_THE DREAD STILLNESS BROKEN BY A WAILING SHRIEK_
There were still left on board the _Zingara_ enough hands to work the
ship. From captain to Kroo-boys, as the darkies were called, there were
just seventeen all told, leaving out of count Miss Leona and sweet wee
Teenie.
Bitter were the tears the little lass shed when she heard that the evil
men had killed poor Petersen.
“There is some good in that man whom children love, sir, I think,” said
Archie.
“As true a word as e’er was spoken,” replied Antonio.
“And now, mate, we must see to ourselves. Davie must take the
boatswain’s watch.”
“Poor faithful fellow, no doubt he was the first man slain!”
“But, sir, where may we not drift to? We are but a wreck; we haven’t a
spare spar to rig a jury main or mizen mast, and the rudder is useless.”
“The rudder we must try to unship,” said Antonio, “hoist on deck, and
see to.”
“That will be an all but impossible task, for we have no mizen to reeve
block and tackle to.”
And so it proved.
They were, indeed, little more than a helpless floating wreck.
The _Zingara_ was drifting northwards, her latitude about 22° north, and
western longitude about 30°.
An attempt was made for several days to steer the vessel by means of
boats ahead. This was hard work; yet it might have been successful, and
they might have eventually found themselves in the track of ships, had a
breeze sprung up.
They appeared, however, to be in a region of calms.
In very truth, they were drifting into that great ocean backwater, the
Sargasso Sea, which I speak of in my Preface.
The Sea of Sargasso might be described as a kind of meadow-land of
floating weeds, as large at times as half Europe, but often divided into
canals that are continually opening and closing.
It lies midway in the Atlantic, but well out of the track of ocean
steamers, except when it shifts its position to north or south. Latitude
might be from 20° to 30°; longitude from 25° to 50°.
Until the unfortunate _Zingara_ drifted helplessly into this great lone
sea of weed, little was really known of it and its strange inhabitants.
Long, long ago the ships of Columbus passed through some outlying
streams of this wonderful Gulf weed, and when they did so his
superstitious sailors began to murmur, and beseech the intrepid
explorer to put back, “for,” they said, “God Himself is showing His
displeasure at your foolhardiness.”
But Columbus had but one motto, and that was, “Advance!”
Many and many a good ship has been entombed in this wondrous sea of
weeds, and never got free till one by one the crew died, and there came
to them that freedom which comes to us all sooner or later.
I had, when beginning this chapter, thought of describing the course of
the great Gulf Stream, which, starting from Africa, sweeps across
towards Brazil and the Gulf of Mexico; then north, and away to
Newfoundland; then on and east to Northern Europe, past our own coasts
here, and southward, to Africa, once again. But I need be no more
explicit. In a story one cares little for unnecessary lectures on the
science of geography or anything else.
Suffice it to say that the region of almost perpetual calms and Sea of
Sargasso lies in the centre of the sweeping circle of the second branch
of the Gulf Stream.
It is said to be a smooth and almost motionless basin; but, as will be
seen, our heroes did not always find it so.
One day a man at the foretop masthead shouted--
“Sea of dark water right ahead, sir.”
Antonio and the first mate both went up to have a look.
“That is the terrible Sea of Sargasso,” said Antonio. “God alone can
help us if we get ingulfed in that.”
Boats were had out now, and all the afternoon struggled to keep the ship
away.
But thickest darkness fell, and the boats were hoisted.
They would resume their efforts next day. No sooner, however, did the
sun appear than, to their horror, they found the thick, dark sea of
weeds closing rapidly in all around them.
The explanation is easy; they had drifted far into a huge gulf or bay,
and the horns thereof had now closed up behind them.
“Who enters here leaves hope behind.”
This they well might have said, for by noon there was no blue water to
be seen even from the masthead, nothing but the brown-black sea, close
aboard of them the dark trailing weeds, lifting their folds on the water
till it seemed a veritable ocean of great sea-snakes.
It was probably the first time since sailing away from Merrie England
that our heroes had seen Captain Antonio dull and depressed. He retired
to his cabin complaining of not feeling over well, and remained there
alone for three long hours.
Then while still dozing a soft little hand was laid in his, and a sweet
girlish voice said sympathisingly--
“’Tonio, ’Tonio, you isn’t ill, is you?”
He roused himself at once, and smiled as he patted her hand.
He had given way for a time to a depression that was almost selfish; but
now he remembered that he was the centre, as it were, of all the life on
board, and had duties to perform, which he determined not to shirk.
“Oh, dearie,” he replied, “I had a little bit of a headache, you know,
but it is better now.”
“Wait!” cried Teenie.
She went off at the run, but by-and-by returned, walking rather
unsteadily, because she bore in her two hands a large cup of fragrant
tea.
“Oh, thank you, Teenie. I’m so pleased.”
He drank the tea, and in another hour walked into the saloon, to all
outward appearance his own old self again.
“Glad indeed to see you, sir,” cried Barclay.
“And so we all are,” said Archie the mate. “You feel better?”
“Oh yes. Presently I will sing and play to you as usual.”
“What have you done, mate?”
“Oh, I’ve taken in the jib, and just clewed up, you know. Perhaps,
though, our imprisonment in this terrible sea will not be for many
weeks.”
Antonio smiled somewhat sadly, but replied, “Mate, we are not going to
despair, come what may. Despair never did any good.”
“Besides, I have already discovered,” said Archie, “that we are still
drifting, although sometimes our bows are pointing to the nor’ard and
sometimes broadside or stern.”
“Have you taken soundings?”
“Yes, and the water is of no great depth. It ranges from seventeen to
twenty fathoms.”
“Good! and now let us try to be cheery. To-morrow we will muster by open
list, and also survey our stores.”
“Teenie, dearie,” he cried.
Teenie came running at his call.
“You don’t like storms, do you?”
“Oh no, ’Tonio; I don’t like the sea when it wobbles and splashes _too_
much, you know.”
“Well, dearie, here in this dark weedy ocean there will be no wobbling
and never a splash, and you shall catch fish all day if you like, and be
as happy as a dickie-bird.”
“Oh, that will be jolly. Won’t it, Barclay?
“Perfectly jolly!” laughed our young hero.
There was a good quarter of an hour’s silence after this.
Everybody appeared to be thinking except Teenie, who was making love to
Muffie the cat and talking low to her.
“I say, sir,” said Barclay Stuart at last, “we have resolved ourselves
into a kind of Quaker’s meeting, but it would be interesting to know
what we’ve been all thinking about.”
“Well, you begin,” said Antonio, smiling.
“_I’ve_ been thinking that we’ll have a real good quiet time of it for
six months in this strange sea, and that Davie Drake and I will by that
time be fit to pass our exams for chief officers as soon as we get back
to Merrie England.”
“And I’ve been thinking,” said Davie, “about our dear old home at
Fisherton. What a long, long time it seems since we left!”
“Oh,” said Barclay, “I haven’t forgotten my mother and Phœbe, and the
letters we got at the Cape telling us how well they were gave me such
joy.
“But ah!” he added, “if we are detained long here they may give up hope,
and the grief may kill my dear, kind mother.”
“I’ve been thinking,” said Archie, “about my log-book, and how little
there will be to put in it.”
“My dear mate,” interrupted Antonio, “there will be far more than you
imagine. It won’t be merely the temperature of water and air, the wind,
the current, and all that, for I’ve been thinking about adventures that
will make your hair stand up like bristles.”
“I’ve been thinking,” said Teenie, “about fishes to catch for Muffie and
me.”
Well, presently Pandoo himself appeared with the supper, and after this
every one was of better cheer, and far more hopeful.
But nearly all the talk to-night was about their far-off friends and
homes in Merrie England.
There had been letters at the Cape of Good Hope for all the saloon and
petty officers, to say nothing of the men.
Even Teenie’s father had got some one to write for him to his little
daughter, for the good honest fellow was not ashamed to confess that he
was “no scholard.”
But at the Cape also Antonio had insisted on not only Teenie, but Miss
Leona as well, having a thorough new rig-out, as he phrased it, “low and
aloft,” and so neither would want for clothes for a year to come at
least.
Teenie after supper stole on tiptoe to the captain’s cabin, and
presently appeared, lugging along the great guitar, which was nearly as
big as herself.
“Play and sing,” she said or commanded, as she handed Antonio the
instrument.
“Come, lads,” cried the weird little man, dashing his fingers across the
strings, “let us cast care to the winds. There is, you know--
“‘A sweet little cherub who sits up aloft,
To look after the life of poor Jack.’”
Archie laughed.
“He must squat in the foretop then,” he said, “as we’ve got neither main
nor mizen for his convenience.”
Song after song did Antonio sing, to the delight of his listeners. His
whole soul seemed to well out from the strings of that guitar, so sweet,
so sad and low.
But he finished at last.
“Four bells,” he said, looking at the clock.
“Well, boys all, it is time to turn in.”
“But, captain, not before we return thanks to Heaven for our marvellous
escape from cruel death. He--our Father--you know, gave us the victory.”
This from Sister Leona.
“In that case,” said Antonio, “let us call all hands aft.”
The men gladly gathered in, and no more solemn little service was
perhaps ever held at sea.
It was Davie’s watch, and he now retired to walk the deck till midnight,
Barclay going with him for company’s sake.
The moon, which was but a waning one, had not yet risen, and the night
was very dark, for thick black clouds obscured the sky, and seemed to be
banked up on all sides and close aboard of the doomed ship.
There was hardly a breath of wind, and the deep mysterious silence was
almost awesome.
Scarcely did our two boy heroes care to speak above a whisper.
Sometimes they paused in their walk and leant over the bulwark
listening.
What did they hear in the darkness? Only this, a strange mysterious
whispering sound, coming from what direction they could not tell. It was
as if that dark and solemn ocean of weeds were trying to tell them its
awful story from times long, long forgotten, till the present age.
But presently both started with an almost nervous tremor, for from afar
off apparently rose a melancholy wail or shriek. Again and again it was
repeated, but finally died away in the distance.
No more weird and mournful wail probably ever broke the silence of the
sea.
Antonio himself came gliding to their side and laid a hand on the
shoulder of each.
They started and looked quickly round.
“It is Antonio. Don’t be alarmed.”
“But did you not hear those awful wailing screams?”
“Yes, I did, boys, and they are often heard here. They make the bravest
men nervous, and sailors say it is the ghosts of men who have entered
this strange sea, never, never to leave it more, and whose clay-covered
skeletons lie deep in the bottom of the ocean.”
“But you do not believe that, sir?”
“No, Barclay. No, I am not so superstitious. I put them down either to
wild birds, or to a curious fish found here, called the piping shark. It
is said that it appears but for a few minutes above the water, utters
those awful sounds, and sinks again into the sea’s dark depths.”
* * * * *
Next day Antonio did as he had intended, and held a general survey on
the quantity and condition of the stores.
The verdict communicated to our heroes and the first and second mates
was this: “With economy, and if the tinned meats keep in good condition,
we have food enough to last a year.”
“A year,” said poor Paddy M‘Koy. “Ach, sure it is joking entoirely you
are, sorr. It’s never a year we’ll lie in this black sea.”
The captain shook his head sadly.
“I was to have been married, sorr, on my return to Dublin to one of the
purtiest girls in Ould Ireland. Och and och, and what will become of her
at all, at all?”
“Paddy,” said the captain, “we have all a duty to each other to
perform.”
“And what is it thin, sorr?”
“To appear hopeful and cheerful, whether we feel it or not.”
But Paddy only sighed and went below.