The Castaways

by Harry Collingwood

Chapter Two.

At sea—a wreck in sight.

I was awakened at six o’clock the next morning by the men chorussing at the windlass, and the quick clank of the pawls that showed how thoroughly Jack was putting his heart into his work, and how quickly he was walking the ship up to her anchor. I scrambled out of my bunk, and took a peep through the port in the ship’s side, to see what the weather was like; it was scarcely daylight yet; the glass of the port was blurred with the quick splashing of rain, and the sky was simply a blot of scurrying, dirty grey vapour. I made a quick mental reference to the condition of the tide, deducting therefrom the direction of the ship’s head, and thus arrived at the fact that the wind still hung in the same quarter as yesterday, or about south-east; after which I turned in again, the weather being altogether too dismal to tempt me out on deck at so early an hour. As I did so there was a loud cry or command, the chorussing at the windlass abruptly ceased, and in the silence that temporarily ensued I caught the muffled sound of the steam blowing-off from the tug’s waste-pipe, mingled with the faint sound of hailing from somewhere ahead, answered in the stentorian tones of Mr Murgatroyd’s voice. Then the windlass was manned once more, and the pawls clanked slowly, sullenly, irregularly, for a time, growing slower and slower still until there ensued a long pause, during which I heard the mate encouraging the crew to a special effort by shouting: “Heave, boys! heave and raise the dead! break him out! another pawl! heave!” and so on; then there occurred a sudden wrenching jerk, followed by a shout of triumph from the crew, the windlass pawls resumed their clanking at a rapid rate for a few minutes longer when they finally ceased, and I knew that our anchor was a-trip and that we had started on our long journey.

Everybody appeared at breakfast that morning, naturally; there was nothing to prevent them, for we were still in the river, in smooth water, and the ship glided along so steadily that some of us were actually ignorant of the fact of our being under way until made aware of it by certain remarks passed at the breakfast-table. After breakfast, the weather being as “dirty” as ever, I donned my mackintosh and a pair of sea boots with which I had provided myself in anticipation of such occasions as this, and went on deck to look round and smoke a pipe. A few other men followed my example, among others the general, who presently joined me in my perambulation of the poop; and I soon found that, despite a certain peremptoriness and dictatorial assertiveness of manner, which I attributed to his profession, and his position in it, he was a very fine fellow, and a most agreeable companion, with an apparently inexhaustible fund of anecdote and reminiscence. Incidentally I learned from him that Miss Onslow was the daughter of Sir Philip Onslow, an Indian judge and a friend of Sir Patrick O’Brien, and that she was proceeding to Calcutta under the chaperonage of Lady Kathleen, the general’s wife. While we were still chatting together, the young lady herself came on deck, well wrapped up in a long tweed cloak that reached to her ankles, and the general, with an apology to me for his desertion, stepped forward and gallantly offered his arm, which she accepted. And she remained on deck the whole of the morning, with the wind blustering about her and the rain dashing in her face every time that she faced it in her passage from the wheel grating to the break of the poop, to the great benefit of her complexion. She was the only lady who ventured on deck that day—for the weather was so thick that there was nothing to see, beyond an occasional buoy marking out the position of a sandbank, a grimy Geordie, loaded down to her covering-board, driving along up the river under a brace of patched and sooty topsails, or an inward-bound south-spainer in tow of a tug; but this fact of her being the only representative of her sex on deck appeared to disconcert Miss Onslow not at all; she was as absolutely self-possessed as though she and the general had been in sole possession of the deck, as indeed they were, so far as she was concerned, for she calmly and utterly ignored the presence of the rest of us, excepting the skipper, with whom and with the general she conversed with much vivacity. By the arrival of tiffin-time we had drawn far enough down the river to be just meeting the first of the sea knocked up by the strong breeze, and I noticed that already a few of the seats at table that had been occupied at breakfast-time were vacant—among them that of Lady O’Brien—but my left-hand neighbour exhibited a thoroughly healthy appetite—due in part, probably, to her long promenade on deck in the wind and the rain. She was still as stately and distant in manner as ever, however, when I attempted to enter into conversation with her, and I met with such scant encouragement that ere the meal was half over I desisted, leaving to the skipper the task of further entertaining her.

By six o’clock that night we were abreast of the buoy which marks Longnose Ledge, when the pilot shifted his helm for the Elbow, and we began to feel in earnest the influence of the short, choppy sea, into which the City of Cawnpore was soon plunging her sharp stem to the height of the hawse pipes, to the rapidly-increasing discomfort of many of the passengers. By seven o’clock—which was the dinner-hour—we were well round the Elbow, and heading to pass inside the Goodwin and through the Downs, with most of our fore-and-aft canvas set; and now we had not only a pitching but also a rolling motion to contend with; and although the latter was as yet comparatively slight, it was still sufficient to induce a further number of our cuddy party to seek the seclusion of their cabins, with the result that when we sat down to dinner we did not muster quite a dozen, all told. But among those present was my left-hand neighbour, Miss Onslow, faultlessly attired, and to all appearance as completely at her ease as though she were dining ashore. The general made a gallant effort to occupy his accustomed seat, but the soup proved too much for him, and he was compelled to retreat, muttering something apologetic and not very intelligible about his liver. We remained in tow until the tug had dragged us down abreast the South Foreland, where she left us, taking the pilot with her; and half an hour later we were heading down Channel under all plain sail to our topgallant-sails.

When I went on deck to get my after-dinner smoke the prospect was as dreary and dismal as it could well be. It was dark as a wolf’s mouth; for the moon was well advanced in her last quarter—which is as good as saying that there was no moon at all—and the thickness overhead not only obliterated the stars but also rendered it impossible for any of their light to reach us; one consequence of which was that when standing at the break of the poop it taxed one’s eyesight to the utmost to see as far as the bows of the ship; the wind was freshening, with frequent rain squalls that, combined with the intense darkness, circumscribed the visible horizon to a radius of about half a cable’s length on either hand; and through this all but opaque blackness the ship was thrashing along at a speed of fully ten knots, with a continuous crying and storming of wind aloft through the rigging and in the hollows of the straining canvas, and a deep hissing and sobbing sound of water along the bends, to which was added the rhythmical thunderous roaring of the bow wave, and a frequent grape-shot pattering of spray on the fore deck as the fabric plunged with irresistible momentum into the hollows of the short, snappy Channel seas. It was black and blusterous, and everything was dripping wet; I was heartily thankful, therefore, that it was my privilege to go below and turn in just when I pleased, instead of having to stand a watch and strain my eyeballs to bursting point in the endeavour to avoid running foul of some of the numerous craft that were knocking about in the Channel on that blind and dismal night.

When my berth steward brought me my coffee next morning he informed me, in reply to my inquiries, that the weather had improved somewhat during the night, and that, in his opinion, the temperature on deck was mild enough for me to take a salt-water bath in the ship’s head, if I pleased. I accordingly jumped out of my bunk and, hastily donning my bathing togs, made my way on deck. I was no sooner on my feet, however, than I became aware that the ship was particularly lively. She was on the port tack, and was heeling over considerably, so much so indeed that, when she rolled to leeward, to keep my footing without holding on to something was pretty nearly as much as I could well manage. Then there was a continuous vibrant thrill pervading the entire fabric, suggestive of the idea that her blood was roused and that she was quivering with eager excitement, which, to the initiated, is an unfailing sign that the ship is travelling fast through the water. Upon reaching the deck I found the watch engaged in the task of washing decks and polishing the brasswork, while Mr Murgatroyd, as officer of the watch, paced to and fro athwart the fore end of the poop, pausing every time he reached the weather side of the deck to fling a quick, keen glance to windward, and another aloft at the bending topmasts and straining rigging.

For Mr Murgatroyd was “carrying on” and driving the ship quite as much as was consistent with prudence; the wind, it is true, had moderated slightly from its boisterous character of the previous day, and was now steady; but it was still blowing strong, and had hauled round a point or two until it was square abeam; yet, although the lower yards were braced well forward, the ship was under all three royals, and fore and main-topgallant and topmast studding-sails, with a lower studding-sail upon the foremast! She was lying down to it like a racing yacht, with the foam seething and hissing and brimming to her rail at every lee roll, and the lee scuppers all afloat, while she swept along with the eager, headlong, impetuous speed of a sentient creature flying for its life. The wailing and crying of the wind aloft—especially when the ship rolled to windward—was loud enough and weird enough to fill the heart of a novice with dismay, but to the ear of the seaman it sang a song of wild, hilarious sea music, fittingly accompanied by the deep, intermittent thunder of the bow wave as it leapt and roared, glassy smooth, in a curling snow-crowned breaker from the sharp, shearing stem at every wild plunge of it into the heart of an on-rushing wave. I ran up the poop ladder, and stood to windward, a fathom back from the break of the poop, where I could obtain the best possible view of the ship; and I thought I had never before beheld so magnificent and perfect a picture as she presented of triumphant, domineering strength and power, and of reckless, breathless, yet untiring speed.

“Morning, Mr Conyers,” shouted Murgatroyd, halting alongside me as I stood gazing at the pallid blue sky across which great masses of cloud were rapidly sweeping—to be outpaced by the low-flying shreds and tatters of steamy scud—the opaque, muddy green waste of foaming, leaping waters, and the flying ship swaying her broad spaces of damp-darkened canvas, her tapering and buckling spars, and her tautly-strained rigging in long arcs athwart the scurrying clouds as she leapt and plunged and sheared her irresistible way onward in the midst of a wild chaos and dizzying swirl and hurry of foaming spume: “what think you of this for a grand morning, eh, sir? Is this breeze good enough for you? And what’s your opinion of the City of Cawnpore, now, sir?”