Orders were given for Dick to come aft, and the youth shortly appeared on the quarter-deck for the second time that day in the role of culprit. He quailed before the captain’s glance, and nervously shifted his old felt hat from one hand to the other.
“Do you know why you have been sent for?”
Dick pointed to the accusing lantern, and said in a frightened tone: “Yes, sir. I—I remember now I forgot to bring up the lantern when—when I fetched the rope.”
This was a lie. He had turned the wick low and then left it in the lazarette purposely, knowing well that no one would enter the place after the day’s work was done. But for the accidental circumstance of its having been placed too near one of the deadlights, the presence of the lantern would never have been suspected.
“Do you know what I ought to do with you?”
The captain’s tones were so stern that Dick was hardly able to articulate “No, sir.”
“I ought to take a rope’s end and beat you within an inch of your life. That’s what any captain would have done twenty years ago, and what some would do now. You left this light down there among bales of oakum, sennit, old sails, rockets, signal-lights, and other inflammable stuff, and if there had been enough sea running to heel the bark over a trifle more, the lantern would have upset, setting the whole place on fire—and we out in the South Atlantic, a good week’s sail from the nearest port!”
The captain’s passion mastered him, and he shook Dick until the boy’s teeth chattered. Suddenly releasing him, he turned to Mrs. Evans and her niece.
“I ought to apologize, ladies, for this outburst; but I lost one ship by fire years ago, and this boy has tried me beyond endurance.”
“I do not blame you in the least, captain,” said the alarmed widow; “I feel sure my husband would have inflicted a severe punishment for such an offense. It is as bad as Guy Fawkes and the gunpowder plot.”
“You see, madam, we officers have to put up with a good deal from sailors now-a-days,” said Captain Maxwell, sarcastically. “If I punished that boy as he deserved, he would have me arrested the moment we reached port. Then, aided by some unscrupulous lawyer and the testimony of various members of the crew, I should be convicted of ‘cruel and unusual punishment,’ and fined heavily, or imprisoned. The evidence of yourself and niece might clear me in this case, but all the papers would print articles about the barbarity of captains and mates in general, and the lot of the poor, abused merchant-sailor,—forgetting to mention the fact that a vessel, her cargo, and all hands, had narrowly escaped a terrible disaster at the hands of one of these persecuted saints!
“Dick, you were warned a week ago that if you entered the lazarette again without permission you would be put in irons. But it seems you had permission,” with a glance at the mate,—“and so we shall have to let you off easier. Go up on the fore royal yard and sit there until the watch ends at midnight.”
Dick was unable to repress a sigh of relief as he turned away, but his sharp ears heard Captain Maxwell say to the mate: “As soon as it is light enough to-morrow morning to see objects in the lazarette without a lantern, bring up that canister of powder and those four boxes of rockets and signal-lights. They shall be kept in a locker in the cabin during the rest of the voyage. Another thing—never again let that boy go anywhere with a light.”
“Yes, sir.”
The cause of this trouble went forward, muttering to himself: “Powder! the captain said powder! I might have found it to-night if they hadn’t caught onto the lantern. How did they know it was there, I wonder?”
He climbed the fore rigging, unmindful of the taunts of the crew at his second punishment that day, and the captain’s words kept ringing in his ears.
“To-morrow morning they’ll all be put where I can’t get at ’em,” he muttered, “and if only they hadn’t found the lantern, I could have got away with some of them rockets to-night. And the powder! I can’t do nothing without a lantern, though, and I ain’t even got a match.”
He perched himself upon the royal yard, with a lunatic’s cunning, inventing various schemes for getting at those fire-works. That was his mania. Although as sane as anyone on other subjects, he was an absolute monomaniac in everything relating to such matters; and since the day when he had overheard a remark relating to the signal-lights and rockets, his fingers had itched to investigate them and see what they were like. Not even the certainty of punishment could stand in his way.
Some people, when they ascend to the roof of a high building, have an almost irresistable desire to leap from it. It isnot that they wish to do so, but some strange power seems urging them to it in spite of themselves. Others have a similar feeling when in close proximity to a swiftly-moving railroad train, and require all their will power to keep from casting themselves before the locomotive. So it was with Dick Lewis. He could no more keep his mind off the lazarette and its contents, than steel can resist the influence of a magnet. He sat there as the hours passed, looking ahead into vacancy; thinking and thinking; and imagining just how the rockets must look, as they lay side by side in their boxes down in the midnight darkness of the lazarette. How quiet and silent they were! And yet the touch of a match—
He put up a hand before his eyes and turned his head to one side, as though to ward off a blow.
“Aunt, we really must go below. It cannot be far from twelve o’clock, and we have staid on deck nearly two hours past the usual time.”
“That is true, Laura; and yet I feel strangely wakeful. But, as you say, it is very late, and high time that we turned in. So good night, captain, and pleasant dreams. Good night, Mr. Bohlman.”
Mrs. Evans paused as she reached the companion-way.
“How beautiful the moonlight is,” she said, so low that no one heard; “and from what an awful peril have we this night been delivered.”
She slowly followed her niece to the cabin.
Captain Maxwell did not linger long on deck after his passengers had turned in. He, too, usually retired early, and arose at daylight. But the incident of the lighted lantern disturbed him. To the master who has once experienced fire at sea, the mere possibility of another visitation conveys a dread that the worst hurricane cannot inspire. He paced the deck for some time, and then, after a glance aloft, went below.
Midnight came; and the mate was relieved by Frank Freeman, who found his superior in no very pleasant frame of mind.
“You’ve still got a fair wind,” Freeman observed; “she’s slipping through it in good shape.”
“I suppose you expected to come on deck and find a dead calm, with me and my watch ahead in the long-boat, towing the bark.”
Bohlman left the quarter-deck with this good-natured rejoinder, while the second mate smothered a laugh as he lit his pipe.
Dick climbed down the fore rigging with alacrity, and entered the forecastle with the rest of the port watch. His plans were matured. There was a triumphant light in the boy’s eyes, and a furtive smile on his ill-favored features as he crept into his bunk and feigned sleep.
A lantern swung from the dingy ceiling, casting a flickering light upon the tiers of bunks, and upon various other objects in the forecastle. There were oilers and rubber boots thrown about here and there, old books without covers, and sea-chests of various patterns. The numerous initials, names, and dates, cut into the wallsindicated that theWestern Bellehad sailed the seas for many years. On one side some one with a talent for drawing had recently executed a chalk picture of the whale swallowing Jonah, which was a marvel of realism. Near this artistic production was tacked a printed card setting forth what rules the crew were expected to obey, what compensation they were to receive, and other matters of like import.
Sea air and insomnia are deadly enemies, and before one bell struck, a chorus of snores assured Dick that his companions were asleep. He suffered a few minutes over the half hour to elapse, and then slipped noiselessly from his bunk. Gliding to the open door, he looked stealthily out. That side of the deck was thrown into shadow by the forecastle, and no one was to be seen but two of the watch on duty slowly walking up and down the main deck, as they conversed in low tones. The others were doubtless on the opposite side of the forward-house.
Dick turned from the door, waited a moment to be sure that all were asleep inthe bunks around him, and then produced a towel. Next he took down the lantern from its hook overhead, and wrapped the towel about it so that the light was invisible. That done, he made for the door,—stepped out on deck,—and crept forward in the shadow of the building.
Upon reaching the corner, he stopped and listened The distant murmur of voices was heard on the opposite side of the house, but the moonlit stretch of deck ahead was untenanted. Apparently no one was about the extreme forward part of the vessel except the lookout. The boy’s unshod feet made no sound as he darted across the strip of moonlight that fell between the forward-house and the forecastle deck. Now he was standing by the open fore hatch.
In large sailing vessels that stand well out of water, it is customary to leave the fore hatch off at all times unless some very severe gale is threatened. The forecastle deck overhead prevents rain or salt water from entering, and as it is often necessary to go down to the fore peak half a dozentimes a day, it would be a useless trouble to move the hatch-cover each time. This was the case with theWestern Belle.
Dick well knew he could not enter the lazarette at the customary place without being seen by the man at the wheel and the officer on duty, and had conceived the laborious, but perfectly feasible plan, of descending through the fore hatch to the ’tween-decks, and then crawling aft over the cargo the whole length of the vessel to accomplish his purpose.
Without losing time, he placed his foot upon the first step of the flight of stairs that led down to the fore peak, and then rapidly descended. It was black as Erebus when he reached the bottom, and before taking another step he uncovered the lantern and stuffed the towel in his pocket. Cautiously walking over old sails, ropes, barrels, casks, etc., the boy was soon out of the fore peak proper, and at that part of the ’tween-decks where the cargo began to be stowed.
The foremast looming up ahead gave him quite a start, and a sort of dreadpossessed him at thought of the long distance to be traversed in that profound darkness. Dick had not realized until now the magnitude of the task before him, but he only wavered a second, and pushed on.
It soon became impossible to walk, and he dropped on his hands and knees, creeping along on all fours; at the same time holding the handle of the lantern between his teeth. Its rays illumined but a short space in front, though they served to make the gaunt deck-beams assume all sorts of strange and fantastic shapes that he could not help noticing. Thus he crawled along over bales of flax and tow, boxes of Kauri gum and sacks of horns; picking his way carefully, and impatiently wondering how far he had progressed. This was at length made plain, though in an unexpected manner.
In attempting to accelerate his speed, the boy had grown a little careless, when he suddenly felt his left hand go off into space, and barely saved himself from plunging headlong downward. The shock was a severe one, and he drew a deepbreath of relief when he had backed away from the yawning aperture.
“Fool!” he muttered; “I clean forgot the main hatch. I like to have fell all the way down to the lower hold and broke my neck. Well, Dick, you’re half way, anyhow.”
He crawled around the square opening and proceeded. In a few minutes the way was blocked by a great object that the youth could not account for, but which was really the iron tank containing drinking water. He avoided it and continued to advance, having stopped a moment to stretch his cramped limbs. Next he came to the after hatch, but was on the lookout for it and pushed on steadily, though he began to ache all over from crawling so long. Once a startled rat scurried across his stockinged foot in its haste to escape, causing another momentary scare. Had it not been for the increasing excitement under which he labored, the boy must have been chilled, for a draft of cold air like that in a cellar swept through the’tween-decks from one end of the bark to the other.
The mizzen mast told Dick his journey was nearing its end, and he stopped a few seconds to take breath. His heart beat so quick and fast that he felt stifled, and his limbs trembled in a way that he could not account for. But the thought of the fire-works nerved him, and cans of powder danced before his disordered imagination.
There was not much further to go, so after shoving back the hair from his damp forehead, he crept on until the peculiar formation of the vessel’s timbers proved that he was in the stern.
He looked up. Directly overhead was a small opening.
“That must beit!” he whispered.
There were no stairs nor any ladder, but standing erect, his head was just on a level with the aperture. First arranging the towel about the top of the lantern so that the light should not be cast upward, he reached up and set it down on the floor above. Then, panting with excitementand bathed in cold perspiration, Dick placed both hands on the edge of the hatch.
One agile spring, and he was in the lazarette.
So quiet was the night, that Freeman’s measured footsteps, as he trod the quarter-deck, sounded with strange distinctness to the guilty occupant of the space beneath. No other sound disturbed the silence but the gentle swish and gurgle of the water alongside, and an occasional creak from some block or pulley.
The piles of swelling canvas; the mast-heads nodding against the stars; the white paint-work of the poop; the delicate shadows cast upon the deck by the ropes and shrouds; the motionless figure of the man at the wheel;—all were beautified and softened by the white flood of moonlight. Drops of dew glittered everywhere, and when Freeman laid his hand upon the main brace, it was wet as though from rain.
He had been reading odd items in anold copy of the SydneyHerald, and put it down just as two great rats that had come up from the hold scampered across the deck. This was nothing unusual, and after stamping with his foot to scare the bold creatures, he glanced at the binnacle.
“Keep her at N. N. E., Matt; you’ve let her go off a point. Watch the card, man.”
“Keep her at N. N. E., sir,” the fellow repeated, shifting his quid to starboard as Freeman walked away.
“I’ll see how the lookout does,” the officer thought, “though if every night was like this, there’d be little need of any.”
He went forward along the port side. Happening to cast a glance through the open forecastle door, he noticed that the light was out.
“That’s queer,” he soliloquized; “it burned brightly enough when I passed by a couple of hours ago.”
He entered the door to see if the wick was out of order, or whether all the oil had been consumed. Neither—the lantern was gone!
He had just made this discovery, and was leaving the building to ask his men whether any of them had removed the light, when a curious jarring sensation rooted him to the deck. The idea of a submarine earthquake flashed through his brain, but within a second’s time there was a deafening report,—a blinding flash,—a staggering of the bark,—and then flying timbers and bales of merchandise were hurled skyward with awful power. The whole after part of the vessel seemed going up in the air piecemeal!
“Great God!” breathed Freeman, grasping the ladder on the forward house.
His self-possession soon returned. Already some of the crew had begun to act like lunatics.
“Call all hands, and behave like men. The bark’s still afloat, and now three of you come aft with me.”
His cool decision inspired confidence, and half a dozen of the crew followed.
The canvas began to flap—the bark was badly off her course. Freeman bounded on as he noticed this fact.
“That cowardly Matt’s deserted the wheel,” he thought—“or else the poor devil’s been killed.”
But the officer stood motionless when he reached the place where the quarter-deck had been—the spot where he had been standing not five minutes since. The whole deck was gone, and in its place was a great cavity that reached from one side of the vessel to the other, and seemed to go down to the very keelson.
It was a time for action, and he crept along on the starboard side, walking on a few jagged splinters, and holding to the main brace with his hands. The wheel had been shattered and was useless, while Matt lay against the rail where the force of the explosion had hurled him.
“Men, sheet everything home, and move d—d quick! The wheel’s smashed and we can’t steer the bark. Let go all the halyards and sheets, and get her stripped. Work for your lives!”
Had the wind been stronger, a serious accident would probably have resulted before the unmanageable vessel could havebeen relieved of her canvas, but although she careened badly, it was but a few minutes before enough sails had been taken in to avert the threatened danger.
The unaccountable disaster that had befallen was sufficiently appalling to those who were on deck at the time it occurred; but imagine the feelings of the others—roused from a sound sleep at three in the morning by a shock as of an earthquake. The mate’s watch were asleep in the forecastle, a considerable distance from the lazarette, but to the captain, passengers, mate and steward, who occupied the after house, the sensation was indeed awful. What wonder that the screams of Mrs. Evans and Miss Blake rent the air? Or that Captain Maxwell, experienced seaman that he was, found himself utterly stunned and bewildered? But he was on deck in no time, issuing orders with the confidence of one who has long been accustomed to command.
Nothing so quickly restores our presence of mind in great crises as the knowledge that others look to us for advice andhelp. When the terrified Miss Blake rushed into her aunt’s cabin, it must be said to the widow’s credit that she left off screaming, and endeavored to pacify her niece. She tried to think what Captain Evans would have done in such an emergency, although having no clear idea as to what manner of evil had befallen the vessel; and after hastily assuming her dressing gown and slippers she issued forth with a boldness that surprised even herself.
The sight that presented itself utterly confounded the good woman, and it was only after passing her hand across her eyes several times, that she could believe the evidence of her senses. The cabin partition towards the stern was blown entirely out, together with the companion-way, and skylight above. The roof of the cabin had been splintered in places and lifted up, until Mrs. Evans could see a patch of sky here and there, while the floor under her feet was so uneven she could hardly walk upon it. She stood holding to the center table, blankly wondering what could havehappened, when the steward came from Captain Maxwell’s room.
“Oh, steward, in the name of heaven, what has happened? Are we sinking? Have we been pooped? Is the bark stove to pieces on a rock?”
“It’s not that bad, Madam Evans. There’s no rock in this part of the ocean, and if we’re sinking it’s very slowly. Are you hurt?”
“No; only badly frightened. I cannot realize yet what is the matter. Is anyone killed?”
“We can’t tell yet, ma’am. But I must not stop here talking. The after wall of the captain’s room is blown out and the head of his bed torn off. The room was set afire, too, and in putting it out he burned his hands badly. Will you hold this lamp while I get some linseed oil and batting?”
Captain Maxwell’s injuries were more painful than dangerous, and considerable relief was afforded as soon as Mrs. Evans’ deft fingers had applied the dressing. He then returned to the deck. It still lackedover two hours of dawn, and the moon was low in the west. Total darkness would soon descend, and there was much to be done. Already the carpenter was at work on a new wheel, and the moment it was in position the captain resolved to steer for Rio de Janeiro, where repairs could be made.
The strong smell of powder, and the shattered timbers, left no doubt in the captain’s mind that an explosion of some sort had caused the catastrophe. Fortunately, its greatest force had been upward; otherwise the vessel’s bottom might have been blown out, thus ending her career and those of all on board in short order. The signals in the lazarette were the only explosives on board the bark, but how they could have become ignited was not easily seen, unless a fire had started. Everyone was on deck but the ladies; there was no more sleep that night.
“Mr. Bohlman, you will muster all hands amidships, and you and Mr. Freeman will then call the names of those in your respective watches. Some one mayhave been killed. Whose wheel was it at the time of the accident?”
“Matt’s, sir,” answered Freeman. “He was badly hurt by being blown against the bulwarks. We’ve put him in his bunk, and two hands are rubbing him.”
While the crew were assembling, the captain questioned his second mate closely as to whether he had noticed any signs of fire about the after part of the vessel, or seen any person enter the lazarette. Freeman was certain, however, that he should have smelled smoke had there been any fire, while as for anyone entering the place without being seen by himself or the man at the wheel,—it was impossible. It will be remembered that he had gone below just before Captain Maxwell discovered the lighted lantern, and therefore knew nothing of that circumstance.
“About how long was it after you left the quarter-deck until the explosion took place?”
“It wasn’t five minutes, sir. I was going forward to the fo’k’sl deck to see that everything was all right, when, happeningto look in the port door of the fo’k’sl, I noticed the light was out. I stepped in to see whether the lantern was empty or not, but found it gone. Then—”
“You found the lantern gone!” exclaimed the captain, an idea striking him. “Did you notice whether Dick Lewis was gone, too?”
“Dick Lewis? No, sir; why should I? It was his watch below, and he was probably in his bunk.”
“We shall see. Come with me to the main deck.”
All hands were assembled around the capstan in various degrees of astonishment. Several of that motley crew had probably been shipwrecked during various stages of their careers, but it may be doubted whether any had ever witnessed an accident similar to that which had just taken place.
“Dick Lewis, step forward!”
The captain’s stern command produced a sensation, and all hands wondered what was coming next.
“Dick Lewis, step forward!”
The words were repeated, but no response came from among the crowd of men standing about in the raw morning air.
“That settles it,” said the captain, decisively. “Let the fo’k’sl be searched, and every other part of the bark. If that boy is not to be found, he has paid the penalty of his rashness. He may be dead in the hold, or he may have been blown through the quarter-deck and into the ocean.”
Freeman remembered the conversation of the previous afternoon, when Dick had betrayed his curiosity regarding the signals. Yes, the captain’s theory must be correct, and he shuddered to think how long the boy might have been at work in the lazarette while he walked the deck above. But how had he entered the place? Matt was not so badly hurt but that he was able to swear no one had passed through the hatch, and he, Freeman, had left the quarter-deck but twice during the watch, and then only for a few minutes. The true solution of the problem passedthrough the minds of Captain Maxwell, his mate and second mate, at almost the same moment, but the two former at first dismissed it as too improbable. Freeman, however, insisted that Dick must have gotten into the lazarette, if at all, by crawling all the way aft through the hold; and as Matt insisted that no one had gone below by the usual way, this view of the matter was the only possible one left.
“God only knows what ailed that boy,” Captain Maxwell said, as Dick’s devilish ingenuity became apparent, “but he’s found out by this time how those signals work, and what twenty-five pounds of powder can do.”
Crossing the LineAfter two weeks of tribulation, the barkentineMohawkwas through the Atlantic Doldrums. The hot, murky atmosphere, and the low-hanging rain-clouds that seem always ready to open and let fall a deluge, were left behind, and the fact that a breeze had blown from the same point of the compass for three successive hours was another certain indication that this tormenting region of calms, rain-squalls and variable winds was a thing of the past.
When one bell struck, and the steward brought Captain Charles Pitkin his morning cup of coffee, the skipper felt aslight-hearted as a boy, and knew, without looking at the compass, that the craft was speeding along towards Buenos Ayres, instead of drifting aimlessly about in the calm belt or beating to the southeast against a head wind.
“We ought to cross the Line to-day, at this rate,” he said to himself.
The steward heard the words, and made bold to say: “Will we, sir? I only wish Father Neptune would come aboard and make subjects of those three lubbers in the fo’k’sl. They are the worst greenhorns I ever did see.”
“You mean the two Swedes and the Austrian?”
“Yes, sir; especially that Christian Anderson, in the mate’s watch, that claimed to be able to steer and then couldn’t box the compass to save his life.”
The captain made no answer, and the steward withdrew.
“George! it’s not a bad idea,” mused Pitkin. “It would do those three ‘able seamen’ good to meet the Old Man of the Seas, I honestly believe.”
The more thought he gave the matter, the better he liked it; and by breakfast time, when the captain, his sister, and the mate gathered about the table, the former had arranged in his mind the principal details of the ceremonies which he decided should take place that morning.
Miss Pitkin did not receive the narration of her brother’s plans with the approval he had expected; in fact, she was in a decidedly unpleasant frame of mind.
“Why, Rosy, you seem out of sorts this morning. I thought you’d be pleased to hear that Neptune was coming aboard.”
“Neptune, indeed! The Flying Dutchman will be the next thing on the programme, I suppose. And as for being out of sorts—Charles Pitkin, are you aware that this is the first morning for two weeks that you have not resembled a thundercloud?”
“Perhaps; but I’ve had reason to look black. Now the Doldrums are done with, I’m as merry as a lark, and you ought to be, too.”
“You are mistaken. That beast of a cat has killed my poor canary.”
Miss Rose said this in a tone of mingled anger and grief, looking hard at her coffee-cup meanwhile. She seldom indulged in the feminine weakness of tears, or a few would doubtless have been shed now as a tribute to the departed canary.
“Pshaw! that’s too bad, Rose,” said the captain, sympathetically. “Shall we kill the cat? I detest the stealthy, cold-blooded creatures, and this one does nothing but lie around in the sun all day instead of catching rats.”
“No, Charles, we will not do that. I came near throwing her overboard myself, but I suppose the creature was only following her instincts. I must try and bear it.”
Miss Pitkin had celebrated some forty birthdays, but the years had touched her lightly, and her charms, though mature, were not inconsiderable. A plump, well-rounded figure, fresh complexion, black eyes and hair, combined with regular features, made an attractive whole, the oneserious blemish of which was an habitual expression of firmness and decision which was so strong as to be almost masculine. She had four brothers, all younger than herself, and on the early death of their father and mother, Rose assumed the cares of housekeeping and the bringing up of the younger children. Thus she had come to be looked up to by her brothers, and regarded rather in the light of a parent than as a sister.
As they left the table she said: “I am going to overhaul the store-room. It needs to be done, and will keep me from thinking of poor Goldie.”
“But you’ll return to the deck when Neptune comes aboard?”
“I’m in no humor for any such tomfoolery. Perhaps, between you all, you may manage to get up a snowstorm, or have an earthquake when we cross the Line.”
“But wait, Rosy, I want to ask a favor.”
The lady vanished, and was soon delving among lime-juice, guava jelly, apples, potted meats, and sundry other stores.
There was something strangely incongruous in such a woman being addressed by so childish and undignified a name as Rosy, but her brother had so called her when scarcely able to toddle about, and now that he was thirty, she was “Rosy” still.
Time was, when no craft of any description crossed the Equator without having all the landsmen on board introduced to the royal Neptune; but the good old custom has been gradually falling into disuse, and in this prosaic age the ceremony of “Crossing the Line” is rarely observed.
Captain Pitkin decided that Fritz, the carpenter, should be metamorphosed into King Neptune—principally because he was large and massive, and had a long, thick beard. Fritz was an excellent carpenter, though his mental development was far from being on a par with his physical. However, he would look the part, and that was no small item.
His majesty always comes aboard with an attendant, and here it was that Pitkin hit upon an original and brilliant idea. Hehad been humming an old song whose first verse runs:
“’Twas Friday morn when we set sail,And we were not far from the landWhen the captain spied a lovely mermaidWith a comb and a glass in her hand.”
“’Twas Friday morn when we set sail,And we were not far from the landWhen the captain spied a lovely mermaidWith a comb and a glass in her hand.”
These words ran in his head some time, until he finally exclaimed: “Well, I’ll ‘spy a mermaid,’ too, though she may not be very lovely. Yes, a mermaid shall come aboard this bark to-day with Father Neptune.”
He congratulated himself upon this happy thought and set about carrying it into execution. There was but one woman aboard—his sister—and her assuming the role of mermaid was, of course, not to be thought of. Among the crew was a bright, good-looking fellow, known as Mike—just the man to make an acceptable mermaid. In stature he was somewhat below the medium height, but well proportioned and with rather attractive features. He was much tanned, of course, and his expression was decidedly bolder than is thought pleasing in one of the fairsex; but these were minor difficulties in comparison with the great question, How to obtain suitable clothes? The captain solved this, as he thought, by deciding to ask his sister for the loan of some of her old skirts and waists, but she had buried herself in the store-room before he had time to prefer his request. This was just as well, he concluded, for in her present humor he would have met with a peremptory refusal.
So, having ascertained that Rose was engaged in hauling the steward over the coals for misplacing a case of honey and leaving matches where the rats could get at them, the captain entered his sister’s room. He felt rather guilty, but suitable attire for the mermaid must be had, and he tried to think that “Rosy wouldn’t mind,”—hoping, nevertheless, that the ceremonies would be over before she came on deck.
“What a lot of clothes women have,” he soliloquized, examining the various gowns and other apparel hanging on pegs. His sister’s best garments were laid awayin her trunks, and he spent considerable time in trying to choose what seemed to be the least valuable skirt and waist among the lot. He finally selected an old black alpaca for which Rose cared little, and a red dressing jacket for which she cared a great deal—it was the one she slipped on every morning when combing her hair. Just as he was leaving a green veil caught his eye.
“That will make Mike look mysterious,” he thought. He took it, bundled the things up in a newspaper, and Mr. Rivers, the mate, conveyed them forward.
The morning was hot, but a fine breeze tempered the heat and prevented discomfort. The seas chased each other along the vessel’s sides, and occasionally sobbed and gurgled in the lee scuppers as the bark leaned over to port. Just as the man at the wheel struck five bells, two strange figures climbed over the bows and gained the forecastle deck. They were the Old Man of the Seas and his companion.
The royal Neptune’s head was encircled by an elaborate wooden crown, paintedgreen, about which were twined several pieces of sea-weed. His long beard was carefully combed out, and swept down upon his chest with a truly patriarchal air. The principal garment was a long green toga (formerly a piano-cover), which extended from the neck to the heels, and was ornamented with sea-weed stitched on in various fantastic shapes. The arms and feet of the royal personage were entirely bare, and in his right hand he carried a substantial sceptre some five feet in length, having three prongs at the upper end.
Neptune’s companion was a sight to behold. From the crown of her head to her waist, floated a wealth of yellow hair, of which any mermaid might well have been proud. This telling effect had been achieved by unbraiding and combing out several strands of sennit. The dressing-jacket and the alpaca skirt did not seem exactly “the thing” for a sea-nymph, and yet they fitted as well as could have been expected, except that the jacket was too tight across the shoulders. A straw hat covered with sea-weed was perched uponthe damsel’s head, and the green veil concealed the fact that she had been freshly shaven. Her feet were encased in a pair of knit slippers. Depending from a belt around her waist were a small cracked hand-glass, a comb, and a flying-fish which had fallen on the deck that morning.
“Mariners, behold Neptune, the Ruler of the Seas, and his daughter, the beautiful Mermaid of St. Paul’s Rocks!”
Neptune made this announcement in a deep bass voice, and Captain Pitkin and the mate bowed low before the two august personages.
“Your majesty has conferred an unspeakable honor in deigning to come aboard,” answered Pitkin. “Will it please you to accompany us to the main deck, where some slight preparation has been made for your reception?”
The captain and mate led the way, followed by Neptune and his daughter. The former held his head high in the air and looked neither to the right nor to the left, while the Mermaid walked with a mincinggait and twined her long hair about her fingers.
All hands were assembled in the waist, eager to see the siren and her father, and as the quartette approached, the crew winked, nudged each other, and cast meaning glances at the three “candidates,”—Oscar, Christian and Josef, who formed a little group by themselves.
A low platform had been constructed about the capstan, and when Neptune took his seat upon the brass surface of the latter, his appearance was really imposing. A cloth-covered box had been provided for the Mermaid, but she disdained it, and leaned gracefully against the throne.
“And what bold craft have we here, which thus invades our domain and hopes to cross the Line with landsmen aboard, for the wrinkles in this vessel’s copper prove that more than one lubber stands before us!”
Neptune delivered this speech in accents of wrath, and brought his sceptre down with such force that those nearest fell back a few steps.
“Let the landsmen come before us!” commanded Neptune
“We are the barkentineMohawk, sire, from Portland for Buenos Ayres, and your majesty’s keen perception has not erred in assuming that there are landsmen aboard. I cheerfully relinquish to you the freedom of the vessel, and trust that all aliens here will shortly be transformed into loyal subjects.”
The captain bowed and withdrew to the poop, where he had an excellent view and could hear all that was said.
“Let the landsmen come before us,” commanded Neptune.
But the trio hesitated, evidently not relishing the aspect of affairs. All three possessed a certain amount of common sense,—though mostly latent,—and half-suspected that King Neptune and the carpenter were one and the same. But the silent female figure puzzled them completely, for the Mermaid, although unconventional in appearance, was so cleverly arrayed that the illusion was quite perfect.
Josef timidly whispered a few words to Oscar, but before he could reply, Neptune stamped his foot. Royalty cannot brookdelay, and at this token of displeasure, half a dozen of the crew seized Oscar, Josef and Christian, and dragged them before the throne. The two former were conducted to one side in obedience to Neptune’s gesture, while Christian remained standing before the frowning monarch.
A slight hitch now occurred, caused by Neptune forgetting his lines. He was unequal to the task of extemporizing, and the more he tried to remember what “came next,” the more confused he became. His majesty glared about, his face meanwhile becoming red with embarrassment, which poor Christian attributed to rage. The Mermaid was equal to the emergency, and came to her father’s rescue.
Mike was something of a ventriloquist, and when the order was issued “Minion, box the compass!” Christian was not the only one who stared in amazement, wondering whence the strange voice proceeded. He had never been called by such a name before, and was in much doubt as towhether he was the one addressed. The Mermaid whispered something in Neptune’s ear, and the latter, tapping the culprit with his sceptre, commanded: “Answer, varlet, and quickly!”
The compass was a Chinese puzzle to Christian,[175]but he dared not remain silent, and began desperately: “North, northeast, east by north-east, east by east,—”
Here the crew set up a roar of derision, and the mate remarked: “A fine able seaman you are. The shipping-master that put you aboard this bark ought tobe sent around the world as mate of a ship with two dozen like you for a crew!”
Neptune had by this time got his bearings, and asked:
“Does the sun cross the equator on the 21st of June, or the 21st day of December?”
“June,” hazarded Christian.
“What route must a steamer take to go from New York to Honolulu in eight days?”
“The middle route.”
“Why is the gulf-stream always full of sharks?”
“I never knew the reason, sir.”
“What year was the Panama Canal discovered?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“What time does the moon rise at the South Pole?”
No answer.
“How many wrecks are there on the bottom between here and Pitcairn Island?”
“There must be a good many, sir.”
Half a dozen equally absurd questions followed, most of which the wisdom ofMinerva could not have answered correctly.
“Enough; away with him to the shaving-chair!” finally cried Neptune. “He’s the most unpromising subject we ever came across, and calls me ‘sir,’ instead of ‘your majesty!’”
An old steamer chair had been tilted back, and the victim—for such he now considered himself—was marched to it, and requested to sit down. Behind this chair stood a large wash-tub filled with water, but the tarpaulin spread over it concealed this fact.
The Mermaid now produced a tar-pot, in which she swished a brush about until the “lather” was of the right consistency. A piece of sacking having been spread over the occupant of the chair, the operator brandished her brush and prepared to begin.
“I don’t need to—to be shaved,” gasped Christian.
This was true, for he was one of those men—mostly Finns andScandinavians—who couldn’t have raised a beard had his life depended on it. A few colorless hairs appeared on his cheeks and upper lip, which the Mermaid proceeded to count aloud.
“Twenty-nine!” she announced, contemptuously. “Rather different, father dear, from the visages of Columbus, Magellan, and Vasco de Gama, upon whom I operated in centuries gone by.”
She now lathered the face of the squirming Christian, laying on the tar with the peculiar slapping sound made by an experienced painter when applying a coat of paint to a flat surface.
The patient had by this time resigned all hope, and betrayed little interest when the brush was laid aside for the razor. This was a marline-spike, and the Mermaid gave it an edge—if a round object can be said to have an edge—by stropping it on a capstan bar which one of the crew had placed in the capstan. She then held the cracked hand-glass before Christian’s face, that he might see how he looked, and proceeded to shave him. This was adecided relief, and the man wondered if it was not the end of the performance.
Vain hope! Scarcely had the lather been scraped off, when two of the crew advanced to the tub and removed the tarpaulin. They then tipped the chair back suddenly, causing its occupant to slide into the tub, where he was immersed all but the feet. He was quickly drawn out and hustled forward on the port side, directly beneath the fore yard. A bowline had been rigged up at the extremity of the yard-arm overhanging the water, and the ends of the rope hung down to the deck. One end was made fast around Christian just beneath the arms, and a dozen hands grasped the other end amidst the most uproarious hilarity.
An old salt with bare feet, brass rings in his ears, and a red cotton handkerchief wound about his head, now ascended to the roof of the forward house and played a wild air upon a wheezy violin. He danced about at the same time, and sang in a hurricane voice and with great gusto, the first verse of a song whose subject was: “TheBaptism of Captain Kidd.” Everyone joined in the chorus, even Neptune and his daughter, while the shrieking Christian was hoisted up to the yard-arm. There he remained suspended between sea and sky while the old salt rendered another verse, and then, as all hands took up the refrain, the rope was slackened away. Three times was the Swede ducked in the heaving swell, before being drawn up and lowered on deck again. He was then released, and patted on the back by the Mermaid, who said patronizingly:
“My son, you are a lubber no more,—in name at least,—and can now consider yourself a true subject of Neptune.”
The new subject was past speech, but he drew a deep breath of relief and got upon the galley roof, where he sat down to dry, as well as to see what befell Oscar and Josef. He had not been hurt in the least, but, as some one has said, “A man might as well be killed as scared to death.”
The other two felt that their time had come. At first they had watched the proceedings with great interest, whichgradually changed to dismay, and finally gave place to absolute terror. That Christian was to be hanged or drowned, they did not in the least doubt; and just as he was ducked for the third time, Oscar gave a yell and broke from his guards, who were absorbed in watching the rites. He ran to the main rigging and darted up it as though Satan were at his heels. The guards were about to pursue, when they remembered Josef, and the latter’s break for liberty was nipped in the bud.
Neptune, the Mermaid and attendants now came aft, and many volunteers presented themselves to bring Oscar down from the top-mast head, whither he had climbed with an alacrity entirely foreign to his nature. The royal personages consulted together and announced that Josef would be “finished” before Oscar was taken in hand. So everybody gathered about the throne; even the cat, who sat gravely upon her haunches and licked her chops as though desiring another canary.
A number of ridiculous questions were propounded to Josef, who had a veryimperfect knowledge of English, and made worse work than Christian in answering them. He was hurried to the chair, and the tar-bucket again brought into requisition.
Meanwhile Miss Pitkin had inspected the store-room thoroughly, and now came up the companion-way with a comfortable sense of duty performed. She scanned the horizon line for a sail, took a look at the compass, and then started to find her brother. There he was on the poop, and she ascended thither.
“Why, what is the matter, Charles? Why are all hands in the waist? Oh, I remember,—Neptune.”
The captain was relieved at seeing his sister smile, and began to hope that she was rallying from the grief and ill-temper into which the canary’s death had thrown her. Suddenly, through the crowd of figures pressing around the throne, she caught a glimpse of the Mermaid. Surprise at sight of this extraordinary vision kept her silent a moment, when she calledout: “Mr. Rivers, what is that creature,—man or woman?”
The Mermaid’s wit got the better of her discretion, and she answered, before the mate could reply, “Neither one, ma’am: I’m ’alf and ’alf, like the ale and stout we mix together in Liverpool, or like one of those morphodite[183]brigs, that’s part brig and part schooner.”
The crew respectfully fell back at sight of Miss Pitkin, and the nymph was exposed to view. Rose instantly detected the deception, and in spite of the cleverly disguised voice, her feminine facility for jumping at conclusions told her that Mike was the speaker. Without knowing why, she was as absolutely certain of this fact as of her own name. Then she recognized the dressing jacket! The lady could hardly believe the evidence of her senses; but it was not her habit to remain in doubt if it could be avoided, and she hurried from the poop to verify her suspicions.
The captain was considerably disturbedby the expression of his sister’s face, and called out: “Don’t do anything rash, Rosy; it’s only a mermaid.
“Hang that fool of a Mike,” he muttered. “Why couldn’t he have kept quiet? I wish I’d never heard of mermaids or anything of the sort.”
Miss Pitkin sought her room and took a hurried inventory of her possessions. Yes, what she deemed impossible had occurred; one of the crew had actually dared to invade the sanctity of the cabin—her own room, even—and deliberately steal her clothes! The theft, audacious as it seemed, was yet of secondary importance compared to the outrageous breach of discipline it involved. At this rate the crew would soon want to dine with the captain, or sit in easy chairs upon the quarter-deck!
“And there sat my brother on the poop with his eyes open, and never even noticed that that creature was wearing his sister’s clothes!” she thought, surprise for the moment taking the place of indignation.
She gained the main deck, and advanced towards the capstan, where the ceremonieshad been resumed the moment she went below. Her black eyes flashed ominously, and the crew, with a common impulse, fled in all directions, though none could have told precisely what they were fleeing from. The two mates thought it prudent to withdraw to their rooms, and the guilty Mermaid set down the tar bucket and escaped, leaving Josef in the chair with but one side of his face lathered. Neptune alone remained to face the enemy, not being actuated by bravery so much as by astonishment at the sudden rout of his attendants. While the Ruler of the Seas sat upon the throne trying to decide what to do, Miss Pitkin stepped up and surveyed him with scornful amusement. There was her green veil in his left hand, whither it had been thrust by the Mermaid!
Unable longer to control her indignation, Rose seized the tar brush, exclaiming, “Take that, you great overgrown dunce.” Suiting the action to the word, she gave his majesty’s cheek a sound slap; which insult, instead of rousing him, appeared to befog his faculties still more.She plucked the sceptre from the monarch’s palsied hand, knocked the crown from his head, and threw both overboard.
Neptune’s daughter had taken refuge in the carpenter shop, but the red jacket caught Miss Pitkin’s eye as she passed the window. Pursued and pursuer darted through the room and out of the opposite door, but as Rose was used to skirts and the nymph was not, the latter was at a disadvantage. Thrice was she nearly thrown down by the alpaca, until gathering it up in one hand, she dashed to the rigging, and attempted to ascend. Miss Pitkin was close behind, and made a pass at the Mermaid with a harpoon she had picked up; the end catching in the damsel’s hair, which all came off, together with her hat. The looking glass fell to the deck and was shivered into fragments. There was the erstwhile siren part way up the rigging, all her wit, confidence and gayety gone; while the very members of the crew who had so lately admired her, now jeered and derided from the other side of the deck.
“It will go hard with you when we reach port!” cried the irate lady, when she had recovered her breath; “and if Captain Pitkin doesn’t have you in irons before night, he’s not the man I take him for. You brazen thief, to steal my clothes!”
“I never did steal a thing of anybody aft since I came aboard, ma’am. Do you think I’d be going into the cabin where I’ve no business, and risk being caught? I’m no fool. The captain told me all I had to do was to be a mermaid (may the Virgin forgive me), and he’d furnish the togs.”
“Do you mean to say that Captain Pitkin gave you those clothes?”
“He sent them to the fo’k’sl, ma’am, this very morning.”
“Would my brother do such a thing?” Rose asked herself, as she again took her way aft.
The captain was invisible. In fact, he had retired to his room, and was endeavoring to banish the present by a perusal of the fascinating adventures of D’Artagnanand his reckless companions. He was roused by a knock at the door, but before he could say “Come in,” his sister entered.
The captain took in the situation at a glance, and knew he was in for it. The years seemed to roll back, and as Rose marched him to the sofa he imagined himself a boy of ten, and the subject of well-merited chastisement. He made a full confession, asked to be forgiven, and swore never again to hold any intercourse with Neptune or his relatives. He could not help adding: “It was partly your fault, though, for if you hadn’t flounced out of the room at breakfast, I should have had a chance to ask for the use of the clothes. Are they completely ruined? Can’t they be washed?”
“Are they ruined? Do you suppose I will ever touch them again after that Mike has worn them? And have they not been in the forecastle?”
Rose whispered a single word in her brother’s ear. It was the name of a creature all mention of which is strictly tabood in good society; or, if referred to at all, itis usually between housewives exchanging confidences, and then only with bated breath. “I cannot name ’t but I shall offend,” and it suffices to say that it is a certain little animal which invariably inhabits ships’ forecastles, though on all well-regulated craft it never invades the cabin.
“Good heavens, Rose, I never thought of that,” replied the captain, looking serious. “But never mind, it can’t be helped, and you shall have what clothes you want in Buenos Ayres, if you can find anything to suit.”
Rose was fond of her brother—in her own way,—and his straight-forward confession mollified her considerably. She did not yet allow this to appear, however, but announced sternly:
“After the manner in which you have made away with my garments, Charles, I very much doubt whether I shall make another voyage on theMohawk. It would serve you right if I left you to your own devices. You could mend your clothes, lose your pipes, go without my desserts,and live on hash and lobscouse for years to come, besides having the satisfaction of knowing that the steward was secretly drinking bottles of ale and beer, and making way with provisions.”
The captain made a gesture as if to banish some disagreeable remembrance.
“Don’t, Rosy,—I couldn’t endure to live the way I used to. It seemed all right then, but since you’ve taken the cook, and steward and cabin in hand, it’s like a different vessel.”
This admission pleased Rose, and she answered, “Well, we shall see,” in tones which informed the captain that he was forgiven.
He put his arm about his sister’s waist and escorted her to the deck, with a sensation of having recovered a treasure whose worth had not been fully appreciated.
“It’s curious how one woman can upset everything, and raise Pandemonium in no time,” he said, aside to Mr. Rivers, a few moments later.
Orders were given for the wash-tub tobe restored to its proper place, the platform about the capstan to be removed, and for everything to resume its wonted appearance.
As for Christian, Oscar and Josef, they might very appropriately have been likened to the three degrees of thankfulness. Christian, drying himself on the galley roof, represented the positive degree, and was merely thankful that Neptune had got through with him without taking his life. Josef, with one cheek lathered, felt like a fish that has been hooked, and then succeeds in escaping. He looked rather woebegone, but was thankful indeed to have escaped with such comparative comfort. But Oscar, who had now ventured part way down the main mast, had fairly baffled Neptune and his daughter; and had there been any degree beyond the superlative, it could not have been too strong to express the state of his feelings. Henceforth he regarded Miss Pitkin as a deliverer, and had she been a goddess, his veneration could scarcely have been greater.
TheMohawkcrossed the Line during the afternoon on the 30th meridian of west longitude, and for all we know, Oscar and Josef are lubbers yet.
MissingThe trades of the Indian Ocean usually blow with great regularity except at the semi-annual change of the monsoons, and the barkHarvesterwas slipping easily along at a six-knot rate on her voyage from Singapore to New York.
It was the second dog-watch; that time at sea when, the day’s work being over, decks swept up, and supper eaten, all hands bring out their pipes and gather in groups to discuss passing events, or to while away the twilight hour in telling stories.
Job, the negro cook, sat in the galley door singing one of the plaintive melodies of his race. An old banjo, played as only a darky can play that instrument, furnished the accompaniment. The singer’s voice was rich and mellow, and the simple notes floated out on the still evening air with a soothing charm that went straight to the heart, and struck many a forgotten chord in the breasts of the four rough seamen who comprised his audience. Near the booby hatch were gathered the mate, the bo’s’un and the steward; each relating in turn some reminiscence or bit of adventure connected with his past life. Many of these provoked roars of laughter, while the conclusion of a few was followed by a period of silence rendered more eloquent by a shake of the head or a sigh. That was the way these hardy men received the narration of some half-forgotten ocean tragedy.
“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” the steward was saying, “I recollect hearing of those two gales off Cape Flattery, now you speak of it. About ’87, wasn’t it?”
The mate thought a moment before he answered: “It was in the spring of ’87, in the first of those gales, that the shipSt. Lawrencewent to the bottom. If I live to be a hundred I’ll never forget it; but if I should happen to, here’s something that’ll make me remember.”
He pushed back the thick hair from his forehead and revealed an ugly-looking scar of a peculiar reddish-brown color. “Now you know why I wear my hair long even in the tropics,” he said. “I’ve not got much beauty to boast of, maybe, but I’m a little sensitive about that cursed mark all the same. I hate to think of it!”
The steward seemed astonished. “TheSt. Lawrence! You were on that ship, Mr. Morgan?” he exclaimed, in accents that betrayed his incredulity.
“I was mate of her on her last four voyages.”
“We were in Antwerp at the time, but I always understood that all hands were lost with her.”
“All but the carpenter and me.”
He rose, emptied his pipe, and appeared anxious to drop the subject, but the curiosity of the steward led him to ask how those two had managed to escape. The bo’s’un seconded the request, so Morgan again seated himself, and after a short silence related the affair in these words:
TheSt. Lawrencewas a neat little ship—you may have seen her,—and Captain Fairley was one of the finest men I ever met,—quiet, and a man of few words, but when he said a thing he meant it. I didn’t like his wife so well, but his daughter, Miss Marion,—oh, she was a lovely girl. She’d never lived on shore much, and had that shy, retiring disposition that you often see in such cases, where the captain’s children always go with him and have nobody of their own age to associate with. She never hankered after shore life though, and seemed perfectly happy to be always at sea.
Miss Marion had quite a liking for me, and many and many an evening would she pace the deck in my watch, telling me the names of the different stars and how faroff some of them were, and all such things. That was her favorite study—astronomy. Then she read a great deal and used to tell me about her books. All the tidies for the cabin chairs were made by her hands. You remember that silk handkerchief I showed you,—that one with theMembroidered on it? She worked that letter and gave me the handkerchief on my birthday. It was the first birthday present I ever got, and I guess it’ll be the last. Poor girl! she wasn’t quite seventeen when the accident happened.
We came across from Hong Kong to San Francisco and found that the ship had been chartered to load coal on Puget Sound. We arrived at Nanaimo near the end of March. In those days there were no stevedores at most of the coal ports on the Sound, and it was the captain’s or mate’s business to superintend the work of the crew in loading the vessel. Captain Fairley had to go to Tacoma on some business matter, and as ill-luck would have it, I was taken sick the day after we got to Nanaimo, and the doctor made meturn in. I wasn’t able to get out of that bunk for ten days, with the result that the second mate had charge of loading the ship.
I won’t say anything here against Ike Summers,—all of us have our failings,—but what I do say is this: his being drunk while she was loading caused one of the worst accidents on record, and the loss of one of the finest ships I ever saw. Half of the crew were drunk of course, and twenty-six hundred tons of coal were pitched in at random. I’ll swear she wasn’t half trimmed, though I was just able to get about the morning we sailed. Captain Fairley, his wife and Miss Marion got back from Tacoma the afternoon before, and I told him that night it was my opinion that the second mate had been drinking a good deal. He looked serious, but Ike swore everything was all right,—he’d got pretty well sobered up that afternoon,—and as the clearance papers had been taken out, the captain concluded to sail next day. He wanted to get to San Francisco as quickly as possible, for we’dbeen chartered to load from there to New York. If it hadn’t been for that, I’ve always thought the captain would have looked into the way the cargo had been stowed. He must have suspected something was wrong, for he wanted Mrs. Fairley and Miss Marion to go back by rail, but they wouldn’t hear of it.
So we were towed to sea one fine April morning, having for company a crazy old bark named theLizzie Williams. TheSt. Lawrencewas rated A-1 at Lloyd’s, and that bark probably had no rating at all, but the old hulk was a good deal more fit to go to sea that morning than we were, as it soon turned out. Her cargo was stowed right, even if she did have to be pumped out three times a day.
Ike Summers had the afternoon watch, and when I turned in after dinner the tug had just cast us off, and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. I heard Captain Fairley tell his wife that we must be going to have a blow on account of the falling glass, but he thought it wouldn’t amount to much. Miss Marion was doing somefancy work, I remember, and Ike had just ordered some of his men to spread an old cro’-jack out on deck to be mended. It was a warm, pleasant day, and the sun shone on the sails of theLizzie Williamsas she slumped along like an old canal boat a few miles to leeward. She was the last thing I saw before I went to my room and turned in. I soon dropped off, being dead tired and not very strong yet after my sickness.
How long my sleep lasted don’t matter,—it seemed about ten minutes, but must have been several hours,—when I was roused by the steward shaking me and yelling “Come on deck, Mr. Morgan, for God’s sake!” That brought me to my senses in an instant, and only stopping to throw on my shoes, I ran out.
What a change! A heavy squall was bearing down, and all hands were working like demons to get the ship stripped. Some were aloft cutting away the earings so as to let the sails go overboard, while others were letting go halyards, sheets and tacks. A kind of fog or mist was settling down,and the sails slatting against the masts and shrouds made a horrible din, to say nothing of the hoarse orders that the captain and Ike were bawling out.
I ran up the shrouds to help Summers cut away the mains’il.
“Good G—, Ike, you must have been mad to let that squall catch the ship with all sail on. Where was the captain?” I cried.
“He was below. I just called him. It came faster than I reckoned on.”
“You’ve done it this time! If we ar’n’t dismasted it won’t be your fault.”
We got the mains’il loose, and I had just slid down the backstay to the deck when Miss Marion came running up with face as white as a sheet, but perfectly cool.
“Tell me what I can do to help,” she implored.
“Close the lazarette hatchway,” I answered, “and see all the cabin windows and skylights shut. Then stay below.”
Mrs. Fairley was a very nervous woman, and the suddenness of the affair had upset her completely. There she stood at thebreak of the poop clinging to a tops’il brace, and literally paralyzed with terror. Miss Marion went to her mother’s assistance, and at the same moment the captain ordered me to take my watch and haul up the fores’il. They were the last words I ever heard him speak.
All this had happened within two or three minutes of my coming on deck, and but few of the light sails had been cut away when I got some of my watch at work on the fores’il. The first thing I knew, an extra heavy gust struck the ship and heeled her over about twenty-five degrees. That wasn’t much, but I tell you a lump came in my throat the next second when I heard a dull roar in the hold beneath. All of us knew what that muffled sound meant—the cargo had shifted!