So Priscilla sat aft, soaking her soul in beauty and utterly oblivious of her surroundings, until even her inexperienced eye detected a returning boat—one that neared the ship at a great rate, the oars rising and falling as if steam driven, and with a feather of spray at her bow, showing at what a high rate of speed she was approaching. Priscilla slipped quickly below, her heart full of thankfulness that she had been enabled to get a glimpse of the sea and sky, and also that she had succeeded in retreating before the advent of her husband. Truly she had but little margin of time, for he, standing erect in his boat’s stern, had been watching the ship with vulture eyes, and before she had been ten minutes below he was on board, his awful voice ringing fore and aft like that of some destroying angel.
Seven cow whales had been killed, and the securing of them alongside meant a truly herculean task, which was prolonged until nearly midnight, by which time the vessel looked as if she was the centre of an island of flame. Surrounded by these great carcasses against which the sea broke in lambent light, the rendezvous for tens of thousands of sharks, whose swift coming and going through the phosphorus-charged waves made them glow like the moon, the scene was one of almost awful beauty. But none there took any notice of it. The crew, half dead with fatigue, stumbled about obeying mechanically the orders given, but hardly able to keep awake, much less pull or lift as they were ordered. At last the mate approached the skipper, saying: ‘Cap’n Da Silva, hadn’t I better order the men to rest awhile? I’m afraid we’ll be losing some of ’em overboard if I don’t, they’re all so dead beat, sir.’ Looking around to see if any of the men were within hearing, the skipper took a step towards the mate, and with a perfectly devilish glare in his eyes, said: ‘Yew lazy American pig, yew dirty helpless dog, I’ll teach yew t’ interfere with my business. I’d jes’ soon kill ye as look at ye, f’r all th’ good y’ are. But I’ll do worse ’n that. I’ll make yew wish yew was dead, hunderds of times ’fore I’m done with ye.’ Up flew the mate’s fist as he made a spring towards his skipper, but as he sprang he was confronted by the muzzles of two revolvers in the skipper’s hands. He stopped with a groan—the thought of his dear ones at home in Fairhaven was too much for him; and as he fell back he heard a chuckle overhead, and there was a Portuguese harpooner on the top of the house with another revolver pointed at him. ‘Wall,’ drawled the skipper, ‘y’ see I’m heeled. I’m layin’ fur ye every time. Ef y’ git t’ windward of me yew’ve only one more t’ git ahead of, an’ thet’s Satin himself. I tell ye, I’m goin’ t’ make this ship hell f’r all of ye, but yew an’ th’ secon’ mate specially. But if y’ wa’n’t such curs, yew’d take y’r chances. I don’t mind dyin’ a little bit, ’n’ ef yew liked to try it on at a little risk why y’ mout git my gun an’ shoot me.’
For decency’s sake it becomes necessary to draw a veil over the proceedings of the next few weeks. No one likes to record the degradation of his fellowmen or dwell upon their unmerited miseries. And, indeed, every white man on board the Grampus endured for the rest of the passage such torments and indignities as make the blood boil only to think of—endured them helplessly, hopelessly. Meanwhile, every slice of good fortune imaginable seemed to attend upon the miscreant. The passage round the Cape was made in lovely weather, and as soon as ever they hauled up for the Mozambique Channel they fell in with a school of whales extending to the horizon. It was at daybreak, too, so for the whole of that terrible day they toiled at slaying under the furious sun. No idea apparently was entertained by the skipper of the enormous amount of labour being accumulated. When night fell there were over twenty carcasses encumbering the sea, the ship was unable to move for the weight already attached to her, and, had she been able, the wind had fallen to an almost perfect calm. But not until every man, including his own personal bodyguard, had succumbed to sheer weariness did the skipper ‘let up,’ and say that a ‘spell-ho’ of an hour or two might be enjoyed. In strict justice it must be said that he had taken no rest—in fact, it appeared as if he had laboured harder than any other man on board. But what of that? What would become of us all if we were compelled to keep up to the physical standard of the most sinewy and strenuous among us? Certainly a great thinning out of the population would immediately ensue.
Therefore, at 8 P.M. a halt was reluctantly called, and one by one the boats returned, their crews barely able to drag themselves on deck, and utterly incapable of hoisting the boats when they had done so. Of the difficulty of getting alongside, thrusting their frail boats in between the massy bodies attached to the ship and tumbling gigantically about upon the sullen swell, I dare not speak: it needs a chapter to itself. It must be sufficient to say that all hands returned, succeeded in getting on board, fell down where they alighted, and slept like the dead—so much like that two happy fellows did not trouble to wake again: they were found stiff and cold in the morning. But as that was merely an incident of the campaign (in war it is thought nothing of) there is no excuse for dwelling upon it—let it pass.
The matter worth recording is that at midnight, the placid moon looking down upon the deck of the Grampus as if it were a stricken field—the corpses lying hideously scattered where they fell—there was a great outcry. The skipper, ever alert, had seen along the moonbeams’ path the oncoming of some suspicious-looking craft. His experience fixed them at once as Arab dhows bent on plunder. Strange how the Arab is a born thief and murderer, as is the Chinese, and neither of them ever feels any compunction for his crimes.
THE DHOWS CREPT CAUTIOUSLY TOWARDS THE IMMOVABLE SHIP.
P. 203.
The dhows crept cautiously towards the immovable ship, and Captain Da Silva watched them coming, the fierce light of battle in his eye. But he wasted no time. He knew that his ship was surrounded by an almost impregnable defence (at night), and so he devoted his leisure to loading carefully the half-dozen Sniders possessed by the ship. (Those old Tower Sniders have gone all over the world.) Then he called up his chums, sailors and harpooners, and no small task it was to get life into them. But he succeeded at last, and then posting them all aft with a Snider and a revolver apiece, and much ammunition, he waited gleefully the advent of the sea Bedawy. They came, and were astonished to find that a barrier of something floating, slimy, massive, and impassable interposed between them and their objective. And while they groped darkling, the Sniders sang their awful song, red spear-points of flame clove the darkness, and many an Arab sank down upon the rough-timbered deck of his buggalow coughing out his foul life. Only an hour, and the attack was over. It would never have been begun but that the Arabs forecasted a helpless merchant ship whose crew they could kill easily as sheep, and with as little compunction, and whose hold they should find crammed with choicest merchandise only awaiting the advent of the enterprising sons of the East.
It seems incredible, but such was the fatigue of the crew that when morning dawned the majority of them were quite unaware of the happenings of the night. Perhaps, dimly through their dreams had come the ping of dropping shots, uneasy shudderings might have accompanied the dying yells of the Arabs, but taking everything all round they knew nothing about it. Nor did they greatly care. The dawn but brought them bone-wrenching toil. Who among them would have given thanks for the paternal (?) care manifested for them by the skipper during the dead hours of the night? For their condition was that so amply and aptly summed up by Moses in his dread warning to the children of Israel: ‘In the morning thou shalt say, Would God it were evening, and in the evening thou shalt say, Would God it were morning.’