CHAPTER XXVIII.
The Cumbermede had passed the line of gentle winds, and had struck a point where strong ones and even storms might be looked for. Still the sailors took no notice of the clouds; they believed too strongly in luck, and the new captain had been running in a “streak” of it ever since he hoisted anchor for the outward trip; he would get in all safe, no fear of that. But the captain had less faith in his star, and more in watchfulness, and was more frequently on deck as every day went by.
“I don’t like those clouds there to starboard, Morton,” he said to his first officer one afternoon; “they look a little ugly to me.”
The mate took a sharp look towards them.
“I don’t believe there’s much in them,” he said, “and they’re to leeward of us, too, or have been, rather; the wind’s getting round a trifle, I see.”
“That’s just it,” said the captain; “and if it gets round a little farther we may find out what’s in them before night. Keep a good lookout, and I’ll be on deck again in half an hour.”
Before the half hour had passed the wind had shifted decidedly, and was blowing very brisk from where the clouds lay.
“Reef the topsails,” said the captain the moment he came up.
“Ay, ay, sir,” said the mate, and passed the order to the men. But the winds worked faster than the men could, and before the order was fairly executed it was time to issue another, and still another followed. All hands were called, and in another half hour the vessel was driving, close-reefed, before a constantly increasing gale. “A half a gale,” as the sailors called it at first, then “a gale of wind,” and by the time the darkness gathered, “a living gale of wind.”
The captain’s voice could be heard clear and sharp above the tempest for some time, but at last it was almost impossible for either his or the mate’s to be distinguished, though there was little to do by that time but to let the vessel drive.
“I don’t know what’s coming of this, Morton,” said the captain during a moment’s lull; “but, however we come out, we’ve done all we can.”
“I’m afraid we have, sir; but I can’t think this will last much longer. It seems to be holding off a little just now; and it would be hard to see anything go wrong so near home, and after such a run as we have had.”
But the momentary lull seemed only to have redoubled the strength of the tempest; the beating and the roar increased until it seemed as if every sail, close-reefed as it was, would be carried away. At last, through all the commotion, a sharp, tearing crash and a heavy fall announced that the foretopmast had yielded to the strain.
“Clear away there!” shouted the captain, and the men sprang forward with their axes. It was almost impossible to do anything, with the vessel pitching as if she would go under with every wave, but the work must be done, and the captain’s voice was heard now above everything.
But something else was not heard: a broken spar, just above the captain’s head, was swaying back and forth, crackling and snapping for one instant before it should come down. Only Jake’s eye, raised for one instant, caught sight of it. To shout or to gesture through the roar and darkness would have been vain; only a momentary flash of lightning had shown the danger to Jake. In one instant, almost like the lightning itself, he was at the captain’s side.
“Stand from under!” he shouted, and pointed upward. The captain sprang aside, Jake turned to do the same, but a pitch of the vessel destroyed his balance. The one second taken to recover it, was the one second too late. With a crash near enough now to be heard over all, the spar was down, and Jake—? Where was he? Overboard? For one moment it seemed so, but another flash showed him lying senseless against the windlass. If he could but have known that it was the captain himself who sprang toward him, lifted him up, and drew him to a place of safety?
In another half hour, as if the storm with this last cruel blow had wreaked its vengeance, it had passed away, a fine steady breeze was all that remained of its force, and the clouds were breaking in rifts along the sky. And with just such a momentary uncertain light as the moon was sending through them, Jake’s consciousness was returning; enough, though to show him that the captain was standing by his bunk and holding water to his lips. That moment repaid Jake for all the bygone years that had made his life a wretchedness.
“On hand again, my man? That’s all right! I was afraid you had shipped for another voyage, and all for my sake too!”
If Jake could only have told him what was in his heart! He would have given worlds to do it, but he could not speak.
“You saved my life, my hearty, and I shall remember that I owe it to you,” said the captain again.
Jake made a tremendous effort. He would speak! “No, captain,” he said, “I owed it to you before! Ever since the night you took me into your watch. I did not know I had a soul, before that, or that anybody cared for it if I had, but when I found you did, I believed Another might. I’ve lived for you ever since, and have tried to live a little for Him, if He’d accept it, and I’d have died for you any day. If I do now, it’s all right, and more than I ever thought He’d grant me. It’s only shipping for another voyage, as you say, and if he takes me safe to port, you’ll follow.”
When the morning sun rose over a calm blue sea, Jake’s voyage was ended, and the Divine hand he had reached out to grasp, in the loneliness of his comfortless bunk, that night so long ago, had steered him safely home!