In few parts of the ocean is the sea more heavy than in the latitude in which the Empress now was, except, perhaps, to the southward of Cape Horn. All the other pumps were now set going, and a fresh party was told off to bale out the water with iron hand-buckets. These were hoisted up at the rate of seventy an hour.
“Set the fiddle and fife going, it will keep up the spirits of the men,” said Adair to the first lieutenant, who at once issued the order. Presently merry notes were heard amid the howling of the gale, sounding strangely, and yet inspiriting the crew. Still, in spite of all that could be done, the water rose higher and higher.
“Peter,” said Pat Casey to his old shipmate, when, after toiling for four hours, they knocked off to get a little rest, “it’s my opinion that this is the last cruise you and I shall take together. I’ve been in many a mighty quare fix before now, but niver one like this. Sure, there’s nothin’ I hate more than a ship with a hole in her bottom, an’ that’s what we’ve got, an’ a pretty big one, I’m after thinkin’.”
“You no gib up, Pat,” answered Peter. “We fall in with ’nother ship, or sight some land, and we get ’shore, or stop de leak. When de cap’n finds de ship make too much water, he keep her ’float by fixin’ a sail under her.”
“You may say what ye plaise, but before a sail could be thrummed an’ passed under her keel, she’ll be many fathoms down into the depths of the ocean. An’ supposin’ we did fall in with a ship, sure, how could we get aboard of her with this sea runnin’? Then, as to reaching land—where’s the land to reach? I niver heard speak of any land away to the south’ard, except the icy pole, an’ that we should niver see if we wished it ever so much.”
“Dat may be de case; I nebber could make out de meanin’ ob a chart, but wheneber I hab been in de Pacific, me find many islands, and tink dere mus’ be some here’bout. Why you so down-hearted?”
“Down-hearted is it, sure? I’m not down-hearted, Pater; but I’ll tell ye, I dreamed a dream the night the gale came on, as I lay in me hammock; the ould mither—who’s gone to glory these six years—came and stood by me side, an’ I saw her face as clearly as I see yours, an’ says she, ‘Tim, me son, I’ve come to wake you;’ then says I, ‘Mither, what’s that for?’ Says she, ‘I can wake ye well, although I cannot give ye dacent burial.’ Upon that she sit up such a howlin’ I thought it would be heard all along the deck. Says I, ‘Mither, just hold fast there, or you’ll be afther disturbin’ the whole watch below.’ But she wouldn’t, an’ still howled on, jist as I mind th’ women doin’ in ould Ireland whin I was a boy. Again I sung out, ‘Mither, if ye love me, hold your peace. I don’t want to be waked just now,’ and as I uttered the words I heard the boatswain pipe all hands on deck, when sure if the wind wasn’t shrieking, an’ the blocks rattling, an’ the masts groaning, showin’ that a dacent hurricane was blowin’. Me mither vanished immediately, an’ I tumbled up on deck, more asleep thin awake, thinkin’ of what the good soul had been saying to me.”
Peter fell asleep while Pat was talking, and both in a brief time were again summoned to take their spell at baling. All efforts to discover the leak had been hitherto in vain. Peter went to the chief engineer.
“Pardon, sir, me tink find out de leak. If black Peter get drowned, easily find better man to take him place.”
“I shall be very glad if you do, Peter, for I suspect if the leak is not found we shall all be drowned together,” said the engineer. “What do you propose doing?”