CHAPTER III.
AN ACCIDENT TO THE SECOND CUTTER.
The gentle breeze from the southward enabled the fleet to proceed without delay up the fjord to the town of Christiansand; and, as there was very little ship’s duty to be done under such circumstances, the students had an excellent opportunity to examine the islands and the main shore. On board the ship and her two consorts the boys swarmed like bees in the rigging, eagerly watching every new object that was presented to their view. As nautical young gentlemen, they criticised the Norwegian boats and vessels that sailed on the bay, comparing them with those of their own country. The two yachts, which were not restrained by any insurance restrictions, stood boldly up the fjord, following closely in the wake of the two schooners.
The course of the vessels up the fjord was through an archipelago, or “garden of rocks,” as it is styled in the Norwegian language. The rocky hills in the vicinity were of a reddish color, with a few fir trees upon them. The country was certainly very picturesque, but the students did not regard it as a very desirable place of residence. The fleet passed between the Island of Dybing and the light on Odderö, and came to anchor in the western harbor. For half an hour the several crews were occupied in furling sails, squaring yards, hauling taut the running rigging, and putting everything in order on board.
The accommodation ladder of the ship, which was a regular flight of stairs, had hardly been rigged before a white barge, pulled by four men, came alongside. The oarsmen were dressed in blue uniform, and wore tarpaulin hats, upon which was painted the word “Grace,” indicating the yacht to which they belonged. The bowman fastened his boat-hook to the steps, and the rest of the crew tossed their oars in man-of-war style. In the stern-sheets, whose seats were cushioned with red velvet plush, were three persons, all of whom were old friends of our readers. Captain Paul Kendall, the owner and commander of the Grace, though he is a few inches taller and a few pounds heavier than when we last saw him, was hardly changed in his appearance. Even his side whiskers and mustache did not sensibly alter his looks, for his bright eye and his pleasant smile were still the key to his expression. The Grace carried the American yacht flag, and her commander wore the blue uniform of the club to which he belonged.
Three years before, Paul Kendall had experienced a heavy loss in the death of his mother. She had inherited a very large fortune, which, however, was held in trust for her son, until he reached his majority. At the age of twenty-one, therefore, Paul came to an inheritance bequeathed by his grandfather, which made him a millionnaire. His fortune had been carefully invested by the trustees, and now all he had to do was to collect and spend his income, of which there was a considerable accumulation when he attained his majority. Paul was a young man of high moral and religious principle. He had never spent a dollar in dissipation of any kind, and though he knew the world, he was as child-like and innocent as when he was an infant.
His tastes were decidedly nautical, and the first large expenditure from his ample wealth was in the building of the yacht Grace, which was now anchored near the Young America. She was a beautiful craft in every respect, constructed as strong as wood and iron could make her. As her cabin was to be Paul’s home during a portion of the year, it was fitted up with every appliance of comfort, convenience, and luxury. It contained a piano, a large library, and every available means of amusement for the hours of a long passage. At the age of twenty-one, Paul was more mature in experience and knowledge than many young men at twenty-five; and hardly had he been placed in possession of his inheritance than he sailed for Europe, and, of course, hastened from Queenstown to Belfast, where Mr. Arbuckle, father of the lady who occupied the stern-sheets of the barge, resided. Six months later he was married to Grace, who still regarded him as “the apple of her eye.”
On his return to New York his yacht was finished, though too late in the season for use that year. Her first voyage in the spring was to Brockway, which was the residence of Mr. Lowington, and the headquarters of the Academy Squadron. Learning that his old friend the principal was about to sail for Europe with his charge, he promptly decided to accompany him, and the Grace was one of the fleet that crossed the Atlantic in April.
Mrs. Kendall was dressed in a plain travelling suit. She was taller and more mature than when she went down the Rhine with the Young Americans, but she was not less beautiful and interesting.
If Fortune had been very kind to Paul Kendall, she had not been so constant to all who formerly sailed in the Young America, and who had then basked in her sunny smile. The third person in the stern-sheets of the barge was Mr. Augustus Pelham. He was a fine-looking fellow, with a heavy mustache, dressed like his commander, in the uniform of the yacht club. By one of those disasters common in American mercantile experience, Pelham’s father had suddenly been hurled from apparent affluence to real poverty. Being well advanced in years, he could do nothing better for himself and his family than to accept a situation as secretary of an insurance company, which afforded him a salary only sufficient to enable him to live in comfort. Augustus had completed his course in the Academy ship when the change of circumstances compelled him to abandon all luxurious habits, and work for his own living. This was by no means a calamity to him, any more than to other young men. Doubtless it was annoying to have his allowance of pocket money suddenly stopped, and to find himself face to face with one of the sternest realities of life. His training in the Academy ship had been a blessing to him, for it had reformed his life, and elevated his tastes above the low level of dissipation. It had made a new man of him, besides preparing him for a useful calling. He was competent, so far as nautical skill and knowledge were concerned, to command any vessel to any part of the world, though he lacked the necessary experience in the management of a miscellaneous crew, and in the transaction of business. He was ready to accept a situation as chief or second mate of a ship, when he happened to meet Paul Kendall, and was immediately engaged as chief officer of the Grace, at a salary of one hundred dollars a month. Another ex-student of the ship, Bennington, upon whose father fickle Fortune had not continued to smile, had been appointed second officer. Pelham had shipped the crew of the Grace, and no better set of men ever trod a deck.
The barge came up to the steps, and Paul and Pelham assisted Mrs. Kendall out of the boat, and the three went upon the deck of the ship. Mr. Lowington, who had not seen them, except at a distance, since the fleet sailed from Brockway harbor, gave them a warm greeting, shaking hands heartily with the lady first, and then with her companions.
“I am glad to see you looking so well, Mrs. Kendall,” said the principal.
“I have enjoyed myself every moment of the voyage, and have never been sick a single hour,” she replied.
“We have had a fine passage, and there was no excuse for an old salt like you to be sick,” laughed the principal.
“But I think we shall go on shore, and stay at a hotel a few days, just for a change,” added Paul.
“That’s a good plan; of course you will see more of the town and the people, than if you remain in your yacht.”
“I am sure I like the cabin of the yacht better than any hotel I ever visited,” laughed Mrs. Kendall.
“But a change will do you good, my dear,” suggested Paul.
“What did you pick up last evening, when you hove to, Mr. Lowington?”
“We picked up a young Norwegian, about sixteen years old,” answered the principal, detailing the circumstances under which Ole had been taken on board.
“Where is he now?” asked Paul, looking about him to obtain a sight of the stranger.
“We clothed and fed him, and had become quite interested in him; but just as the pilot came alongside we missed him. I have had the ship searched for him, but we have not been able to find him, though he must be concealed somewhere on board.”
“That’s strange!” exclaimed Mrs. Kendall, glancing at her husband.
“Perhaps not very strange,” continued the principal. “The boy refused to tell us how he came in an open boat, half full of water, and out of sight of land. Probably he has run away from his friends, and has concealed himself to avoid being recognized by the pilot, or other Norwegian people who may come on board. I judged by his appearance that he had some reason for running away from his master or his friends, for he was only half clothed, in the filthiest rags that ever covered a human being.”
“I should like a Norwegian in my yacht, to act as interpreter for us,” added Paul.
“I intended to keep him for that purpose myself, if I could ascertain who his friends were, and make an arrangement with them, for I will not encourage any boy in running away from his employers. Very likely we shall find him again in the course of the day.”
“Very well, sir; if you want him, I will look out for some one on shore,” added Paul. “At what time do you pipe to lecture, Mr. Lowington?”
“Not before to-morrow forenoon, at two bells.”
“I want to hear the lecture.”
“So do I,” laughed Mrs. Kendall. “I think it is a capital idea to have a professor tell us all about a country before we attempt to see it. I used to read about the Norsemen, but I have forgotten all about them now, and I want to refresh my memory.”
“I wish all our boys had the same view of the matter,” said Mr. Lowington.
“We will come on board before nine to-morrow morning, sir,” added Paul, as he handed his lady up the steps over the rail.
Descending to the boat, the three oarsmen shoved off, and pulled for the shore, where they landed. The boat had not reached the land, before another barge, the counterpart of the first, and similarly manned, left the Feodora, and pulled alongside the ship. Mr. Robert Shuffles, the owner and commander of the second yacht, assisted his wife up the ladder to the deck of the ship, where they were cordially received by the principal. The yacht Feodora was only six months older than the Grace, for which she had served as the model. Shuffles had not come into possession of any inheritance yet, but his father was as liberal as he was wealthy, and gave his son an annual allowance, which enabled him to marry and keep a yacht. He and Paul had been intimate friends since they were graduated from the Academy ship, and they had made their plans in concert. He had married Lady Feodora a year before, and she had now dropped her aristocratic title, and become a republican lady. Like her husband, she had acquired nautical tastes, and was even more enthusiastic than he in anticipating the pleasures of a yacht cruise up the Baltic, and up the Mediterranean. Shuffles had not been so fortunate as Paul in finding needy graduates of the Academy to officer his yacht, and a fat old shipmaster served as first officer in the Feodora, while the second mate was a young tar, not yet of age. Having paid their respects to the principal, the young couple returned to the boat, and followed Paul to the hotel on shore.
“That’s the way to go about Europe,” said Sanford, who was sitting on the rail with several of his shipmates.
“What’s the way?” asked Stockwell.
“Why, as Kendall and Shuffles do it—in a yacht, with no Latin and geometry to bother their heads, and no decks to wash down on a cold morning.”
“That’s so; but those fellows were the lambs of the squadron, we are told,” laughed Stockwell. “They didn’t have black marks; didn’t pick upon the professors, and didn’t run away from the ship.”
“What has all that to do with yachting?” asked Rodman.
“They were good boys, and therefore they have yachts as their reward,” replied Stockwell, laughing.
“Pelham was as good as Shuffles, but he has no yacht, and has to work on a salary for his living.”
“He has the fun of it all the same, and Paul Kendall will not overwork him. But I haven’t a word to say against them. They were all good fellows, if they were the ship’s lambs.”
“All the second cutters!” shouted the boatswain’s mate, after his pipe had sounded through the ship.
“That means us,” said Sanford. “Take your money and pea-jackets, fellows. Something may turn up before we come back.”
“Ay, ay,” replied Stockwell. “Pass the word to all our fellows.”
In a few moments the fourth cutters appeared in the waist, with pea-jackets on their arms, and touched their caps to De Forrest, the fourth lieutenant, who appeared as the officer detailed to go in the boat, which now, as formally, was called the professors’ barge, because it was generally appropriated to the use of the instructors. It was pulled by eight oarsmen, and Sanford was the coxswain. The party who had been considering the plan for an independent excursion on shore without incurring the perils and penalties of running away, were the crew of the second cutter. The fact of being together so much in the boat, had united them so that they acted and plotted in concert.
“What are you going to do with those pea-jackets?” asked De Forrest, when he saw their extra clothing.
“It’s rather chilly up here in the evening, and we thought we might want them, while we were waiting,” replied Sanford.
“I don’t think it is very cold, and as to the evening, the sun don’t set till about eight o’clock,” added the officer, as he went aft to the professors who were going on shore, and reported that the boat was ready; for it had already been lowered into the water, and made fast to the swinging boom.
Her crew went over the side, and seated themselves in the cutter.
“Ready!” said the coxswain, as the stern-sheets of the barge ranged alongside the little stage at the foot of the ladder. “Up oars!”
Up went the eight oars to a perpendicular position, where they were held till the boat should be ready to go.
“I wonder where Ole is,” said Sanford.
“Sh!” whispered Stockwell, who pulled the bow oar, shaking his head with energy.
“What do you mean?” demanded the coxswain, in a low tone, for he was very much mystified by the pantomime of the bow oarsman.
“Don’t say a word.”
“Where is he?” persisted Sanford, who was not willing to have a secret kept from him even for a moment.
Stockwell pointed into the bottom of the boat, and then looked up at the sky, with an affectation of cunning, while the rest of the crew smiled as though they were in possession of the secret. Sanford said no more, and joined the bowman in studying the aspect of the sky. Ole was in the boat to act as guide and interpreter, and if they chose to leave without running away, everything seemed to be favorable to the enterprise. Mr. Mapps and Dr. Winstock presently descended the steps, and seated themselves in the boat, followed by De Forrest.
“All ready, coxswain,” said the latter.
“Ready! Let fall!” said Sanford, as he shoved off the stern of the cutter. “Give way—together!”
The well-trained crew bent to their oars, and the boat shot away from the ship towards the shore. Mr. Mapps was going to the town to obtain some additional material for his lecture the following morning, and the surgeon intended to call on Paul Kendall and lady at the hotel.
“This is a very picturesque town, doctor,” said Mr. Mapps, as he gazed at the high, rocky steeps which surround Christiansand.
“Very; and I am rather sorry we are not to see more of the environs of the place,” replied the surgeon. “I understand we sail to-morrow night.”
“I dare say the students will see enough of Norway before they leave it.”
“We want to go into the interior,” said De Forrest. “There is fine fishing in the streams of Norway.”
“Very likely Mr. Lowington will take you into the interior from Christiania,” suggested Dr. Winstock.
“I don’t exactly see how it is possible to do so,” added Mr. Mapps. “The only conveyance of the country is the cariole, which seats but one person—perhaps two boys; and our squadron has nearly two hundred students. I am afraid there are not carioles enough in Christiania to carry the whole of them.”
“I think it’s too bad we can’t have a trial at the salmon,” pouted De Forrest.
“Perhaps, if you waited till July, you might catch them,” replied Mr. Mapps.
“We should be contented with trout, then.”
“I have no doubt Mr. Lowington will do the best he can for you,” said Dr. Winstock, as the boat neared the pier.
“In, bows!” called the coxswain; and the two bowmen tossed and boated their oars, taking their stations in the fore-sheets, one of them with the boat-hook in his hand. “Way enough!” added Sanford; and the rest of the crew tossed their oars, and then dropped them upon the thwarts, with a precision which seemed to astonish the group of Norwegians on the wharf, who were observing them.
The two gentlemen landed, and walked up to the town together, leaving the barge to wait for them.
“Part of you may go on shore for half an hour, if you wish, and walk about,” said De Forrest to his crew.
“I don’t care about going ashore,” replied Sanford.
“Nor I either,” added Stockwell; and so they all said, very much to the astonishment of the fourth lieutenant, who naturally supposed that boys who had been at sea about four weeks would like to stretch their legs on the solid land for a short time.
“Don’t any of you wish to go on shore?” he inquired.
“Not yet,” replied Sanford. “If you wish to take a walk, I will push off from the shore, and wait till you return,” said Sanford, very respectfully.
“What’s up? You won’t go on shore, and you wish me to do so!” exclaimed the suspicious officer.
“Nothing, sir,” protested Sanford. “We don’t intend to run away. We think that is played out.”
“If you wanted to do so in this desolate country, I would let you do it, if I were the principal. But you are up to some trick, I know.”
“What trick, sir?” demanded the coxswain, innocently.
“I don’t know, but it is your next move,” replied De Forrest, as he seated himself, and seemed confident of his ability to check any mischief which might be in the minds of his crew. “Shove off, bowman! Up oars! Let fall! Give way together!”
The oarsmen, rather vexed at the turn of events, obeyed the several orders, and the boat was again cutting the still waters of the fjord. All around them were rocks, with several large and small islands in sight. In various places on the rocks were affixed iron rings, to which vessels could make fast in warping out of the bay when the wind was light or foul. A portion of the rock to which they were attached was whitewashed, so that the rings could easily be found, even in the night. To one of these rings, on a small island near Odderö, which commanded a full view of the landing-place, De Forrest directed the coxswain to steer the boat.
“Make fast to that ring,” said the officer.
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the bowman.
“Perhaps you would like to land here,” added the lieutenant, in a jeering tone, as though he felt that he had checkmated his crew in any evil purpose they entertained. “Whether you do or not, I think I shall stretch my legs on these rocks.”
De Forrest leaped from thwart to thwart, and then over the bow upon the island, as though he felt nothing but contempt for the power of the boat’s crew to do mischief. He walked up the rough rocks to the summit of the islet, where he paused, and for the first time glanced at his companions, whom he suspected of harboring some design against the peace and dignity of the ship. As he did so, he discovered a steamer, which had just passed through the narrow opening between Odderö and the main land, and whose course lay close to the point of the island where the cutter was moored. He saw that the swash of the steamer was likely to throw the boat on the rocks, and grind her planking upon the sharp points of the island.
“In the boat!” he shouted, lustily. “Shove off!”
Sanford saw the danger which the lieutenant wished to avert, and promptly obeyed the orders.
“Shove off, Stockwell!” he promptly shouted. “Up oars! Stern, all! Give way!”
Stockwell gave a tremendously hard push when he shoved off, and the cutter shot far out upon the still waters; in fact, so far that she was forced directly into the way of the approaching steamer.
The Accident to the Second Cutter. Page [57].
“Oars!” yelled the coxswain furiously, when he saw that he had overdone the matter. “Hold water! Go ahead! Give way!”
The crew, even in this moment of deadly peril,—for it looked as though, in another instant, they would all be under the wheels of the steamer,—obeyed every command with their wonted precision. But it was a second too late to take the back track. If the boat had continued to back as at first, she would probably have escaped, for the steamer put her helm a-starboard a little, in order to favor her manœuvre. When a collision seemed inevitable, the steamer’s bell was rung to stop her, and then to back her.
She struck the cutter; but as her progress had been powerfully checked, the blow did not carry her under, though it stove in the side of the boat. The water poured in through the broken broadside, and the crew sprang for their lives. They leaped upon the guys and bob-stays of the steamer, and were hauled in by the people on the bow.
“Come out of there, Ole,” said Stockwell, as he pulled the boat’s sail from the extended form of the waif, who was concealed in the bottom of the boat.
Ole lost not a moment in following the example of his companions. As the steamer’s headway had now been entirely checked, Stockwell held the wrecked cutter in her position, while Rodman passed the pea-jackets up to the forecastle of the steamer. Having done this, they abandoned the boat, and followed the example of their companions. No one was drowned, or even wet above his knees, for the steamer had struck the boat just hard enough to stave in her side, without carrying her under.
The Norwegians hooked up the boat’s painter, and taking it in tow, proceeded on her course; for the captain—as interpreted by Ole—declared that his boat carried the mail, and he could not wait for anything.