Chapter Eighteen.
The “Pilot’s Bride.”
The more Fritz thought over the project, the more enthusiastic he became about it.
Unlike Eric, he was deeply reflective, never adventuring into any scheme or undertaking action in any matter until he had fully weighed the pros and cons and had considered everything that could be said for and against it; but, once his judgment was convinced, there was no more hearty co-operator than he.
It was so in this instance.
Eric’s idea had struck him as feasible at the first blush, the boy being so eager in giving vent to his own impressions and experiences of what he had seen at Tristan d’Acunha with regard to the advantage of starting a new sealing station of their own; but, when Fritz came to ponder over the plan, it seemed so chimerical that he felt inclined to be angry with himself for having entertained it for a moment. These second thoughts, however, did not long stand their ground after old Captain Brown had been consulted; for, that experienced mariner, who had, as he thought, such better means of judging than himself, immediately took so sanguine a view of the enterprise, that Fritz’s original opinion in favour of it became confirmed, and he entered upon the preparations for the expedition with even greater zest than Eric, its first inceptor and propounder.
“Brother,” said he to the latter, on Captain Brown’s approving of the plan and promising his cordial assistance in helping them to carry it out to a successful issue, “we’ll not leave anything to chance. We will put our shoulders to the wheel and determine to win!”
“Aye,” responded the other, “and we oughtn’t to make a failure either; for, you know, the old adage has it that, ‘Fortune favours the brave,’ eh?”
“Yes,” said Fritz, the practical. “However, it is in little things that success is attained, so we must not neglect these.”
Nor did they. Indeed, so much did Fritz impress Eric with the value of carefully considering every petty detail of their outfit, so that they might not find something omitted at the last moment which would be of use, that there was danger of their forgetting more important articles—the “little things,” apparently, absorbing all their attention.
So engrossed were they in this enthusiasm for collecting and packing up the most out-of-the-way trifles which it struck one or other of the two brothers that they might want—getting these ready, too, for their departure weeks before the Pilot’s Bride could possibly be refitted for her voyage—that they were the subject of many a joke from the hospitable household of the little “shanty” on Narraganset Bay.
The captain and Mrs Brown, or else Celia their daughter—a lively American lassie of Eric’s age, who seemed to have taken as great a fancy to the young sailor as her father had done towards Fritz—would ever be suggesting the most extraordinary things as likely to “come in handy on the island,” such as a warming pan or a boot-jack; with which latter, indeed, the skipper gravely presented the elder brother one day, telling him it would save him time when he was anxious to get on his slippers of an evening after sealing on the rocks!
But, although they “chaffed” them, the kind people helped them none the less good-naturedly in completing their equipment, the old captain’s “missis” and his “gal” plying their needles as energetically on their behalf as Madame Dort and Lorischen would have done in the little house at home in the Gulden Strasse of Lubeck. The very eagerness and “thoroughgoingness” of the hopeful young fellows enlisted sympathy for them, in addition to those good qualities which had already made them prime favourites.
“Bully for them, old woman,” as the skipper said, when talking them over to his wife. “They’re raal grit an’ bound to run into port with a fair wind an’ no mistake, you bet; they’re such a tarnation go-ahead pair o’ coons, with no empty gas or nonsense about ’em!”
But, full as he was of the venture, and embarking heart and soul into its details with every energy he possessed, Fritz did not neglect to write home a long letter to his mother and Madaleine, telling them all about the new undertaking in which his hopes and prospects alike were centred and expressing his feelings thoroughly in the matter—thus showing the amount of reflection he had given to the scheme.
Eric, he said, was a sailor; and, therefore, should the venture not succeed, its failure would not affect him much, as it would be merely an episode in his nautical life, Captain Brown promising to retain his name on the books of the Pilot’s Bride and allow him to ship again as third mate in the event of his taking to the sea once more when the two got tired of their sojourn on the island or found that sealing did not answer their expectations; but, for him, Fritz, the enterprise was a far more important one, changing the whole aspect of his career.
However, he wrote, he not only hoped for the best, but believed the undertaking would result more favourably than his most sanguine wishes led him to estimate its returns; still, in any case, it was better, he thought, to engage in it, rather than waste any further time in vainly searching for employment in the States.
But, whether successful or unfortunate, he was fully determined, so he concluded his letter, to return home within the period of three years to which he had limited his absence when leaving Lubeck; and, he prayed that his coming back would be the opening of a new era of happiness for them all—that is should the good God, who had so mercifully preserved their Eric from the dangers of the deep and restored the dead to life, prosper the joint enterprise of the reunited brothers, who, come what may, would now be together.
“Good-bye, dear mutterchen, and you, my darling Madaleine,” were his last words. “Watch and pray for us, and look forward to seeing us again beneath the old roof-tree in time for our third Christmas festival from now; and, then, won’t there be a home-coming, a house-warming, with us altogether once more!”
Much to Fritz’s satisfaction, before the Pilot’s Bride was ready to put to sea, a reply was received to this communication, bidding the brother crusoes a cheery “God speed!” from home. Madame Dort was so overjoyed with the unexpected news of Eric’s safety that she made no demur to the prolongation of his absence from home, the more especially now that he would be in Fritz’s company. As for Madaleine, she expressed herself perfectly contented with her betrothed’s plans, considering, as she did, that he would know best; but she was all the better pleased, she wrote, that he was going to an uninhabited island, as then he would be unable to come across other girls, who might blot her image from his heart.
“The little stupid!” as Fritz said fondly to himself when he read this,—“as if that were possible, the darling!”
If Madaleine, however, could have known that, when she penned those words, Master Fritz was engaged making himself agreeable to a party of New York belles who had come up from the stifling “Empire City” to see their cousins the Browns and sniff the bracing sea breezes of Narraganset Bay, she might not have been quite so easy in her mind!
But, she need not have alarmed herself much, for Fritz was too busily engaged, along with Eric, in helping Captain Brown to prepare the Pilot’s Bride for her forthcoming voyage, to spare much time to the fascinating fair ladies from Fifth Avenue.
The elder brother could do but little to aid the skipper in a nautical way; still, as a clerk, he proved himself of great assistance, attending to all the captain’s correspondence and acting as a sort of supercargo.
Eric, however, having now had considerable experience of the sea, besides, as the skipper had said, being “a born sailor,” came out in strong colours in all those minutiae required in getting a vessel ready for sea.
Really, he showed himself so active and intelligent that the skipper looked upon him as “his right-hand man”—at least, so declared he one day in the presence of Mrs Brown, Celia, and the entire family at the shanty, in full and open conclave; and no one disputed his statement, albeit Master Eric was sadly confused at the compliment.
But, how was it with the ship, in which, like twin Caesars, the brothers were about to embark “all their fortunes?”
Well, the Pilot’s Bride, after going into dry dock and discharging cargo on her return home, first had her sheathing stripped and the exterior of her hull carefully examined to see that no rotten timber-work should be overlooked that might subsequently be fatal to her when battling with the billows in mid-ocean. She had then been recaulked and coppered; besides having her rigging set up again and tarred down, as well as the coverings and seizings replaced, and the chaffing gear paid over. Finally, on the yards being sent up and the rigging completed, with all the running gear seen to and thoroughly overhauled, a good coat of paint, and an overcoat, too, in addition was given to the vessel from bow to taffrail down to the water-line, with a white streak, in regular Yankee fashion, running along her ports. The stern gallery and rail were then gilded, as was also the figure-head—a wooden damsel, with arms akimbo, of the most unprepossessing appearance, representing the bride of the “pilot” whose name she bore.
This completed the exterior refitting of the ship.
Much remained to be done to her interior, however; and, here it was that Eric was able to be of considerable service, having learnt all of a sailor’s duty in reference to the stowage of a vessel’s hold—a matter that might seem easy enough to a landsman who only has to do with the packing of boxes, but which is of serious importance on board a ship, where the misplacement of the cargo may not only affect her sailing properties but also the safety of those she carries.
To commence with, the Pilot’s Bride being a whaler would have to start from her home port comparatively “light”—as, having no cargo to speak of, save the provisions for her own crew for twelve months and the stores she carried for the use of the sealing schooners amongst the islands, she was forced to take in a great deal of ballast to ensure her stability, and this had to be so apportioned in her hold as to make her of good trim.
This being done, the water and provisions were then shipped and a large number of empty casks placed on top of all the stores in the hold, amidships. These latter were carried to be subsequently filled with the oil and skins that might be collected by the schooners acting as tenders to the Pilot’s Bride amongst the islands; and, besides, the ship had “trying pots” of her own to melt down the blubber of any whales or odd fish she might capture “on her own hook.”
The brothers’ belongings were next taken on board and placed in the cabin appropriated by Captain Brown to Fritz’s use; and then, only the live stock remained to be shipped and the crew mustered for the vessel to be ready for sea, as now, with her sails bent she lay along the wharf at Providence, waiting but to be hauled out into the stream.
She was a barque of some three or four hundred tons, riding rather high out of the water in consequence of being mostly in ballast. In appearance she looked somewhat wall-sided, and she had those heavy round bows that are seen mostly in whaling vessels, which are thus protected forwards in order to resist the pressure of the ice in those arctic regions whither they go to and fro; but, in spite of her build, which resembled more that of a Dutch galliot—such as Fritz’s eyes were accustomed to see in the ports of the North Sea—than an American merchantman, with her freshly painted hull, whose ports were picked out in white, and her tall shapely spars all newly varnished, the Pilot’s Bride looked as dapper and neat as her namesake. Eric certainly thought this, no matter what his brother’s opinion might be, and believed there was every reason for Captain Brown taking the pride in the vessel that he did.
“There you are,” said the skipper to the brothers, taking them with him to survey her from the jetty when all her preparations were finished, the vessel only waiting his mandate to haul out into the river—“did you ever see sich a tarnation duck of a beauty in all yer born days, hey?”
“She looks very pretty,” observed Fritz admiringly.
“Blow thet!” exclaimed the skipper with a laugh. “Folks would think you were talkin’ ’bout a gal; but, what ken a longshore fellow know ’bout a shep!” he added compassionately. “What d’ye say ’bout her Mas’ Eric, hey?”
“I say she’s a regular clipper, captain,” answered the lad in prompt sailor fashion, much to the skipper’s delight. Eric’s encomium was all the more appreciative from the fact of his having been familiar with the ship through part of her last voyage. Then, she was all battered and bruised from her conflict with the elements during her cruise in southern seas; so, now, her present transformation and gala trim made the difference in her appearance all the more striking to him, causing her good points to shine out with all the greater display and hiding most of her drawbacks.
“Ah, thet’s your sort of ’pinion I likes,” said the skipper in reply to Eric’s tribute to the vessel’s merits. “Yes, suttenly, she’s a clipper, if ever there wer one; an’ a beauty to the back of thet, I reckon, hey, sonny?” and he gave the lad one of his thundering pats of approval across the shoulders with his broad hand that almost jerked him off the jetty.
“I guess,” he added presently, “the only thing we’ve got to do now is to shep a tol’able crew aboard; an’ then, I kalkerlate, mister, she’ll be the slickest whaler this v’y’ge as ever loos’d tops’les an’ sailed out o’ Narraganset Bay!”
“Will there be any difficulty in getting men?” asked Fritz.
“No, I reckon not, mister,” replied the skipper, with a huge guffaw at his ignorance. “Why, the crimpers would send ’em to me in shoals, fur Job Brown is as well-known in Providence as Queen Victoria is in England, God bless her fur a good woman, too! The diff’culty lies in pickin’ out the good ones thet air worth their salt from the green hands, as ain’t up to a kid of lobscouse fur all the work they ken do aboard a shep!”
“Well, I hope you’ll get the men you want,” said Fritz cordially.
“Nary a doubt ’bout thet,” answered the other, slewing round and trotting across the wharf to a line of warehouses and merchants’ offices on the other side. “I’m just a-goin’ to my agents now; an’ I ken tell you, fur a fact, thet Job Brown is never licked, no, sir, not when he makes up his mind to anythin’!”
In the evening of the same day he astonished Fritz somewhat.
“Who d’ye think wished fur to sign articles with me to-day fur the v’y’ge?” said he, after he mentioned that he had shipped his crew and that the Pilot’s Bride would haul out into the stream the next morning, preparatory to starting off altogether on the following day.
“I’m sure I can’t say,” replied Fritz.
“Who but our old friend Nat Slater!” said the skipper with a broad grin. “I guess Nathaniel Washington hez come down in the world ag’in, fur all his tall talkin’ about what he wer goin’ to do to help you, hey?”
“Have you taken him on?” asked Fritz, somewhat dubious about the pleasure which the society of the whilom “deck hand” of the steamboat would afford him when the two of them should be cooped together on board the same vessel for any length of time, especially after the way in which that individual had behaved to him.
“Yes, I let him jine,” answered the skipper. “I couldn’t do else, considerin’ the poor cuss wer so down on his luck as to ask me; ’sides, mister, I knewed him afore he went to the bad; an’ if he du come with me, it’ll do him good in one way. He’ll never get none o’ thet infarnal drink till he comes back ag’in to Providence, fur I never allows a drop o’ pizen in any craft I sails from the time we leaves port till we casts anchor ag’in!”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Fritz. “There’s mischief enough done with it on land without taking it to sea.”
“Right you air, mister,” rejoined the other; “but, mind you, I don’t ask my men to do what I don’t do myself. This old hoss doesn’t believe in a fellow’s preachin’ one thing and practisin’ another; no, sirree! I ain’t a teetotaler, nohow; but I never touches a drop o’ licker from the time I sots foot aboard ship till I treads land ag’in—an’ what I does, every man Jack o’ my crew shall do ditto, or I’ll know an’ larn ’em the reason why, you bet! Howsomedever, mister, I guess we’d all better turn in now,” he added, making a signal which Mrs Brown and Celia always interpreted as meaning their departure to bed. “Recollect, this’ll be our last night ashore, fur we shall all hev to rise airly in the mornin’ to git the Pilot’s Bride under weigh.”