To work all hands accordingly went. The gig once more shoved off for the barque, which was boarded by the energetic engineer and four men, who took with them a coil of light line, an axe, and, of course, their clasp knives. The little party got out on the weather side of the ship, in the main-chains, uncoiled their line, and were then all ready to commence operations. The gig, meanwhile, returned to the ship, and received on board a large but light new steel towing hawser, which was coiled down in long flakes fore and aft the boat, and with this she once more went alongside the barque, to leeward of her this time, however—that is to say, alongside the vessel’s upturned bilge. A rope’s-end was hove into her by the little working party in the main-chains, and by this means the end of the hawser was hauled on board, and, with some labour and difficulty, eventually made fast round the mainmast head, just above the truss of the main-yard. This done, a signal was made to the Flying Cloud, which had meanwhile drifted some distance away, and the ship thereupon filled her main-topsail and bore up, waring short round upon her heel. At the same time the crew hauled up the courses, clewed up royals and topgallant-sails, and, in short, reduced the canvas to the three topsails, jib, and spanker. She was now upon the larboard tack. Having stood on a sufficient distance, Captain Blyth went in stays, and the ship was again headed for the barque. Now came the only delicate part of the operation. But the skipper was an accomplished seaman, and he managed his part of the work to perfection, bringing the Flying Cloud up alongside the barque so close to leeward that there was only bare room for the boat between the two hulls; and at the proper moment the main-topsail was backed and the way of the ship stopped. A rope’s-end, to which the other end of the hawser was attached, was then promptly hove from the boat alongside and smartly hauled inboard over the ship’s bows, and several turns of the hawser were taken round the windlass-bitts. Then, by carefully manipulating the canvas, the Flying Cloud was brought head to wind, or with her bows towards the derelict, until, dropping to leeward all the time, the hawser was tautened out and a strain brought upon it. The topsails were then laid flat aback, and the result was awaited with some anxiety; the boat meanwhile remaining alongside the derelict to take off Mr Gaunt and his little party in the event of any accident happening. For a few minutes no visible result attended these manoeuvres; but at length a shout from Mr Gaunt of “Hurrah, there she rises! Be ready to let go the hawser on board there when I give the word” was followed by a barely perceptible indication that the vessel was righting. The movement increased; and then, still gradually, the masts rose out of the water until they were at an angle of about forty-five degrees with the horizon, when the vessel recovered herself so suddenly that the little party on board had to cling on for their lives or they would have been flung into the sea. A heavy roll or two followed, and the vessel then settled upon an even keel once more, with the water pouring in torrents out of the canvas down on to the deck, and wetting Mr Gaunt and his crew to the skin. Captain Blyth was personally superintending his share of the operations from the Flying Cloud’s forecastle, and at the proper moment the end of the hawser was cast off and let fly overboard, to be recovered later on by the gig.
The first thing the engineer now did was to heave-to the barque as well as he could with his scanty crew; his next act was to sound the well, with the result that a depth of five feet of water was found in the hold. This, however, was not so formidable a matter as it at first sight appeared; for, the hold being tightly packed with cargo, the water could only get into the interstices, and a comparatively small quantity would consequently show a large rise in the pump-well.
A strong gang was now sent on board the barque, with the chief-mate in command; and the pumps were at once manned. A quarter of an hour’s work at these sufficed to show that the vessel was making no water (that which was already in her having doubtless made its way in through the top-sides and down the pump-well whilst the craft was on her beam-ends); the men therefore went to work with a will, and by eight bells in the afternoon watch it was reported that the ship was dry.
Mr Gaunt, meanwhile, made his way into the cabin as soon as the mate took charge, and proceeded to give the place a general overhaul, with the object of ascertaining who and what the vessel was. He succeeded in finding the log-book, log-slate, and the captain’s desk, with all of which he proceeded on board the Flying Cloud. The articles were placed in the hands of Captain Blyth, who forthwith sat down to examine them, with the result that the barque was found to be the Umhloti of Aberdeen, her commander’s name being Anderson. She was from Port Natal, bound to London, thirty-three days out when discovered; and her cargo consisted of hides, ivory, indigo, coffee, sugar, and wool. She was therefore a very valuable find, well worth the time and trouble they were devoting to her. The last entry on the log-slate had been made at eight o’clock on the previous morning; and the log-book had been written-up as far as noon on the day preceding that. Captain Blyth had therefore no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that the vessel must have been capsized in a very similar squall to that which had struck the Flying Cloud on the previous day, and at about the same moment. This surmise was confirmed by the fact that when Mr Gaunt had entered the captain’s state-room he had found the chronometers still going, though nearly run down. He had, of course, at once taken the precaution to wind them afresh.
Having brought the pumps to suck, the next task of the men on board the Umhloti was to clear away and send down on deck the wreck of the fore and main-topgallant masts, with all attached, a couple of hands being at the same time deputed to give the store-room an overhaul to ascertain whether the contents had been damaged or not by water. Everything was luckily found to be in perfect order there, the water not having risen high enough in the hull to reach the lazarette. This being found to be the case, nothing now remained but to man the vessel and dispatch her on her homeward way.
Captain Blyth had already thought out his plans in this direction. And when it was reported to him that the barque could part company at any moment he went forward, and, mustering the steerage passengers, told them he had not only observed their efforts to make themselves useful on board, but had also noticed that those efforts had been crowned with a very fair measure of success; he would now, therefore, ship the whole of them for the passage, if they chose, paying them ordinary seamen’s wages from the commencement of the voyage. So good an offer was not to be lightly refused; and, after a few minutes’ consultation together, the men unanimously declared their willingness to accept it. This made the rest of the business quite plain sailing for the skipper; and, closing with the Umhloti, he hailed Mr Bryce to say that he intended to send him home in charge, and that he was to ascertain how many of the men then with him would volunteer to return to England. A crew of fourteen hands, all told, was soon made up, Tim Parsons and two of the apprentices being of the number; and just as night was closing down the two vessels parted company, Captain Blyth, Ned, and the saloon passengers taking advantage of the opportunity to send home letters to their friends, the skipper taking the precaution to enclose them all in his dispatch to his owners, lest Mr Bryce, in his indifference, might neglect to post them. It may as well be mentioned here that the Umhloti arrived safely in England about a fortnight later than the passengers and crew who had abandoned her; and that the letters she carried duly reached their destination.
The changes rendered necessary by this drafting off of so large a proportion of her crew involved certain promotions on board the Flying Cloud, in which promotion Ned, to his intense gratification, was made a sharer, he being appointed acting second-mate vice Mr Willoughby, who was promoted to the post of chief, whilst Williams was made boatswain’s-mate.
The ship being now once more close-hauled, with the south-east trade-wind blowing steadily, and only a very moderate amount of sea running. Miss Stanhope regarded the occasion as propitious for the perfecting of herself in the art of steering; and she accordingly practised with great assiduity. Ned, of course, by virtue of his promotion, was no longer required to take his trick at the wheel—he was now the officer in command of the starboard watch—but Sibylla did not allow that circumstance to interfere in the least with her plans; on the contrary, she rather made it subservient to them. For, whereas she had before been obliged to wait for her lesson until Ned’s trick came round, she now simply watched her opportunity, and whenever she saw that the young man had nothing very particular to do, she would go up to him and say, “Mr Damerell, is it convenient for you to give me a steering-lesson?” Whereupon Ned would make a suitable response, and, accompanying the young lady aft, would say to the helmsman “Here, Dick, or Tom, or Harry”, as the case might be, “go forward and do so and so; Miss Stanhope wishes to give you a spell. When she is tired I will let you know, and you can come aft again and relieve her.” Upon which the seaman, with an inward chuckle and much carefully suppressed jocularity, would shamble away for’ard, fully convinced by past experience that he need think no more about the wheel until his trick should again come round. By the time that the ship had run through the south-east trades, Sibylla could steer her, when on a wind, as well as the best helmsman on board; and, proud of her skill, she then began to long for the opportunity to try her hand with the ship when going free. This opportunity came, of course, in due time; and, though the fair helmswoman at first found the task far more difficult that she had ever imagined it could possibly be, she soon developed such extraordinary skill that Ned’s prophecy at length became literally fulfilled, Captain Blyth gradually getting into the way of turning to Miss Stanhope when any exceptionally fine steering had to be done—as, for instance, when some contumacious craft ahead persistently refused to be overhauled—and saying, “I am afraid there is no resource but to invoke your aid, my dear young lady; we shall never overtake yon stranger unless you will oblige us with a few of your scientific touches of the wheel.” Whereupon Sibylla, looking very much gratified, would make some laughing reply, and forthwith take the wheel, keeping the bows of the Flying Cloud pointing as steadily for the strange sail as though they had been nailed there, always with the most satisfactory result.
It was perhaps only a natural consequence of Ned’s assiduous “coaching” of Miss Stanhope in the helmsman’s art that the formal relations usually subsisting between passengers and officer should to a certain extent have given place to a kind of companionship, almost amounting to camaraderie, between these two young people. The seamen were almost, if not quite, as quick as their skipper in detecting what was going forward; and it is not very surprising that, with their love of romance, they should forthwith regard the handsome young mate and his pupil as the hero and heroine of an interesting little drama. This view of the affair afforded the men for’ard intense gratification. Ned was exceedingly popular with them; and the tars regarded the conquest with which they so promptly credited him almost as a compliment to themselves, and a triumph to which each might claim to have contributed, even though in ever so slight and indirect a way. It will be seen later on that this fancy on the part of the crew was the means of placing Sibylla in a most trying situation.
A few days later a sad fatality occurred. The ship was somewhat to the eastward of the Cape, going nine knots, with her topgallant-sails furled, the wind blowing very fresh from the northward, and a tremendously heavy swell running. Captain Blyth, the mate, and Ned were all on the poop, busy with their sextants, the hour being near noon, when, the ship giving a terrific lee-roll, Mr Willoughby lost his balance, and, gathering way, went with a run to leeward. Whether the accident was due to the poor man’s anxiety to preserve his sextant from damage or not can never be known, but certain it is that, from some cause or other, he failed to bring up against the light iron protective railing which ran round the poop, overbalancing himself instead, and falling headlong into the water.