Frank Brown, Sea Apprentice

by Frank Thomas Bullen

A curious little incident occurred here. One of the Scotchmen, called, as usual, Mac (and the other was of course Scotty), said to the Finn as he was knocking the ashes out of his pipe preparatory to going back to the wheel, “What r’ye doin’ that for? Just tak’ yer pipe along. Ther’s naethin’ severely against smokin’ anywhere the noo.”

But the Finn said mildly, “I like fine t’ schmoke at de veel, but I ton’t like to begin id mit de poy in charge. Ef de olt man schmoke all right, nodt ellas,” and aft he went. Mac muttered something uncomplimentary, and that suggested little breach of discipline was not committed either then or subsequently.

As soon as ever four bells sounded, Frank, who had been nerving himself for the effort, shouted, “Wash decks!”

“What’s that?” said Mac angrily. “Wash decks! What th’ ’ell’s the meanin’ o’ this anyhow?”

“Oh! think shame o’ yersel’,” answered Scotty. “This ’s th’ second time you’ve been sejestin’ kickin’ at the laddie aft. An’ it disna maetther a snuff anyway, fur it’s yer wheel. Why shudn’t the decks be washed, though, ye bletherin’ cauf? Hev we changed into pigs all in a minnut?”

There was no answer. Mac went to the wheel, and never again was any attempt made to resent Frank’s authority, while he, happily for his peace of mind, never knew that any such attempt had even been in contemplation. The deck-washing was a very perfunctory performance, and was finished by six bells (seven o’clock). Then Frank, full of zeal, suggested—I can’t say ordered—that it would be a great idea if they could get the two topgallant sails up.

Immediately all the watch and the cook, who had got his breakfast well under way, sallied below and turned out the sail-locker, finding two good topgallant sails. They dragged them on deck and actually succeeded in getting the main topgallant sail bent and set before eight bells, quite a feat remembering their small numbers, but one that I fear will not appeal to the shore readers of this book, who cannot possibly be expected to understand the technique of the sea.

The beautiful southerly breeze still strengthened, and the Woden began to give them a taste of her quality. She was a really fast ship, and greatly superior in every respect, save one, to the Sealark. That one was in her power of keeping out the water below. It was really quite time that she was “sucked out,” as we call it, and as soon as the morning sights for longitude were taken and Frank had gone to his well-earned sleep, the flywheel pumps were overhauled and set in motion for the purpose of getting her free of an element that, however useful outside, had no business within, although fortunately it could not do her cargo any harm.

Thenceforward for two days, during which the steady clankety clank, clank, clank of the pumps became horribly wearisome to listen to, nothing was done but pumping, so anxious were all hands to get a suck out of her, and find out whether the leak was of serious dimensions or not. At last that welcome sound was heard, and the good ship was herself at last, careful calculation showing that a few minutes’ spell in every four hours would keep her free.

This again aroused the question, Why did the crew leave her? how did they leave her? what had become of them? and there was no answer. It was of all mysteries one of the most profound. And none of them had ever heard of the exactly similar case of a barque which was seen yawing about in the Straits of Gibraltar one brilliant day, and on being boarded by a boat from the guard-ship, was found to be abandoned without any apparent reason. Her boats were all in their places and in good condition, and the minutest search failed to reveal the reason why she should be thus deserted. My own theory, in which I am supported by Dr. Andrew Wilson, is that she was boarded while becalmed by one of those terrific nightmares of the sea, the gigantic decapoda, vast creatures with gelatinous bodies, from twenty to sixty feet long, and tentacles extending like an immense network of living wire, gripping and holding with most tenacious clutch everything they touch. It is certainly possible, even if only remotely probable, that such a monster, prompted by some incomprehensible desire, may have risen alongside of her, and extending its enormous arms over her, have gathered the terrific crew, one by one, into its capacious maw. The imagination recoils before the spectacle of those long snaky arms, apparently irresistible in their power, searching out the remotest corner of the ship, and collecting the horror-stricken crew in a hasteless, fateful way, and one can only hope that so awful a trial never did fall to the lot of any man to endure. But I confess that it is the only possible solution of the problem which occurs to me.