Captain McKenzie sprang from his berth in the wildest excitement. A
moment before a low voice called "Captain," at his state room door.
"Who is there?" he asked. "Donovan," came the guarded reply. "Captain,
the mate has conspired with the crew to mutiny and your throat will be
cut in an hour."
James Mitchell and I were apprentices on board the bark "Aven of
Aberdeen." My brother James having reluctantly consented that I should
follow the fortunes of the sea, signed the indenture papers.
The brig was bound for Archangel, Russia, and we had on board a large
amount of specie and plate, the private fortunes of a Russian Jew
returning to his native land after many years of success as a merchant
in Alexandria. Our berth was near the captain's, and Mitchell had
heard the warning given by Donovan. He was out of his berth in an
instant and gave me to understand there was mutiny aboard. Together we
entered the captain's cabin.
The Jew was apprised of the situation. It was the intention of the
mate and crew to murder him and the Captain and put the vessel about
for a piratical cruise in the Indian Ocean. They were a motley gang of
foreigners, low bred and capable of any crime when led by a man like
the mate, fresh from a career of lawlessness on the China coast.
The Jew was the most abject picture of terror I ever saw. His hands
trembled and he shook like a man in a chill. He wanted to hide, but
that was useless. Captain McKenzie armed himself with a belaying pin.
He placed one in the hands of each of us boys and bade us follow him
in silence. We cautiously went on deck and we found the helm deserted,
and the mate and the entire crew sitting together and drinking in the
fore part of the ship.
Captain McKenzie sprang into their midst and with one blow from the
pin killed the mate. This subdued the others and they slunk away to
their duties. The captain then called the men in front of him and
after ordering Donovan to the helm, told them he was done with them
and that their future conduct would determine their fate. At the same
time he threatened to kill the first man that manifested a mutinous
disposition, or dared to cross a given line on the deck without his
permission. He then ordered the mate's body overboard and told the men
to return to their duties.
The Captain and Donovan took turns at the helm, while Mitchell or I
was stationed as a lookout to give instant warning of any suspicious
movements on the part of the crew. For more than a week we stood to
our posts of duty, when one morning we sailed into the smooth waters
of the port of Archangel, weary and exhausted from the intense nervous
strain and loss of sleep.
The Captain notified the British consul and a file of soldiers came
on board and arrested the crew. Six of them were afterwards sent to
prison for life.
The home voyage of the Aven was fraught with all the dangers of the
sea. We had secured another crew in Archangel but their seamanship was
bad. When a sudden storm would strike us it required herculean efforts
on the part of the captain and Donovan to prevent the ship from being
driven ashore on the rocks.
Snow was falling and a wintry wind dashed the waves over our decks and
coated the bulwarks with a mail of ice. Sleet and snow clung to the
rigging, making every effort to handle the ship a hazardous one. For
three days we battled against the elements and then we came in contact
with ice floes. Once our position was so perilous that the Captain
ordered the boats provisioned and ready to be lowered when the vessel
should be crushed in the ice. By skillful maneuvering we escaped from
the ice floes and had a pleasant day or two in smoother seas.
It was night and I was standing by the taffrail, when suddenly a giant
specter seemed to come up from out of the sea, bearing directly down
upon us. Her great lantern swung in a glow in a fog, by which I
discerned moving objects.
"Collision! Collision!" I shouted at the top of my voice. The cry was
taken up by the sailors, and ere it had died away there was the
crashing of timbers, falling spars and the shouts of men.
We had been struck a glancing blow abaft midships but the damage was
not serious enough to sink us. The other vessel, which proved to be
the brig "Rapid," belonging to the same company at Aberdeen, stood off
until its crew ascertained the extent of our damage, then sailed away
in the darkness.
A month's delay on the docks at Aberdeen repairing damages, and we
were again on the high seas bound for the ports of South America.
When off the West Indies the sky suddenly became overcast, and we were
soon overtaken by a hurricane. The captain saw it coming and prepared
for it, yet when it took the ship it roared and laid her down so that
I thought she would never get up again. All that day and night we had
heavy squalls, and by morning the gale was still increasing. Birds of
sea and land came on board. Driven by the winds, they dashed
themselves down upon the deck without offering to stir until picked
up, and when let go they would not leave the ship, but endeavored to
hide from the wind. By ten o'clock at night the storm had spent its
fury, and when I went to my bunk I found it full of water. With the
straining of the ship, the seams had begun to leak. I was surprised to
note among the ship's crew that the most swaggering, swearing bullies
in fine weather were now the most meek and mild-mannered of men when
death was staring them in the face.
[Illustration: WRECK OF THE SPANISH SLOOP SEVILLE. (Page 30)]
Then followed days when the sea was smooth as glass. Our white sails
hung idly beneath the scorching skies. Sea weed floated on the oily
surface, as, day by day, we lay seemingly motionless on the bosom of
the deep. The moon rose out of a phosphorescent sea and cast its long
golden gleams on the azure blue, while the stars shone like isles of
light in the sky. There was a dread in the infinite spaces about.
Again, there was scurrying, fleecy clouds and our ship was scudding
before the breeze.
When I awoke one morning, we were lying at anchor in the harbor of
Buenos Ayres. While unloading cargo, the Captain desiring to go
ashore, I was taken in the boat along with two of the seamen. After
getting to the wharf, the Captain said: "I expect you fellows to
employ your time cleaning that boat; it will be five o'clock before I
return." After he had gone, one of the sailors said to his mate, "We
will leave Spriggings (meaning me) to clean the boat, and we will go
to shore." After they were gone, I concluded that I had been imposed
upon and I left the boat and went into the city, having no intention
of deserting the vessel at that time. In my wanderings in the strange
city, and not knowing a word of Spanish, I lost my way. Finally, when
I returned to the wharf, the boat was gone. It was late when I was
picked up by a policeman and turned over to an Englishman, who kindly
took me to his home for the night. The next morning I returned to the
Aven and received a reprimand.
A few days later we weighed anchor for Valparaiso. The sky was
overcast and the sea was rolling high off the Patagonian coast, when
we heard signal guns of distress. Captain McKenzie changed the course
of the ship and we soon came in view of the Spanish sloop Seville
going to pieces on the rocks. Her bow was lifted high, while the waves
were breaking over her stern. Her sails were in shreds, and a dozen
sailors clung to the rigging. We lowered the life-boat, and after
hours of battle with wind and wave, rescued the crew. They were in an
exhausted and famished condition, having been for almost three days
without food or water. They were given every kindly attention by our
officers and crew.
We saw the dark, jagged, rugged bluffs and steeps of Staten and Terra
del Fuego. We rounded Cape St. John, amid tempestuous gales and giant
seas of the polar regions. We lost sight of the land, reefed the sails
close down and then bid defiance to the storm. Strange sea birds
shrieked their dismal cries, while dull leaden skies added to the
gloom. We cleared Cape Horn in safety and were soon sailing over the
smooth seas of the south Pacific Ocean beneath the Southern Cross.
"Sail ho!" cried the lookout. All eyes were turned to the leeward. A
stately ship, under full sail, had suddenly appeared, bearing down
upon us. She came silently, the water splitting in foam at her bows.
We could see the crew working about her decks, but no sound came from
the spectre. All at once we noticed her hull and sails were
transparent. We could see through them to the ocean beyond.
It was only a mirage of the sea, but to our crew it was the spectre
of the Flying Dutchman--a phantom ship had crossed our bow.
Once in port, no more would we walk the deck of the Aven of Aberdeen.
She had seen a ghost.