“North West, veering to Nor’-Nor’-West in the squalls.—We have lost good ten miles since yesterday evening, and are close to Dudden Sands,” replied Newton. “I think we must bear up, for the gale shows no signs of breaking.”
“Well, I’ll be on deck in a moment, my boy,” rejoined Thompson, who was now quite himself again, and was busy putting on his shoes, the only articles which had been removed when he turned in. “Go you up, and see that they keep her clean, full and bye—and those casks well secured.—Dudden Sands—awkward place too—but I’ve not been forty years a-boxing about this coast for nothing.”
In a minute Thompson made his appearance on deck, and steadying himself by the weather topmast backstay, fixed his leaden eyes upon the land on the quarter.—“All right younker, that’s the head, sure enough;” then turning his face to the wind, which lifted up his grey curling locks, and bore them out horizontally from his fur cap, “and it’s a devil of a gale, sure enough.—It may last a month of Sundays for all I know.—Up with the helm, Tom.—Ease off the main sheet, handsomely, my lad—not too much.—Now, take in the slack, afore she jibes;” and the master ducked under the main boom and took his station on the other side of the deck. “Steady as you go now.—Newton, take the helm.—D’ye see that bluff? keep her right for it. Tom, you and the boy rouse the cable up—get about ten fathoms on deck, and bend it.—You’ll find a bit of seizing and a marline-spike in the locker abaft.”—The sloop scudded before the gale, and in less than two hours was close to the headland pointed out by the master. “Now, Newton, we must hug the point or we shall not fetch—clap on the main sheet here, all of us.—Luff; you may handsomely.—That’s all right; we are past the Sand-head, and shall be in smooth water in a jiffy. Steady, so-o.—Now for a drop of swizzle,” cried Thompson, who considered that he had kept sober quite long enough, and proceeded to the cask of rum lashed to leeward. As he knelt down to pull out the spile, the sloop, which had been brought to the wind, was struck on her broadside by a heavy sea which careened her to her gunnel; the lashings of the weather cask gave way, and it flew across the deck, jamming the unfortunate Thompson, who knelt against the one to leeward, and then bounding overboard. The old man gave a heavy groan, and fell upon his back; the man and boy ran to his assistance, and by the directions of Newton, who could not quit the helm, carried him below, and placed him on his bed. In a few minutes the sloop was safe at anchor, in smooth water, and Newton ran down into the cabin. Thompson’s head had been crushed against the chime of the cask; for an hour or two he breathed heavily; and then—he was no more!
Volume One--Chapter Six.
The Indian weed, unknown to ancient times,
Nature’s choice gift, whose acrimonious fume
Extracts superfluous juices, and refines
The blood distemper’d from its noxious salts;
Friend to the spirit, which with vapours bland
It gently mitigates—companion fit
Of a good pot of porter.
Phillips.
There’s a pot of good double beer, neighbour,
Drink—
Shakespeare.
The next day the remains of old Thompson were carried on shore in the long-boat, and buried in the churchyard of the small fishing town that was within a mile of the port where the sloop had anchored. Newton shipped another man, and when the gale was over, continued his voyage; which was accomplished without further adventure.
Finding no cargo ready for him, and anxious to deliver up the vessel to the owner, who resided at Overton, he returned in ballast, and communicated the intelligence of Thompson’s death; which in so small a town was long the theme of conversation, and the food of gossips.
Newton consulted with his father relative to the disposal of the trunk; but Nicholas could assist him but little with his advice. After many pros and cons, like all other difficult matters, it was postponed.—“Really, Newton, I can’t say. The property certainly is not yours, but still we are not likely to find out the lawful owner. Bring the trunk on shore, we’ll nail it up, and perhaps we may hear something about it by and bye. We’ll make some inquiries—by and bye—when your mother—”