Chapter Six.

Chapter Six.A Chapter of Accidents.“Nonsense, man!” cried Captain Applegarth. “Don’t make such an ass of yourself!Flying Dutchmanindeed! Why, that cock and bull yarn was exploded years ago, and I didn’t think there was a sailor afloat in the present day ass enough to believe in this story!”“I may be a hass, sir; I know I am sometimes,” retorted old Masters, evidently aggrieved by the skipper speaking to him like this before the men. “But, sir, seein’ is believin’. There’s this ship an’ there’s that there craft a-sailin’ alongside in the teeth o’ the gale. Hass or no hass, I sees that, captain!”“Hang it all, man, can’t you see that it is only the mirage or reflection of our own vessel, produced by the light of the meteor throwing her shadow on to the mass of cloud leeward? Look, there are our two old sticks and the funnels between, with the smoke rushing out of them! Aye, and there, too, you can see this very bridge here we’re standing on, and all of us, as large as life. Why, bo’sun, you can see your own ugly mug reflected now opposite us, just as it would be in a looking glass. Look, man!”“Aye, I sees, sir, plain enuff, though I’m a hass,” said Masters at length. “But it ain’t nat’rel, sir, anyhow; an’ I misdoubts sich skeary things. I ain’t been to sea forty years for nothin’, Captain Applegarth, an’ I fears sich a sight as that betokens some danger ahead as ’ill happen to us some time or other this voyage. Even started on a Friday, sir, as you knows on, sir!”“Rubbish!” cried the skipper, angry at his obstinacy. “See, the mirage has disappeared now that the meteor light has become dispersed. Look smart there, aloft, and furl that topsail! It’s just seven bells and I’m going to ease down the engines and bear up on our course again. Up with you, men, and lay out on the yard!”The hands who had stopped half-way up the fore-rigging, spell-bound at the sight of the mirage, now bestirred themselves, shaking off their superstitious fears; old Masters, in the presence of something to be done, also working, and soon the sail was furled, the bunt stowed, and the gaskets passed.“It’s no use our keeping on any longer after that ship of yours, Haldane,” observed the skipper, turning to me when the men had all come in from the topsail yard and scrambled down on deck again after making everything snug aloft. “If she were still afloat we must have overhauled her before this. I really think, youngster, she must have been only a sort of will-o’-the-wisp, like that we saw just now—an optical illusion, as I told you at the time, recollect, caused by some cross light from the afterglow of the sunset thrown upon the white mist which we noticed subsequently rising off the water. Eh, my boy?”“Ah, no, captain,” I replied earnestly. “The ship I saw presented a very different appearance to that reflection of ours!Shewas full-rigged, I told you, sir, and though her canvas was torn and she looked a bit knocked about in the matter of her tophamper, she was as unlike our oldStar of the Northas a sailing vessel is unlike a steamer!”“She might have been a derelict.”“I saw a girl on her deck aft, sir, with a dog beside her, as distinctly as I see you, sir, now!”“Well, well, be that as it may, my lad, though I’m very sorry for the poor young thing, if she is still in the land of the living, I can’t carry on like this for ever! If she were anywhere in sight it would be quite another matter; but, as it is, not knowing whether we’re on her right track or not, we might scud on to the Equator without running across her again. No, no; it wouldn’t be fair to the owners or to ourselves, indeed, to risk the ship as well as the lives of all on board by continuing any longer on such a wild-goose chase.”“Very good, sir,” said I, on his pausing here, as if waiting for me to say something. “We’ve tried our best to come up with her, at any rate.”“We have that, and I daresay a good many would call us foolhardy for carrying on as we’ve done so long. However, I’m going to abandon the chase now and bear up again on our proper course, my boy, and the devil of a job that will be, I know, in the teeth of this gale!”So saying, the skipper, grasping the handle of the engine-room telegraph, which led up through a tube at the end of the bridge, signalled to those in charge below to slow down to half speed.“Down with the helm, quartermaster!” he cried to the man at the wheel, and, at the same moment holding up his hand to attract the attention of old Masters, who had returned to his station on the fo’c’s’le, greatly exercised in his mind by what had recently occurred, he sang out in a voice of thunder that reached the knightheads and made the boatswain skip: “Haul in your jib sheet and flatten those staysails sharp! I want to bring her round to the wind handsomely, to prevent taking in another of those green seas aboard when we get broadside-on. Look smart, bo’sun, and keep your eye on her. Keep your eye on her, d’you hear? It’s ticklish work, you know. Look-out sharp or she’ll broach to!”Far as the eye could reach, the storm-tossed surface of the deep was white with foam, white as a snowfield, and boiling with rage and fury.The bank of blue-black cloud that had rested along the horizon to leeward had now melted away in some mysterious fashion or other, and the sky became as clear as a bell, only some wind-driven scrap of semi-transparent white vapour sweeping occasionally across the face of the pale, sickly-looking moon that looked down on the weird scene in a sort of menacing way; while, in lieu of the two or three odd sentinels that had previously peeped out from the firmament, all the galaxies of heaven were, at this moment, in their myriads above, spangling the empyrean from zenith to pole.But the gale!While running before the wind, the wind, although it had ballooned our sails out to bursting point, brushing us along at a wild, mad-cap rate, and buffeting the boisterous billows on either hand, scooping them up from the depths of the ocean and piling them in immense waves of angry water that rolled after us, striving to overwhelm us, we could hardly, even while taking advantage of it, appreciate its awful and tremendous force.On coming about, however, and facing it, the case was vastly different, the wind increasing tenfold in its intensity.Where it had sung through the rigging it now shrieked and howled, as if the air were peopled with demons, while the waves, lashed into fury, dashed against our bows like battering rams, rising almost to the level of our masthead where their towering crests met overhead.Round came the old barquey’s head slowly, and more slowly still as she staggered against the heavy sea, until, all at once, she stopped in stays, unable apparently, though struggling all she could, to face her remorseless foe.“Luff up, quartermaster!” roared the skipper to the top of his voice and dancing up and down the bridge in his excitement. “Luff, you beggar, luff!”“I can’t, sir,” yelled the man in desperation—a fresh hand who had come on duty to relieve Atkins at six bells. “The steam steering gear has broken-down, sir, and I can’t make her move.”“By Jingo, that’s a bad job,” cried the skipper, but he was not long at a nonplus. “Run aft, Haldane, and you too, Spokeshave. Loosen the bunt of the mizzen-trysail and haul at the clew. That’ll bring her up to the wind fast enough, if the sail only stands it!”To hear was to obey, and both Spokeshave and I scuttled down the bridge-ladder as quickly as we could and away along the waist of the ship aft, the urgency of our errand hastening our movements if we had needed any spur beyond the skipper’s sharp, imperative mandate.But, speedily as we had hurried, on mounting the poop-ladder and rushing towards the bitts at the foot of the mizzenmast to cast off the bunt-lines and clewlines of the trysail we found we had been already forestalled by an earlier arrival on the scene of action.This was Mr O’Neil, the second officer, whom I had left below asleep in his cabin when I came up at two bells from the saloon, he having been on duty all the afternoon and his services not being required again until night, when he would have to go on the bridge to take the first watch from eight to midnight.Feeling the bucketing-about we were having in the trough of the sea when we came about, and probably awakened by the change of motion, just as a miller is supposed to be instantaneously roused by his mill stopping, though he may be able to sleep through all the noise of its grinding when at work, Garry O’Neil had at once shoved himself into his boots and monkey jacket and rushed up on the poop through the companion and booby-hatch that led up directly on deck from the saloon.Arrived here, he had evidently noted the vessel’s insecurity, and, seamanlike, had hit upon the very same way out of the difficulty that had suggested itself to the skipper, having, ere we reached his side, cast off the ropes confining the folds of the trysail and trying singlehanded to haul out the clew.“Begorrah, me bhoys, ye’ve come in the very nick o’ time!” he exclaimed on seeing us. “Here, Spoke, me darlint, hang on to the end of this sheet and you, Dick, step on to the tail of it, whilst I take a turn of the slack round that bollard! Faith, it’s blo’in’ like the dievle, and we’ll have our work cut out for us, me bhoys, to git a purchase on it anyhow. Now, all together, yo-heave-ho! Pull baker, pull dievle!”With that, bending our backs to it, we all hauled away at the sheet, succeeding by a great endeavour in stretching the clew of the sail to the end of the boom, which we then secured amidships as best we could, though the spar and sail combined jerked to such an extent that it seemed as if the mizzenmast would be wrenched out of the ship each instant, the heavy fold of the canvas that hung loosely under the jaws of the gaff shaking and banging about with a noise like thunder.Even the small amount of canvas exposed to the wind, however, was sufficient to supply the additional leverage required aft; and the engines working at half speed, with the headsails flattened, the ship’s bows were presently brought up to the wind, when we lay-to under easy steam.“Well done, my lads!” sang out the skipper from the bridge, when the ship’s head was round and the peril of her broaching-to in the heavy seaway been fortunately averted; the wind was blowing aft, of course, and bringing his voice to us as if he stood by, and shouting in our very ears, “Now look sharp and come here under the bridge; I want you to cast off the lashings of the big wheel amidships and see that the yolk lines run clear. We shall have to manhandle the helm and steer from below, as the steam gear up here in the wheel-house is hopelessly jammed and will take a month of Sundays to get right!”“Aye, aye, sir,” we made answer, under his nose, having been scurrying forwards while he was speaking, the Irish mate adding in his native vernacular, “Begorrah, we’ll rig up the whole, sir, in the twinkling of a bedpost, sure!”“Hullo!” exclaimed the skipper, “is that you, O’Neil?”“Faith, all that’s lift of me, sir!”“How’s that?—I was just going to send down to your cabin to rouse you out.”“Begorrah, its moighty little rousin’ I want, sor! The ould barquey’s that lively that she’d wake a man who’d been d’id for a wake, sure! I’ve been so rowled about in me burth and banged agin’ the bulkheads that my bones fell loike jelly and I’m blue-mouldy all over. But what d’ye want, cap’en? Sure, I’m helping the youngster with this whale here.”“By jingo!” cried the skipper, “you’re the right man in the right place!”“Faith, that’s what the gaolor s’id to the burghlor, sor, when he fixed him up noicely on the treadmill!”The skipper laughed.“Well, you fix up your job all right, and you’ll be as good as your friend the gaoler,” he said. “When we have the helm all alaunto again, we can bear up on our course and jog along comfortably. I think we are lucky to have got off so lightly, considering the wind and sea, with this steering gear breaking down at such an awkward moment!”“Ah, we ain’t seed the worse on it yet, and you’d better not holler till ye’re out o’ the wood!” muttered old Masters under his breath, in reply to this expression of opinion of the skipper, the boatswain having come to our assistance with all the hands he could muster, so as to get the wheel below the bridge in working order as soon as possible. “I knowed that this ghost-ship meant sumkin’ and we ain’t come to the end o’ the log yet!”Almost as he uttered the words, Mr Fosset came up the engine-room hatchway and made his way hurriedly towards us.“By jingo, Fosset, here you are at last!” exclaimed the skipper on seeing him. “I thought you were never coming up again, finding it so jolly warm and comfortable below! Are things all right there now, and are the bilge-pumps working?”Captain Applegarth spoke jocosely enough, everything being pretty easy on deck and the ship breasting the gale like a duck, but Mr Fosset’s face, I noticed, looked grave and he answered the other in a more serious fashion than his general wont, his mouth working nervously in the pale moonlight that lent him a more pallid air as the words dropped from his lips, making his countenance, indeed, almost like that of a corpse.“But what, man!” exclaimed the skipper impatiently, interrupting his slow speech before Mr Fosset could get any further. “Anything wrong, eh?”“Yes, sir, I’m sorry to say something is very wrong, I fear—very wrong below,” replied the other sadly. “There has been a sad accident in the stoke-hole!”Old Masters, whose ears had been wide open to the conversation, here nudged me with his elbow as I stood beside him, and at the same time giving forth a grunt of deep and heartfelt significance.“I knowed summet ’ud happen,” he whispered in a sepulchral voice that sounded all the more gruesome from the attendant circumstances, the shrieking wind tearing through the riggings, the melancholy wash of the waves alongside, the moaning and groaning of the poor old barquey’s timbers as if she were in grievous pain, while at that very moment the bell under the break of the fo’c’s’le struck eight bells slowly, as if tolling for a passing soul. “Youseed the ghost-ship, Mr Haldane, the same as me, forIsaw it, that I did!”

“Nonsense, man!” cried Captain Applegarth. “Don’t make such an ass of yourself!Flying Dutchmanindeed! Why, that cock and bull yarn was exploded years ago, and I didn’t think there was a sailor afloat in the present day ass enough to believe in this story!”

“I may be a hass, sir; I know I am sometimes,” retorted old Masters, evidently aggrieved by the skipper speaking to him like this before the men. “But, sir, seein’ is believin’. There’s this ship an’ there’s that there craft a-sailin’ alongside in the teeth o’ the gale. Hass or no hass, I sees that, captain!”

“Hang it all, man, can’t you see that it is only the mirage or reflection of our own vessel, produced by the light of the meteor throwing her shadow on to the mass of cloud leeward? Look, there are our two old sticks and the funnels between, with the smoke rushing out of them! Aye, and there, too, you can see this very bridge here we’re standing on, and all of us, as large as life. Why, bo’sun, you can see your own ugly mug reflected now opposite us, just as it would be in a looking glass. Look, man!”

“Aye, I sees, sir, plain enuff, though I’m a hass,” said Masters at length. “But it ain’t nat’rel, sir, anyhow; an’ I misdoubts sich skeary things. I ain’t been to sea forty years for nothin’, Captain Applegarth, an’ I fears sich a sight as that betokens some danger ahead as ’ill happen to us some time or other this voyage. Even started on a Friday, sir, as you knows on, sir!”

“Rubbish!” cried the skipper, angry at his obstinacy. “See, the mirage has disappeared now that the meteor light has become dispersed. Look smart there, aloft, and furl that topsail! It’s just seven bells and I’m going to ease down the engines and bear up on our course again. Up with you, men, and lay out on the yard!”

The hands who had stopped half-way up the fore-rigging, spell-bound at the sight of the mirage, now bestirred themselves, shaking off their superstitious fears; old Masters, in the presence of something to be done, also working, and soon the sail was furled, the bunt stowed, and the gaskets passed.

“It’s no use our keeping on any longer after that ship of yours, Haldane,” observed the skipper, turning to me when the men had all come in from the topsail yard and scrambled down on deck again after making everything snug aloft. “If she were still afloat we must have overhauled her before this. I really think, youngster, she must have been only a sort of will-o’-the-wisp, like that we saw just now—an optical illusion, as I told you at the time, recollect, caused by some cross light from the afterglow of the sunset thrown upon the white mist which we noticed subsequently rising off the water. Eh, my boy?”

“Ah, no, captain,” I replied earnestly. “The ship I saw presented a very different appearance to that reflection of ours!Shewas full-rigged, I told you, sir, and though her canvas was torn and she looked a bit knocked about in the matter of her tophamper, she was as unlike our oldStar of the Northas a sailing vessel is unlike a steamer!”

“She might have been a derelict.”

“I saw a girl on her deck aft, sir, with a dog beside her, as distinctly as I see you, sir, now!”

“Well, well, be that as it may, my lad, though I’m very sorry for the poor young thing, if she is still in the land of the living, I can’t carry on like this for ever! If she were anywhere in sight it would be quite another matter; but, as it is, not knowing whether we’re on her right track or not, we might scud on to the Equator without running across her again. No, no; it wouldn’t be fair to the owners or to ourselves, indeed, to risk the ship as well as the lives of all on board by continuing any longer on such a wild-goose chase.”

“Very good, sir,” said I, on his pausing here, as if waiting for me to say something. “We’ve tried our best to come up with her, at any rate.”

“We have that, and I daresay a good many would call us foolhardy for carrying on as we’ve done so long. However, I’m going to abandon the chase now and bear up again on our proper course, my boy, and the devil of a job that will be, I know, in the teeth of this gale!”

So saying, the skipper, grasping the handle of the engine-room telegraph, which led up through a tube at the end of the bridge, signalled to those in charge below to slow down to half speed.

“Down with the helm, quartermaster!” he cried to the man at the wheel, and, at the same moment holding up his hand to attract the attention of old Masters, who had returned to his station on the fo’c’s’le, greatly exercised in his mind by what had recently occurred, he sang out in a voice of thunder that reached the knightheads and made the boatswain skip: “Haul in your jib sheet and flatten those staysails sharp! I want to bring her round to the wind handsomely, to prevent taking in another of those green seas aboard when we get broadside-on. Look smart, bo’sun, and keep your eye on her. Keep your eye on her, d’you hear? It’s ticklish work, you know. Look-out sharp or she’ll broach to!”

Far as the eye could reach, the storm-tossed surface of the deep was white with foam, white as a snowfield, and boiling with rage and fury.

The bank of blue-black cloud that had rested along the horizon to leeward had now melted away in some mysterious fashion or other, and the sky became as clear as a bell, only some wind-driven scrap of semi-transparent white vapour sweeping occasionally across the face of the pale, sickly-looking moon that looked down on the weird scene in a sort of menacing way; while, in lieu of the two or three odd sentinels that had previously peeped out from the firmament, all the galaxies of heaven were, at this moment, in their myriads above, spangling the empyrean from zenith to pole.

But the gale!

While running before the wind, the wind, although it had ballooned our sails out to bursting point, brushing us along at a wild, mad-cap rate, and buffeting the boisterous billows on either hand, scooping them up from the depths of the ocean and piling them in immense waves of angry water that rolled after us, striving to overwhelm us, we could hardly, even while taking advantage of it, appreciate its awful and tremendous force.

On coming about, however, and facing it, the case was vastly different, the wind increasing tenfold in its intensity.

Where it had sung through the rigging it now shrieked and howled, as if the air were peopled with demons, while the waves, lashed into fury, dashed against our bows like battering rams, rising almost to the level of our masthead where their towering crests met overhead.

Round came the old barquey’s head slowly, and more slowly still as she staggered against the heavy sea, until, all at once, she stopped in stays, unable apparently, though struggling all she could, to face her remorseless foe.

“Luff up, quartermaster!” roared the skipper to the top of his voice and dancing up and down the bridge in his excitement. “Luff, you beggar, luff!”

“I can’t, sir,” yelled the man in desperation—a fresh hand who had come on duty to relieve Atkins at six bells. “The steam steering gear has broken-down, sir, and I can’t make her move.”

“By Jingo, that’s a bad job,” cried the skipper, but he was not long at a nonplus. “Run aft, Haldane, and you too, Spokeshave. Loosen the bunt of the mizzen-trysail and haul at the clew. That’ll bring her up to the wind fast enough, if the sail only stands it!”

To hear was to obey, and both Spokeshave and I scuttled down the bridge-ladder as quickly as we could and away along the waist of the ship aft, the urgency of our errand hastening our movements if we had needed any spur beyond the skipper’s sharp, imperative mandate.

But, speedily as we had hurried, on mounting the poop-ladder and rushing towards the bitts at the foot of the mizzenmast to cast off the bunt-lines and clewlines of the trysail we found we had been already forestalled by an earlier arrival on the scene of action.

This was Mr O’Neil, the second officer, whom I had left below asleep in his cabin when I came up at two bells from the saloon, he having been on duty all the afternoon and his services not being required again until night, when he would have to go on the bridge to take the first watch from eight to midnight.

Feeling the bucketing-about we were having in the trough of the sea when we came about, and probably awakened by the change of motion, just as a miller is supposed to be instantaneously roused by his mill stopping, though he may be able to sleep through all the noise of its grinding when at work, Garry O’Neil had at once shoved himself into his boots and monkey jacket and rushed up on the poop through the companion and booby-hatch that led up directly on deck from the saloon.

Arrived here, he had evidently noted the vessel’s insecurity, and, seamanlike, had hit upon the very same way out of the difficulty that had suggested itself to the skipper, having, ere we reached his side, cast off the ropes confining the folds of the trysail and trying singlehanded to haul out the clew.

“Begorrah, me bhoys, ye’ve come in the very nick o’ time!” he exclaimed on seeing us. “Here, Spoke, me darlint, hang on to the end of this sheet and you, Dick, step on to the tail of it, whilst I take a turn of the slack round that bollard! Faith, it’s blo’in’ like the dievle, and we’ll have our work cut out for us, me bhoys, to git a purchase on it anyhow. Now, all together, yo-heave-ho! Pull baker, pull dievle!”

With that, bending our backs to it, we all hauled away at the sheet, succeeding by a great endeavour in stretching the clew of the sail to the end of the boom, which we then secured amidships as best we could, though the spar and sail combined jerked to such an extent that it seemed as if the mizzenmast would be wrenched out of the ship each instant, the heavy fold of the canvas that hung loosely under the jaws of the gaff shaking and banging about with a noise like thunder.

Even the small amount of canvas exposed to the wind, however, was sufficient to supply the additional leverage required aft; and the engines working at half speed, with the headsails flattened, the ship’s bows were presently brought up to the wind, when we lay-to under easy steam.

“Well done, my lads!” sang out the skipper from the bridge, when the ship’s head was round and the peril of her broaching-to in the heavy seaway been fortunately averted; the wind was blowing aft, of course, and bringing his voice to us as if he stood by, and shouting in our very ears, “Now look sharp and come here under the bridge; I want you to cast off the lashings of the big wheel amidships and see that the yolk lines run clear. We shall have to manhandle the helm and steer from below, as the steam gear up here in the wheel-house is hopelessly jammed and will take a month of Sundays to get right!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” we made answer, under his nose, having been scurrying forwards while he was speaking, the Irish mate adding in his native vernacular, “Begorrah, we’ll rig up the whole, sir, in the twinkling of a bedpost, sure!”

“Hullo!” exclaimed the skipper, “is that you, O’Neil?”

“Faith, all that’s lift of me, sir!”

“How’s that?—I was just going to send down to your cabin to rouse you out.”

“Begorrah, its moighty little rousin’ I want, sor! The ould barquey’s that lively that she’d wake a man who’d been d’id for a wake, sure! I’ve been so rowled about in me burth and banged agin’ the bulkheads that my bones fell loike jelly and I’m blue-mouldy all over. But what d’ye want, cap’en? Sure, I’m helping the youngster with this whale here.”

“By jingo!” cried the skipper, “you’re the right man in the right place!”

“Faith, that’s what the gaolor s’id to the burghlor, sor, when he fixed him up noicely on the treadmill!”

The skipper laughed.

“Well, you fix up your job all right, and you’ll be as good as your friend the gaoler,” he said. “When we have the helm all alaunto again, we can bear up on our course and jog along comfortably. I think we are lucky to have got off so lightly, considering the wind and sea, with this steering gear breaking down at such an awkward moment!”

“Ah, we ain’t seed the worse on it yet, and you’d better not holler till ye’re out o’ the wood!” muttered old Masters under his breath, in reply to this expression of opinion of the skipper, the boatswain having come to our assistance with all the hands he could muster, so as to get the wheel below the bridge in working order as soon as possible. “I knowed that this ghost-ship meant sumkin’ and we ain’t come to the end o’ the log yet!”

Almost as he uttered the words, Mr Fosset came up the engine-room hatchway and made his way hurriedly towards us.

“By jingo, Fosset, here you are at last!” exclaimed the skipper on seeing him. “I thought you were never coming up again, finding it so jolly warm and comfortable below! Are things all right there now, and are the bilge-pumps working?”

Captain Applegarth spoke jocosely enough, everything being pretty easy on deck and the ship breasting the gale like a duck, but Mr Fosset’s face, I noticed, looked grave and he answered the other in a more serious fashion than his general wont, his mouth working nervously in the pale moonlight that lent him a more pallid air as the words dropped from his lips, making his countenance, indeed, almost like that of a corpse.

“But what, man!” exclaimed the skipper impatiently, interrupting his slow speech before Mr Fosset could get any further. “Anything wrong, eh?”

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry to say something is very wrong, I fear—very wrong below,” replied the other sadly. “There has been a sad accident in the stoke-hole!”

Old Masters, whose ears had been wide open to the conversation, here nudged me with his elbow as I stood beside him, and at the same time giving forth a grunt of deep and heartfelt significance.

“I knowed summet ’ud happen,” he whispered in a sepulchral voice that sounded all the more gruesome from the attendant circumstances, the shrieking wind tearing through the riggings, the melancholy wash of the waves alongside, the moaning and groaning of the poor old barquey’s timbers as if she were in grievous pain, while at that very moment the bell under the break of the fo’c’s’le struck eight bells slowly, as if tolling for a passing soul. “Youseed the ghost-ship, Mr Haldane, the same as me, forIsaw it, that I did!”

Chapter Seven.Disaster on Disaster.“Accident in the stoke-hold!” repeated the skipper, who of course did not overhear the old boatswain’s aside to me. “Accident in the stoke-hold!” again repeated the skipper; “anybody hurt?”“Yes, sir,” replied the first mate in the same grave tone of voice. “Mr Stokes and two of the firemen.”“Seriously?”“Not all, sir,” said the other, glancing round as if looking for some one specially. “The chief engineer has one of his arms broken and a few scratches, but the firemen are both injured, and one so badly hurt that I fear he won’t get over it, for his ribs have been crushed in and his lower extremities seem paralysed!”“Good heavens!” exclaimed the skipper. “How did the accident happen?”“They were searching under the stoke-hold plates to get out some cotton waste that had got entangled about the rosebox of the suctions, which, as we found out, prevented the bilge-pumps from acting, when, all in a moment, just when all the stray dunnage had been cleared out, the ship gave a lurch and the plates buckled up, catching the lot of them, Mr Stokes and all, in a sort of rat trap. Mr Stokes tumbled forwards on his face in the water and was nearly drowned before Stoddart and I could pull him out, the poor old chap was so heavy to lift, and he nearly squashed Blanchard, the stoker, by falling on top of him as we were trying to raise him up, cutting his head open besides, against the fire bars. Poor Jackson, however, the other fireman, was gripped tight between two of the plates and it was all we could do to release him, Stoddart having to use a jack-saw to force the edges of the plates back.”“My God! horrible, horrible!” ejaculated the skipper, terribly upset and concerned. “Poor fellows; Jackson, too, was the best hand Stokes had below!”“Aye, sir, and as good a mechanic, too, I’ve heard them say, as any of the engineers,” agreed Mr Fosset, with equal feeling. “But, sir, I’m losing time talking like this! I only came up for assistance for the poor fellows and the others who are wounded. Where’s Garry O’Neil?”“Why, he was here under the bridge a moment ago,” cried the skipper eagerly. “Hullo, O’Neil? Pass the word up, men, for Mr O’Neil. He’s wanted at once! Sharp, look alive!”Our second officer, it should be explained, was not only a sailor but a surgeon as well. He had run away to sea as a boy, and, after working his way up before the mast until he had acquired sufficient seamanship to obtain a mate’s certificate, he had, at his mother’s entreaty, she having a holy horror of salt water, abandoned his native element and studied for the medical profession at Trinity College, Dublin. Here, after four years’ practice in walking the hospitals, he graduated with full honours, much to his mother’s delight. The old lady, however, dying some little time after, he, feeling no longer bound by any tie at home, and having indeed sacrificed his own wishes for her sake, incontinently gave up his newly-fledged dignity of “Doctor” Garry O’Neil, returning to his old love and embracing once more a sea-faring life, which he has stuck to ever since. He had sailed with us in theStar of the Northnow for over a twelvemonth, in the first instance as third officer and for the last two voyages as second mate, the fact of his being a qualified surgeon standing him in good stead and making him even a more important personage on board than his position warranted, cargo steamers not being in the habit of carrying a medical man like passenger ships, and sailorly qualities and surgical skill interchangeable characteristics!Hitherto we had been fortunate enough to have no necessity for availing ourselves of his professional services, but now they came in handy enough in good sooth.“Mr O’Neil?” sang out the men on the lower deck, passing on his name in obedience to the skipper’s orders from hand to hand, till the hail reached the after hatchway, down which Spokeshave roared with all the power of his lungs, being anxious on his own account to be heard and so released from his watch so that he could go below. “Mr O’Neil?” he again yelled out.Spokeshave must have shouted down the Irishman’s throat, for the next instant he poked his head up the hatchway.“Here I am, bedad!” he exclaimed, shoving past Master “Conky,” to whom he had a strong dislike, though “Garry,” as we all called him, was friendly with every one with whom he was brought in contact, and was, himself, a great favourite with all the hands on board. Now, as he made his way towards the bridge, where some of the men were still singing out his name, he cried out, “Who wants me, sure? Now, don’t ye be all spaking at once; one at a time, me darlints, as we all came into the wurrld!”“Why, where did you get to, man?” said the skipper, somewhat crossly. “We’ve been hunting all over the ship for you!”“Sure, I wint down into the stowage to say if the yolklines and chains for the wheel were all clear, and to disconnect the shtame stayrin’ gear,” replied our friend Garry. “But you’ll find it all right now, with the helm amidships, and you can steer her wheriver you like; only you’ll want four hands at least to hauld the spokes steady if she breaks off, as I fear she will, in this say!”“That’s all right,” cried the skipper, appeased at once, for he evidently thought that Garry had gone back to his cabin and left us in the lurch. “But I’ve bad news, and sorry to say, O’Neil, we want your services as a doctor now. There’s been a bad accident in the stoke-hold and some of the poor fellows are sadly hurt.”“Indade, now!” ejaculated the other, all attention. “What’s the matter? Any one scalded by the shtame, sure?”“No, not that,” said Mr Fosset, taking up the tale. “Mr Stokes has had his arm broken and another poor fellow been almost crushed to death. He’s now insensible, or was when I came on deck so you’d better take some stimulant as well as splints with you.”“Faith, I understand all right and will follow your advice in a brace of shakes,” replied the second mate, as he rushed off towards the saloon. “You’d better go on ahead, Fosset, and say I’m coming!”With these parting words both he and the first officer disappeared from view, the latter hastening back to the engine-room, while the captain slowly mounted the bridge-ladder again and resumed his post there by the binnacle, after placing four of the best hands at the wheel amidships with old Masters, the boatswain, in charge.“Ah, what d’ye think o’ that now?” observed the latter to me, as I stood there awaiting my orders from the skipper, or to hear anything he might have to say to me. “I said as how summut was sure to happen. That there ship—the ghost-ship—didn’t come athwart our hawser for nothink, I knowed!”Just then there was a call up the voicepipe communicating between the wheel-house on the bridge and the engine-room.The skipper bent his ear to the pipe, listening to what those below had to say, and then came to the top of the ladder.“Below there!” he sang out. “Is Mr Spokeshave anywhere about?”“No, sir,” I answered. “He went off duty at eight bells.”“The devil he did, and me in such a plight, too, with that awful accident below!” cried Captain Applegarth angrily. “I suppose he’s thinking of his belly again, the gourmandising little beast! He isn’t half a sailor or worth a purser’s parings! I’ll make him pay for his skulking presently, by Jingo! However, I can’t waste the time now to send after him, and you’ll do as well, Haldane—better, indeed, I think!”“All right, sir,” said I, eager for action. “I’m ready to do anything.”“That’s a willing lad,” cried the skipper. “Now run down into Garry O’Neil’s cabin and get some lint bandages he says he forgot to take with him in his hurry, leaving them on the top of his bunk by the doorway; and tell Weston, the steward, to have a couple of spare bunks ready for the injured men—in one of the state rooms aft will be best.”“All right, sir,” said I, adding, as he seemed to hesitate, “anything else, sir?”“Yes, my boy; take down a loose hammock with you, and some lashings, so as to make a sort of net with which to lift and carry poor Jackson. He’s the only chap badly hurt and unable to shift for himself, so O’Neil says. Look sharp, Haldane, there’s no time to lose; the poor fellow’s in a very ticklish state and they want to get him up on deck in order to examine his injuries better than they can below in the stoke-hold!”“Aye, aye, sir!” I answered, darting aft immediately, to avoid further debation, towards the saloon door under the poop. “I’moff, sir, at once!”Here I soon got what the Irishman had asked for out of his cabin, and, giving Weston his order about the state room, unslinging the while my own hammock from its hooks and rolling it up, blankets and all, in a roll, I kicked it before me as I made my way down the engine-room hatchway as quickly as I could.The machinery, I noticed when passing through the flat to the stoke-hold, which was, of course, on a still lower level, was working away pretty easily, the piston in the cylinder moving steadily up and down, and the eccentric, which always appeared to me as a sort of bandy-legged giant, executing its extraordinary double-shuffle in a more graceful fashion than when we were going at full speed, as it performed its allotted task of curvetting the up-and-down motion of the piston into a circular one, thus making the shaft revolve; while Grummet, the third engineer, who was still watching the throttle valve, hand on lever, had a far easier job than previously, when we were running with full power before wind and sea, and rolling and pitching at every angle every minute.But even in the fleeting glance I had passing by, the screw still went round in a dangerous way when the stern of the vessel lifted, as some big wave passed under her keel, in spite of all Grummet’s precautions in turning off steam and I could not help wondering how long the engines would stand the strain, which was all the more perilous from being intermittent.On reaching my destination below, however, all thought of the machinery and any possible damage to the ship was instantly banished from my mind by the sight that met my gaze.In the narrow stoke-hold, lit up by the ruddy glare of the furnace fires, the light from which enabled me to see the brackish bilge water washing about beneath the hole in the flooring and gurgling up through the broken portplates there, I saw that a group of half-naked firemen, and others, were bending over a pile of empty coal sacks heaped up against the further bulkhead, dividing the occupied apartments from the main hold, as far away as possible from the blazing fires, on which one of the stokers on duty pitched occasionally a shovelful of fuel, or smoothed the surface of the glowing embers with a long-toothed rake.I couldn’t distinguish at first any one in particular, the backs of all being towards me as I came down the slippery steel ladder, carrying the hammock, for I had taken the precaution of hoisting it on my shoulders on leaving the engine-flat above, in order to prevent its getting wet, while the noise of the machinery overhead and the roar of the furnaces, coupled with the washing of the water, prevented my hearing any distant sound.Presently however, I recognised Garry O’Neil’s voice above the general din.“Clear off, ye murthorin’ divvles!” he cried, waving his arms above the heads of the crowd of onlookers, as I could now see. “The poor chap wants air, and ye’re stayling the viry br’ith out of his nosshrils! Away wid ye all, ye spalpeens! or by the powers, it’s a-pizening the howl batch of ye I’ll be doin’ the next toime ye comes to me for pill or powdher!”The men clustering round him spread out, moving nearer to me; and they laughed at his comical threat—which sounded all the more humorous from the Irishman’s racy brogue, which became all the more prominent when Garry was at all excited. God knows, though, their merriment, untimely as it might have sounded to outside ears, betrayed no want of sympathy with their comrade. They laughed, as sailors will do sometimes, holding their lives in their hands, as is the practice of those who have to brave the manifold dangers of the deep below and aloft on shipboard, even when standing on the brink of eternity.As they moved away, the fierce light from one of the open furnace doors was beating on their bare bodies and making them look, indeed, the very devils to whom the Irishman had jocularly likened them; the latter looked up quickly, saw me, and beckoned me to approach nearer.“Arrah, come along, man, with those bandages!” he said. “Sure ye moight have made ’em in the toime since I called up to the skipper. Where are they now, me darlint?”I produced the roll of lint at once from the pocket of my monkey jacket.“Hullo!” said he as he took and deftly proceeded to unroll the bundle of bandages, “what’s that you’ve got on your shoulders—a rick?”“A hammock, sir,” I replied. “Cap’en Applegarth told me to bring one down for lifting the poor chap who’s so hurt, and so I took my own, which had blankets already in it, thinking it would be warmer for him, sir.”“Begorrah, the skipper’s got his head screwed on straight, and you the same, too, Haldane,” said he approvingly, with a sagacious nod as he bent over the pile of sacks in the corner. “Come and see the poor fellow, me bhoy. There doesn’t seem much loife lift in him, sure, hay?”There certainly did not; to me he looked already dead.Stretched out on the pile of dirty sacking, in a half-sitting, half-reclining position, lay the recumbent figure, or rather form, of the unfortunate fireman Jackson, his face as ghastly as that of a corpse, while his rigid limbs and the absence of all appearance of respiration tended to confirm the belief that the spark of life had fled.Stoddart, the second engineer, was kneeling beside the poor fellow, rubbing his hands and holding every now and then to his nose what seemed to me a bottle of ammonia or some very pungent restorative, the powerful fumes of which overcame the foetid atmosphere of the stoke-hold, Mr Stokes, looking almost as pale as the unconscious man, assisting with his unwounded arm, with which he lifted Jackson’s head, his broken one being already set in splints by our doctor-mate.Blanchard, the other sufferer from the accident, was sitting down on a bench near by, evidently recovering from the shock he had experienced, which really was not so serious as at first anticipated, a rather stiff glass of brandy and water which Garry had given him, having pretty soon brought him to himself.All our attention, therefore, concentrated on Jackson, who, as yet, made no sign of amendment, in spite of every remedy tried by O’Neil.“By George!” exclaimed Mr Stokes, a few minutes later when we all began to despair of ever bringing him back to life again. “I’m sure I felt his head move then!”“Aye, sir,” corroborated Stoddart, pressing his hand gently on Jackson’s chest, to feel his heart, where a slight convulsive movement became perceptible, at first feeble and uncertain enough, as you may suppose, but then more and more sustained and regular, as if the lungs were getting to work again. “Look alive! he’s beginning to breathe again—and—yes—his heart beats, I declare, quite plain!”“Hurray!” shouted Garry O’Neil, hastily putting to his patient’s lips a medicine glass, into which he dropped something out of a small vial, filling up the glass with water. “I’ve got something here shtrang enough, begorrah, to make a dead man spake!”The effect of the drug, whatever it was, seemed magical. In an instant the previously motionless figure moved about uneasily, the pulsation of his chest grew more rapid and pronounced, and then, stretching out his clenched hands with a jerk, as if he were suddenly galvanised into life, thereby displaying the magnificent proportions of his torso, he being stripped to the waist, Jackson opened his eyes, drawing a deep breath the while, a breath something between a sob and a sigh!“Where—where am I?” he said, looking round with a sort of far-away, dreamy stare, but meeting Mr Stokes’ sympathetic gaze, he at once seemed to recover his consciousness. “Ah, I know, sir. I found out what was the matter with the suction before that plate buckled and gripped me. I have cleared the rose box, too, sir, and you can connect the bilge-pumps again as soon as you like, sir.”Of course all this took him some time to get out.“All right, my man,” answered the old chief, greatly overcome at the fact of the old sailor, wounded to the death, thinking of his duty in the first moment of his recovery. “Never mind that, man! How do you feel now, my poor fellow—better, I trust?”“Why, just a little pain here, sir,” said Jackson, pressing his hand to his right side. “I’m thankful, though, my legs escaped, sir. I’ve no pain there.”Garry O’Neil looked grave and shook his head at this, and looking too as he cast down his eyes over the lower part of the unfortunate man’s body, I saw that the cruel edges of the iron plates had torn away part of his canvas overalls from the thigh to the knee of one leg, peeling off with the covering, the flesh from the bone; while the foot of the other—boot and all—was crushed into a shapeless bloody mass horrible to behold, the sight making one feel sick.“It’s a bad sign his having no fayling there, Haldane,” whispered the Irishman to me very low, so that Jackson could not hear. “It’s jost what I thought, sure. God may help him, but I can’t. He’ll niver recover, do what we moight for him, niver in this worruld. The poor misfortunate fellow has his spoine injured, and he can’t live forty-eight hours, if as long as that, sure!”He did not tell him this, however; nor did he lead any of the others to understand, either, that Jackson’s case was hopeless!On the contrary, when he spoke aloud, as he did immediately afterwards, he seemed in the best of spirits, as if everything was going on as well as possible, though I noticed a tear in his eye and a quiver in his voice that touched me to the heart, making me turn away my head.“Now you mustn’t talk now, old fellow, for we want you to husband all your strength to get up the hatchway to a foine cabin of yer own on the upper deck, where we’re goin’ to nurse ye, me darlint, till ye’re all roight, sure!” he said cheerfully. “Here, now, just dhrink another drop of the craythur, me bhoy, to kape yer spirits up, and you, Master Haldane, jist hand over that hammock ye’ve got storved away on ye shulder, so that we can fix up Jackson comfortable like for his trip to the upper reggins!”So saying, the good-hearted Irishman busied himself, with the help of Stoddart, who was equally gentle in handling the poor fellow, getting him ready for removal; and when he had been carefully placed in the hammock and covered with the blanket, the two of them, both being strong and powerful men, they lifted their burden with the utmost tenderness and carried him upward to the main deck, where he was put into a berth in one of the state rooms that the steward had prepared, and every attention paid him.Mr Fosset and I helped up Blanchard, the other fireman, he, luckily, not requiring to be carried; and we then went down for Mr Stokes, who had refused to leave the stoke-hold until his men had been attended to.Propping up the stout old chap behind so that he could not slip back down the slippery steel ladder, as he only had the one arm now to hold on by, the three of us reached the level of the engine-room all right, the chief, resting here a moment to give a look round and a word to Grummet, who of course was still in charge, telling him to slow down still further and use all his spare steam for clearing the bilge, as the sluice valves had been opened to prevent the fires being flooded out, and the pumps were in good working order again.Grummet promised to attend carefully to these directions, and a host of others I cannot now recollect, poor Mr Stokes being as fussy and fidgetty as he was fat, and in the habit of unintentionally worrying his subordinates a good deal in this way, and the three of us again started on our way upwards, the old chief leading, as before, and Mr Fosset and I bringing up the rear very slowly, so as to prevent accident, when all at once there was a fearful crash that echoed through my brain, followed by a violent concussion of the air which nearly threw us all down the engine-room ladder, though Mr Fosset and I were both hanging on to it like grim death and supporting the whole weight of Mr Stokes between us.At the same instant, too, the crank shaft stopped revolving, all motion of the machinery ceased, and the hatchway, with all the space around us, was filled by a dense cloud of hot steam!

“Accident in the stoke-hold!” repeated the skipper, who of course did not overhear the old boatswain’s aside to me. “Accident in the stoke-hold!” again repeated the skipper; “anybody hurt?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the first mate in the same grave tone of voice. “Mr Stokes and two of the firemen.”

“Seriously?”

“Not all, sir,” said the other, glancing round as if looking for some one specially. “The chief engineer has one of his arms broken and a few scratches, but the firemen are both injured, and one so badly hurt that I fear he won’t get over it, for his ribs have been crushed in and his lower extremities seem paralysed!”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed the skipper. “How did the accident happen?”

“They were searching under the stoke-hold plates to get out some cotton waste that had got entangled about the rosebox of the suctions, which, as we found out, prevented the bilge-pumps from acting, when, all in a moment, just when all the stray dunnage had been cleared out, the ship gave a lurch and the plates buckled up, catching the lot of them, Mr Stokes and all, in a sort of rat trap. Mr Stokes tumbled forwards on his face in the water and was nearly drowned before Stoddart and I could pull him out, the poor old chap was so heavy to lift, and he nearly squashed Blanchard, the stoker, by falling on top of him as we were trying to raise him up, cutting his head open besides, against the fire bars. Poor Jackson, however, the other fireman, was gripped tight between two of the plates and it was all we could do to release him, Stoddart having to use a jack-saw to force the edges of the plates back.”

“My God! horrible, horrible!” ejaculated the skipper, terribly upset and concerned. “Poor fellows; Jackson, too, was the best hand Stokes had below!”

“Aye, sir, and as good a mechanic, too, I’ve heard them say, as any of the engineers,” agreed Mr Fosset, with equal feeling. “But, sir, I’m losing time talking like this! I only came up for assistance for the poor fellows and the others who are wounded. Where’s Garry O’Neil?”

“Why, he was here under the bridge a moment ago,” cried the skipper eagerly. “Hullo, O’Neil? Pass the word up, men, for Mr O’Neil. He’s wanted at once! Sharp, look alive!”

Our second officer, it should be explained, was not only a sailor but a surgeon as well. He had run away to sea as a boy, and, after working his way up before the mast until he had acquired sufficient seamanship to obtain a mate’s certificate, he had, at his mother’s entreaty, she having a holy horror of salt water, abandoned his native element and studied for the medical profession at Trinity College, Dublin. Here, after four years’ practice in walking the hospitals, he graduated with full honours, much to his mother’s delight. The old lady, however, dying some little time after, he, feeling no longer bound by any tie at home, and having indeed sacrificed his own wishes for her sake, incontinently gave up his newly-fledged dignity of “Doctor” Garry O’Neil, returning to his old love and embracing once more a sea-faring life, which he has stuck to ever since. He had sailed with us in theStar of the Northnow for over a twelvemonth, in the first instance as third officer and for the last two voyages as second mate, the fact of his being a qualified surgeon standing him in good stead and making him even a more important personage on board than his position warranted, cargo steamers not being in the habit of carrying a medical man like passenger ships, and sailorly qualities and surgical skill interchangeable characteristics!

Hitherto we had been fortunate enough to have no necessity for availing ourselves of his professional services, but now they came in handy enough in good sooth.

“Mr O’Neil?” sang out the men on the lower deck, passing on his name in obedience to the skipper’s orders from hand to hand, till the hail reached the after hatchway, down which Spokeshave roared with all the power of his lungs, being anxious on his own account to be heard and so released from his watch so that he could go below. “Mr O’Neil?” he again yelled out.

Spokeshave must have shouted down the Irishman’s throat, for the next instant he poked his head up the hatchway.

“Here I am, bedad!” he exclaimed, shoving past Master “Conky,” to whom he had a strong dislike, though “Garry,” as we all called him, was friendly with every one with whom he was brought in contact, and was, himself, a great favourite with all the hands on board. Now, as he made his way towards the bridge, where some of the men were still singing out his name, he cried out, “Who wants me, sure? Now, don’t ye be all spaking at once; one at a time, me darlints, as we all came into the wurrld!”

“Why, where did you get to, man?” said the skipper, somewhat crossly. “We’ve been hunting all over the ship for you!”

“Sure, I wint down into the stowage to say if the yolklines and chains for the wheel were all clear, and to disconnect the shtame stayrin’ gear,” replied our friend Garry. “But you’ll find it all right now, with the helm amidships, and you can steer her wheriver you like; only you’ll want four hands at least to hauld the spokes steady if she breaks off, as I fear she will, in this say!”

“That’s all right,” cried the skipper, appeased at once, for he evidently thought that Garry had gone back to his cabin and left us in the lurch. “But I’ve bad news, and sorry to say, O’Neil, we want your services as a doctor now. There’s been a bad accident in the stoke-hold and some of the poor fellows are sadly hurt.”

“Indade, now!” ejaculated the other, all attention. “What’s the matter? Any one scalded by the shtame, sure?”

“No, not that,” said Mr Fosset, taking up the tale. “Mr Stokes has had his arm broken and another poor fellow been almost crushed to death. He’s now insensible, or was when I came on deck so you’d better take some stimulant as well as splints with you.”

“Faith, I understand all right and will follow your advice in a brace of shakes,” replied the second mate, as he rushed off towards the saloon. “You’d better go on ahead, Fosset, and say I’m coming!”

With these parting words both he and the first officer disappeared from view, the latter hastening back to the engine-room, while the captain slowly mounted the bridge-ladder again and resumed his post there by the binnacle, after placing four of the best hands at the wheel amidships with old Masters, the boatswain, in charge.

“Ah, what d’ye think o’ that now?” observed the latter to me, as I stood there awaiting my orders from the skipper, or to hear anything he might have to say to me. “I said as how summut was sure to happen. That there ship—the ghost-ship—didn’t come athwart our hawser for nothink, I knowed!”

Just then there was a call up the voicepipe communicating between the wheel-house on the bridge and the engine-room.

The skipper bent his ear to the pipe, listening to what those below had to say, and then came to the top of the ladder.

“Below there!” he sang out. “Is Mr Spokeshave anywhere about?”

“No, sir,” I answered. “He went off duty at eight bells.”

“The devil he did, and me in such a plight, too, with that awful accident below!” cried Captain Applegarth angrily. “I suppose he’s thinking of his belly again, the gourmandising little beast! He isn’t half a sailor or worth a purser’s parings! I’ll make him pay for his skulking presently, by Jingo! However, I can’t waste the time now to send after him, and you’ll do as well, Haldane—better, indeed, I think!”

“All right, sir,” said I, eager for action. “I’m ready to do anything.”

“That’s a willing lad,” cried the skipper. “Now run down into Garry O’Neil’s cabin and get some lint bandages he says he forgot to take with him in his hurry, leaving them on the top of his bunk by the doorway; and tell Weston, the steward, to have a couple of spare bunks ready for the injured men—in one of the state rooms aft will be best.”

“All right, sir,” said I, adding, as he seemed to hesitate, “anything else, sir?”

“Yes, my boy; take down a loose hammock with you, and some lashings, so as to make a sort of net with which to lift and carry poor Jackson. He’s the only chap badly hurt and unable to shift for himself, so O’Neil says. Look sharp, Haldane, there’s no time to lose; the poor fellow’s in a very ticklish state and they want to get him up on deck in order to examine his injuries better than they can below in the stoke-hold!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” I answered, darting aft immediately, to avoid further debation, towards the saloon door under the poop. “I’moff, sir, at once!”

Here I soon got what the Irishman had asked for out of his cabin, and, giving Weston his order about the state room, unslinging the while my own hammock from its hooks and rolling it up, blankets and all, in a roll, I kicked it before me as I made my way down the engine-room hatchway as quickly as I could.

The machinery, I noticed when passing through the flat to the stoke-hold, which was, of course, on a still lower level, was working away pretty easily, the piston in the cylinder moving steadily up and down, and the eccentric, which always appeared to me as a sort of bandy-legged giant, executing its extraordinary double-shuffle in a more graceful fashion than when we were going at full speed, as it performed its allotted task of curvetting the up-and-down motion of the piston into a circular one, thus making the shaft revolve; while Grummet, the third engineer, who was still watching the throttle valve, hand on lever, had a far easier job than previously, when we were running with full power before wind and sea, and rolling and pitching at every angle every minute.

But even in the fleeting glance I had passing by, the screw still went round in a dangerous way when the stern of the vessel lifted, as some big wave passed under her keel, in spite of all Grummet’s precautions in turning off steam and I could not help wondering how long the engines would stand the strain, which was all the more perilous from being intermittent.

On reaching my destination below, however, all thought of the machinery and any possible damage to the ship was instantly banished from my mind by the sight that met my gaze.

In the narrow stoke-hold, lit up by the ruddy glare of the furnace fires, the light from which enabled me to see the brackish bilge water washing about beneath the hole in the flooring and gurgling up through the broken portplates there, I saw that a group of half-naked firemen, and others, were bending over a pile of empty coal sacks heaped up against the further bulkhead, dividing the occupied apartments from the main hold, as far away as possible from the blazing fires, on which one of the stokers on duty pitched occasionally a shovelful of fuel, or smoothed the surface of the glowing embers with a long-toothed rake.

I couldn’t distinguish at first any one in particular, the backs of all being towards me as I came down the slippery steel ladder, carrying the hammock, for I had taken the precaution of hoisting it on my shoulders on leaving the engine-flat above, in order to prevent its getting wet, while the noise of the machinery overhead and the roar of the furnaces, coupled with the washing of the water, prevented my hearing any distant sound.

Presently however, I recognised Garry O’Neil’s voice above the general din.

“Clear off, ye murthorin’ divvles!” he cried, waving his arms above the heads of the crowd of onlookers, as I could now see. “The poor chap wants air, and ye’re stayling the viry br’ith out of his nosshrils! Away wid ye all, ye spalpeens! or by the powers, it’s a-pizening the howl batch of ye I’ll be doin’ the next toime ye comes to me for pill or powdher!”

The men clustering round him spread out, moving nearer to me; and they laughed at his comical threat—which sounded all the more humorous from the Irishman’s racy brogue, which became all the more prominent when Garry was at all excited. God knows, though, their merriment, untimely as it might have sounded to outside ears, betrayed no want of sympathy with their comrade. They laughed, as sailors will do sometimes, holding their lives in their hands, as is the practice of those who have to brave the manifold dangers of the deep below and aloft on shipboard, even when standing on the brink of eternity.

As they moved away, the fierce light from one of the open furnace doors was beating on their bare bodies and making them look, indeed, the very devils to whom the Irishman had jocularly likened them; the latter looked up quickly, saw me, and beckoned me to approach nearer.

“Arrah, come along, man, with those bandages!” he said. “Sure ye moight have made ’em in the toime since I called up to the skipper. Where are they now, me darlint?”

I produced the roll of lint at once from the pocket of my monkey jacket.

“Hullo!” said he as he took and deftly proceeded to unroll the bundle of bandages, “what’s that you’ve got on your shoulders—a rick?”

“A hammock, sir,” I replied. “Cap’en Applegarth told me to bring one down for lifting the poor chap who’s so hurt, and so I took my own, which had blankets already in it, thinking it would be warmer for him, sir.”

“Begorrah, the skipper’s got his head screwed on straight, and you the same, too, Haldane,” said he approvingly, with a sagacious nod as he bent over the pile of sacks in the corner. “Come and see the poor fellow, me bhoy. There doesn’t seem much loife lift in him, sure, hay?”

There certainly did not; to me he looked already dead.

Stretched out on the pile of dirty sacking, in a half-sitting, half-reclining position, lay the recumbent figure, or rather form, of the unfortunate fireman Jackson, his face as ghastly as that of a corpse, while his rigid limbs and the absence of all appearance of respiration tended to confirm the belief that the spark of life had fled.

Stoddart, the second engineer, was kneeling beside the poor fellow, rubbing his hands and holding every now and then to his nose what seemed to me a bottle of ammonia or some very pungent restorative, the powerful fumes of which overcame the foetid atmosphere of the stoke-hold, Mr Stokes, looking almost as pale as the unconscious man, assisting with his unwounded arm, with which he lifted Jackson’s head, his broken one being already set in splints by our doctor-mate.

Blanchard, the other sufferer from the accident, was sitting down on a bench near by, evidently recovering from the shock he had experienced, which really was not so serious as at first anticipated, a rather stiff glass of brandy and water which Garry had given him, having pretty soon brought him to himself.

All our attention, therefore, concentrated on Jackson, who, as yet, made no sign of amendment, in spite of every remedy tried by O’Neil.

“By George!” exclaimed Mr Stokes, a few minutes later when we all began to despair of ever bringing him back to life again. “I’m sure I felt his head move then!”

“Aye, sir,” corroborated Stoddart, pressing his hand gently on Jackson’s chest, to feel his heart, where a slight convulsive movement became perceptible, at first feeble and uncertain enough, as you may suppose, but then more and more sustained and regular, as if the lungs were getting to work again. “Look alive! he’s beginning to breathe again—and—yes—his heart beats, I declare, quite plain!”

“Hurray!” shouted Garry O’Neil, hastily putting to his patient’s lips a medicine glass, into which he dropped something out of a small vial, filling up the glass with water. “I’ve got something here shtrang enough, begorrah, to make a dead man spake!”

The effect of the drug, whatever it was, seemed magical. In an instant the previously motionless figure moved about uneasily, the pulsation of his chest grew more rapid and pronounced, and then, stretching out his clenched hands with a jerk, as if he were suddenly galvanised into life, thereby displaying the magnificent proportions of his torso, he being stripped to the waist, Jackson opened his eyes, drawing a deep breath the while, a breath something between a sob and a sigh!

“Where—where am I?” he said, looking round with a sort of far-away, dreamy stare, but meeting Mr Stokes’ sympathetic gaze, he at once seemed to recover his consciousness. “Ah, I know, sir. I found out what was the matter with the suction before that plate buckled and gripped me. I have cleared the rose box, too, sir, and you can connect the bilge-pumps again as soon as you like, sir.”

Of course all this took him some time to get out.

“All right, my man,” answered the old chief, greatly overcome at the fact of the old sailor, wounded to the death, thinking of his duty in the first moment of his recovery. “Never mind that, man! How do you feel now, my poor fellow—better, I trust?”

“Why, just a little pain here, sir,” said Jackson, pressing his hand to his right side. “I’m thankful, though, my legs escaped, sir. I’ve no pain there.”

Garry O’Neil looked grave and shook his head at this, and looking too as he cast down his eyes over the lower part of the unfortunate man’s body, I saw that the cruel edges of the iron plates had torn away part of his canvas overalls from the thigh to the knee of one leg, peeling off with the covering, the flesh from the bone; while the foot of the other—boot and all—was crushed into a shapeless bloody mass horrible to behold, the sight making one feel sick.

“It’s a bad sign his having no fayling there, Haldane,” whispered the Irishman to me very low, so that Jackson could not hear. “It’s jost what I thought, sure. God may help him, but I can’t. He’ll niver recover, do what we moight for him, niver in this worruld. The poor misfortunate fellow has his spoine injured, and he can’t live forty-eight hours, if as long as that, sure!”

He did not tell him this, however; nor did he lead any of the others to understand, either, that Jackson’s case was hopeless!

On the contrary, when he spoke aloud, as he did immediately afterwards, he seemed in the best of spirits, as if everything was going on as well as possible, though I noticed a tear in his eye and a quiver in his voice that touched me to the heart, making me turn away my head.

“Now you mustn’t talk now, old fellow, for we want you to husband all your strength to get up the hatchway to a foine cabin of yer own on the upper deck, where we’re goin’ to nurse ye, me darlint, till ye’re all roight, sure!” he said cheerfully. “Here, now, just dhrink another drop of the craythur, me bhoy, to kape yer spirits up, and you, Master Haldane, jist hand over that hammock ye’ve got storved away on ye shulder, so that we can fix up Jackson comfortable like for his trip to the upper reggins!”

So saying, the good-hearted Irishman busied himself, with the help of Stoddart, who was equally gentle in handling the poor fellow, getting him ready for removal; and when he had been carefully placed in the hammock and covered with the blanket, the two of them, both being strong and powerful men, they lifted their burden with the utmost tenderness and carried him upward to the main deck, where he was put into a berth in one of the state rooms that the steward had prepared, and every attention paid him.

Mr Fosset and I helped up Blanchard, the other fireman, he, luckily, not requiring to be carried; and we then went down for Mr Stokes, who had refused to leave the stoke-hold until his men had been attended to.

Propping up the stout old chap behind so that he could not slip back down the slippery steel ladder, as he only had the one arm now to hold on by, the three of us reached the level of the engine-room all right, the chief, resting here a moment to give a look round and a word to Grummet, who of course was still in charge, telling him to slow down still further and use all his spare steam for clearing the bilge, as the sluice valves had been opened to prevent the fires being flooded out, and the pumps were in good working order again.

Grummet promised to attend carefully to these directions, and a host of others I cannot now recollect, poor Mr Stokes being as fussy and fidgetty as he was fat, and in the habit of unintentionally worrying his subordinates a good deal in this way, and the three of us again started on our way upwards, the old chief leading, as before, and Mr Fosset and I bringing up the rear very slowly, so as to prevent accident, when all at once there was a fearful crash that echoed through my brain, followed by a violent concussion of the air which nearly threw us all down the engine-room ladder, though Mr Fosset and I were both hanging on to it like grim death and supporting the whole weight of Mr Stokes between us.

At the same instant, too, the crank shaft stopped revolving, all motion of the machinery ceased, and the hatchway, with all the space around us, was filled by a dense cloud of hot steam!

Chapter Eight.Anchored.Nor was this the worst, for hardly had we begun to draw breath again in the stifling vapour-bath-like atmosphere surrounding us, ere we could utter a cry, indeed, or exchange a word of speech with reference to what had just occurred, there arose a sudden and violent oscillation of the vessel, which pitched and rolled, and then heeled over suddenly to port, while an avalanche of water came thundering down the hatchway on top of our heads.“Good Lord, we’re lost!” gulped out Mr Stokes as we all floundered together on the grating forming the floor of the engine-room, where fortunately the flood had washed us, instead of hustling us down the stoke-hold below, where all three of us would most inevitably have been killed by the fall. “A boiler’s burst and the ship broached-to!”“Not quite so bad as that, sir,” sang out the voice of Grummet in the distance, the thick vapour lending it a far-away sound. “The vessel is recovering herself again, and the cylinder cover’s blown off, sir—that’s all!”“All, indeed!” exclaimed the old chief in a despairing tone as he staggered to his feet, enabling Mr Fosset and myself to rise up too—an impossibility before, as he was right on top of us, and had served us out worse than the water had done. “Quite enough damage for me, and all of us, I think!”“How’s your arm, Mr Stokes?” asked Mr Fosset as the atmosphere cleared a little and the engine-room lights glimmered through the misty darkness that now enveloped the place. “I hope it hasn’t been hurt by your tumble?”“Oh, damn my arm!” cried the other impatiently, evidently more anxious about the machinery than his arm. “Have you shut off the steam?”“Yes, sir,” replied his subordinate calmly. “I closed all the stop valves up here the moment I knew what had happened; and the men below in the stoke-hold have cut off the supply from the main pipe, while Mr Links has gone into the screw well to disconnect the propeller.”“Very good, Grummet. So they be all right down below?”“All right, sir.”“Thank God for that! How about the fires?”“Drowned out, sir, all but the one under the fire boiler on the starboard side.”“You’d better look after that, to keep the bilge-pumps going, or else it’ll be all drowned out, with this lot of water coming down the hatchway every time the ship rolls! I do hope the skipper will lie-to and keep her head to sea until we can get the engines going again, though I’m afraid that’ll be a long job!”Before Grummet could reply to this, Stoddart, the second officer, or rather engineer, came scrambling down from the saloon, where he had been assisting Garry O’Neil in making poor Jackson comfortable, the escape of the steam having evidently told its own tale to an expert like himself.Although a younger man than Mr Stokes, his brains were considerably sharper and he was a better mechanic in every way; so now, when, after examining the damage done to the cylinder, he made light of the accident, instead of groaning over it like the old chief. Mr Fosset, I could see, and with him myself also, who shared his belief, saw that the injury was not irreparable and that it might certainly have been worse.“Of course it can’t be done in a day!” Stoddart said; “still it can be patched up.”“That’s all very well,” interposed Mr Stokes, holding to his despondent view of the situation. “But I’d like to know how you’re going to get that cracked cover off the cylinder with the vessel rolling like this!”“Oh, I’ll manage that easy enough,” said the energetic fellow in his confident way. “I’ve done worse jobs than that in a heavy sea. Why, I’ll lash myself to the cylinder if it comes to the worse and unscrew the cover nut by nut, shifting my berth round till I have it off. Then if Grummet will see to getting the portable forge ready, and some old sheet iron or boiler plates for working and making into a patch, and if Links will turn out some new bolts and screws with the lathe, we’ll have everything in working order before we know where we are!”“Bravo, my hearty!” cried Mr Fosset, lending Stoddart a hand to lash himself to the cylinder, while Grummet held a screw-wrench and other tools up to him. “You ought to be a sailor, you’re so smart!”“I prefer my own billet,” retorted the other with an air of conscious power. “I am an engineer!”Mr Fosset laughed.“All right!” said he good-humouredly. “Every one to his trade!”“Humph!” groaned Mr Stokes, who was leaning against the bulkhead, “looking very white about the gills,” as Grummet whispered to me. The steam gradually dispersing and the lights burning more brightly, enabled us to see his face better. “I suppose there’s nothing I can do?”“No, nothing, sir,” answered Stoddart, busy at the moment with the first nut of the cylinder cover. “You can very safely leave matters to Grummet and me! And Mr O’Neil told me as I left the maindeck that you ought to go to your cabin and lie down, so as to rest your arm, or it might mortify, he says, when he would not answer for the consequences, you understand, sir?”“Ah, that settles the matter; I won’t give our amateur sawbones a chance of lopping it off, as I daresay he’d like!” said poor Mr Stokes, with a feeble attempt at a joke. “Yes, I’d better go to my cabin, for I see I’m not wanted here; and, to tell the truth, I’ve an aching all over me, and feel rather tired and faint.”“Then off you go to the doctor at once,” cried Mr Fosset, catching hold of him by his uninjured arm and leading him towards the hatchway again, the ship being pretty steady for the moment.“You and I, too, Haldane, ought to be on deck helping the skipper and the rest, instead of stopping here, hindering these smart fellows at their work. Come along with me, my lad!”Leaving Mr Stokes at the door of the saloon in charge of Weston, the steward, the first mate and I proceeded along the waist to the bridge, where we found Captain Applegarth pacing up and down in his customary jerky, impatient way, like the Polar bear in the Zoological Gardens, as I always thought.“Well,” he said to Mr Fosset, bringing himself up short in front of the rail on our approach, “how are matters getting on below—badly, I’m afraid?”The first mate explained. Spokeshave, who was at the other end of the bridge, coming up to listen, as usual, to the conversation.“That’s good news, indeed!” said the skipper on hearing how Stoddart had set to work to repair the damage. “I thought the engines were completely broken-down. If it weren’t for poor Jackson, who, O’Neil told me just now, was in a bad way, I think we’d got out of the scrape pretty well, for the old barquey is comfortable enough now, and, though there’s a heavy sea running and it is still blowing stiff from the north’ard and the west’ard, the sky is clearer than it was, and I fancy we’ve seen the worst of the gale, eh?”“I’m sure I hope so, sir,” replied Mr Fosset, not committing himself to any definite expression of opinion in the matter. “It has given us a rare good doing all round while it was about it, at an rate!”“Aye, it has that,” said the skipper. “The old barquey, though, has come through it better than any one would have supposed, with all that deadweight amidships, considering that she broached-to awhile ago and got caught in the trough of the sea the very moment the machinery below gave out. By George, Fosset, we had a narrow squeak then, I can tell you!”“I can quite believe that, sir,” said the other, looking round about and aloft, sailor-like, as he spoke. “For my part I feared the worst, I’m sure. However, all’s well that ends well, and the old barquey looks first rate, as you say, sir, in spite of all she’s gone through. She rides like a cork.”She certainly was a capital seaboat and lay-to now as easily as if she were at anchor in the Mersey, though the wind was whistling through the rigging and the ocean far and wide white with foam, bowing and scraping to the big waves that rolled in after her like an old dowager duchess in a ball room, curtseying to her partner.During the long time the first mate and I had been down below in the stoke-hold, the skipper had lowered the upper yards and housed her top-masts, getting her also under snugger canvas, the fore and mizzen topsails being set “scandalised,” as we call it aboard ship, that is, with the heads of the sails hauled up, and their sheets flattened taut as boards, so as to expose as little surface as possible to the wind, only just sufficient to keep the vessel with her head to sea, like a stag at bay.Opportunity had also been taken, I noticed, to secure the broken engine-room skylight in a more substantial way than formerly, and so prevent any more green seas from flooding the hold, the opening having been planked over by the carpenter, and heavy bars of railroad iron, which formed part of our cargo, laid across, instead of the tarpaulin that was deemed good enough before and had given way when Mr Stokes—poor man—and the first mate and myself got washed down the hatchway by a wave that came over the side, crumpling the flimsy covering as if it were tissue paper.Altogether, the outlook was more reassuring than when I had gone below; for although a fierce northerly gale was howling over the deep, making it heave and fret and lashing it up into wild mountainous billows, the heaven overhead was clear of all cloud, and the complaisant moon, which was at the full, but shining with a pale, peaceful light, while numerous stars were twinkling everywhere in the endless expanse of the firmament above, gazing down serenely at the riot of the elements below.It was now close on midnight and Garry O’Neil came on deck to take the middle watch, it being his turn of duty.“Well, doctor,” said the skipper, anxious to hear something about the invalids, “how’re your patients?”“Both going on capitally; Jackson sleeping quietly, sir, though he can’t last out long, poor fellow!”“And Mr Stokes?”“Faith, he’s drivin’ his pigs to market in foine stoil; you should only hear him, cap’en!” answered the Irishman, looking out to windward. “Begorrah, ain’t it blowin’, though, sir! Sure, as we used to say at ould Trinity,de gustibus non est disputandum, which means, Mister Spokeshave, as yo’re cockin’ up your nose to hear what I’m after sayin’, it’s moighty gusty, an’ there’s no denyin’ it!”The skipper laughed, as he generally did at Garry’s nonsensical, queer sayings.“By George, O’Neil! I must go down and have a glass of grog to wash the taste of that awful pun out of my mouth!” he cried, turning to leave the bridge for the first time since he had come up there at sunset. “You can call me if anything happens or should it come to blow worse, but I shall be up and down all night to see how you’re getting on.”“Och! the divvle dout ye!” muttered the Irishman in his quizzing way, as the skipper went down the ladder, giving a word to the boatswain and man at the wheel below as he passed them on his way up. “Ye niver give a chap the cridit of keeping a watch to himself!”Soon after this I, too, left the deck and turned in, Garry O’Neil telling me he did not want me on the bridge and that I had better sleep while I could, a permission I readily availed myself of, tired out with all I had gone through and the various exciting episodes of the evening.There was no change in the weather the following morning, the wind even blowing with greater force and the sea such as I had never seen it before, and such a sea as I hope never to experience again; so, in order that the ship might ride the more easily and those below in the engine-room better able to go on with the repair of the cylinder than they could with the old barquey pitching her bows under and then kicking up her heels sky high, varying her performances by rolling side to side violently, like a pendulum gone mad, the skipper had all our spare spars lashed together, and attaching a stout steel wire hawser to them, launched the lot overboard through a hole in the bulwarks, where one of the waves had made a convenient clean sweep, veering the hawser ahead with this “jetsam” to serve as a floating anchor for us, and moor the ship.By this means we all had a more comfortable time of it, the old barquey no longer shipping water in any considerable quantity and there being less work below in the way of clearing it, all of the bilge-pumps, fortunately for us all, Stoddart and the engine-room staff were able to keep going; otherwise we must have foundered long since!The gale continued without abatement all that day and the next, the second since our mishap, when, late in the afternoon the wind began to go down, veering from the north-west to the north, and so on, back to the eastern quadrant.Soon after this, just before it got dark, an English man-of-war hove in sight, and, seeing our disabled condition, signalled to ask whether we required any assistance.Through the clumsiness of Mr Spokeshave, who had charge of our signal department and showed his cleverness by hoisting the very numbers of the flags giving the skipper’s reply, that, though our engines were temporarily broken-down, they were fast being repaired, the captain of the man-of-war could not understand him; and so, fearing the worst, ranged up under our stern to see what help he could render in what he evidently considered, from Spokeshave’s “hoist,” to be a pressing emergency.“Ship ahoy!” he shouted through a speaking trumpet from his quarter-deck aft, which was on a level with our bridge, the vessel, a splendid cruiser of the first-class, towering over the comparatively puny dimensions of the poor, broken-downStar of the North. “Shall I send a boat aboard with assistance?”“No, thank you very much,” replied our skipper, taking off his cap and returning the greeting of the naval officer. “We’ve got over the worst of it now, sir, and will be soon under weigh again, as the weather is breaking.”“Glad to hear it,” returned the other, who could read our name astern as she lay athwart us. “Where are you bound to?”“New York, sir,” sang out the skipper. “Twelve days out from England. We’ve been disabled forty-eight hours.”“Hope your engines will soon be in working order,” sang out the handsome officer from the deck of the man-of-war, giving some other order at the same minute, for I heard the shrill sound of a boatswain’s pipe and the rattle of feet along her deck. “Please report us when you reach your destination.”“What name, sir?”“Her Majesty’s shipAurora, on passage from Bermuda to Halifax.”With that he waved his hand, and her white ensign, whose blood-red cross of Saint George stood out in bold relief, dipped in parting salute to our vessel, which reciprocated the compliment as the man-of-war bore away on her course to the northward, a group of officers rollicking round their captain on her deck aft and gazing at us as she moved off rapidly under a full pressure of steam, evidently admiring our skipper’s wonderful sea anchor.As the noble ship glided away through the still tempestuous sea against a strong headwind, a thing of beauty and of might—such a contrast to us lying there, almost at the mercy of the seas—I could not help thinking of the wondrous power of mind over matter displayed in our grand ocean steamers, and what a responsibility rests upon their engineers!How little do the thousands of passengers who yearly go to and fro across the Atlantic know, or, indeed, care to know, that their comfort and the rate at which they travel through the water—they who talk so glibly of making the passage in such and such a time, be the sea smooth or rough, and the wind fine or contrary—that all this depends on the unceasing vigilance of the officers in charge of the vessel in which they voyage!Do they even think, I wondered, that while they are sleeping, eating, enjoying themselves and doing what they please on board, even grumbling at some little petty defect or shortcoming which they think might be prevented, the engineers below, in an atmosphere in whichtheycould not breathe, are incessantly watching the movements of the machinery and oiling each part at almost every instant of time, moving this slide and that, adjusting a valve here and tightening a nut there, ever cooling the bearings and raking at the furnaces and putting on fresh coal, this being done every hour of the day and night through the passage from land to land? Have any of them realised the fact that these same engineers and their able assistants, the firemen and oilmen and trimmers, the whole stoke-hold staff, so to speak, run a greater risk of their lives, in the event of an accident happening, than any one else in the ship, as, should a boiler or cylinder burst they may be scalded to death before the noise of the explosion could reach those above? Or again, should the vessel strike on a rock, the compartment below in which perforce they are compelled to work deep down in the vessel’s bowels will fill, from the very weight of the engines, quicker than any other part of the ship, most probably, when those confined below must necessarily be liable to be drowned, like rats in a hole, without the chances of escape possessed by the passengers and hands on board.“No, I don’t suppose any one even thinks of such things,” said I to myself as I left the bridge and went towards the saloon to ask how poor Jackson was, uttering my thoughts unconsciously aloud as I reflected, and now that I considered their responsibility, thought how much poor old Mr Stokes, with his broken arm, and Stoddart and the others must have on their minds! “Hullo, who is that?”It was Weston, the steward, who spoke.“I wish you’d come and look at Jackson, sir,” he said. “The poor chap wore all right when Mr O’Neil comed down jist now, and a sleepin’ still as when you seed him awhile ago. But all of a suddink he starts up as he hears you a comin’ down the companion-way, sir, and is jabbering away like anythink!”“Oh, but,” I exclaimed, “why did you leave him?”“I wor afeard he’d jump overboard, or try to do somethink awful!”“Nonsense! the very thing you are there for to prevent,” said I, going into the cabin, where I saw the poor fellow trying to get out of the cot. Turning angrily to Weston I repeated again, “You shouldn’t have left him for one moment in this state!”“But, sir, I wanted to hail Mr O’Neil or somebody; I thought I oughter ’ave summun by to ’elp me, in case he becomed desperate-like, and I couldn’t make no one hear on deck, and that’s why I comed when I knowed you was a-passing along, sir.”This was unanswerable logic, though Weston always had an answer for anything and everything.Poor Jackson, though, did not look as if he would be “desperate” again in any shape or form.That he was delirious I could see at a glance, for his eyes, great wild eyes, were wide open, staring at vacancy, fixed on the bulkhead that divided the cabin from the captain’s, which was just beyond; and he was very much excited, sitting up in the cot and, gesticulating violently with both his hands, and waving his arms about as he repeated some unintelligible gibberish over and over again, that I could not make out.Presently he looked at me very straight as if he recognised me, and afterwards spoke a little more coherently.“Ah, yes, sir, I recollect now,” he said at last. “You’re Mr Haldane, I know; but—where’s the little girl and the—the—dog?”“Why, Jackson, old man,” I said, speaking soothingly to him, “what’s the matter with you? There’s no girl or dog, you know, here. Don’t you know where you are, my poor fellow?”He got quite savage at this. There’s no reason in delirium!“Of course I know where I am,” he screamed out, making a grab at Weston, as he writhed in torture from the internal and violent inflammation which must have set up. “I’m in—hell. I—can—feel—I—am—I am—burning—all over—inside me—here. And you? Oh, yes—I know you!”This paroxysm left him again after a moment, and he lay back on his pillows, only to sit up the next minute again, however.He now pointed his finger in the direction of the sea through the porthole, gazing earnestly as if he saw something there.“The ship has come for me again—as—it did t’other night—you know—you know?” he said in agonised whispers. “There—there,—can’t you see it now? sailing—along—as—Mister—Haldane—said,—there with a—a—signal—of—distress—flying—the—flag—half-mast high! Why,—there it is,—now, as plain as—plain—can be; and, see—see they’re—lowering—a—boat,—look,—for me,—to take me aboard. Lend us a hand,—mate. I wants to halloo—to ’em and I—feels so bad—and—I can’t, I can’t—move myself. Hi,—there!—Ship ahoy! Wait—a—minute—can’t you? Ship ahoy!—I’m—coming—I’m—comi-ing. I’m—”Then, raising his eyes to heaven, and drawing a long deep breath, something between a sob and a sigh, a breath that was his last, poor Jackson fell back on the pile of pillows behind him, stone dead!

Nor was this the worst, for hardly had we begun to draw breath again in the stifling vapour-bath-like atmosphere surrounding us, ere we could utter a cry, indeed, or exchange a word of speech with reference to what had just occurred, there arose a sudden and violent oscillation of the vessel, which pitched and rolled, and then heeled over suddenly to port, while an avalanche of water came thundering down the hatchway on top of our heads.

“Good Lord, we’re lost!” gulped out Mr Stokes as we all floundered together on the grating forming the floor of the engine-room, where fortunately the flood had washed us, instead of hustling us down the stoke-hold below, where all three of us would most inevitably have been killed by the fall. “A boiler’s burst and the ship broached-to!”

“Not quite so bad as that, sir,” sang out the voice of Grummet in the distance, the thick vapour lending it a far-away sound. “The vessel is recovering herself again, and the cylinder cover’s blown off, sir—that’s all!”

“All, indeed!” exclaimed the old chief in a despairing tone as he staggered to his feet, enabling Mr Fosset and myself to rise up too—an impossibility before, as he was right on top of us, and had served us out worse than the water had done. “Quite enough damage for me, and all of us, I think!”

“How’s your arm, Mr Stokes?” asked Mr Fosset as the atmosphere cleared a little and the engine-room lights glimmered through the misty darkness that now enveloped the place. “I hope it hasn’t been hurt by your tumble?”

“Oh, damn my arm!” cried the other impatiently, evidently more anxious about the machinery than his arm. “Have you shut off the steam?”

“Yes, sir,” replied his subordinate calmly. “I closed all the stop valves up here the moment I knew what had happened; and the men below in the stoke-hold have cut off the supply from the main pipe, while Mr Links has gone into the screw well to disconnect the propeller.”

“Very good, Grummet. So they be all right down below?”

“All right, sir.”

“Thank God for that! How about the fires?”

“Drowned out, sir, all but the one under the fire boiler on the starboard side.”

“You’d better look after that, to keep the bilge-pumps going, or else it’ll be all drowned out, with this lot of water coming down the hatchway every time the ship rolls! I do hope the skipper will lie-to and keep her head to sea until we can get the engines going again, though I’m afraid that’ll be a long job!”

Before Grummet could reply to this, Stoddart, the second officer, or rather engineer, came scrambling down from the saloon, where he had been assisting Garry O’Neil in making poor Jackson comfortable, the escape of the steam having evidently told its own tale to an expert like himself.

Although a younger man than Mr Stokes, his brains were considerably sharper and he was a better mechanic in every way; so now, when, after examining the damage done to the cylinder, he made light of the accident, instead of groaning over it like the old chief. Mr Fosset, I could see, and with him myself also, who shared his belief, saw that the injury was not irreparable and that it might certainly have been worse.

“Of course it can’t be done in a day!” Stoddart said; “still it can be patched up.”

“That’s all very well,” interposed Mr Stokes, holding to his despondent view of the situation. “But I’d like to know how you’re going to get that cracked cover off the cylinder with the vessel rolling like this!”

“Oh, I’ll manage that easy enough,” said the energetic fellow in his confident way. “I’ve done worse jobs than that in a heavy sea. Why, I’ll lash myself to the cylinder if it comes to the worse and unscrew the cover nut by nut, shifting my berth round till I have it off. Then if Grummet will see to getting the portable forge ready, and some old sheet iron or boiler plates for working and making into a patch, and if Links will turn out some new bolts and screws with the lathe, we’ll have everything in working order before we know where we are!”

“Bravo, my hearty!” cried Mr Fosset, lending Stoddart a hand to lash himself to the cylinder, while Grummet held a screw-wrench and other tools up to him. “You ought to be a sailor, you’re so smart!”

“I prefer my own billet,” retorted the other with an air of conscious power. “I am an engineer!”

Mr Fosset laughed.

“All right!” said he good-humouredly. “Every one to his trade!”

“Humph!” groaned Mr Stokes, who was leaning against the bulkhead, “looking very white about the gills,” as Grummet whispered to me. The steam gradually dispersing and the lights burning more brightly, enabled us to see his face better. “I suppose there’s nothing I can do?”

“No, nothing, sir,” answered Stoddart, busy at the moment with the first nut of the cylinder cover. “You can very safely leave matters to Grummet and me! And Mr O’Neil told me as I left the maindeck that you ought to go to your cabin and lie down, so as to rest your arm, or it might mortify, he says, when he would not answer for the consequences, you understand, sir?”

“Ah, that settles the matter; I won’t give our amateur sawbones a chance of lopping it off, as I daresay he’d like!” said poor Mr Stokes, with a feeble attempt at a joke. “Yes, I’d better go to my cabin, for I see I’m not wanted here; and, to tell the truth, I’ve an aching all over me, and feel rather tired and faint.”

“Then off you go to the doctor at once,” cried Mr Fosset, catching hold of him by his uninjured arm and leading him towards the hatchway again, the ship being pretty steady for the moment.

“You and I, too, Haldane, ought to be on deck helping the skipper and the rest, instead of stopping here, hindering these smart fellows at their work. Come along with me, my lad!”

Leaving Mr Stokes at the door of the saloon in charge of Weston, the steward, the first mate and I proceeded along the waist to the bridge, where we found Captain Applegarth pacing up and down in his customary jerky, impatient way, like the Polar bear in the Zoological Gardens, as I always thought.

“Well,” he said to Mr Fosset, bringing himself up short in front of the rail on our approach, “how are matters getting on below—badly, I’m afraid?”

The first mate explained. Spokeshave, who was at the other end of the bridge, coming up to listen, as usual, to the conversation.

“That’s good news, indeed!” said the skipper on hearing how Stoddart had set to work to repair the damage. “I thought the engines were completely broken-down. If it weren’t for poor Jackson, who, O’Neil told me just now, was in a bad way, I think we’d got out of the scrape pretty well, for the old barquey is comfortable enough now, and, though there’s a heavy sea running and it is still blowing stiff from the north’ard and the west’ard, the sky is clearer than it was, and I fancy we’ve seen the worst of the gale, eh?”

“I’m sure I hope so, sir,” replied Mr Fosset, not committing himself to any definite expression of opinion in the matter. “It has given us a rare good doing all round while it was about it, at an rate!”

“Aye, it has that,” said the skipper. “The old barquey, though, has come through it better than any one would have supposed, with all that deadweight amidships, considering that she broached-to awhile ago and got caught in the trough of the sea the very moment the machinery below gave out. By George, Fosset, we had a narrow squeak then, I can tell you!”

“I can quite believe that, sir,” said the other, looking round about and aloft, sailor-like, as he spoke. “For my part I feared the worst, I’m sure. However, all’s well that ends well, and the old barquey looks first rate, as you say, sir, in spite of all she’s gone through. She rides like a cork.”

She certainly was a capital seaboat and lay-to now as easily as if she were at anchor in the Mersey, though the wind was whistling through the rigging and the ocean far and wide white with foam, bowing and scraping to the big waves that rolled in after her like an old dowager duchess in a ball room, curtseying to her partner.

During the long time the first mate and I had been down below in the stoke-hold, the skipper had lowered the upper yards and housed her top-masts, getting her also under snugger canvas, the fore and mizzen topsails being set “scandalised,” as we call it aboard ship, that is, with the heads of the sails hauled up, and their sheets flattened taut as boards, so as to expose as little surface as possible to the wind, only just sufficient to keep the vessel with her head to sea, like a stag at bay.

Opportunity had also been taken, I noticed, to secure the broken engine-room skylight in a more substantial way than formerly, and so prevent any more green seas from flooding the hold, the opening having been planked over by the carpenter, and heavy bars of railroad iron, which formed part of our cargo, laid across, instead of the tarpaulin that was deemed good enough before and had given way when Mr Stokes—poor man—and the first mate and myself got washed down the hatchway by a wave that came over the side, crumpling the flimsy covering as if it were tissue paper.

Altogether, the outlook was more reassuring than when I had gone below; for although a fierce northerly gale was howling over the deep, making it heave and fret and lashing it up into wild mountainous billows, the heaven overhead was clear of all cloud, and the complaisant moon, which was at the full, but shining with a pale, peaceful light, while numerous stars were twinkling everywhere in the endless expanse of the firmament above, gazing down serenely at the riot of the elements below.

It was now close on midnight and Garry O’Neil came on deck to take the middle watch, it being his turn of duty.

“Well, doctor,” said the skipper, anxious to hear something about the invalids, “how’re your patients?”

“Both going on capitally; Jackson sleeping quietly, sir, though he can’t last out long, poor fellow!”

“And Mr Stokes?”

“Faith, he’s drivin’ his pigs to market in foine stoil; you should only hear him, cap’en!” answered the Irishman, looking out to windward. “Begorrah, ain’t it blowin’, though, sir! Sure, as we used to say at ould Trinity,de gustibus non est disputandum, which means, Mister Spokeshave, as yo’re cockin’ up your nose to hear what I’m after sayin’, it’s moighty gusty, an’ there’s no denyin’ it!”

The skipper laughed, as he generally did at Garry’s nonsensical, queer sayings.

“By George, O’Neil! I must go down and have a glass of grog to wash the taste of that awful pun out of my mouth!” he cried, turning to leave the bridge for the first time since he had come up there at sunset. “You can call me if anything happens or should it come to blow worse, but I shall be up and down all night to see how you’re getting on.”

“Och! the divvle dout ye!” muttered the Irishman in his quizzing way, as the skipper went down the ladder, giving a word to the boatswain and man at the wheel below as he passed them on his way up. “Ye niver give a chap the cridit of keeping a watch to himself!”

Soon after this I, too, left the deck and turned in, Garry O’Neil telling me he did not want me on the bridge and that I had better sleep while I could, a permission I readily availed myself of, tired out with all I had gone through and the various exciting episodes of the evening.

There was no change in the weather the following morning, the wind even blowing with greater force and the sea such as I had never seen it before, and such a sea as I hope never to experience again; so, in order that the ship might ride the more easily and those below in the engine-room better able to go on with the repair of the cylinder than they could with the old barquey pitching her bows under and then kicking up her heels sky high, varying her performances by rolling side to side violently, like a pendulum gone mad, the skipper had all our spare spars lashed together, and attaching a stout steel wire hawser to them, launched the lot overboard through a hole in the bulwarks, where one of the waves had made a convenient clean sweep, veering the hawser ahead with this “jetsam” to serve as a floating anchor for us, and moor the ship.

By this means we all had a more comfortable time of it, the old barquey no longer shipping water in any considerable quantity and there being less work below in the way of clearing it, all of the bilge-pumps, fortunately for us all, Stoddart and the engine-room staff were able to keep going; otherwise we must have foundered long since!

The gale continued without abatement all that day and the next, the second since our mishap, when, late in the afternoon the wind began to go down, veering from the north-west to the north, and so on, back to the eastern quadrant.

Soon after this, just before it got dark, an English man-of-war hove in sight, and, seeing our disabled condition, signalled to ask whether we required any assistance.

Through the clumsiness of Mr Spokeshave, who had charge of our signal department and showed his cleverness by hoisting the very numbers of the flags giving the skipper’s reply, that, though our engines were temporarily broken-down, they were fast being repaired, the captain of the man-of-war could not understand him; and so, fearing the worst, ranged up under our stern to see what help he could render in what he evidently considered, from Spokeshave’s “hoist,” to be a pressing emergency.

“Ship ahoy!” he shouted through a speaking trumpet from his quarter-deck aft, which was on a level with our bridge, the vessel, a splendid cruiser of the first-class, towering over the comparatively puny dimensions of the poor, broken-downStar of the North. “Shall I send a boat aboard with assistance?”

“No, thank you very much,” replied our skipper, taking off his cap and returning the greeting of the naval officer. “We’ve got over the worst of it now, sir, and will be soon under weigh again, as the weather is breaking.”

“Glad to hear it,” returned the other, who could read our name astern as she lay athwart us. “Where are you bound to?”

“New York, sir,” sang out the skipper. “Twelve days out from England. We’ve been disabled forty-eight hours.”

“Hope your engines will soon be in working order,” sang out the handsome officer from the deck of the man-of-war, giving some other order at the same minute, for I heard the shrill sound of a boatswain’s pipe and the rattle of feet along her deck. “Please report us when you reach your destination.”

“What name, sir?”

“Her Majesty’s shipAurora, on passage from Bermuda to Halifax.”

With that he waved his hand, and her white ensign, whose blood-red cross of Saint George stood out in bold relief, dipped in parting salute to our vessel, which reciprocated the compliment as the man-of-war bore away on her course to the northward, a group of officers rollicking round their captain on her deck aft and gazing at us as she moved off rapidly under a full pressure of steam, evidently admiring our skipper’s wonderful sea anchor.

As the noble ship glided away through the still tempestuous sea against a strong headwind, a thing of beauty and of might—such a contrast to us lying there, almost at the mercy of the seas—I could not help thinking of the wondrous power of mind over matter displayed in our grand ocean steamers, and what a responsibility rests upon their engineers!

How little do the thousands of passengers who yearly go to and fro across the Atlantic know, or, indeed, care to know, that their comfort and the rate at which they travel through the water—they who talk so glibly of making the passage in such and such a time, be the sea smooth or rough, and the wind fine or contrary—that all this depends on the unceasing vigilance of the officers in charge of the vessel in which they voyage!

Do they even think, I wondered, that while they are sleeping, eating, enjoying themselves and doing what they please on board, even grumbling at some little petty defect or shortcoming which they think might be prevented, the engineers below, in an atmosphere in whichtheycould not breathe, are incessantly watching the movements of the machinery and oiling each part at almost every instant of time, moving this slide and that, adjusting a valve here and tightening a nut there, ever cooling the bearings and raking at the furnaces and putting on fresh coal, this being done every hour of the day and night through the passage from land to land? Have any of them realised the fact that these same engineers and their able assistants, the firemen and oilmen and trimmers, the whole stoke-hold staff, so to speak, run a greater risk of their lives, in the event of an accident happening, than any one else in the ship, as, should a boiler or cylinder burst they may be scalded to death before the noise of the explosion could reach those above? Or again, should the vessel strike on a rock, the compartment below in which perforce they are compelled to work deep down in the vessel’s bowels will fill, from the very weight of the engines, quicker than any other part of the ship, most probably, when those confined below must necessarily be liable to be drowned, like rats in a hole, without the chances of escape possessed by the passengers and hands on board.

“No, I don’t suppose any one even thinks of such things,” said I to myself as I left the bridge and went towards the saloon to ask how poor Jackson was, uttering my thoughts unconsciously aloud as I reflected, and now that I considered their responsibility, thought how much poor old Mr Stokes, with his broken arm, and Stoddart and the others must have on their minds! “Hullo, who is that?”

It was Weston, the steward, who spoke.

“I wish you’d come and look at Jackson, sir,” he said. “The poor chap wore all right when Mr O’Neil comed down jist now, and a sleepin’ still as when you seed him awhile ago. But all of a suddink he starts up as he hears you a comin’ down the companion-way, sir, and is jabbering away like anythink!”

“Oh, but,” I exclaimed, “why did you leave him?”

“I wor afeard he’d jump overboard, or try to do somethink awful!”

“Nonsense! the very thing you are there for to prevent,” said I, going into the cabin, where I saw the poor fellow trying to get out of the cot. Turning angrily to Weston I repeated again, “You shouldn’t have left him for one moment in this state!”

“But, sir, I wanted to hail Mr O’Neil or somebody; I thought I oughter ’ave summun by to ’elp me, in case he becomed desperate-like, and I couldn’t make no one hear on deck, and that’s why I comed when I knowed you was a-passing along, sir.”

This was unanswerable logic, though Weston always had an answer for anything and everything.

Poor Jackson, though, did not look as if he would be “desperate” again in any shape or form.

That he was delirious I could see at a glance, for his eyes, great wild eyes, were wide open, staring at vacancy, fixed on the bulkhead that divided the cabin from the captain’s, which was just beyond; and he was very much excited, sitting up in the cot and, gesticulating violently with both his hands, and waving his arms about as he repeated some unintelligible gibberish over and over again, that I could not make out.

Presently he looked at me very straight as if he recognised me, and afterwards spoke a little more coherently.

“Ah, yes, sir, I recollect now,” he said at last. “You’re Mr Haldane, I know; but—where’s the little girl and the—the—dog?”

“Why, Jackson, old man,” I said, speaking soothingly to him, “what’s the matter with you? There’s no girl or dog, you know, here. Don’t you know where you are, my poor fellow?”

He got quite savage at this. There’s no reason in delirium!

“Of course I know where I am,” he screamed out, making a grab at Weston, as he writhed in torture from the internal and violent inflammation which must have set up. “I’m in—hell. I—can—feel—I—am—I am—burning—all over—inside me—here. And you? Oh, yes—I know you!”

This paroxysm left him again after a moment, and he lay back on his pillows, only to sit up the next minute again, however.

He now pointed his finger in the direction of the sea through the porthole, gazing earnestly as if he saw something there.

“The ship has come for me again—as—it did t’other night—you know—you know?” he said in agonised whispers. “There—there,—can’t you see it now? sailing—along—as—Mister—Haldane—said,—there with a—a—signal—of—distress—flying—the—flag—half-mast high! Why,—there it is,—now, as plain as—plain—can be; and, see—see they’re—lowering—a—boat,—look,—for me,—to take me aboard. Lend us a hand,—mate. I wants to halloo—to ’em and I—feels so bad—and—I can’t, I can’t—move myself. Hi,—there!—Ship ahoy! Wait—a—minute—can’t you? Ship ahoy!—I’m—coming—I’m—comi-ing. I’m—”

Then, raising his eyes to heaven, and drawing a long deep breath, something between a sob and a sigh, a breath that was his last, poor Jackson fell back on the pile of pillows behind him, stone dead!

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