How long they had thus patiently borne the burden of a peril of which no landsman can have aught but the feeblest adumbration of an idea, none of them knew, for none of them had a watch, and even had there been one there was no light. The darkness was of that Egyptian character that one experiences in a coal mine, and the blazing rivers of lightning which occasionally coursed over their heads only added to their blindness. But presently, as at some celestial word of command, the elemental tumult ceased, the wind fell to a dead calm, and a strange motion, totally unlike the steady heave and roll of the former hours, took its place. Overhead the cloud-pall thinned and a star or two appeared. Their eyes, grown accustomed to the velvety blackness, saw that they were the centre of a charmed circle, all around which, at so short a distance that they seemed to be at the bottom of a whirlpool, enormous masses of water rose and fell in disorderly heaps. It was an appalling sight, and the mate, with thoughtful wisdom, distracted their attention from it by advising them to take advantage of the temporary lull to get a drink and eat a biscuit. Each whaleboat carries a wooden vessel like a large bucket, holding about four gallons of fresh water. It is headed up like a cask, but has a wooden spigot attached by a short lanyard, and this, withdrawn, suffers the water to escape in a thin stream into a piggin which is held beneath it. There is also a long narrow keg kept under the little deck over the stern of the boat, also headed up tightly but easy to open by those who know how, in which are a number of biscuits, a lantern, and some candles and matches. This was now produced, and a biscuit each handed round, which, with a drink of water, had a wonderful effect in raising everybody’s spirits.
Mr. Pease then said, ‘M’ lads, I don’ s’pose ’at ever in the history of seafarin’ a boat’s crew has bin known t’ hang out a hurrican in the open sea same ’s we’ve done, fur which we’ve gut t’ thank ole Johnny Squarehead here as th’ means sent by Almighty God fur our safety. B’lieve me, boys, we’re through th’ wust of it. We sh’ll hev almost as much wind as before, but not fur near as long, an’ yew know how safe a harbour the whale gives us. I needn’t ask ye t’ thank God: I know yew’ve all done that, ’specially Rube thar. Say, Rube, sonny, haow’re ye hittin’ it, eh?’ ‘Glorious, Mr. Pease, glorious. I wuz jest thinkin’ as ye spoke, “though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil, Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.”’ ‘Bully fer yew, Rube,’ said Mr. Pease. ‘They wuz a time when I sh’d have miscalled yew ’r anybody else ’at talked like that fur a darned hypocrite; but, thank God, I know better now. I’ve a-learnt how good a man a Christian kin be.’
He had hardly uttered the last words than with an awful howling sound the wind burst out upon them from the opposite direction, bringing with it such a cloud of spray that for a few minutes they fought gaspingly for breath, and groped blindly to bale the boat. They hardly knew while those few fateful minutes lasted whether they were sinking or not, but their faithful defender, in death returning good for evil, gradually took up his relative position to the wind as before, and although they could not see they could feel that they were again on the sheltered side of the great carcass. And, besides, it seemed to them as if it afforded more protection than it had done before. They could not think the wind had lessened—indeed, they believed it to blow harder than ever—but certainly their boat rode easier; and with a relief not to be expressed in words they saw that light was coming. Only one thing gave them additional uneasiness: the increasing glare beneath them. The lightning had almost entirely ceased, but, as if to compensate for that cessation of the unearthly fires above, the waters beneath them fairly glowed with green illumination in broad bands, which came and went incessantly. They all knew that this meant the gathering of the ravening deep-sea hosts, attracted thereto by the mighty banquet, and entirely oblivious of the war of the winds above.
How, throughout those hours of terror, had it fared with the crew of the Xiphias remaining on board that staunch old ship? Peacefully enough until the passing of the storm-centre. Then indeed they were in evil case. For they had no charmed circle, beyond which the waves could not pass, to protect them. It was an omission only too frequently made, and almost unpardonable in these ships. Had they but hung canvas bags of oil from both bows and both quarters, through which the calming liquid might have drained, they would have been spared much of the labour, danger, and anxiety. But nothing of the kind had been arranged for, and consequently when that fearful vortex sea broke upon them, not only did their vessel’s decks fill with water in masses weighing hundreds of tons, and smashing everything that was smashable, but the working of the ship opened her seams so much that, in spite of the risk of being exposed in the waist, it was absolutely necessary for all hands to muster at the pumps. There, secured by ropes around their bodies, and occasionally entirely overwhelmed by the towering masses of water breaking on board, they toiled unmurmuringly. Again and again they were hurled like a scattered bundle of chips in all directions; the ropes with which they were secured threatened to cut them in halves, making deep discoloured grooves in their flesh, and floating wreckage beat and bruised them savagely in its dashing to and fro. But they still stuck to their posts unflinchingly, officers and men together putting forth all their powers, and hoping, ever hoping, even when all hope seemed dead.
For the Xiphias was, to all outward seeming, a wreck. Her bulwarks were gone fore and aft; the massive brick erection of the try-works had been swept so cleanly away that no trace of it remained; three of the fine boats were gone, and only the ringbolts with which they had been hoisted still dangled at the davit-heads. Several sails, in spite of the care exercised in their securing, had wriggled adrift, and the tigerish wind had snatched them from the yards as dry leaves are stripped from the trees in autumn. But it is in times like these that the Divine in man shines out, and Captain Hampden stood erect, not counting his burden of years, nor his present load of care for his crew, nor the heartache for the brave fellows long ago, he thought, gone to their well-earned rest in the silence of the sea. His eyes shone bright, his heart beat temperately, his voice rang steady, and when, the short calm gone, the hurricane burst again upon them from its opposite segment, all hands felt his noble influence, and braced themselves to endure to the end.
Forty miles away Mr. Pease and his brave little crew still lived. Once settled into their old position to leeward of the dead whale they felt, such was the effect upon their minds of their recent experience, almost safe from the tempest above and the assault of the sea. They noticed, indeed, that the latter gradually became more furious, as if, enraged beyond measure by its previous restraint, it was now determined to make up for loss of opportunity, and destroy everything in its path alien to its domain. But even that carried some comfort, for while feeling well protected to leeward of the whale they cared little for waves however high: the very fact of those waves rearing their heads so savagely told them that the force of the hurricane must be waning; and, besides, the thinning of the cloud-pall above, the absence of the lightning, and an indescribable elevation of spirits, all had their part in the growth of hope. Only, there remained the increasing menace beneath. Occasionally a slight tap, smartly given, under the boat sent a shudder through them as it reminded them how slight was the barrier which intervened between them and the hungry jaws of that host of sharks. Men, however, who had ridden out such a day and night of terror were hardly likely now to become panic-stricken: they had come to regard themselves as under the special protection of God. So, terrible as their position undoubtedly was, it had not the same effect upon them as it would have had if it had come upon them suddenly.
The hurricane passed away, going as usual through its various fining phases as better weather came. By noon the sky was clear, the sea deeply azure, the sun sending down new vigour into that hardly used group of men. A great exaltation of spirit possessed them all, for it is noticeable how, whenever the hurricane, cyclone, or typhoon has passed, everything in nature seems bound to rejoice, not because it has been allowed to live, but because of the cleansing, sweetening, freshening up of the world.
The sharks swarmed in incredible numbers, the birds came in myriads, the dead mass to windward began to emit a charnel-house fœtor, but all the men were cheerful, and munched their half-biscuit determinedly, as if to show that they meant to live up to the hopefulness engendered by their atmospheric environment. Only the mate, in moments when not engaged in cheering up his crew, looked grave. He felt the responsibility for those trustful souls. And he could not help feeling how remote was the possibility of their ship (or, indeed, any ship) picking them up. He knew, too, how short a time would elapse before they would be compelled to abandon their shelter—how few the hours before it would become so foul that not a human being could live near it. But he said nothing of this. Instead, he maintained his part, with that strange mixture of gravity and cheerfulness puckering his brow. He often caught Rube’s earnest eyes fixed upon him as if in deep questioning, but he evaded them. ‘Time enough,’ he thought, ‘for the revelation that must surely come.’
The night passed in perfect peace. The burning stars mirrored themselves in the glassy bosom of the deep, the new moon peeped shyly forth, a glittering silver sickle with a clearly seen though dull disc filling up the round. Gently as an infant on its mother’s breast the boat rose and fell to the softly undulating swell. All except Mr. Pease seemed asleep, but continually sleepers half-raised themselves with indistinct expressions of disgust as the foulness of the air half awakened them. ‘To-morrow,’ thought the mate, ‘we must cut adrift flesh and blood can stand this no longer.’ So with the dawn (and what a lovely dawn it was!—like the first in its brightness), the lines were cut, and with a few strokes of the oars the boat was propelled beyond that area of stench, the whale having now swollen to the semblance of a ship bottom up or some huge oblong bladder floating high upon the sea surface. When all hands had eaten the few crumbs of food remaining, and had moistened their aching throats with a little swallow of water, Mr. Pease said, ‘Boys, we’ve been through a lot, but perhaps we’ve got th’ worst ahead. Never mind. We’re all men here, we know that, an’ whatever happens we’ll remain men. We’ll die if we must die, or live if we’re let live, like men made in the image of God.’
And the six of them solemnly said, ‘Amen.’