Chapter Eighteen.
On the Deck of the Derelict.
“Where away, my man?” shouted Commander Nesbitt, who, at the same moment, came up on the poop and was scanning the horizon on his own account. “How does she bear, eh?”
“Two points off the weather bow, sir,” replied the lookout from the foretopsail yard. “We’re rising her now, sir; and I can see one of her masts, though the rest of her spars seem to have gone by the board.”
“All right, my man, keep her in your eye,” sang back the commander, who then turned to the helmsman. “Give her more lee helm, quartermaster; and see if you can’t luff her up a couple of points! Watch, trim sails! Head lee braces! Brace up your head yards!”
With this, we hauled our wind; and, by bracing the yards sharp up and keeping her full and bye, we were able to bring the ship’s head a bit more to the westward than we had been previously sailing, steering now south-west by south instead of sou’-sou’-west as before, which was as near as we could get her to proceed in the direction where the lookout man had reported the vessel.
By Eight Bells, we could make out the derelict clearly from the deck; and, shortly after breakfast when we had closed her within half-a-mile, we could see that somehow or other she had got terribly knocked about, her bulwarks having been carried away, as well as most of her spars and rigging, only the stump of her mainmast being left still standing, with the yard, which had parted at the slings, hanging down all a-cockbill.
There was a portion of the shrouds left, also, and the backstay; but, of everything else, as far as we could judge at that distance, a clean sweep had been made fore and aft and the vessel seemed to be a complete wreck.
The commander’s keen eyes, however, caught sight of something, which at the first glance had escaped the notice of both lookout and signalman; not to speak of the many officers who stood around on the poop, scrutinising the dismantled vessel through their glasses, none of whom had observed this object until Commander Nesbitt pointed it out.
“Hullo!” he exclaimed abruptly. “What is that lashed to the rigging on her port beam?”
Every glass was instantly directed to the point he had indicated.
“It’s a man, sir,” said the signalman, noticing the object on its now being pointed out to him, very wise after the event, as most of us are disposed to be in everyday life. “I think I can see him move, sir.”
“Yes, by Jove!” cried Mr Jellaby, who stood near, holding on to one of the davits, jumping up on the gunwale to have a better view. “There he is waving one of his arms now!”
“I don’t know about that, imagination sometimes goes a great way in these matters,” observed Commander Nesbitt, after carefully inspecting the battered hulk with the glass Mr Jellaby handed him; “but, at all events, we’ll send a boat aboard and see. Bosun’s mate, pipe the watch to stand by to heave the ship to! Clew up the courses. Square the main yard!”
Larkyns, being, as I mentioned before, signal midshipman, had gone down to report the fact of our being close up with the wreck to Captain Farmer, who now appeared on the scene of action.
He at once gave an order for the first cutter to be lowered and preparations made for boarding the strange vessel, an order which was immediately carried into effect.
“Mr Jellaby had better go in charge of the boat, sir, I should think,” suggested the commander. “There’s a bit of a sea running and I don’t like sending a midshipman in such a case; for, you know, sir, we cannot expect old heads on young shoulders.”
“All right, Nesbitt,” replied the captain; “do as you like.”
This was a great disappointment to Ned Anstruther, who had come on deck fully equipped for the expedition in his sea boots and monkey jacket.
He had hurriedly dressed himself on hearing the cutter piped away as he was her proper officer, it being the general custom on board a man-of-war for each of the ship’s boats to be under the charge of one of the midshipmen, who invariably goes away in her under all circumstances of wind or weather for whatever duty she may be required.
There is little doubt that it is mainly owing to this practice of being early trained to exercise their judgment and discretion, and taught to command as well as to obey when young, that the officers of our service acquire that dash and readiness of action which is usually found lacking, it may be asserted without being accused of any insular prejudice or partiality, amongst those of other nations, who never have the same opportunities extended to them as a rule until they are almost too old to learn.
Boat service has been the school that brought forth the Nelsons and Rodneys of the past, as it has produced the Hornbys and Kanes and Beresfords of the navy of to-day, so to speak; and, whether our sailors have to fight behind wooden walls or in armoured turrets, the practice will continue to teach self-reliance and the use of brains.
Ay, boat service will always stand our sailors, officers and men alike, in good stead; despite the fact that they go to sea now in “floating factories” instead of on board ships such as our forefathers learnt their seamanship in, and that modern scientists, who treat everything on strictly theoretical principles, and, though have never smelt blue water, lay down laws for our guidance in the naval tactics of the future, dictating how we are to act and fight and manoeuvre under any and every possible prearranged contingency!
It was an awful sell, therefore, for poor Ned Anstruther when Mr Jellaby was deputed to the charge of his boat and he was thus “left out in the cold,” as the saying goes!
Nor was his mortification in any way lessened when the commander told him that the reason why he would not let him go, was because he could not swim properly; for there might be danger in getting alongside the wreck, with the wind and sea that was on.
So, Ned did not appear at all pleased when the lieutenant stepped forward to take his place in the cutter, giving him an envious look when he took his seat in the sternsheets prior to her being lowered down. I, too, cast an appealing glance at Mr Jellaby; and this, fortunately for me, Commander Nesbitt intercepted.
“I suppose you would like to go, youngster, eh?” he said to me. “Well, you may, if you like. I know that you can keep yourself afloat, at any rate if you get capsized, from what I learnt of your experiences the other day at Spithead; and, perhaps, Mr Jellaby may find you of use. Jump in, my boy.”
It is hardly necessary to say how promptly I obeyed the order.
As my dear old Dad would have expressed it, “Sharp was the word and quick the action.”
All the cutter’s passengers, however, were not yet aboard.
“Hold on, there!” cried Captain Farmer, as the falls were slackened off and the boat slowly lowered down into the heaving water alongside, the waves coming half-way up the counter to meet her. “I think the doctor had better go with you, Mr Jellaby. There may be some poor fellow on the wreck in need of immediate medical aid; and it will be a great saving of time, indeed, it may be the means of saving a life, if it be on the spot instead of your having to send back to the ship for it. Sentry, pass the word below for Dr Nettleby.”
We did not have to wait long; for, almost as soon as the captain’s message could have reached the main deck, the doctor made his appearance on the poop, accompanied by my old friend, Corporal Macan, carrying a surgical case and a roll of bandages, while the neck of a suspicious-looking flask could be also seen peeping out from one of his pockets.
In another minute or so, Dr Nettleby and his factotum managed to slide down by the aid of the after life-line into the sternsheets of the boat; though, they took their seats in a rather hurried fashion beside the lieutenant and myself.
Then, watching our opportunity to lower away, we managed so to time it that the cutter lighted on the crest of one of the rollers.
This took us some yards away from the ship’s side with the following swell of the sea; when our oars were dropped into the water at the word of command and we made for the wreck.
It was a stiff piece of work reaching her, for wind and waves were both against us and rowing difficult; the cutter at one moment being on the top of a mountainous billow and the next plunged deep down into a yawning valley of green water, the broken ridges of which curled over our gunwales on either hand, threatening to overwhelm us till we, rose again beyond their clutch.
But, the men “putting their backs into it,” and the coxswain steering judiciously so as to prevent the boat from broaching to, we finally got alongside the battered hulk.
We boarded her under the forechains to leeward, as she was down by the head, with a considerable list to port; and this seemed the safest point at which to approach her.
Getting close up, the bowman at once threw a grapnel that caught in some of the loose ropes hanging over the side; and, before we were well alongside, Mr Jellaby had scrambled up on to the forecastle of the ill-fated vessel.
Dr Nettleby and myself were not far behind him, Corporal Macan and Bill Bates, the coxswain of the cutter, following to render any assistance that might be necessary; the boat meanwhile being veered away to the end of the grapnel rope so as to be out of harm’s way and yet within easy reach of us as soon as we might want to go on board her again.
On gaining the deck, the scene presented to our gaze was piteous beyond all description, the ship appearing to have been first run into by some other craft and then left to drift about at the mercy of the elements.
Her starboard bow had been cut right through up to the head of the foremast, which had been carried away completely, with all its spars and rigging, as well as the bowsprit and maintopmast.
In addition to these, the mizzen and everything aft had gone; not a stick being left standing in her save the stump of the mainmast, as our lookout man had reported soon after just sighting her, as well as part of the lower rigging amidships.
Besides this, a section of the mainyard that had snapped in two at the slings was still held aloft by the truss, the other end of the spar having brought up, against the chain-plates, the brace being twisted round the shrouds and deadeyes in the most wonderful way!
Mr Jellaby, however, did not stop to notice these details, but made his way as well as he could through the maze of tangled cordage and heaps of wreckage that lay about in every direction towards the portion of the main rigging yet remaining intact, where, lashed to a fragment of the bulwarks that had not been washed away, was the figure of the man Commander Nesbitt had noticed.
There was no doubt now of his being alive; for, he was gesticulating violently and waving his arms about like those of a windmill.
The rolling of the ship and the clean breach which the sea made across the open deck amidships rendered the task of reaching the poor fellow all the harder; but, watching his chance between the lurches of the water-logged barque and clambering over the wreckage that rilled the waist from the forecastle up to the main hatchway, Mr Jellaby was able at last to get near enough to hear the voice of the man, who was a most ragged and miserable-looking creature, and was yelling out wildly as if he were insane in the intervals of his frantic motions, when there was a lull in the noise of the waves.
“He’s saying something, doctor,” he cried to Dr Nettleby, who had pluckily followed him up close, albeit so much older a man. “See if you can make him out; I don’t understand the lingo.”
The doctor listened for a moment and shook his head.
“It’s no language that I can recognise,” he said after a pause, as if thinking over all the dialects he had ever come across in his wanderings. “The poor chap has evidently gone mad and is jabbering some gibberish or other. Look how his eyes are rolling!”
By this time, however, I had managed to come up to where Mr Jellaby and the doctor were holding on to the backstay, and as the wind just then dropped for an instant and the deafening din of the clashing waters ceased, I caught a word or two out of a long sentence which the unfortunate man screamed out at the moment at the top of his voice.
“He’s talking Spanish, sir!” I exclaimed, much to the surprise of my seniors. “I can make out something that sounds like ‘por Dios,’ which means ‘for the love of God,’ sir.”
“Indeed!” said Mr Jellaby, gripping hold of one of the clewlines which hung down from the broken yard and swayed about in the wind, preparing to swing himself across the encumbered deck to the port shrouds beyond, where the man was lashed. “I didn’t know you were so good a linguist, young Vernon. By Jove, you’ll be of more use than I thought you would be when the commander told me to take you with me.”
“Oh!” I cried, rather shamefaced at this, “I only know a little of the language. I learnt it when I was in the West Indies with my father. We lived in one of the islands where there were a lot of Spaniards, and I heard their lingo spoken often enough.”
“Well, anyway, it’s lucky that you know something about it now, for you can keep your ears cocked and hear what the poor beggar says, while we try to release him from his uncomfortable billet. Here, Bates, bear a hand!”
So saying, Mr Jellaby swung himself across the frothing chasm that lay between him and the object of his pity, with the coxswain of the cutter after him, while Dr Nettleby and I remained by the mainmast bitts, Corporal Macan busying himself in getting the doctor’s medical traps ready for immediate use.
I soon had to exercise my new office of interpreter, for the man began shouting again on seeing Mr Jellaby and the coxswain near him.
“Ah del buque!” he screamed out, holding up, as if to signal with it, one of his emaciated hands, the bony fingers of which looked like those of a skeleton.
“Como se llama el buque?”
“He says ‘ship ahoy!’ sir,” I explained to the doctor. “‘What ship is that?’”
“Tell him who we are, then,” replied Dr Nettleby. “He is probably out of his mind, but it may quiet him.”
“Somos marineros Inglesas—we are English sailors,” I therefore cried in as shrill a key as I could to reach his ear, raking up the almost forgotten memories of my early years, and, I’m afraid, speaking very bad Spanish. “Del buque de guerra el Candahar de la regna Ingleterra—we belong to Her Majesty’s ship, Candahar!”
Bad Spanish or not, however, the poor fellow understood me.
“Gracias a Dios!” he said, his wild eyes brightening with a gleam of intelligence, as Mr Jellaby and Bill Bates, having unloosed him from the ropes by which he was seized up to the rigging, brought him across the deck to the doctor, who at once put a small quantity of brandy between his lips. “Habran llegado a tiempo.”
“What is that, eh?”
“‘Thanks be to God,’” I replied, translating what he had said. “‘You’ve just come in time.’”
“He never made a truer statement,” observed the doctor, significantly, as he plied him gently from time to time with the spirit, keeping his hand on his pulse the while. “In another half-hour he would have been a dead man; for, his circulation is down to nothing!”
Presently, the effects of the brandy told upon the poor fellow and he sprang suddenly to his feet by a sort of spasmodic effort, knocking Corporal Macan backwards into the water which was washing about the deck around us as he stood up.
“Ah los marineros cobardes!” he cried. “Vamos printo, hascia abajo!”
“Hullo, Vernon,” said Mr Jellaby. “What’s he talking about now, eh?”
“I believe he’s referring to the crew who deserted the ship and left him behind to his fate, sir,” I answered, “for he has spoken of the ‘cowardly sailors,’ as he calls them. I think they must have been curs, sir, to have left him to die tied up like that, sir!”
“Anything else, eh?”
“He also says, ‘be quick and look below.’ I suppose he means for us to examine the vessel’s hold.”
“Si si—yes, yes,” exclaimed the rescued man as I said this, seeming to understand what I suggested. “Abajo—abajo—go below! go below!”
He nodded his head also as he spoke, looking towards the after part of the wreck and pointing downwards with his finger; while a shudder of horror passed over his corpse-like face, the dark hair surrounding which made it look all the paler.
“By Jove, I think there is something in what you say, my boy,” cried the lieutenant, moving away at once in the direction indicated as quickly as he could, telling the coxswain to follow him. “I ought to have overhauled the cabin before. The sea is getting up again, I notice; and, we’ll soon have to shove off from here if we wish to get back to our own ship again!”
The moment the Spaniard saw Mr Jellaby start off on this mission, he drew a deep breath of satisfaction.
“Buena, buena—good, good!” he murmured softly, as if talking to himself. “Soy muy mal—I feel very ill!”
He then threw up his arms and dropped down as if he had been shot, Corporal Macan just catching him in time, crying out in a loud tone as he fell, louder indeed than he had yet spoken, as if giving a peremptory order—
“Fonde el ancla!”
“Begorrah, I can’t say to his ankles!” said the Irishman, not understanding of course what he said, and mistaking the sound of the words. “Till him they’re all right, sor. Faix it’s all I can do to hould his arms, let alone his legs, sure!”
“Nonsense, Macan,” I cried, not able to keep from laughing. “He didn’t say anything about his ankles, or legs either.”
“Thin, what did he say, sor, if ye’ll excuse me for axin?”
“‘Fonde el ancla,’” I replied, “means, you donkey, to ‘let go the anchor!’”