CHAPTER XV. ABOARD AGAIN
The sun was floating over the horizon, and the pink of his glory was melting into the flash of silver, as the wake of the York streamed in a short white gleam upon the sea. The light breeze was still to the north of east, and thither it had hung for hours past. Hardy and Julia stood at the brig's rail watching the ship that was distinct and lifting in the ocean's recess.
"Is it possible that she's the York?" said Julia.
He answered with the telescope at his eye:
"Don't I know her! She's under single reefs. Her spanker is furled, and her head sails keep her off, as though she were under control. Perhaps she is, but I don't think so. She would head directly for us if she had anything alive on board, because I can hold the line of her rail in this glass, and if I can see her, she can see me."
"What will you do?"
"I will wait a little longer and see if she is manned. If her crew have deserted her, I will launch that boat, and board her before she drifts out of sight."
"Will you be able to catch her?"
"Catch her! Can you row?"
"Try me," she answered, with the proud look a girl will put on when she feels she is of importance.
"She is drifting at about two, and we will make that boat buzz three, and perhaps more. But if she is manned, she will come alongside, and our getting aboard will be easy. But she is not manned, I am sure," said Hardy. "Pipe to breakfast, Julia."
This time they made beef sandwiches of biscuit, and they were swallowed without the accompanying forecastle growl. Indeed, considering it was meant for sailors' use, the beef was not very bad, and as it was pickled to the heart, a little cooking had gone a long way to make it almost food for the human stomach. The bottle of rum was half full and they drank a little of the liquor, largely diluted with water. To refresh himself Hardy went to the head, where he knew he would find a pump which stood clear of the deck load. He picked up a bucket, carried it to the pump and filled it with sparkling brine, and purified his face with the cold salt-sweetness of the water and wrung his hands in it, and felt that his beard was growing, for shipwreck does not stop the growth of hair, as we see when a haggard crew steps ashore out of a life-boat.
And all the time he kept his eyes fastened on the York, as he knew her to be. When he went aft he found Julia sitting on a chair on top of the deck-house. He mounted the steps and sat beside her with the telescope, for he had made up his mind to wait a little before launching the boat.
"What makes you know that she's the York?" she asked.
"Twenty points, and you must have served two years before the mast to understand them if I explained. She is the York, my love, and with God's eye watching us we shall be aboard her and safe before sunset."
"Hurrah!" cried Julia, and she picked up his hand and kissed it.
It was a thing to be settled in about an hour, and in that hour Hardy discovered that she was not under control by her coming to windward and her falling off; and when she came to windward she hung so long that Hardy thought it time to turn to. And now began a process of which the description shall not weary you.
First he unshipped the gangway and fetched some capstan bars for rollers; he then passed his knife through the boat's lashings, took the watch-tackle and secured it to a fore-shroud abreast of the boat, overhauled the tackle to hook the block on the boat's gunwale, then he and Julia clapped on to the hauling part of the tackle and easily roused the little wagon on to her bilge. She was not very much heavier than a smack's boat; her oars were lashed under the thwarts, and her rudder had been on a thwart and now lay in her. They tried to run her along the deck, but though they started her the toil must prove too great for the girl who would be plying an oar shortly. So he carried the block of the watch-tackle as far forward as its length would allow him and made a strop with a piece of gear round the thwart, to which he hooked the other block, bent a line on to the hauling part and carried it to the winch, giving Julia the job of hauling the slack in as he wound.
He wound lustily, for he was fighting for life and time and he was a very strong man, and had entirely rid himself of all the evil effects of the drug, as the girl had. So they brought the boat abreast of the gangway; he had muscle enough to lift her bow whilst Julia placed a skid, in the shape of a capstan bar, under her forefoot; he made other skids of the capstan bars, and laying hold of her gunwales on either side, the two brave hearts, with the boat's nose pointing to the sea, ran the fabric, secured by a painter hitched to a main shroud, clean through the gangway, and she fell with a squash, and floated like an empty bottle with never a drop of water in her.
This done, Hardy, who was making haste, for the York was keeping a rap-full and forging into the stream of sunshine, though always coming for the brig, seized a line, and watching his chance sprang into the boat, secured the line to her after-thwart, leapt aboard, and brought the boat broadside to the gangway.
The roll of the brig was very sullen and slow, and the swell of the sea sometimes hove the boat flush with the brig's waterway.
"You must jump into her, Julia," said Hardy, "and for God's sake don't go overboard. To provide against that, see here."
He took an end of main-royal-halliards and hitched it round her waist, and overhauled some slack which he grasped.
"Pull up your clothes," said he, "and free your legs and aim for the bottom of the boat, and jump when I sing out."
The little squab structure came floating up, and Hardy brought her in by a tug of the after-rope as she was coming.
"Jump!" he shouted.
And that girl, whose heart was of British oak, holding her clothes to her knees, sprang, and in a few breaths was sitting on a thwart and liberating herself from the rope, whilst she smiled up at her lover.
"Now, Julia," said he, "I am going to send you down the provisions and water. Stand by to receive them, but keep seated."
He handed the telescope to her, then fetched the breaker, which she received as it lay in that instant of heaving swell on the rim of the gunwale, and she rolled it to the thwart, then to the stern-sheets, taking the glass from Hardy at the next heave. He made one parcel of the provisions and hove them into the boat, then casting the painter adrift he jumped into the boat, let go the remaining line that held her, cut loose the oars, shipped the thole-pins, leaving the rudder unshipped, and made Julia the bow oar.
Could she row? Very well indeed; but the oars were a little heavy and she did not attempt to feather; in fact, she rowed like a smacksman, lifting the blade with its streaming glory of water on high, but the dip and thrust of it was that of a stout schoolboy, and between them they made the boat buzz, Hardy, with larger power of oar, keeping her straight for the York.
"Don't tire yourself," said he; "rest when you like. She'll not outrun us."
"What a wonderful thing to happen!" said Julia, whose face was whitening with the ardour of her toil.
She looked at nothing but her oar, and was certainly not going to be tired this side the York.
"At sea, where all is wonderful, nothing is wonderful," said Hardy. "Any sailor would easily see how this has come about. But don't waste your breath in talking: let us row."
It was a strange and curious picture: a man and a girl in a little open boat, pulling away for a ship that was rounding into the wind as though she knew they were approaching, whilst astern receded the figure of the brig, a melancholy sight, despite the gun-flashes of sunshine which burst from her side at every roll; her hanging canvas flapped a mournful farewell to the rowers, who took no heed of the poor thing's tender and, for a north-countryman, graceful salutation of good-bye. But, then, she had been a stage of maniacal horrors, of death, of the lonely little ghost that struck the bell, of shipwreck with its stalking shadows of famine, thirst, and the calenture that invites you to die.
Hardy frequently turned to look at the York so as to keep a true course, and this time saw that she was involved in the wind, and was waiting for him to come aboard to tell her what to do. They had four miles to measure, and as they pulled with the spirit of shipwreck in their pulse they were within hail of her in an hour.
No man showed himself; she was abandoned. But suddenly on the forecastle rail appeared the fore-paws and magnificent head of a great Newfoundland dog. He barked deep and long.
"Poor Sailor," said Hardy; "I had forgotten him."
"How inhuman to leave him," said Julia, panting.
"A few more strokes, sweetheart," shouted Hardy, "and we are free. What a noble girl you are! What a good wife you will make a sailor!"
"I will make you a good wife, never fear," she answered, joyous in despite distress of breath.
The ship's head was slowly paying off as the boat's stem struck the side. Hardy secured the painter and jumped into the mizzen-chains.
"Hold out your hands," he exclaimed, "and jump when the boat lifts," and to the lift and to his fearless, muscular haul she sprang, and was alongside of him.
He grasped her by the arm, passed her round the rigging, and helped her over the bulwark rail. The dog was barking in fury of joy. When they gained the deck he sprang upon the girl in love and delight and nearly knocked her down.
"Get him some water and biscuit whilst I look about me," said Hardy.
He had long ago known by the help of the telescope that the ship was abandoned because two pairs of davits were empty, and with the perception of a sailor he understood that the crew had transferred themselves to another ship in one boat, whereas if they had abandoned the ship on their own account, which was improbable, they would have gone away in three companies, and the davits would have been like gibbets, since the after-boat had been used by the captain when he stole the girl.
The wheel was not lashed, and was constantly playing in swift revolution to starboard and port and back again. Hardy judged that the dog had been left by the men because the faithful creature would not quit the ship which had been his master's home, and the men, who would have had very little time, did not choose that their flesh should be torn by using violence. Yet it was cruel of them to leave him, for they would know that the noble creature would soon need water and food, and perish as lamentably as a famine-stricken sailor on a raft.
He saw that the figures of Mr. Candy and the man at the wheel, which had been concealed by a tarpaulin, were gone; they had of course been buried. Julia looked after the dog, that was lapping water thankfully as she filled a bowl from the galley with fresh water out of the scuttle-butt. Hardy slowly went forward, carefully gazing about him.
No man lay dead on the deck; he dropped into the forecastle and found it empty of human life, so that the captain's birthday had killed but two men, which was surely wonderful, for he had commanded a power that could have murdered a thousand.
Why was not this fine ship taken possession of by the people who had received her crew? I will tell you at once, for the story came out on the men's arrival. Her drift had been swifter, with the helping hand of the surge, than Hardy could have imagined or allowed for, and in the morning of the gale she was close aboard a French brig that was hove to sitting deep in the sea. They hailed her and were answered. They stated they were without a navigator and they didn't know what to do. The French captain spoke English, and said he would receive them if they came aboard in their own boat and land them at Marseilles, the port he was bound to. The weather was then moderating, and after calling a council the boatswain, giving the mate and the girl up as lost, swiftly decided, with the heedlessness of seamen, to abandon the York, and with great difficulty the sailors gained the deck of the brig, leaving their clothes behind them. Very shortly afterward the French captain braced his yards round and shaped a course for Marseilles, leaving nothing alive on board the York but the dog.
This is the true story of the ship's adventure, and whoever questions it is no sailor.
Hardy left the forecastle and stood awhile on deck near the hatch, gazing aloft. In this moment he was fired by a resolution which would have inspired no other heart than that of a true British sailor. He determined that he and the girl and the dog should save this fine ship without help, and carry her to England, and entitle them to a reward which should prove a living to them whilst they endured. His face, which was as manly as Tom Bowline's, was irradiated by the glory of this resolution as he gazed aloft, smiling. It was possible—and being possible it was to be done. But it needed doing by two hearts of oak and the dog as a lookout, and great anxiety would accompany the discharge of this splendid duty, much sleeplessness and ceaseless urging of the spirit. But the eye of God would dwell lovingly upon their toil and peril; he felt that and raised his cap to the thought, and he said to himself, in the language of Nelson, "When we cannot do all we wish, we must do as well as we can!"
He walked aft and joined the girl.
"Julia," he said, "I have formed the resolution of my life, and if I can fulfil it we shall be rich, though that will not make us happy."
"What is it?" she asked, looking a little frightened, with her head slightly drooped to the shoulder, and her left hand, white as foam, reposing like a coronet upon the Newfoundland's head. Indeed, what with the mad captain, drugs, and ghosts she was in such a condition of mind that she was easily alarmed by any divergence from the commonplace.
"This is a valuable ship," he answered. "I know her cargo, for I helped to stow it. She has a beautiful hull, and is perfectly sound aloft. In addition to her cargo she carries a little treasure of jewelry consigned to Melbourne—Colonials love jewelry. I dare say it is worth ten thousand pounds. It is in a safe in the captain's cabin. I should say that the value of this ship and cargo is between sixty thousand and seventy thousand pounds, perhaps more. Julia, you and I and the dog will carry her home. We shall be richly rewarded by the owners and the underwriters—in fact, it is a matter of salvage to be assessed if my terms are disputed."
She grasped him by both hands, her eyes were on fire, her cheeks were burning, the spirit of delight and resolution filled her romantic face with the light of conquest and realisation.
"Is it to be done?" she said.
"It is done," he answered. "We don't talk of failure. But let us make ourselves comfortable whilst the weather is fine."
"How heavenly!" she sighed. "You will teach me to steer, George."
"I will teach you everything that is proper for a young woman to know," he answered.
He took her to his heart and pressed his lips to hers, which was like signing articles: that lip pressure was the seal of their agreement to serve each other loyally, and to eat the food on board without growling.
The first thing they did was to go below. Here was the cabin just as they had left it; there was the chair in which Captain Layard had sat and talked metaphysics, yonder was the locker on which the drugged girl had slept, and they stood on the deck where Hardy had lifted his cannon-ball of a head, whilst his bewildered soul groped slowly into his brains. They went into the captain's cabin and saw the drum and the drumsticks and the little bedstead.
"What a fantasy of the sea!" said Hardy. "It is beyond me. It is like a vision, sensible to perception and unreal to it. Will our story be credited?"
"Who cares?" answered the girl. "Is that the safe, George?"
"Yes, and I'll look for the key by and by. The jewelry's there."
The safe was small and secured on a massive timber shelf, but though small it was large enough to contain the Koh-i-noor, and to hold buried the wealth and jewels of a rajah.
Hardy cast a keen look around him, saw that the table held the necessary machinery of navigation, carefully wound up the chronometers, which had not stopped, then went into his own cabin whilst the girl entered hers. When they presently met they sought for food and found plenty in the pantry; here were ham and tongue, palatable stuff in tins, white biscuits, and pots of jam.
They sat down and ate, and the Newfoundland sat beside them, triumphant in this familiar company of man and woman, and Julia, who loved him, saw that he made a good breakfast.
"How are we to manage it, George?" she asked.
"It will require some scheming," he answered, "but we must not accept help, because if we do our salvage share will shrink out of all proportion to our merits. Can you steer in the least?"
"I can steer a boat, but not a ship," Julia answered.
"I will teach you; you will get the art in a very few lessons."
"One lesson will do if I have the strength."
"Oh," he answered, with a loving glance at her, "you are one of those English girls whose shapes of beauty are wire-rigged. Wire is stronger than hemp, though it looks delicate. What your strength can't do I have arms for."
"So you have," she replied; "you are the manliest sailor that ever was."
"Let us change the subject," he replied, with a little colour of pleasure in his face, for a compliment from your sweetheart is next to a kiss. "We are fortunate in finding the ship under very easy sail. We'll get some more fore-and-aft canvas upon her, for it is easily hauled down, but I shall leave the square canvas that is furled to rest as it is. I'll bring her to her course at noon when I find out where we are. You will light the galley fire, as we shall want a hot drink. But we need little cooking, for if we boil a good lump of beef, that, with the food in the pantry, will last you and me and the dog five hundred miles of sea."
"Are we near England?"
"Not very, I think, but I shall know presently exactly how near we are."
"How shall we get rest, George? We must sleep or die, or worse, go mad."
"Aye," he answered, thoughtfully; "you see things rightly, but we must not make sleep a difficulty."
"The rest seems quite easy," she said, joyously; "and I shall learn to steer in one lesson."
They left the table and went on deck, followed by the dog, who growled softly and often in a sort of undertalk with himself. There is a great nature in a Newfoundland, and you often wonder whilst you look into his soft, affectionate eyes what his thoughts are.
It was a glowing scene of forenoon ocean. The ripple ran with the laughter of the summer in its voice. The endless procession of humps of swell, as though old ocean was perpetually shrugging his shoulders over spiteful memories, brought the flaming banners of the sun out of the east, and swept them westwards in knightly array of fiery plume and foam-crested summit. Four miles off wallowed the poor little brig, tearfully flapping her pocket-handkerchief to the naked horizon, and by mute and pathetic gesture coaxing nothing into being to help her. Many soft, white clouds floated westwards, and Hardy noticed that the glass was high and those clouds meant nothing but vapour.
What a noble ship to be in charge of, to virtually be the owner of, to rescue from the toils of the sea, to witness in security in some harbour of England, flying high the commercial flag of the Empire in token of British supremacy, even in the hour of peril, when the Foreigner would consider all was lost!
"It is not yet twelve o'clock," said Hardy, "and we will light the galley fire."
They walked forward and entered the sea kitchen. Plenty of chopped wood lay stacked. The ship's cook had been a man of foresight, and anticipated labour by putting an axe into the ordinary seaman's hand; also near the wood stood two buckets of coal and a little heap on the deck. There was plenty of coal in the fore-peak for a voyage to Australia. Hardy had matches, which are curiosities at sea in a forecastle, for you light your pipe at the galley fire with rope yarns or shavings, and the slush lamp is kindled by the binnacle or side-light. But aft there are usually matches, because the cabin is the home of elegance, refinement, and luxury, and the captain must have matches, for he cannot light his cigar at the sailors' fire. Hardy first explored the coppers; they were empty. He filled them from the scuttle-butt; why should he use salt water when there was plenty of fresh at hand? Fresh water would cleanse the mahogany beef of something of its brine, and perhaps soften it into complacent recognition of human digestion.
Then the fire was lighted; he could not find the key of the harness cask, so he fetched a weapon from the carpenter's chest, and the staples yielded to his blow with the shriek of lacerated wood. There was plenty of beef and pork in the cask, buried in the horrible crystal in which lurks the demon of scurvy; he turned the pieces over, and selecting the fattest and least ill-looking lump, dropped it into the copper for boiling when the water should begin.
This work, easily recited, cost time. Before he touched a brace or put the ship to her course he must find out where she was. The last entries in the log-book were in his handwriting, and they related the story of the captain's birthday, how he kept it, and his disappearance with a young lady passenger named Julia Armstrong. The latitude was then—N. and the longitude—W. But the drifting ship had measured miles, and her captain must know where he was. This he would find out in about an hour.
The sow under the long-boat was dead. To get rid of it before the carcass stank he stropped it and clapped the watch-tackle on it, and together they hauled the little mountain of what might have proved tooth-alluring crackling and white fresh fat, always sweet at sea, through the open gangway overboard. It fell without a prayer, and the fish that nosed it that day dined well.
Some of the poultry in the hen-coops were dead; a few lived, and craved with fluttering red pennons for drink and grain. Of course Hardy knew "the ropes" of this ship and could lay his hand on anything he wanted. He filled the little troughs with fresh water, and no one but a beholder could have figured the profound gratitude with which the varying row of bills was lifted to heaven. He helped them to grain, and they filled their crops with all ardency of pecking. He cleared the hen-coop of its plumed corpses, and so they sweetened the ship forthwith.
It was about time that Hardy fetched his sextant: the soaring sun excited his impatience; he desired that the ship should be sending his sweetheart and himself home, and the ceaseless waving of those pocket-handkerchiefs just over the horizon teased him with their impertinence, and as a token of distress when the morning was fair and their hearts high and hopeful. His reckoning found the ship's position within a mile or two of her place when he had left her to succour his darling.
"I have it now," said he, "and we must trim sail for home."
"Oh, how beautiful!" cried Julia, and the dog barked in recognition of the girl's triumphant note.
The ship was on the port tack and must be wore to the north. Hardy put the helm hard up and secured it, then let go the fore, main, and mizzen-braces, and the yards, as the ship obeyed her rudder, swung a little of themselves. With the starboard-braces let go Hardy and Julia did not find it difficult to swing the yards. The wind would be almost abeam when the ship was homeward bound, and there were the winch and the capstan to brace the yards well forward if the wind drew ahead.
"Sing out, George!" cried Julia. And they brought the fore and foretopsail-yard, with fore-tack and sheet all gone, round, to their chanty of "Chillyman."
"Randy dandy, heigho! Chillyman! Pull for a shilling, heigho! Chillyman! Young and willing, heigho! Sweet and killing ole bo', Dandy, heigho! Chillyman!"
The Newfoundland looked on and grumbled because he had no hands. They got the main and the mizzen-yards round to the same song with some laughter, because Hardy put a few words of sweetness into his invention as he sang, and the girl's voice was rich with appreciation as the flute of her lips swept the carol of her delight into his manly tones.
Then they saw to the fore-tack and sheet and to the jib-sheets, and the ship floated away steadily round in graceful salutations to the dejected handkerchiefs on the quarter. Hardy cast the wheel adrift and told the girl to hold it whilst he steadied the yards by hauling as taut as his pair of hands could the weather-braces of the fore and main and the lee-braces of the mizzen.
This done he stood beside Julia to teach her how to steer.