the two hands. With some delay they got off in the longboat, pulling
wretchedly toward the shore and nagging at each other. As he stepped to
the foot of the mainmast to take the halyards off the pins, Jack
fervently thanked his stars for the heaviness of the boat and the
evident fact that both cook and steward were hopeless duffers with an
oar. He cleared the halyards with nervous fingers, stripped off the
cover of the mainsail, and undid the canvas stops with which it was
furled. Then he turned to the headsails, and had all clear before his
ear again caught the sound of oars. He ran aft, and called out
guardedly. Dave's voice answered him, and then he heard Taberman urging
his companion to quicken his stroke. In the mist Castleport could dimly
distinguish the heavy boats slowly nearing the yacht. It was all the men
could do to get them alongside and make them fast astern. Once this was
accomplished, all hands turned eagerly to the still harder labor of
getting the Merle under weigh.
"Jim," ordered Castleport, "skip along for'ard and take down that
riding-light. Set it on deck so it won't show out-board. Dave, you get
up the boat-boom. Haul it right up, 'thout minding the guys! Lively,
now!"
As Dave and Jim hurried forward to execute these orders, Jack himself
stepped aft, took off the binnacle-cover, and got the lamps lit and in
their places.
"All hands for'ard on the anchor!" he sang out, rapping his shins on
the cockpit combings as he scrambled out and ran along the deck. "We'll
make sail when we get out the mudhook. 'F we try to get her mains'l up,
they'll hear us all over the place. We'll drop down under heads'ls.
Catch ahold there!"
The Merle was riding at her port bower in some six fathoms of water. She
had out a good bit of scope, however, and between the eight hands which
gripped the quarter-inch chain and the anchor to which it was bent were
some ten fathoms to be "handed over." In the light of the big Fresnel
anchor-lantern upon the deck, the men, silent, rigid, braced back,
strained steadily. For a full half-minute there was no gain whatever,
but then one link of the chain came to the brazen lip of the hawse-hole
with a sharp rap. The men grunted and hissed, bringing every muscle into
play. Taberman was foremost on the chain. He faced the hawse-hole
squarely, his legs wide apart, and his head thrown back. His face, even
as seen by the white light of the Fresnel, was a dark brick-red, and out
of the left corner of his mouth his tongue protruded. Dave was behind
him, his left knee bent, and his right leg straight from toe to hip. He
hung on savagely, his face unnaturally blank; his hair, damp with fog
and sweat, clung to his brown forehead and temples. The third man was
Jim, lying back in a strange posture, as though the small of his back
were invisibly supported. His cheeks were white; his breathing was
inaudible.
With a little salvo of metallic snaps a scant dozen links more came in.
Jack was last on the chain, and was separated from the man next him by a
space greater than that between any other pair, so that he could when
necessary take a turn of the slack about one of the brass-capped
bollards at his side. His body was tense and rigid, his face and
forehead full of odd puckers and lines. He was white at the lips, and
the corners of his mouth were drawn down. His nose moved nervously with
almost the suggestion of a rabbit's. One more link came in.
"Better take it on the winch," gasped Jerry.
"Damn it,--pull!" cried Jack.
Jim grunted and Dave drew a breath through his closed teeth with a sharp
whistling sound. Suddenly the chain rattled in so quickly that they
could almost over-hand it. The Merle was moving at last.
"Smartly!" Jack cried. "Smartly, and we'll make her trip it out
herself."
The four hauled lustily.
"Nigh up and down," called Jerry.
Jack threw a couple of bights of the chain over the bollard, and held
it. The big yacht forged ahead slowly into the eye of the wind, carried
along by the impetus given her by the handing of the chain. The bits
creaked a little, the chain grew very taut and vibrant. The Merle
checked up and began to drift back.
"Now then!" cried Jack. "Lay along!"
Each one of them grasped the chain with a fierce vigor, as a man might
seize the throat of his enemy, while Jerry burst into an explosive
whaling chantey, and the men fell into time with its rhythm.
"Haul the bowline, the bowline, the bowline;
Haul the bowline, the bowline,--_Haul!_"
"Here she comes!" he shouted in the midst of a stave, as, all at once,
the anchor was broken out.
Jack dropped his end of the chain and ran aft to mind the wheel, leaving
the men to take in the rest of the slack. The headsails were up in
stops, but before breaking them out it was necessary to lay the yacht
round on the port tack. As she was under sternway, Jack whirled the
spokes over to port, and so--for her steering-gear was
"balanced"--brought her head around to the southward. When he felt the
wind on his left cheek, he put his hand to his mouth and shouted.
"Break out fore-staysail!" he bellowed. "Trim it a-weather!--Hang on to
the weather-sheet till she falls well off!"
With a great slatting and booming of canvas the schooner payed off
rapidly.
"Catch on to that port sheet there!" shouted Jack. "Port, I say, port!
Make fast! Not too flat! Give her all she'll use!"
The Merle was now moving slowly before the wind.
"Break out the jibs," ordered Jack, "both jibs! That's good. Make fast!"
The wind had so freshened that the yacht began to move in earnest. At
this juncture voices, faint but frantic, were heard hailing from astern.
"Merle ahoy! Ahoy-oy-oy! Show--light! A-hoy-oy-oy--'board the Merle!"
"Hear the steward?" called Jack to Jerry, who was at work with the
head-sheet cleats.
"Hear him!" laughed Jerry. "His music's a merry send-off."
"Ahoy-oy-oy!" came the voice again, fainter and full of a dismayed
distress that made them both break out afresh into derisive laughter.
"Ahoy! Anchor! An-chor--Anch"--
The despairing wail died away on the freshening wind.
"Hope they won't poke round in the fog all night looking for the Merle,"
Jack said gayly. "I never did like that steward, though."
A moment or two later, as the yacht was nearing the entrance of the
Thoroughfare, Jack called for Dave. The man came aft.
"See here, Dave," Castleport asked, suddenly grown grave; "we've got
more weather than we counted on. Can you pilot this yacht round Vinal
Haven in this fog?"
"Reck'n I kin, sir," Dave replied with pleasing assurance. "Man and boy
I've worked round these shores twelve years."
"Very well, then,--come down here and take her. Her gear's balanced: put
the wheel over same way you want to swing her head. She's quick as a
flash. If you want the chart"--
But Dave shook his head with a grin.
"Well, anyhow," said Jack, turning to leave him, "there's your compass."
"That don't bother me none," replied the intrepid Dave, with a glance at
once scornful and defiant at the smart binnacle. "I go mos' gin'rally by
the smell," he added by way of explanation.
"All right," laughed Jack. "Handle her carefully."
"One thing, sir,--how much does she draw?"
"Twelve feet," returned Jack.
Then he stepped up on to the deck, and the Merle sped on into the black
night.
[Illustration: Decoration]
Chapter Four
IT BLOWS NORTHWEST
With Dave as her Palinurus the Merle ran down the wind until she was
well outside the western entrance to the Thoroughfare. The headsails
were then dropped, the yacht was put into the wind, and the mainsail was
hoisted. The foresail was left furled, as the wind had freshened
considerably, and the schooner started on a southerly course on the port
tack.
How Dave knew where he was or by what subtle instinct he was moved to
give the Merle now a spoke or two to starboard or again to port, were
mysteries as insoluble as complex. Taberman was lost in wonder at Dave's
cool assurance; but to Jack, who knew of old the marvelous way in which
the local fishermen handle their craft in the fog, the helmsman's skill,
if wonderful, was yet no new thing.
The beat to the Island was not, however, without incident. Twice, as
they were tacking about in the thick fog, they ran close to wicked
ledges over which the slow seas just rolled without breaking. At another
point they came about just in time to avoid going ashore against a
precipitous cliff which loomed high in the mist. Near the end of the run
they worked into some shoal water where the uneasy heave and thrust of
the sea made the schooner reel and stagger madly, while all about them
was the thunder of unseen breakers. But in each and every peril Dave
kept his head completely and brought the Merle through in safety.
The passage was a busy one. Three times they luffed up in open water,
and each time took a boat aboard. It was a difficult--almost a
perilous--operation, but the night was flying and the boats dragged
heavily. The foresail was made ready for hoisting, a reef being tucked
into it without its being raised. The port bower was taken aboard;
lanterns were got ready against the work which was to be done at the
Island; a careful survey was made of the places available for stowage.
Jack and Taberman made a list of the men, assigned watches and berths.
They agreed that Gonzague, as cook, steward, and general major-domo,
should have to himself the little cabin formerly occupied by the
steward. To the men they gave the berths of the old crew; and in
general arranged everything for the ocean voyage which had been left
for adjustment until they should be actually on board. The personal
effects of the President, his guests, the officers and the crew, they
made ready to leave at the Island.
"How about clothes for the men?" Taberman asked. "I never thought of
that; and we should look like the deuce with a crew in fishermen's rigs.
The police of any harbor in the world would be after us."
"The uniforms belong to the yacht," Jack answered. "They are cut for the
crew, but the men never own them."
"Do you suppose those poor devils' traps will be safe at the Island?"
"Safe as in a church."
"But how'll they get 'em?"
"Oh, by nine o'clock to-morrow morning the President will be on his way
to the Island if he has to buy the Sylvia to go on. Camper'll tell him I
ran away with the Merle, and he'll start to the Island to find me or get
track."
So they talked until, about two in the morning, the yacht ran past
Hardwood Island, hauled her wind, and worked along to the southeast.
Suddenly through the fog a dull red gleam showed on the weather bow.
"There's Gonzague's bonfire," Jack cried. "You've brought us through,
Dave, about as slick as anything ever was done in this world. 'Twas a
tough job, too."
The main-peak was dropped to lessen the yacht's way, and as the red
flare became more distinct, the outer jibs were doused. Keeping the
shore close aboard on the port side, the Merle ran along toward the
ruddy blur of the fire, which was now seen to be burning at the end of a
point. As the boat neared this point, Jack seized the megaphone, and
putting the big cone to his lips, faced the fire, which was now abeam.
"Hallo!" he roared. "Hallo, there! Gonzague!"
A sudden and confused shouting out of the fog answered him. Then black
figures, silhouetted against the red brightness of the fire and waving
burning brands, ran to and fro with odd antics and caperings.
"'Bout ship!" cried Dave. "'Ware boom! Douse the heads'ls!"
The Merle came over on the other tack, and the staysail and jibs were
run down. The main-sheet was then so started as to spill the wind out of
the sail, and the yacht's way was quickly lessened. Having rounded the
point, the schooner moved ahead sluggishly, again passing the bonfire
on the port hand.
"Stand by the anchor!" sang out Dave, as they ran by the end of the
jetty.
"Hooray!" yelled a chorus of voices from the pier. "Hooray, Dave!"
Dave twirled the wheel to starboard, and the Merle came slowly into the
eye of the wind, where he kept her until she seemed to be making
sternway.
"Well enough!" he shouted. "Let her go!"
And the anchor-chain rattled down in three and a half fathoms.
It was after two o'clock, and still thick. The wind, however, was
hauling around to the southward, and the fog was beginning to thin a
little. The main-sheet had hardly been hauled aft when some of the men
were alongside in a boat. Jack stood by the steps, which had not been
taken aboard during the run, while Tab, standing by his side, held a
lantern. The first man aboard was Gonzague. Agile as an ape, for all his
years, the old Provençal ran up the steps and touched his cap smartly,
man-o'-war fashion.
"I see you leaf in a great hoory, cap'n," he chuckled to Jack. "You 'av'
loosed de matting of de step-grating, eh?"
"Yes, rather," laughed Jack. "Pile aboard there," he added, addressing
the men in the two boats now alongside.
The new crew made their boats fast to the grating and came on board.
"Now, then, all hands aft here for a minute," Jack ordered, when every
one was assembled on deck.
He knew that with such men as he had been able to collect for this
expedition it was essential to bind them in some way. He had therefore
prepared a paper in which were five articles for them to sign, and he
was firmly resolved that unless they agreed to bind themselves, he would
not trust the President's schooner to their care. The men were resolute
in the face of danger, yet were unused to discipline; they were imbued
with a crude sense of loyalty, but were unruly and quick to take
offense; and unless they should consent at the outset to submit to his
authority, Jack knew that little dependence could be put upon them.
He instinctively assumed an arbitrary air,--almost dropping half
consciously into the latent bully which lies hid in all strong
characters. Had he reasoned it out, he would have adopted much the same
tone as that which he took by instinct. These men, wild followers of
the sea, would scorn to be led, and were to be mastered only by one who
could browbeat and domineer,--who could, in their own word, "man-handle"
them. They responded to the primitive necessity of seeing force in the
man who is to command; and in showing his determination at the outset
Jack was displaying at least one characteristic of a proper leader of
men.
He took from his pocket the list of names, and telling the men to answer
to the roll he read it off by the light of Tab's lantern.
"Elihu Coombs?" he read.
"Here," answered a thickset lad with a rugged and weather-beaten face.
"Here, SIR!" said Jack sharply, as he check'd off the name.
"Edward Turner?"
"Here, sir," answered a quiet voice on the outer ring of the men.
"Haskell Dwight?"
"Here, sir."
They were all aboard: ten men, exclusive of Jack, Jerry, and Gonzague.
When he had finished the list, Jack handed it to Jerry, and taking from
his pocket a second paper,--the simple articles he had written,--he
knocked the creases out of it with a back-handed rap, and then made a
short speech.
"My men," he began, "I don't want to haul you into any game with your
eyes shut, so I've drafted articles for you to sign. Of course this
whole business is only a joke, but it's got a serious side to it too.
You can all see that plain enough; and it's my interest--and yours--to
see to it that we don't have to laugh out of the wrong side of our
mouths.
"If you come on this cruise you'll sweat for your wages, now let me tell
you! I'm not for grinding any man,--most of you know what I am, for
you've seen me growing up from a kid,--but the yacht's got to be kept
up, and that means that every man-jack aboard has got to keep as neat as
a pin and not slight his job.
"On the other hand, you men'll get a lot of experience in handling a
larger vessel than you've been used to; you'll have good grub; and
you'll see foreign ports. Top o' that, you draw good pay, and keep what
clothes you can save.
"Now then, these are the articles that every man who sails with me has
got to put his name to."
He read the whole paper, as distinctly and as impressively as he could.
"Now," he concluded, "if any man here lacks the heart for this
business, let him clear out. The rest of you, step up and sign."
Jack laid the paper on the companion-hatch, and produced a fountain-pen,
which he put beside it. Jerry was the first, in virtue of his position
as mate, to put down his name. He set down his lantern and scrawled his
signature at the foot of the articles in a hand that would have dwarfed
that of John Hancock. He passed the pen to Gonzague, who, laboriously
fisting it, wrote his name in a small, cramped hand, absurdly unlike the
characters above it.
For an instant--an appreciable instant--the rest hung back. Jack's brown
eyes challenged theirs, and every one was very silent. That Castleport
was seconded by those who were obviously attached to him gave the men,
rather than confidence, an uneasy feeling of being another party, and
this prompted an instinctive caution almost like antagonism. Had things
been allowed to rest for a moment, the day might easily have been lost.
Discussion might have arisen to beget argument and discord, explanations
have been demanded, and the men have asked to be satisfied as to the
real grounds on which Castleport was to be justified in appropriating
his uncle's yacht and making off with it, a question which could hardly
have been answered so as to satisfy everybody. At this unrealized
crisis, old Gonzague quietly stepped among the men, passed a jest with
one of them in an undertone, and so equilibrium was restored. He at once
became one of them, and the vague idea of parties and opposition
vanished into thin air before the men had had time even to recognize it.
Dave stepped forward and signed, Jim followed him, and the rest of the
men came after. Jack had sounded all of them separately before unfolding
his plans, and the result was that not one of them drew back now. As the
last one laid down the pen, Castleport spoke.
"Before we fall to work I don't think anybody'd mind a good glass of
grog; and while Gonzague's getting it, I just want to add one word to my
say. I know this gentleman, Mr. Jerrold Taberman, to be a good
navigator, and I've chosen him as my mate. Gonzague'll be cook and
steward, and A1 you'll find him. I'm bound to make things go as easy as
may be, and I will. I'm sure you'll do your duties, and you may bank on
my doing mine."
The grog being brought, Tab proposed the captain's health, and the crew
drank it with enthusiasm. Jack emptied his glass to the "crew and a good
cruise;" and then the entire company went to work, loading and stowing.
Under Jerry's orders part of the crew began to carry provisions from
the boathouse to the yacht, while under Jack's surveillance Gonzague and
two of the crew stored what the others brought out. Gun-tackle purchases
were rigged by the foremast to take the heavier cases aboard. The men
worked feverishly, and almost without sound, as if subdued by the fear
of being heard. At the end of a couple of hours the Merle had only to
fill her water-tanks and she would be ready for sea. The fog was by this
time so thin that in the dim light of the yet unrisen sun Jack, as he
stood in the rigging, could discern vaguely the form of the house on the
Island. As he was considering the weather, Gonzague, his face red with
exertion and his usually immaculate clothes stained and torn, came up
hastily.
"Mistair Castleport, sair," he said, "I don' fin' any beeg funnel for de
watter-tank. Dey mus' always feel dem from de watter-boat 'ose,--stick
de en' into de deck-plate, I t'ink."
"How's that?" exclaimed Jack. "No funnel?"
The tender containing the first installments of the water-supply had
already left the jetty, and Jack fell hastily to considering how the
water was to be got out of the big unheaded casks into the tanks
without its being dribbled in by the dipperful.
"Did you look everywhere?" he demanded.
"I look in de peak and go all de way aft to de run," replied the
steward, "and all I find was de funnel in de kerosene-barrel. It ees too
small, and it do fair reek wid de pairfume of de oil, sair."
"Is there any piping aboard? any hose?" Jack asked. "We might siphon
it."
Gonzague shook his head, and at that moment the boat laden with water
came alongside. Jack leaned over the rail.
"I say, Jerry," he called out, "there's no funnel to fill the tanks
with. How the deuce can we make water-stowage?"
"Search me," returned Jerry with cheerful inelegance. "How should I
know? Might use the megaphone."
"You're a genius!" roared Jack. "It'll do to a T!"
The keys were found, the caps unscrewed from the deck-plates, and the
large papier-maché cone of the megaphone was set big-end-up over the
orifice. Two men held it by the rim, while others kept it brimming with
buckets of water bailed out of the casks. At the end of another hour
both tanks were filled and the caps screwed down.
The Merle was ready for her long cruise. Jack was well satisfied with
the sufficiency of her stores, as in addition to the plain provisions
which he and Taberman had provided, the yacht had been most abundantly
victualed by the President for her summer's cruising.
"Think of anything we've left, Jerry?" Jack asked.
"The President?" Tab suggested.
Jack's official seriousness went entirely to pieces at this suggestion,
but he turned to the steward with an air of business.
"Have you got everything, Gonzague?"
"Yes, sair. I t'ink de leest is feel," the old man responded, closely
regarding the dirty paper on which he had made his inventory and checked
off each article as it came on board. Each item in the list had a black
scratch beside it.
"Well, then," the captain said, with a spark in his eye, "we're off!"
He gave the word to clear the decks and to get under weigh.
The wind had come around to the west, and was blowing fresh. They made
all sail, however, chancing the gusty squalls which they were likely to
meet off the high land of Isle au Haut, which they meant to leave on the
starboard. The fog had gone entirely, except for long ghostly wreaths
clinging to the dark green gullies of the Haut or encircling the distant
mountain-tops of Mt. Desert; and when the sun rose clear and fair, all
auspices seemed most cheeringly propitious.
Jack took his departure from the Eastern Ear of the Haut, when it bore
west-northwest three miles. At four that afternoon, when he and Jerry
came on deck for time-sights, no land was to be seen.
[Illustration: Decoration]
Chapter Five
LAND HO!
Some three weeks after the morning when the Merle left the Island, Jack
and Tab were sitting in the saloon, working out the sights they had just
taken for longitude. It was shortly after eight o'clock in the morning;
the air was warm, and had in it a suggestion of the south. Through the
open skylight came a shaft of light which cast a brilliant patch on the
green cushions on the port side of the cabin. As the yacht rolled or
pitched easily over the long seas, the patch of light moved about,--up,
down, fore, aft; now it glanced on the rich red sheathing, now on the
transom, and again on the big table.
On the leeward side of this table the two men, dressed in canvas
trousers and blue flannel shirts, were seated with their work lying
before them. Between them lay several sheets of paper, parallel-rulers,
the log-book in its brown duck cover, a copy of Norie open at the
tables, and the American "Ephemeris." A large sheet-chart of the North
Atlantic, weighted with a pair of binoculars, was spread in front of
Jack. A heavy line, full of zigzags and acute angles, and running nearly
across this chart, represented the Merle's track. Presently Jack laid
down the pencil with which he had been figuring, and reaching out for
the "Epitome," turned to the table of functions.
"Through?" asked Tab, without looking up.
"'Most," returned Jack, running one finger down a column of figures as
he glanced first at his paper and then at the book. "I have it now," he
added, and after jotting down a number he pushed the volume over to Tab,
went to a cupboard on the port side, and brought back a case of
instruments. He took out a pair of long-legged dividers, and with these
and the parallel rulers he bent over the chart a minute or two, until
the silence was again broken by Jerry.
"What d' you get?" he asked.
"Nine-eighteen-fifteen," replied Jack. "What's yours?"
"Nine-sixteen-nought," answered Tab. "Wait a shake, I'll average them;"
and he fell to figuring rapidly. "Mean is nine-seventeen-seven plus.
Prick it off, and let's see where we're at--the D. R. latitude's
thirty-six forty-eight."
They bent together over the chart. Jack carefully manipulated rulers
and dividers, found the point, and marked it in red ink.
"She's making just over six knots now," he said. "We ought to make old
Cape St. Vincent shortly. Let's put up these traps and go on deck."
They stowed the things in their several lockers, and went out together.
The Merle was running along with a quartering breeze, under all lower
sails, sliding easily over the long swell on the port tack.
"How about putting a lookout up aloft, Jack?" asked Tab. "We'll be
raising the land pretty soon--if we're anywhere right in our reckoning,
that is."