“Hadn’t begun, then,” contended the whaleman. “Got ter have a beginnin’ sometime. Bet ye we gets wuss an’ wusser from now on.”
But despite Cap’n Pem’s dismal forebodings, the next day was fine, the gale had blown itself out, and while the seas still ran mountain high, they were rapidly decreasing. Two days later Cap’n Pem declared the sea had moderated enough to set out and with one of the men helping Sam—for he was still weak—the party launched the boat and headed for Elephant Island. It was hard pulling against the head sea and as there was no favorable wind, the sail could not be used and the men strained and sweated at their heavy oars. But gradually the little island faded into the distance and each moment Elephant Island loomed nearer and plainer ahead. At last they gained the lee of the land, and keeping close inshore, pulled towards the outstanding cliffs which concealed the harbor. As the boat came abreast of the point the spars of a ship came suddenly into view.
“Hurrah! The Hector’s back!” cried Tom.
“Derned if she is!” exclaimed Cap’n Pem. “That’s a brig. I’ll—” but his sentence was never finished. From the direction of the shore came the sounds of a volley of gun shots.
“What’n tarnation,” roared the old whaleman. “Give way, lads! Lift her! Fightin’s broke loose yonder!”
CHAPTER XII
THE RAIDERS
Meanwhile, upon Elephant Island, things had not been going well. For the first two days after the departure of Cap’n Pem and his boat, the work of killing and boiling had gone on as usual, although on a smaller scale owing to the lack of men. Then, on the third day came the terrific storm which had prevented the rescuing party from returning. Within a few hours after the screeching, howling gale had first burst upon the island, the flimsy shacks, erected for summer weather, had been completely wrecked; the tremendous seas had swept far up the beach and had carried away the try-works and had smashed and broached many of the casks of oil, and Mike and his men had been compelled to perform Herculean labors to save anything from the fury of the tempest.
By dint of incredible exertions they had managed to construct a rude shelter from the wreckage and had saved the rest of the oil and most of the supplies; but when the storm finally abated, the drenched, tired and shivering men looked upon a scene of desolation. The beach was littered with staved casks, boards, boxes and ruined supplies. Masses of wave-driven kelp and flotsam were piled high where the try-works had stood; the planks and canvas of the hut were scattered about and not a sea elephant was in sight.
Mike shook his head as he surveyed the devastated camp. “B’gorra!” he exclaimed. “Faith an’ ’tis the doin’s o’ the bo’sun burrd—bad cess to him! An’ be the same token ’tis worrit Oi am over Misther Potter an’ thim others. Foive days now, an’ divvil a soign av thim. Beloike an’ they wuz caught in the big wind, ’tis dead they be.”
“Mister Potter, he put da grub an’ da water for week,” Manuel reminded him.