_HE IS STRUCK BY LIGHTNING._
This was an incident to kill the tediousness of my first watch on deck
very pleasantly. It was seeing life at sea too, tasting the excitement of
it, and when eight bells sounded, and I went below, I began in good truth
to feel myself something of a sailor.
But it was “watch and watch,” with us on board that ship, as in all
other ships of those days, though what the practice is now in this age
of steamboats I will not undertake to say. By “watch and watch,” I mean
that one division of the crew went below for four hours, whilst the other
division kept the deck. Those below then came up again for another four
hours’ duty, and so on till the dog watches came round, when each watch
had two hours of duty only, the object of the change being to vary the
time of the four hours’ watches; so that, for example, if one division
had to keep the middle watch, say on a Monday the dog watches contrived
that that spell of duty would next night fall to the lot of the other
division.
What “watch and watch” signified I never could have imagined till four
o’clock in the morning was struck on the ship’s bell, and the midshipmen
who had been on deck since midnight came in their headlong way below to
rout us up.
“Eight bells! eight bells, my honeys!” they roared. “Out you come, and up
you go! It rains beautifully, and is still as black as thunder all round.”
I was in a dead sleep, and could scarcely open my eyes. By way of helping
me to wake up, one of the lads who had just descended threw his streaming
sou’-wester at my face.
“Who’d be a sailor?” yawned the long midshipman named Poole. “This is a
part of the life that they know nothing about ashore.”
“Oh, what would I give for my feather bed at home!” groaned another
youngster, drowsily thrusting his arms into a damp jacket.
“Lively now, or I’ll feather bed ye!” shouted Mr. Cock from his corner
bunk. “A sailor who talks of a feather bed should be tarred first before
the down’s applied. My precious limbs! Was it out of such whinings as
this that Trafalgar’s victory was manufactured?”
But there was no magic in the thoughts of Nelson to inspirit one at such
a moment as this. For my part, my sympathies were wholly with the lad
who yearned for a feather bed, and though I had promised my father not
to swap my clothes, I would have gladly given half my outfit for the
privilege of turning in again. Oh the misery of the cold and wet of the
deck, going to it as I did with lids of lead, and trembling in oilskins,
from the comfort and warmth of the blankets! I shall give up the sea,
I thought as I climbed the poop ladder with chattering teeth: I have
already had enough of it. I would go on shore at once if I could. What is
there in brass buttons to render this sort of thing tolerable?
There were no signs of daybreak till about six o’clock, and then down
away in the east there stole out upon the gloom a faint, most melancholy
grey light, against which the ridge horizon washed in a tumbling line
of ink. How am I to express the cheerless aspect of the ship in the
illumination of this dull and dismal dawn? Her reefed canvas was dark
with wet, her slack gear was blown into semi-circles by the gale, her
scuppers sobbed with wet, and the water floated from side to side of her
deck with her rolling. But all the same, the planks had to be washed
down, the hencoops cleansed, and the poop made tidy; so as soon as light
enough came to see by, the pump was rigged, buckets got along, and there
we were scrubbing for our lives, with smoke from the newly-kindled galley
fire breaking from the chimney, the boatswain on the main-deck pointing
his hose, and bawling to the sailors to scrub with a will, the wide-awake
pigs under the long-boat grunting for their breakfast, the cow lowing
gloomily at catching sight of the butcher’s mate, and the ship all the
while rushing before the strong gale, with the chasing seas breaking in
foam to the height of the main-brace bumpkins, and a grim and yellow
salt in a tight sou’-wester swinging off upon the wheel, and mumbling
upon a quid that stood high in his cheek, as though he were muttering
sea-blessings to himself on the ocean life in general, and on the _Lady
Violet_ in particular.
Well, when the gale broke we had fine weather, and nothing noticeable
happened for some days. The passengers got the better of their
sea-sickness, and came on deck, and the ship looked hospitable and
homely, with ladies reading or knitting, or walking the decks aft, and
with the poor women of the steerage forward sitting in the sun, with
coloured handkerchiefs tied round their heads, their children romping
about their feet, and the men belonging to their company lounging against
the bulwarks, pipes between their teeth, their hats slouched, and their
arms folded.
We were sliding towards the warm parallels, and Mr. Cock told me to keep
a bright look-out for flying fish, as we should be seeing them spark out
of the blue water alongside before long, “like silver paper-cutters,
Master Rockafellar,” said he, “on the gauze wings of the dragon-fly.” By
this time I was able to crawl aloft without a beating heart and trembling
body. I could shin over the mizzen-top as lightly and easily as the rest
of them, and had been once on to the mizzen-royal-yard, the highest yard
on the mizzen-mast, to watch Kennet roll the sail up, that I might know
how to furl it for myself another time.
In fact, I had now climbed the rigging often enough to enjoy being aloft.
I would think as I poised myself upon a foot-rope, and overhung the yard
it belonged to, that nothing nearer to the sensation of flying could
be imagined. I swung between heaven and sea. The soft cream-coloured
clouds looked to be rolling close over my head. Far away down was the
narrow white deck of the ship, with sail upon sail swelling in curves
of snow-white softness betwixt where I was perched, and the ivory-like
planks deep down below. The blue ocean swept away into boundless
distance, and the world of waters looked as huge as though the sight of
them was a dream.
At last came a day that was to be marked by an incident of terror. The
captain and mates had taken the sun at noon; the sailors had eaten
their dinner, and the port-watch, the one that I belonged to, was on
deck, to remain there till four. Two of the midshipmen were on the
cross-jack-yard at work on some job there, the third was below, and I,
the fourth of them, hung about the break of the poop in readiness to run
on an errand, and to jump to any order given me.
It was a fine warm day, the wind right aft, and the ship was buzzing
along with studding sails out on both sides. The tiffin bell had just
sounded; there was nobody on the poop but the chief mate, myself, and
the man at the wheel. Through the skylight I could see the passengers
assembling at the luncheon table. Presently noticing that Mr. Johnson,
the chief officer, was staring with unusual steadfastness at the horizon
over the stern, I sent a look in that direction, and observed that there
was a large black cloud sailing up the sky, exactly on a line with the
course we were making. I never had before, and have never since, seen
a body of vapour with so ugly a look. Its hinder part was tufted into
the true aspect of thunder; its brow was a pale sulphur colour, which
darkened into a swollen curve of livid belly; its wild extraordinary
shape too made you think of it as of some leviathan flying beast, a
mighty dragon, such as one reads about, or some huge and horrible
creation descending from another world. The black shadow it threw upon
the sea contrasted oddly with the flashing blue that was streaming
merrily with us along the path of the wind.
However, it is a saying with Jack that you need never fear a squall that
you can see through. The blue sky showed clear and bright past the tail
of the cloud on the sea-line, as the mass of black vapour soared. The
mate turned to pace the deck, just sending a careless glance over the
stern now and again. It was easy to guess that he saw nothing to trouble
him there; no order was given, and the ship continued to sail pleasantly
on the wings of her far overhanging canvas before the warm and gushing
wind.
Gradually the cloud overtook us, and then it overhung the vessel like an
immense black canopy, plunging us and a great space of sea into gloom,
and all around, beyond the confines of its murky dye, was shining summer
weather. But the cloud, instead of blowing ahead, lingered over us as
though its stooping bosom was arrested by our mast-heads, or the whole
electric body of it attracted by our tall fabric. No rain fell, no
squally gust of wind swept from it through the regular breathing of the
breeze astern. The mate crossed over to where I was standing, and looked
over the rail into the main-chains.
“Ha!” he cried, “jump down there, Master Rockafellar,” pointing to the
platform called the channel, which in those days served to spread the
rigging, “and cast that lightning conductor adrift.”
[Illustration: “I FELT MYSELF SWEPT BACKWARDS.”]
Now, this lightning conductor was of copper wire; the point of it rose
above the main truck, and the length of it was led down the main-royal
back-stay to the water’s edge. But the bottom end of it, instead of
trailing in the water, was coiled up and “stopped,” as it is called, to
one of the lanyards of the shrouds. In other words, it was tied to a part
of the rigging by rope-yarns.
I stood a moment feeling for my knife, which I then remembered I had left
in my bunk. The mate seeing that I was at a loss, and understanding by my
gestures what my want was, cried to a young ordinary seaman, who was on
the main-deck, to jump into the chains and cut the lightning conductor
adrift, and drop the end overboard. He was a fine young fellow—an
Irishman, I remember, named Barry. His sheath-knife was on his hip, and
he whipped the blade from its leather case, as he bounded on to the
topgallant-rail, and dropped over the side into the main chains.
He had got his hand on the coil of wire, and was in the act of passing
his knife through the rope-yarns, when a great spurt of flame fell in a
dazzling flash down the rigging. The whole ship seem to reel out of the
shadow that was upon her in a blaze of crimson glory. In the same breath
there was a single blast of thunder, one dead enormous shock, that seemed
to bring the vessel to a stand, and thrill through every plank in her,
as though she had grounded. I was standing close to the rail at the
moment; the flame rushed close past me; the air was scorching hot with
it; but, for the beat of a pulse only, so far as I was concerned, for I
felt myself swept backwards, as though lifted off my feet, and fell at
full length upon my back. I immediately sprang to my legs, almost out
of my mind with bewilderment and terror, but in no wise hurt. The mate,
grasping the rail with one hand, was shading his eyes with the other.
The captain, followed by all the passengers, came rushing up out of the
cuddy, whilst such of the crew as were below tumbled headlong from the
forecastle to see what had become of the ship.
“What is it? What is it?” shouted the skipper, as he ran towards us.
The mate turned his face, but continued to keep his eyes covered. “God
forgive me!” he exclaimed; “I believe I am struck blind.”
In a moment the captain saw how it was, and the ship’s doctor, without a
word, passed his arm through the mate’s, and led the poor fellow below.
“How did this happen, Master Rockafellar?” exclaimed the captain.
I quickly told him that the mate had gone to the side to see if the
lightning conductor was all right, and had called to one of the ordinary
seamen to jump into the chains to clear it.
He stepped to the rail to look over and all the passengers went with
him, shouldering one another to obtain a view. The sailor stood upright,
with one hand yet upon the coil of wire. His right hand, from which the
knife had fallen, was outstretched, but as we looked we could see it
slowly, very slowly, sinking to his side, as the handle of a pump will
fall from a horizontal position. I could not see his face; it was turned
seawards.
[Illustration: “THE KNIFE HAD FALLEN.”]
“Are you all right down there, my lad?” sang out the captain.
The young fellow neither answered nor moved.
“He has been stunned!” exclaimed one of the passengers.
“Oh, but wouldn’t he have fallen overboard if that were so?” cried
another.
The captain shouted to some seamen, who were overhanging the bulwarks in
the waist:
“Aft here, a couple of you, and help Barry inboard.”
It was at that moment the ship slightly rolled to port, and the figure
of Barry plunged into the sea, falling limberly in the most lifelike
manner. He struck the water, and lay afloat, and then, as he went astern,
I caught a glimpse of his face. It was the colour of chocolate, most
horrible to view, with nothing of his eyes showing but the whites, and
his lips distended in a dreadful grin, exhibiting his teeth and gums
as though his mouth had been torn away. One of the ladies fainted. A
shriek arose from many of them. The third mate sprang aft, and I saw him
standing erect on the taffrail poising a lifebuoy; but even whilst he
flourished the thing the body sank.
Never for an instant was it doubted by any of us that he had been struck
dead, and that he was a corpse when he fell from the chains. It was a
fate I myself had escaped by the very skin of my teeth only! But for
my having left my knife below, I should at once have dropped over the
side on being ordered to do so by the mate, and there have been killed
by the flash that had slain the unhappy young sailor man! Yet nothing
was made of my escape. The captain merely said, “Lucky for you, Master
Rockafellar, that you weren’t in Barry’s place;” whilst the midshipmen
hardly referred to the matter, except to say that the mate had no right
to put a man to the job of handling a lightning conductor with an
electric storm hanging over the mast-heads.