Chapter Eleven.
Bad Weather.
Later on in the afternoon, some couple of hours or so after he had been carried into the forecastle, Davis, sobered down by his rest, came aft again. He did not, however, enter the cabin or go up on the poop, but remained hanging about the waist, as if uncertain what to do, evidently “smelling a rat,” as the saying goes.
Captain Miles was prepared for this, Moggridge, the boatswain, who had made many voyages with him, and in whom he placed implicit trust, having related all that had occurred; so, although he saw Davis approach, he waited a while till the watch was relieved, when, advancing to the break of the poop, he hailed the whilom second mate below.
“Davis!” he cried, “I have got something to say to you.”
The other had lost all his defiant air now and looked very sheepish and crest-fallen—so much so, indeed, that he seemed unable at first to answer the captain.
“Yes, sir,” said he at last, looking up and then dropping his eyes again in an instant, unable to stand the captain’s straightforward glance.
“I’m sorry to have to say,” continued Captain Miles, speaking slowly and distinctly, so that every word he uttered was heard fore and aft the ship, “that you, a responsible officer of this vessel, came on duty three hours ago in a state of intoxication. The fault would have been bad enough in one of the ordinary hands, but is doubly so in a man having charge of the lives of those on board and the safety of the ship and cargo. Besides, it is not merely on a single occasion that you have so grossly behaved, as I have noticed of late that you have been several times under the influence of liquor.”
“But, Captain Miles, sir,” interrupted Davis at this point. However, the captain soon silenced him.
“Hear me out, sir,” he cried, his voice getting sterner and more energetic. “Not only have you given way to that cursed habit of drink, but you have also, I have perceived—for I’ve had my eye upon you when you have little known it—exercised your authority over the crew in a most unmanly and tyrannical fashion. Now, I have always prided myself on the fact of my ship being a comfortable one, and I have never found a hand who has sailed with me once objecting to ship for a second voyage if I wanted him. This I have achieved by treating the men as I would wish to be treated myself, and not by bullying and hazing them unnecessarily as you have done repeatedly, especially this afternoon when you relieved the port watch.”
The captain paused here a moment, and I declare I felt quite ashamed for Davis being thus spoken to before all the men; but he did not seem to mind it much, for he began to resume his old bumptious manner, shrugging his shoulders in a careless way and glaring round at the listeners as if he would have liked to eat them.
“I was drunk then,” was all he said, however, in extenuation of the last offence with which the captain had charged him.
“That is no excuse for your conduct,” replied Captain Miles; “in my opinion it rather puts it in a worse light. I have nothing further to add, save that I deeply regret ever having promoted you from your station forwards. You are a good sailor, I’ll say that for you, but you haven’t got the sort of stuff in you that officers are made of! The only thing I can now do, to atone for my error of judgment in mistaking my man, is to send you back again to your old place in the fo’c’s’le, where I think you’ll find yourself far more at home than you were on the poop. Davis, you are no longer second mate of the Josephine! I disrate you on account of your unfitness for the post, and you will now return to your former rating, as I have restored your name to the list of the crew. You will be in Mr Marline’s watch, and I hope you’ll do your duty as well as you used before I brought you aft.”
He did not say any more; and Davis, without answering a single word, slunk forwards towards the forecastle, anxious, apparently, to hide himself from observation. Although he had tried to brave it out when the captain first began to speak to him, even his hardened nature had to succumb before the contemptuous looks of the men he had so long bullied, the more especially as they now openly displayed their joy at his abasement.
Thus ended the first act of the little drama; and I then noticed that Captain Miles turned to Mr Marline, with whom he exchanged a short whispered conversation. After this he advanced again to the break of the poop, and hailed for a second time the lower deck.
“Jackson!” he called out.
“Aye, aye, sir!” instantly responded the stalwart young Cornishman, coming out from amidst the others who had gathered in a cluster in the waist to watch the progress of the row between the captain and Davis.
Jackson quite overtopped the rest of the crew by a foot; and, as he walked up to the foot of the poop-ladder, with his fine head thrown well back on his broad shoulders, he seemed afraid of looking no man in the face—presenting a marked contrast to his late antagonist, whom he passed on his way aft.
“I have summoned you, Jackson,” began Captain Miles—speaking out distinctly as before, so that all hands could hear—“to inform you that Mr Marline and myself think you are the best man on board to fill the vacant post of second mate just vacated by Davis. I have been told of your recent altercation with that person when he was in authority over you; but, taking into consideration your previous good conduct and prompt obedience to the orders of myself and Mr Marline on all occasions, as well as your general proficiency as an able seaman, we have not allowed this little matter to affect our decision, and I have no doubt you will in future discharge your duty as ably as an officer of the ship as you have hitherto done as a foremast hand. You had better, therefore, move your chest aft and take the second cabin next to the steward’s pantry, hitherto occupied by Davis, whom I have just disrated and sent to fill your place in the fo’c’s’le. Men,” added the captain, raising his voice a little higher, “you will please consider Mister Jackson to be the second mate of the Josephine, and treat him respectfully as such.”
No one seemed more surprised at the ending of the affair than the newly-promoted foremast hand.
Twirling his cap in his two hands and fidgeting first on one leg and then on the other, he looked the very picture of confusion.
When he was told to come forwards, he expected no doubt to have been called to account for his insubordination, whereas here he was actually selected to fill Davis’s billet!
He couldn’t make it out at all, and stared open mouth upwards at the poop unable to utter a word of thanks or anything.
“Come up here, Mr Jackson,” said Captain Miles kindly, seeing how dumbfounded he looked; wherefore, the modest fellow, actually blushing at the unexpected honour bestowed on him, mounted the poop-ladder in a much more gingerly fashion than he would have done if he had been told to take his trick at the wheel or exercise some sailor’s job aft. However, as soon as he got alongside the captain and Mr Marline, they both shook hands with him, in order to give him a proper welcome to his new station, and the steward singing out a few minutes afterwards that dinner was ready, he was invited down into the cabin to “christen” his promotion, as it were, by partaking of that meal, in token of his being admitted to a social equality with his superior officers.
I may add, too, that if his sudden rise in rank was unexpected, Jackson did not take long to settle down to his new duties, proving himself ere long a much better officer in every way than his predecessor. The men, too, were not in the least jealous of his being placed over them, but executed his orders with alacrity; for, he exercised his authority judiciously, remembering his former position—albeit he was ever a rigid and impartial disciplinarian.
“After a storm comes a calm,” says the old adage, but the reverse of this axiom holds equally good at sea.
It was so, at all events, in our instance; for, after our ten days of stagnation on the rolling ocean, a change came almost as suddenly as the calm had set in, the weather breaking towards the close of the very day that had witnessed the downfall of Davis and Jackson’s elevation to the dignity of the poop.
Every evening during the continuance of the calm, as I think I have mentioned, the sun went down below the horizon like a ball of fire, while a thick misty fog afterwards enveloped the sea; but this day when we came on deck after dinner, about the middle of the second dog watch, the sky, for a wonder, was quite clear, and the glorious orb sank to rest with some of that old splendour of his which I had noticed when we were threading our way amongst the islands. Long after he had disappeared, too, from view the heavens were lit up with a ruby radiance which was reflected below in the water, making it look like a crimson ocean.
“We’re going to have a change at last, Marline,” said Captain Miles rubbing his hands together. “It is better late than never!”
“Aye,” responded the first mate who stood by the binnacle; “the question, though, is, what change?”
“Hang it, man,” exclaimed the captain testily, “anything is preferable to this confounded calm.”
“Well, I don’t quite agree with you there,” said Mr Marline drily; “there is such a thing as changing for the worse. Have you looked at the glass, eh?”
“’Pon my word, I have not once glanced at it this evening! Dear me, what on earth could I have been thinking of?” ejaculated the captain in a sort of apologetic way, darting down instantly below to consult his unfailing guide, the barometer, which I suppose he had looked at so vainly for many days past that he had given up the instrument as incorrigible.
In another moment, however, he was on deck again, rubbing his hands as triumphantly together as before.
“Pooh, nonsense, Marline!” he cried, “you’re an old croaker, saying that the change would possibly be for the worse! Why, the glass is rising, man, rising steadily; and, I’ve no doubt we’ll have a splendid breeze ere nightfall, and glorious weather.”
“All right, sir, we’ll see,” was the mate’s cautious answer.
Meanwhile, the after-glow faded out of the sky and the stars began to come out in batches, especially to the north-west, where they shone as bright as diamonds, blinking and twinkling with various colours as one looked at them steadfastly, and seeming ever so much larger than usual.
A faint stir in the air also became perceptible, and the idle sails, that had so long flapped against the yards lazily only with the roll of the ship as she lurched to port or starboard with the ocean swell, were crumpled out a bit, as if they half felt inclined to expand their folds; but there was not wind enough for this, so they presently flattened themselves again, determined, apparently, to take it easy.
The time then came to set the first watch, from eight to midnight, of which Jackson, now, as second mate, took charge, when the captain went below, saying he was going to turn in early, so as to be ready when the breeze came, giving strict instructions to be called as soon as any change was apparent. Mr Marline, however, did not go below; so I remained on the poop with him and Jackson, the two walking up and down the deck and talking together while I stood by.
The sky was wonderfully clear now, the firmament being studded with the greater constellations, and myriads of the lesser lights of the night powdering the heavens with their golden dust everywhere.
But this was not for long.
Shortly before nine o’clock a peculiar moaning noise came over the sea. It was like a sort of hushed sob of pain, resembling somewhat the sound of a number of voices wailing in chorus in the far distance.
“What is that?” asked I of Mr Marline in alarm.
“I’m sure I can’t tell you, my boy,” he replied; “I don’t think I ever heard such a queer noise before. If we were off the banks of Newfoundland, I should think it a fog-horn blowing somewhere about. But, we’re several hundred miles to the southward of Cape Race and the night is too clear for fogs. It is one of those mysterious voices of the sea that are for ever reminding the sailor that, no matter how wise he may think himself, he does not know everything!”
“I imagine it’s the wind coming, sir,” observed Jackson deferentially, after listening to what Mr Marline had said. “When I was once on a voyage in the China Seas I noticed just such a sound before we had a thundering typhoon upon us, giving us hardly time to clew up.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said the first mate; but after giving a glance up and around the sky, and noticing that the stars still shone out from the blue empyrean, he added, “there does not seem much chance of a gale now, though.”
“We’ll see, sir,” laughed Jackson, paraphrasing Mr Marline’s observation to the captain. “We’d just as clear a night off Hainan, when our blow came on there at a moment’s notice!”
“All right, we’ll see,” replied Mr Marline, using his stock phrase, and the two continued to walk up and down chatting about other matters, while I went and sat down close to the taffrail, looking out over the sea and wondering what the moaning sound of the ocean meant. I let my imagination wander over the old stories I had heard of the mermaids below, and how they sang their weird songs of lament whenever a storm was coming, anticipating the shipwrecks that would follow and the invasion of their coral caves by the bodies of drowned mortals, over whom they are said to weep tears of pearl; and, in the flickering light of the stars, that seemed to come from underneath the purple deep and not be shining down from above, I almost fancied I could distinguish the sirens looking up at me from below the water with sad faces, as they combed their long weed-like tresses and raised their wailing croon.
Presently, however, I observed the star reflections suddenly disappear from view; and then, the water grew greyer and greyer, until I was hardly able to see it at all under the stern of the vessel, a hazy obscurity enveloping all below and around.
I roused myself with a start, thinking this effect was produced by the gloom of night, and that I had fallen asleep while weaving my quaint fancies anent the mermaidens; but a couple of sharp strokes of the ship’s bell sounding through the still air at that moment told me it was only nine o’clock. I then recognised the fact that I must seek some other reason for the sombre tone of the sea, as I knew well enough that the little beacons in the sky that had before lit it up, were not in the habit of drawing on their hatches until it was pretty nearly time for the sun to set about getting up for his day’s work, unless something out of the common was going to happen.
Looking up, therefore, I was surprised to see a dense black cloud now covering over the heavens like a pall.
It must have crept up from somewhere almost instantaneously; for, twenty minutes before, the sky was clear and bright, while now it was totally obscured from the horizon to the zenith, the angel of darkness seeming to be treading over the face of the deep.
Just then, away ahead on the starboard bow to the eastwards, a window appeared to be opened for an instant in the dense veil, from which a vivid flash of lightning came forth, making the darkness even more visible as the cloud closed up again.
“Shall I go and hail Captain Miles now, sir?” I heard Jackson ask Mr Marline near me, although I could not clearly make out either of them in the thick gloom—indeed, I could not see to the other side of the deck, or perceive the mizzen-mast even.
“No, I hardly think there’s any need yet,” I distinguished Mr Marline’s voice say in reply. “It’s only a flash of lightning—nothing to make a fuss about, for there isn’t a breath of wind stirring yet.”
“It’s coming though,” the other rejoined. “I can smell it.”
“You’ve a better nose than I have then,” said Mr Marline with a laugh; but, he had hardly got out the words, when there came a terrific crash of thunder right overhead, sounding so fearfully near and grand and awful, that it seemed as if the roof of heaven had broken in!
I jumped up at once from my seat and went towards the binnacle, where Jackson and Mr Marline were standing; for, although I wasn’t actually afraid of the thunder, still one likes to be by the side of some one else when it peals out so dreadfully, the sense of companionship lessening the fear of danger, I suppose.
“Hullo, Master Tom, not turned in yet?” cried Mr Marline, seeing me by the light from the compass and appearing to be very much surprised at my not having gone below to bed.
“No, sir,” I said. “I stopped up to wait for the wind.”
“Ah, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait longer,” he replied. “This’ll be nothing but a tropical thunder-storm, and probably we won’t have the ghost of a breeze after it has gone over.”
“I think differently, sir, begging your pardon,” said Jackson, interposing at this point; “and, if you don’t mind, Mr Marline, I’d like to have the lighter sails taken off her, in case it comes on to blow.”
“All right, please yourself, my dear sir; you’re in charge of the deck,” answered the first mate drily. “Though, mind you, I think you’re giving yourself trouble for nothing. I wouldn’t, however, call the captain till we really know whether we’re going to have a squall or not.”
“Very well, sir,” said Jackson, “I won’t call him; but I’ll have the upper canvas in, for it’s just as well to be on the safe side, especially as I do think we’re in for something.”
“With all my heart,” replied Mr Marline cheerfully, seeing that Jackson was timid about exercising his new authority against his opinion, although he appeared to feel strongly in the matter. “Have in the rags by all means. I daresay it will save some trouble bye-and-by.”
“Very well, I will,” said the other; and, calling the starboard watch, who were idling about and having a quiet caulk in the waist, he soon made them set about reducing the Josephine’s canvas—there being no necessity yet for summoning “all hands,” as there was not a breath of air stirring, while the sea had hushed its monotonous roll, calming down to the quiet of a mill-pond.
Previously to this, the ship had been under all plain sail, so as to be ready for the wind when it chose to visit us again; but, in a very short time, under Jackson’s supervision and sharp, rapid orders, the courses were clewed up, the flying-jib hauled down, the topgallant-sails furled, and the spanker brailed up. In this half-dressed rig the vessel was now prepared to meet any sudden squall; while, should a favourable breeze come, sail could readily be added on—a much easier job to accomplish than that of taking in canvas in a gale!
In the interim, although no further thunder was heard, and we only saw the one vivid flash of forked lightning that had accompanied the fearful peal which made me vacate my seat by the taffrail, the heavens grew blacker and blacker, the darkness settling down on the ship so that one could hardly see one’s hand even if held close to the face; but, after a bit, a meteor-like globe of electric light danced about the spars and rigging, making the faces of all those aft look ghastly with its pale blue glare. They seemed just as if they were dead.
A second or two later, some heavy warning drops of rain, as big as saucers, fell on the deck, with a dull splashing noise; and while we were all waiting with some anxiety for what was to be the outcome of all this atmospheric disturbance, Captain Miles ascended the poop-ladder, his face being distinctly illumined by the meteor, which was apparently at that moment hovering about the slings of the main-yard.
The captain had been roused out by the sound of the men’s feet busily trampling about the decks and the hauling of the ropes, as the main topgallant halliards and sheets were cast-off and the clew-lines and bunt-lines manned during the operation of taking in sail, so he came up expecting to find that the long-wished-for breeze had overhauled us; but he only saw, instead, the vessel as motionless on the water as when he went below, albeit now almost denuded of her canvas.
After glancing round the ship, whose every outline was brought out in relief by the meteoric light, he warmly praised Jackson for his precaution in reducing sail.
“You’ve done quite right,” he said, “only you haven’t quite gone far enough, my boy. I think we’d better have the courses furled and the topsails reefed. We’re in hurricane latitudes and this is the very month for them. I don’t like the sky at all.”
“Watch, ho!” thereupon shouted Jackson. “Up you go and furl the mainsail.”
This was soon accomplished, after which there was a scurry up the ratlines forward and the foresail followed suit, and thus, the topsail halliards were let go and the yards dropped on the caps for the men to lay out and double reef the upper sails, when they were again hoisted up only about a third of their former size, and looking like slabs of board against the masts, everything being hauled taut.
“We’ll have it soon now,” said Captain Miles—“hark!”
As he spoke, there was a rumbling noise in the distance, approaching nearer and nearer every second, and then, there came another deafening roar of thunder right over our heads, followed by a deadly zigzag sheet of lightning, not a flash, that lit up the whole sky.
“Look sharp and batten down the hatches, the rain is close on the heels of that, I know,” cried the captain; but the men had hardly time to execute his order ere the heavens seemed to open and a deluge of water fell on to the ship, as if some reservoir above had suddenly burst. It literally swept down like a cataract, and almost beat me down to the deck with its force.
It hardly lasted a minute, but in that brief spell it filled the scuppers just as if we had shipped a heavy sea, of course wetting us all to the skin.
Next there was heard the same moaning noise along the surface of the ocean that we had heard at first, and then, as the rain stopped, a terrific gust of wind from the south-east caught us just abaft the beam, the ship heeled over until her yard-arms dipped, and we thought she was going to “turn turtle,” or capsize.
“Hard up with the helm!” screamed out Captain Miles, Mr Marline jumping to the spokes of the wheel at the same time to help the man steering, when, fortunately, the Josephine payed off handsomely, righting again at the same moment, to our great relief.
“Brace up the yards!” then shouted the captain; and, in another instant, the vessel was dashing along madly towards the north-west, scudding before the rapidly risen gale, even with the little canvas she carried, at a greater rate of speed than she had ever attained with every sail set. She was going twelve knots, good, and increasing her velocity apparently each moment, the sea not yet having had time to get up and nothing interfering with her progress through the water, although the wind shrieked and howled destruction after her as it urged her along.