely the result of the earth tremor communicated to the water, and through it to the hull of the ship; or were we actually swept violently over the surface of a shoal? I should like, just for curiosity’s sake, to take a cast of the—”
He paused suddenly. While speaking, his eyes had been fixed intently upon something that he seemed to see over my shoulder, away out on the port side of the ship; and now, without attempting to finish his sentence, he abruptly walked to the rail and stood staring out over it.
“What is the matter, Gurney; what do you think you see?” I demanded, going to his side, and somehow thrilled by the queerness of his manner.
“Come up on the poop,” he said; “we shall see better from there.”
He led the way, and I followed; and as I drew to his side he slowly stretched forth his arm in a pointing attitude, and, sweeping his hand slowly right round the horizon, said, in a low, impressive voice that was almost a whisper, the single word:
“Look!”
Then, for the first time, I saw the explanation of his strangeness of manner. While he had been voicing his anticipations as to the possible effects of the earthquake, I had been looking at him, meanwhile merely catching a suggestion out of the corner of my eye, as it were, of the fact that the disturbance of the ocean’s surface around us was very rapidly subsiding, but without grasping the significance of it all; for I was listening to what he was saying, and turning it over in my mind. But now, as we stood together on the poop and gazed out in every direction round about us, I saw, to my unspeakable awe and consternation, that what, a quarter of an hour earlier, had been, to the best of my knowledge and belief, an unfathomable ocean was now, to a very large extent, dry land! That is to say, the ship appeared to be floating—or was she aground?—in a kind of pond, or small lake, of perhaps eight or ten acres in extent, surrounded on every side by land of some sort, off the rugged surface of which the salt water was still pouring in a multitude of little streams and cataracts. How far this land extended it was at that moment quite impossible to say; but, so far as could be seen in the dim uncertain light of the stars, it appeared to extend nearly or quite to the horizon. And the whole of it had been hove up from the ocean depths in the space of a few seconds. True, this part of the great Pacific Ocean was thickly dotted with reefs and shoals, the positions of many of which had never been accurately determined, while it was known that there were many others with a sufficient depth of water upon them to allow a ship to pass safely over them in any weather. This might possibly be one of them; but, even so, the fact remained that a low island of quite respectable extent had suddenly been created.
“Well, Gurney,” I exclaimed, looking round in ever-growing amazement, “this is something quite new in the way of shipwrecks; something, indeed, that, if recorded in the newspapers, would be denounced by the clever ones who know everything as an outrageous falsehood, an audacious attempt to impose upon people’s credulity.”
“Very possibly,” agreed Gurney. “I have run up against a good many people in my time who seem to make a point of disbelieving everything that has not come within the scope of their own actual experience. Yet there is nothing so very wonderful in this business, after all. New land is frequently being discovered where deep water is known to have previously existed; and this is a case in point, that is all. And, as to calling our present plight a shipwreck—well, I think it is rather anticipating matters to do that. If we had chanced to be caught floating immediately over any of that portion that has been hove out of water, and the ship left high and dry, we might be justified in calling ourselves shipwrecked; but here we are, still afloat; and who is to say that a way may not be found out of this dock into the open ocean?”
“Yes,” I agreed, “there is certainly something in what you say. But are we really afloat? The ship seems too absolutely motionless for that. Let us get the lead-line, and take a cast.”
“Ay, ay, Mr Troubridge; that’s the proper thing to do!” exclaimed Saunders, who meanwhile had joined us. “I’ll get the lead and take a few casts all round her.” And he hurried off to put his resolve into execution.
As he descended to the main deck by way of the starboard poop ladder, Grace Hartley, fully clad, ascended to the poop by way of the other, and, approaching us, exclaimed:
“Oh, George—oh, Mr Troubridge, whatever dreadful thing has happened, and what does this unnatural stillness of the ship mean?”
“It means, Gracie dear,” answered Gurney, “that there has been a violent submarine earthquake, which has replaced most of the water that was round about us, half an hour ago, with dry land, as you may see by looking about you. And the ‘unnatural stillness’ of the ship, as you call it, is due to the fact that we are now afloat—at least I hope so—in a small lake, instead of upon the open ocean. That is the sum and substance of what has happened; and to that statement I may add that the earthquake has passed and there is now no further danger. There is therefore no reason why you should not be in bed, Miss Hartley, and there I very strongly advise you to go, forthwith.”
“Thank you, Mr George Gurney, both for your information and your advice,” answered Grace, with a little quavering laugh, that testified to the extent of the alarm from which the poor girl had been suffering. “As to the latter, however,” she continued, “I shall not follow it, for the simple reason that it would be quite impossible for me to sleep, notwithstanding your reassuring statement that all danger has now passed. Therefore, as I imagine that you men will not attempt to turn in again to-night, I shall go to the galley, light the fire, and make you each a cup of good strong coffee, for which I believe you will all be the better.”
So saying, she tripped away on to the main deck, and forward to the galley, from the dark recesses of which we presently saw a cheerful light gleaming; and within half an hour our ministering angel had placed within the hands of each of us a cup of steaming hot coffee and a buttered biscuit.
Meanwhile Saunders, having procured the lead-line and a lantern, proceeded to sound systematically all round the ship, with the result that in due time he rejoined us on the poop, reporting as follows:—
“There’s a bed of soft mud under our bows, Mr Troubridge, on which we’ve grounded to about as far aft as the fore riggin’. Beyond that, I reckon the ship’s afloat, for at that p’int there’s eighteen foot of water, gradually deepenin’ to twenty-two foot under the starn-post. I don’t reckon that we’re so very hard and fast on the mud, hows’ever; for there’s a good seventeen foot o’ water under the bows; and I noticed, when we’d finished loadin’ her t’other day, that she only drawed seventeen foot six for’ard.”