Story 3—Chapter I.
David and Jonathan; or, Lost at Sea.
Caught in a Squall.
“Dave!”
“Hullo!”
“What’s that big black thing out there, tumbling about in the sea astern; is it a whale?”
“A whale, your grandmother!” sang out Davy Armstrong with a laugh, as he sprang on the taffrail, and holding on to the shrouds with one hand while he shaded his eyes with the other, peered about anxiously in the wake of the vessel in search of the object to which his attention had been drawn by his companion, a dark-haired lad who stood on the deck near him, and whose thin face and slender figure betrayed the delicate constitution of one brought up amidst the smoke and din of cities and busy haunts of men. David, on the contrary, was tall and well-built for his age, about sixteen, with blue eyes and curly brown hair, and the ruddy glow of health on his cheek; and being a middy of some two years’ standing on board the Sea Rover, and full of fun and “larkishness,” to coin a term, assumed a slightly protective air towards Johnny Liston, the son of one of the cabin passengers, between whom and himself one of those stanch friendships common to boyhood had sprung up during the voyage to Australia. “A whale, your grandmother, Jonathan!” repeated Davy Armstrong in a bantering tone, with all—as his companion thought he could detect—the conscious superiority of a sucking sailor over a raw landsman, in his voice. “Why, you’ll be seeing the sea serpent soon if you look smart. Where is this wonderful thing you’ve discovered, Jonathan, my son? I’m blest if I can see it.”
It need hardly be mentioned that, close friends as they had become in a short time, Johnny Liston rather resented David’s patronage and implied superiority, and he hated his calling him “Jonathan,” or addressing him as “my son,” just as if he were as old as his father, instead of being just of an age, as he would indignantly remonstrate, which knowing, David mischievously made a point of so speaking to him on purpose to tease him, although in good part all the same.
“And you call yourself a sailor!” said Johnny Liston mockingly. “Why, there it is, as plain as a pikestaff, on the lift of that wave to the right there! Where are your eyes, stupid?”
“Why don’t you say on the port quarter, you lubber?” answered David good-humouredly; “then a fellow would know what you meant! Oh, I see. I think it’s a ship’s boat floating bottom upwards; but I’ll call the skipper’s attention to it, and he’ll soon tell us what it is. Johnny, my boy, you’ve got good eyesight, and deserve a leather medal for seeing that before I did, so I’ll let you have the credit of it.”
“Thanks, Dave,” said the other ironically. “I’m glad you can allow for once in a way that you are not infallible, and that somebody else can see as well as yourself.”
David meanwhile had crossed over the deck, to where the captain was conversing with a group of passengers, and having pointed out the object which his friend had discovered, a telescope being brought to bear soon proved it to be what his quick eye had already assured him it was, a boat pitching about bottom upwards, probably washed away from some Australian liner like themselves. There was no trace, however, to be seen of any one clinging to the keel, and time was too valuable and the wind too fair for the vessel to be put off her course merely to pick up an empty boat, which would most likely not be worth the trouble of hoisting on board; so they passed on, and it was soon hull-down in the distance.
The Sea Rover had made all her southern latitude, descending to the thirty-sixth parallel. She had passed the Island of Tristan d’Acunha, although at some distance off, a few days before; and now as she was well below the region sacred to the stormy Cape, and had run down the trades, her course was set due east for Melbourne, from which she was yet some thousands of miles away. The wind was fair, almost dead astern, although the sea was high; and as the ship was rather light, she rocked and rolled considerably, the waves washing over her decks, and occasionally running over the poop in an avalanche of water, that swept right forward and made any one hold on that did not wish to be washed off their feet. The sea had a most winterly look. It appeared like a vast hilly country with winding valleys, all covered with sloshy snow just melted, the extreme tops of the waves looking like frozen peaks in between, with the snow as yet not melted. The air, too, was as cold as winter, for it blew from the Antarctic ice; and the gusts came more and more frequent as evening closed in, raising the sea still higher in towering mountains, that rushed after the ship, which was going from ten to twelve-knots an hour under all plain sail, as if they would overwhelm her, striking our sides every now and then heavy ponderous blows, that made; her stagger from her course and quiver right down to her keelson. One gust of wind came all at once with such startling force that it split the main-topsail up like a piece of tissue-paper, and then the captain thought it was about time to take in sail.
“I guess we’re going to have a rough spell of it, Jonathan,” said Davy, as he moved away from his companion in obedience to the skipper’s order, “All hands shorten sail!” and stationed himself at his post by the mizzen-halliards.
“Will it be serious, Dave?” asked the other, his pale face growing a little paler with apprehension.
“Pooh! no, nothing to speak of, only a squall, Jonathan; so don’t be frightened, my boy.”
A squall it was with a vengeance.
As the wind had been, right aft, the captain had kept the Sea Rover under her royals and topgallantsails, without even taking in a reef, in order to make the most of the twelve-knot breeze that was blowing: it was only at the chief officer’s request that a little time before he had been induced to take in the stunsails; and now the wind seemed to expand so suddenly into a gale, that it was as much as the seamen could do to get the canvas off her before she was struck with the squall, that came up astern at the rate of fifty miles an hour, covering the heavens to windward with great black storm-clouds, and flying wrack like white smoke that drifted before it, and seemed to herald the heavier metal that lay behind that would come into action soon.
Everything was let fly, and only just in time; for, without the slightest warning, the wind shifted and struck her on the starboard quarter, and the vessel was almost taken aback, with the waves slipping in over the bows and on the starboard and port sides as she rolled heavily, borne down into the trough of the sea by the force of the gale, her timbers groaning, the spars creaking, blocks rattling, and the wind shrieking and whistling as it tore through the rigging and flapped the sails heavily against the masts with the noise of thunder, as if it would wrench them out of the ship bodily.
It was a scene of the utmost confusion while it lasted, with the men running about the deck here and there and pulling and hauling at the halliards and braces, and the captain yelling out stentorian orders through his speaking-trumpet, which nobody apparently understood or attended to; and Davy Armstrong, who had been up aloft to superintend the furling of the mizzen, royal, and topgallantsails, and close reefing of the topsail, was just congratulating himself on getting down on deck alongside of Johnny Liston safe once more, when another squall struck the ship from the opposite quarter, and she heeled over on her side until she buried her topsail-yards in the billows, broadside on, as if she were going to “turn the turtle.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Johnny. “She’s going over!”
“Not a bit of it,” shouted out Dave in his ear, for the wind howled so that he could hardly make his voice heard. “She’ll right in a minute. But that was a stiff blow!”
“Ay, stiffer than the last.”
A heavy sea just at the same moment struck the rudder, which, through the ship’s lying over on her side, had been partly raised out of the water, and whirled round the wheel with such force that the man who was steering was lifted off his feet, and as he grasped the spokes with desperation, was dashed down on the deck with an awful impetus, which knocked him insensible. Dave, followed by Johnny, immediately rushed aft, and took the helmsman’s place, although it required all the strength of the two boys to hold on and save the ship from broaching-to, when her spars would have been swept off like ninepins, and a clean sweep made of her bulwarks, and everything on her decks fore and aft, if possible, she did not founder.
“Well done, my lads!” shouted out the captain. “Keep her to it,” as he ordered a couple of men aft to help them. “Keep her to it, my lads, you’ll be relieved in a jiffy. Hold on for the life of you, my lads; hold on!”
Their strength, however, was unequal to the struggle.
Another sea struck the rudder again almost in the same place, and David and Jonathan were floored in an instant.
Round span the wheel with mad velocity, now uncontrolled, jamming poor Davy’s leg between the rudder beam and the wheel post, while Johnny lay sprawling on the deck, holding on like grim death to a stray end of the mizzen-halliard that had been cast loose from the cleats. Another turn of the spokes of the wheel, as the rudder was banged to and fro by the billows, and Davy’s leg was released, although sadly crushed, and he was flung against the binnacle; and then a gigantic wave pooped the ship, coming in over the stern, and before the captain, or Johnny, or the men who were hurrying aft as rapidly as the motion of the ship would allow them, could stretch out a hand to save him, poor Davy was swept over the side to leeward, grasping tightly with the energy of despair, as he was carried away, a portion of the roof of the wheelhouse, which had been broken off by the same wave which washed him overboard, as well as part of the bulwarks.
“Oh, Dave, Dave!” exclaimed Johnny Liston, holding on to the mizzen-halliards still, and scrambling to his feet after the water flowed over him and the ship righted again, as he saw David torn away by the remorseless waters, and floating astern on the top of a great mountainous billow, his hands upheld as if imploring help.
“Oh, Dave, Dave!” exclaimed Johnny Liston, apparently panic-stricken for an instant, adding, as he turned half round towards the captain, “Why, his leg is broken, and he can’t swim!”
And then, without another moment’s hesitation, or a single reflection of the hopelessness of his task, or that he was endangering his own life as well, the brave boy, grasping hold of one of the life-buoys that hung close to the taffrail where he was supporting himself, as he watched the wave bearing Dave away, plunged into the sea to his comrade’s rescue.
“Hold on, Dave, I’m coming!” he shouted out at the pitch of his voice, to encourage the sinking David.
And the next minute, ere any one could prevent him, he was over the ship’s side, battling with the powers of the deep.
Story 3—Chapter II.
Chapter Two.
A Vain Quest.
“Man overboard!”
That cry, which those who have once heard it will never forget, echoed far and wide through the ship, making itself heard above the dull roar of the sea, the whistling of the wind as it tore through the rigging, the creaking of the timbers, and the trampling of feet up and down the deck, as the crew bustled to and fro, slackening a sheet here, tightening a brace there, and preparing for emergencies, ready for anything that might happen.
“Man overboard!”
And, in an instant, every heart palpitated with one thought, every ear was on the qui vive, every eye turned, intently watching the captain as he gave the necessary orders for bringing the ship up to the wind—as it was far too squally and risky work for her spars and top-hamper to wear her, before she could pay off on the other tack—and retrace her course in her own wake to pick up the two boys, who were now out of sight.
“Stand by the lee braces, and be ready to slacken off on the weather-side! ’Bout ship! Up with the helm! Mainsail haul!” were some of the orders rapidly given and as rapidly attended to.
With a will, the great main-yard swung round to starboard, the Sea Rover paying off handsomely. And, in another moment, under her reefed topsails and topgallantsails, with her courses dropped, and her yards sharply braced up, she was going back on her track at even greater speed than she had been previously travelling towards Australia, the wind having shifted to the southwards and eastwards after the last squall, and being now well on her beam, which was the clipper’s best sailing point.
There was a lookout on the fore-topmast crosstrees; but almost every one was looking out in the direction where some trace of David and Jonathan might be discovered. And the minutes seemed lengthened into hours as they anxiously peered into the mass of slatey-brown water in front and around topped with yeasty foam. But the sky was overcast with storm-clouds and the darkening of approaching night, and their horizon was now limited so that they could not see very far in advance of the Sea Rover’s bows—not more than a mile at most.
Every voice was hushed on board the ship now, and only the humming of the wind and the swish of the water could be heard as she dived every now and then over her catheads into the waves, that fell in a cataract of spray on her forecastle and washed into her waist, while she dashed onward, gathering speed with every yard of progress that she made.
“Lookout, ahoy, there!” shouted out the captain to the man on the fore crosstrees. “Do you see anything of them yet?”
“Not a speck in sight,” was the answer; and still the Sea Rover clove through the water on what they guessed to have been their former course, and the sky and the sea grew darker and darker and seemed to mingle together, gradually diminishing their area of vision.
“We must have passed the spot by this time,” said the captain presently to the chief officer, when the ship had gone some two miles after coming about. “Send another lookout into the main-top; and you, Dawkins,” addressing one of the hands standing near, “sky up here in the mizzen-rigging and see if you can see anything. Look well round to leeward as well as ahead, for we may have overrun them.”
“Ay, ay,” said the man as he scrambled up the shrouds, and quickly made his way, not merely into mizzen-top, but on the topgallant-yard, where he sat astride and scanned the horizon to his right and left, to windward and leeward of the vessel’s wake.
“On deck there!” he hailed in a little time. He had the keenest sight of any man on board.
“Ay, ay!” answered the captain. “Speak out!”
“There is something to windward, two points on the weather-bow.”
“How far?”
“About half a mile or more, sir; but it may be less.”
“We must get her a couple of points nearer the wind,” said the captain to the chief officer. “Clew up the courses, set the flying-jib, and let us get the mainsail on her, and see what she can do. Come, look smart and brace the yards round. Keep her helm up!” he added to the men at the wheel, lending them a hand as he spoke. “Hard!”
The Sea Rover leaned over, gunwales under, and made deep bows to the sea, pitching the water over her fore-yard, as, her head being brought round a couple of points more, she sailed almost in the wind’s-eye, taking all that two men could do to steer her, besides the captain.
“Aloft there!” shouted the captain once more to the lookout men. “How’s her head now? Does she bear towards the object, or is it still to windward?”
“Steady!” was the answer. “She’s right for it now. Luff a bit, steady, it’s right ahead.”
“What is it? Can you see them?” cried the captain, eagerly peering into the distance himself.
“Looks like floating timber, sir. I can’t see anybody as yet; it seems all awash.”
A moment further of breathless suspense, and then those on deck could see for themselves what had attracted the lookout man’s notice—a black object, bobbing up and down amidst the waves, one minute raised aloft on a billowy crest, the next hidden from view in a watery valley that descended, as it were, into the depths of the ocean.
It was now clear to windward on the weather-bow; and, every now and then, distinctly visible.
“Put the helm down, slack off the sheet!” cried the captain; and, as the Sea Rover rounded-to, with the floating object under her lee, it could be seen that it was the boat which David and Jonathan had perceived passing them, bottom upwards, just before they were struck by the squall. The vessel, therefore, must have gone much further back on their track than they had imagined, for the boat must have been three or four miles astern of the point at which the boys were washed overboard. She would of course have drifted farther than the floating wreckage, being higher out of water, but could not have made up more than a mile of the intervening distance.
It was a grievous disappointment to all on board, crew and passengers alike. They had made certain that it was the two boys clinging to the wreckage of the bulwarks and wheelhouse that had been carried away along with Davy; and the disappointment was all the greater because their hopes had been so cruelly raised.
“My boy, my boy!” sobbed Mr Liston, who stood with several of the other cabin passengers grouped around the captain on the quarter-deck watching in breathless suspense. “My boy, my boy! He is lost, he’s lost! I shall never see him again!” and he wrung his hands in agony.
Poor, bereaved father! He had only that moment been made aware that his son was overboard, having been below when the accident happened to Davy, and only attracted on deck by the commotion. Johnny was his only child, his mother having died in giving him birth, and he was the apple of his eye. He would have jumped into the sea, too, when, he learnt what had happened, if he had not been prevented; and his grief was frantic.
“Cheer up, my dear sir!” said Captain Markham, as he gave orders for the ship to back across her course at right angles, and warned the lookout men aloft to renewed watchfulness. “We may pick them up yet. You know Davy Armstrong was holding on to something when he was carried away, and your gallant son took a life-buoy with him when he went to his rescue, so they can keep afloat till we overhaul them. Why, I was picked up myself once after I had been in the water for hours and the ship searching for me all the time, when I had been washed overboard like Davy.”
The captain’s sanguine anticipations, however, even if he really believed in them, were baseless.
The Sea Rover backed, and wore, and tacked again, sailing, within a radius of a few miles, in every possible direction the wind would let her, without finding any traces of the lost ones, or even coming across the pieces of wreckage, which the sombre tint of the sea and sky prevented their seeing; and then night came on, and they had to abandon their quest, although they burnt blue lights and cruised about the same spot for hours afterwards, in vain!
“Alas, dear captain, it is hopeless now!” exclaimed Mr Liston mournfully, with the resignation of despair, drawing away his gaze from the sea, and his head dropping on his breast in despondency.
He was standing almost alone on the deck, the majority of the passengers having gone below—for the wind was cold and boisterous, and the crew having retired forward to the forecastle excepting those on duty aft—a tall, thin, pale man, whom the calamity seemed to have aged ten years in that brief space of time, and bowed with care.
“Only a miracle could have saved them!” he said, as if speaking to himself; and then, turning to the captain, he added, “I suppose you must give them up now, and proceed with your voyage?”
“Yes, it is useless waiting any longer,” said Captain Markham, sinking his voice in sympathy with the other. “Poor fellows, I’m afraid they’ve told the number of their mess long since! But if they are drowned, poor Davy was lost while doing his duty as a gallant sailor; and your son, my dear sir, lies in a hero’s grave beneath the wave, for he sacrificed his life in trying to save that of his friend. It is some slight consolation, Mr Liston, to recollect that; and I don’t think the recording angel above will have forgotten to log it down, either!”
And, as the hardy sailor pointed upwards with a reverent air to where one tiny twinkling star was peeping out from amidst the mass of fleeting shadowy clouds that still obscured the heavens and shrouded the horizon from view, he wiped away a tear from his eye with the back of his hairy hand, bidding the quartermaster a moment or two afterwards, in a strangely gruff tone quite unlike his usual mode of speech, to set the ship’s course once more due east for Australia.
And the Sea Rover went on her way.