Chapter Fifteen.
“A Little Unpleasantness.”
“Say, Cap’, we’ll have to strip her first,” suggested Jorrocks, when it was thus decided to carry out the contemplated measure for the relief of the ship—“if we don’t do that, we’ll have every stick taken out of her as soon as we try to wear her!”
“Oh, aye, boatswain, I haven’t forgotten that, you may be sure,” said the skipper; and the hands were then once more sent aloft to furl the main-topsail, while the mizzen trysail was hauled down and the braces manned, so as to help the vessel round with the yards the moment the helm was put up.
It was a ticklish job, though. The utmost care was necessary in order that the manoeuvre might be successfully accomplished.
Should one of the heavy rollers strike her after she had once yielded to the influence of the rudder and while coming round with the wind, before she had fully paid off—thus presenting her stern to the attack of her stubborn assailants even as she now faced them, like a stag at bay or a cat fronting a bull-dog—why, the gale would undoubtedly catch her broadside on. In such a case, the Esmeralda would be exposed at her weakest point to the full force of the wind and sea, in the same way as the deer or cat turning tail to its pursuer—with what result we on board could readily anticipate, even without the skipper’s warning words!
As Jorrocks expressed it, in the event of such a catastrophe happening, “It was all Lombard Street to a China orange we’d lose the number of our mess and sarve as food for fishes!”
Everything, therefore, depended on our seizing the right moment for putting the helm up and bringing her head round, the critical period being that between the onslaught of one of the rollers and the advent of the next; when, if the vessel answered her helm smartly, rising out of the trough of the sea ere the following wave had time to reach her, she would be away scudding in front of the gale safely, before many minutes would be past and the present peril might then be a thing to look back upon with feelings of thankfulness and satisfaction.
Captain Billings explained this to Jorrocks, while all the remaining canvas was being stripped off the vessel, with the exception of the fore-topmast staysail, which was still retained in order to assist in forcing her head round when all was ready for trying the hazardous experiment.
“You know what I want, Boatswain,” he said, sending Jorrocks forwards to watch for a favourable opening between the following waves and turn the ship—“the moment you see our chance, give the word; and then, Heaven help us to get round in time and not broach-to!”
“Aye, aye, sir, I knows what you want,” answered Jorrocks, who then proceeded to crawl as carefully towards the fore-chains, as the carpenter had come aft—bending down beneath the protection of the weather-bulwarks as he crept along the waist, and holding on by a stray rope’s-end here and there to preserve his balance—although he did this as much to prevent exposing his body as leverage for the wind to force the vessel over to leeward before the proper time, as to shield himself from its boisterous buffeting.
Arrived at the point he had selected, Jorrocks drew himself up gingerly into the fore-rigging, his hat blowing from off his head and his hair streaming out before the wind the instant he abandoned the shelter of the bulwarks. However, he had not long to remain in that exposed position.
He had waited to stand up until he heard the blow of one of the heavy billows as it careered before the gale, coming against the bows in due rotation, and the instant he heard this he raised himself erect at once, receiving part of the deluge that broke over the cathead in a fountain of spray on his exposed head and hairy face, the impromptu shower bath making him appear like a dripping merman fresh from the briny deep.
Jorrocks, however, did not mind the cold bath. He had much more serious matter on hand to take notice of it, beyond giving himself a shake like a retriever fresh from a dip.
Looking over the side to windward, as quickly as he dashed the water from his eyes, he noticed that the following wave succeeding the one which had just delivered its attack, was quite two cable lengths off—a more than usually long interval between the waves as yet.
It seemed like an interposition of Providence in our favour, I thought, noticing the lull from my station on the poop almost as soon as Jorrocks perceived it in the bows, and I feared he would have missed the opportunity.
But the boatswain was too good a seaman for that. The very instant the reflection crossed my mind that he would be too late, for the whole thing happened in the “wink of an eye,” he raised his right hand high in the air, standing up to his full height on the bulwarks, while holding on to the ratlines of the foreshrouds—thus allowing his body to act as a sort of additional headsail to aid the fore-topmast staysail, which, as I’ve said before, was the only rag the ship had on her, in forcing her bows round.
Captain Billings was watching Jorrocks even more intently than I; and, without a second’s delay, the moment the latter gave the signal that the critical point for action had arrived, he roared out in a voice of thunder, “Hard up with the helm, hard up, my men, for your lives!”
Mr Macdougall and the two seamen who were standing on either side of the wheel, clutching hold of the spokes and holding on to them with all their might, shifted it round almost as quickly as the skipper’s order was given. But they had to put all their strength into the task to overcome the resistance of the dead weight of the hull, aided as that was by the mountain of water pressing it back upon them and thus resisting their efforts to shift the helm over to port.
For a brief space of time, hardly an instant though it seemed an eternity, the ship appeared somewhat sluggish to respond to the movement of the rudder, hanging in stays and settling down into the great valley of water that loomed on our lee; but the next moment a glad cry of relief burst from all as she answered her helm, a wavering motion of her bows denoting this being then perceptible.
“Now, men, look alive,” cried the skipper. “Cast-off those lee braces here; haul round to windward sharp, and square the yards!”
These orders were executed as rapidly as they were given, the hands being ready at the braces, and only waiting for the word of command to ease the yards round. When these were squared, however, the fore-topmast staysail fluttered and filled with a jerk that made the foremast crack and tremble, the vibration shaking the ship to her centre and penetrating even as far as to the deck beneath our feet as we stood awaiting the issue of the operation—the very planks “creeping” with the concussion caused by this and the bows meeting the send of the sea.
But the power of the little staysail forward, and the effect of the exposed surface of the boatswain’s body in the rigging, both catching the wind at the same time, settled the matter.
Without making any further opposition to our wishes, the Esmeralda payed off handsomely; and, rising up on the crest of an enormous green roller, that had swept up to overwhelm her, but which now passed harmlessly under her keel instead, she surged through the water, gathering way every moment as she showed her heels to the gale, careering over the stormy billows before the blast like a mad thing, as if rejoicing in her freedom after so long being forced to lay to—although the fore-topmast staysail, which had done such good work in getting her head round, parted company as soon as the yards were braced round, blowing away to atoms, and floating off in the distance in the same kite-like fashion in which the jib had previously disappeared.
The loss, however, seemed to affect the ship’s speed but little, for she scudded off under bare poles at as great a rate as if she had all her canvas set, and was running before a ten-knot breeze.
“Thank Heaven!” I heard Captain Billings exclaim in a low voice, taking off his cap reverently, as soon as we were safely round before the wind; and I could see his lips move as if in silent prayer. In this, I confess, I joined with all my heart; for, if ever in my life I experienced the feeling of religious emotion which causes us to express our gratitude for rescue from peril, I had that feeling then!
The Esmeralda, though, was not out of all danger yet.
There was still the fear of her being pooped by the following waves, which now raced after, in anger at her having escaped their clutches; so, to lessen this possibility, the skipper had the reefed main-topsail set again, and the mizzen trysail once more hoisted, so that the ship might get through the water faster than the pursuing rollers. The strain on the masts was tremendous; but, fortunately, everything held, and under the impetus of this additional sail power she doubled her speed, bidding defiance to the harpies of the ocean that had so nearly worsted her in the combat.
It was just four bells in the afternoon watch when we got her head round before the wind, although it was not until nearly midnight that the hurricane blew itself out, the wind then dropping almost as suddenly as it had sprung up twenty-four hours before.
During all this time, only one of the watches had a short spell below, and neither the skipper, Jorrocks, nor I, had ever left the deck after the gale had begun—the only exception being Mr Macdougall, who had turned in for a caulk when we were lying-to. Had it not been, however, for the praiseworthy exertions of Pat Doolan, the Irish cook, I do not believe we should have been able to hold out so long.
The willing fellow, despite the series of liquid avalanches that were constantly flooding the ship as she took in the green seas over her bows, managed in some wonderful way or other to keep his galley fire alight, supplying us with a grateful cup of hot coffee at intervals through the harassing night; and, late in the afternoon, when we were all utterly exhausted, he served out to each of us, much to our surprise, a pannikin apiece of the most delicious pea-soup I ever tasted—“It was enough,” as one of the men said on receiving the welcome refreshment, “to have put life in a post!”
This was while our struggle with the elements yet lasted; but as soon as that was over, and when all fear of peril was dispelled by the lulling of the gale, the inevitable reaction after such protracted exertions without any recuperative rest became painfully apparent, and I was not at all sorry when Captain Billings told the hands belonging to the port watch that they might go below.
“And I fancy, Mister Leigh,” said Jorrocks to me, “we can go down and turn in too; for we ain’t a going to have another such a blow in a hurry again for a month of Sundays!”
Nor did it look like it either, the stars twinkling away in a cloudless sky, and the night being perfectly bright and clear, although there was no moon, while the rollers were rolling less angrily, as if the ocean were hushing itself down into repose at last.
There was nothing, therefore, to keep me on deck any longer; so, following the example of my old friend Jorrocks, I speedily sought my bunk, and, turning in, did not wake again until nearly noon on the following day—the good-natured skipper having given orders to Mr Macdougall not to disturb me when the starboard watch was relieved in the early morning, saying that I had earned my rest fairly by rolling two days’ duty into one, which, indeed, I believe I had!
I was up on deck again, however, in time to “tak’ the soon,” as the Scottish mate termed it in his north-country accent, for I was anxious to see how far the gale had driven the vessel off her proper course.
It was our thirteenth day out, counting from the time we “took our departure,” as navigators say, from Lundy Island; and both the skipper and I made it out, after working the reckoning, that we were as far down as the twenty-fifth parallel, although a good deal to the eastward of what our true position should be—the leeway we had made while lying-to, and our subsequent scudding for nearly twelve hours before the north-wester, having taken us much too close in towards the African continent, thus causing us to lose all that westing we had secured on our first start from the Bristol Channel, and which we had afterwards so carefully preserved, even amidst the baffling winds of the middle latitudes.
Still, this mortifying conclusion had a redeeming feature.
If we were too far to the eastwards, we were as assuredly beyond the region specially designated by Jorrocks as the “Horse Latitudes,” where the calms of Cancer hold sway; for, now, setting all plain sail before a steady breeze from off the land, we soon managed to run into the regular north-east Trades, picking them up in the next degree or two we ran down to the southward.
From this point, keeping on the starboard tack again, with the wind well on our beam, we ran for the Line; but before crossing the equator, Mr Macdougall and I, between whom relations had been somewhat strained almost from our first introduction, came to an open rupture, the “little unpleasantness” happening in this wise.
Mr Ohlsen, the second mate—“Old son of a gun,” as the crew called him, from his taciturn manner of going about his work—was still on the sick list; and Captain Billings, who had expressed himself much pleased with my behaviour since I was on board, especially during the storm, had assigned the performance of this gentleman’s duties to me.
At this Mr Macdougall was extremely indignant, remonstrating with the skipper for putting so young a lad as myself in such an important post as that of second mate.
“What are your reasons for objecting to him?” asked Captain Billings.
“Why, the loon’s but a bairn,” said Mr Macdougall, at a nonplus for some objection to my promotion.
“If he’s young,” answered the skipper, “he’s got a man’s courage and a seaman’s aptitude, which is more than I can say for some aboard here!”
“Hoot, mon, d’ye mean to eenseenuate?”
“I insinuate nothing,” interrupted Captain Billings, hotly. “If the cap fits you, why, you can wear it! Leigh is a strong, sturdy fellow, worth any two hands on a yard; and, as for navigating, he can work out a reckoning better than—than myself!”
“That mebbe, that mebbe, I dinna gang for to denee that stat’ment, Cap’en,” said the Scotsman, sneeringly, implying that I or anybody else might easily eclipse the skipper’s powers of calculation; “but I hae my doots, mon, I hae my doots.”
“You can ‘hay’ your grandmother if you like,” retorted Captain Billings, decisively; “still, it’s my order that Leigh acts as second mate until Mr Ohlsen is able to return to duty. I’m captain of this ship, Mr Macdougall, please remember!”
This was the invariable expression the skipper always made use of when he had made up his mind to anything, so the mate knew that there was no use in his trying to argue the point any further, and he left the poop, where the altercation had taken place, in a towering rage. This his freckles plainly showed, his equanimity not being restored by the ill-concealed titters of the men standing by, for they had overheard most of what had been said, and repeated the substance of the conversation to me afterwards.
I was, it is true, only sixteen at the time; but, being a sturdy, broad-shouldered chap, I looked all two years older; and I really do not think the skipper complimented me too strongly when he said I was worth a couple of hands on a yard, for, during my experience in the coal brig under Jorrocks’ tuition, I had acquired considerable proficiency and dexterity in most of a seaman’s functions, which aptitude I had further improved while sailing in Sam Pengelly’s schooner between the various ports between Plymouth and the Land’s End for two years nearly at a stretch afterwards.
My nautical education, too, as I have already mentioned, had not been neglected all the time I had been waiting to get on board a sea-going ship, for since I had joined the Esmeralda I had not lost a single opportunity for developing my book learning by practical examples in seamanship, Captain Billings encouraging me to persevere whenever he saw me inclined to laziness, and giving me all the advantage of his own training and experience; so that, by this time, I believe I was almost as competent to take charge of the ship on an emergency and navigate her to her destination, as if I had passed the Trinity House examination and received a first mate’s certificate like Mr Macdougall, whom in the mathematical part of navigation I could beat easily.
Of course, I was not up in sailor lore as to atmospheric changes and those signs and tokens which it takes a long apprenticeship to the sea thoroughly to learn; but in the ordinary work of the ship I was second to none, the men, with whom I was a prime favourite, thanks to Jorrocks, acknowledging that I could reef, hand, and steer, with any of them.
Mr Macdougall was jealous of me—that was the reason of his animosity; so he took advantage of every chance he had to discount the captain’s favour by making me in the wrong, to prove his assertion as to my incompetence to take charge of a watch.
One day I had taken an observation at noon as usual, the skipper of late leaving that operation entirely to me, for he knew Mr Macdougall would be certain to get a sight too, if only in order to have a wrangle with me as to the right position of the ship. Having made out the reckoning with a stop watch, I was busily engaged marking out our place on the chart on top of the cabin sky-light, as it was a fine day, with a pair of callipers and parallel rulers, when the Scottish mate came up to me.
“And whaur d’ye find us the noo?” said he, insinuatingly, to me.
“We’re in 1 degree 35 minutes north, and 28 degrees west; and I think ought to alter our course a trifle more to the southward to avoid the Saint Paul islets, which we must be heading for direct, steering south-west as we are now.”
“Whaur d’ye mean, bairn? There’s no land near us, I ween, save the Rocas, and that is far awa’ to the westwar’.”
“I tell you,” said I, positively, with perhaps a good deal of bumptiousness, “we’re heading on straight for those rocks there marked on the chart!”
“Why, ye’re mad—a stork staring loon!” retorted Mr Macdougall, in the most irritating way; “ye’d better gang awa’ to schule again.”
“I think you had,” I answered; “I have forgotten more than you ever learned!”
Now this was very rude and impertinent for me to remark to a man so much older than myself, and my superior officer; but I did not reflect at the moment what I said to my tormentor, for he used to nag at me every day about the very same point—my taking the sun and working out the reckoning. It was a very sore subject with him ever since the skipper praised me at his expense on our first day out.
At all events, rude or not, my reply had the desired effect of exasperating Mr Macdougall to the last pitch of endurance, for he was very easily excited.
“Gin you say that ag’in, ye onmannerly loon,” said he, foaming with passion, his pale complexion becoming paler, which made the freckles stand out prominently, “I’ll knock ye doon.”
“Will you?” I cried, “you just try it, that’s all!”
He did; and down I went on the deck, as flat as a pancake, from a well-directed blow of his brawny fist!
I was not beaten, however.
Jumping up, I faced him again, only to undergo a repetition of the flooring process; when, seeing that I with my boy’s strength was no match for him as yet, and losing my temper quite as much as he had done, I seized a large snatch-block which was lying by on the deck close to my hand, hurling it at his head with all my force.
The mate started back in terror, for the missile only missed him by half an inch, and if it had struck him would most certainly have killed him on the spot, although I did not think of that when I pitched it at him; and, just at that moment, I heard Captain Billings’ voice behind us.