THE OLD TRAPPER BURIES HIS VALUABLES--THE "SNOWBIRD" GOES ON HER
VOYAGE--ICE--A WHALE IN SIGHT--A FALL! A FALL!--IN AT THE DEATH--THE
"TREFOIL" ON FIRE.
Old Seth the trapper had a deal to do before he could accompany our
heroes on board the _Snowbird_. "For ye see, gentlemen," he explained
to them, "as soon's they find out that the Old Bear, as they somewhat
irreverently nominate this child, has left his wigwam, I guess the
Yacks'll pretty quickly come skooting around here, to pick up whatever
they're likely to lay their dirty hands on, so I reckon I'll just bury
my valuables."
A very practical individual was Seth, and when once he made up his mind
to do a thing he just did it straight away; so, as soon as they had
eaten their last breakfast at his wigwam, assisted by one or two of the
yachtsmen, the burial of the valuables commenced. A large hole was dug
not far from the door of the hut, and this was carefully lined with hay,
and on the hay were piled Seth's household goods, in the shape of pots
and pans, and plates and dishes, and every variety of cooking and
kitchen utensil, with the greater portion of the old man's armoury
_plus_ his wardrobe. Not the best portion of the latter, however; no,
only some of his skin suits, for shortly before these were deposited in
their temporary grave, Seth had retired for a space to the privacy of
his garret.
"I reckon," he said to himself, with a smile, as he began to undress,
"that old Seth'll kinder astonish the weak nerves of these English
sailors." Don't suppose they'd guess the old trapper was in possession
of anything decent to put on. He reckoned upon astonishing our
travellers, and he certainly was not far out of his reckoning, for when
he again appeared in their midst, arrayed in a long blue coat with brass
buttons, shoes with silver buckles, silk stockings, and knee-breeches,
white collar up to his eyes, and crowned with a beaver hat of immense
longitude, and with a face as serious and long as your own, reader, when
you look into the bowl of a silver spoon, Rory, whose risibility was
never under the most perfect control, simply rolled on the grass and
screamed. Allan was the next to go off, and then Ralph exploded, and
finally McBain. Even Oscar joined the chorus in a round of bow-bows,
and the only two of the whole party that contained themselves were Seth
and his mastiff.
"Guess," said Seth, quietly recommencing the burial of his valuables,
"you're kinder 'stonished to find Seth can be civilised when he likes."
Well, as soon as more hay had been placed in the grave, and the earth
packed down over all.
"P'r'aps," said Seth, "you gentlemen think the funeral's over now."
"It's finished now, isn't it?" asked McBain.
"Nary a bit of it," said the old man; "I know the Yacks too well to
leave the grave like that. They'd spot it at once, and have 'em up
before you'd say bullet."
The trapper's wisdom was well shown in his next move. This was to heap
a quantity of brushwood and logs on the top of all, and set fire to
them.
He watched the progress of the fire until it was well alight, and the
biggest logs began to crackle.
That same forenoon the first and second mates of the _Snowbird_ were
leaning over the bulwarks, looking at the shore, when the sound of oars
fell upon their ears, and next minute the yacht's cutter hove in sight
round the point.
"Why," said Stevenson, "who on earth have they got on board?"
"Old John Brown, I should think," said the second mate.
"Well," continued Stevenson, "I do wonder how many queer old customers
the captain will pick up before the end of the cruise. Ap ain't a
chicken, and Magnus isn't a youth, but this new old one beats all.
Shouldn't wonder if it ain't Methuselah himself. Anyhow, Mitchell, if
we do happen to want to rig a jury mast one of these days, this
venerable old bit o' timber in the long hat will be just the thing."
When the anchor was up once more, sail set, and the _Snowbird_ again
holding on her voyage, bowling along under a ten-knot breeze, Stevenson
approached to where Seth stood against the capstan.
"I say," says Stevenson.
"Sir to you," says Seth.
"You're a friend o' the captain's, ain't you?"
"That's so," from Seth.
"Well, that makes you a friend of mine," from Stevenson. "Shake hands."
Seth did shake hands, and Stevenson winced as he pulled his hand away.
"What an iron-fisted old sinner you are!"
"I reckon," said Seth, quietly, "I can hold pretty tight for an old
'un."
"Now," continued Stevenson, "let me give you a piece of advice."
"Spit it out," said Seth.
"Well then, it is this: get rid of these antediluvian togs o' yours. I
won't say you look a guy, but the suit ain't shipshape, I assure you,
and it makes you look--well, just a little remarkable; and mind you, if
it comes on to blow only just a little bit, that venerable tile o'
yours'll go overboard--sharp, and your wig too, if you wear one."
"Look here, young man," said Seth, "you talk pretty straight, you do;
but as far as the wig is concerned, I wear my own hair as yet; as
regards the togs, as you call 'em, I hain't got nothing else to put on
but skins. Skins wouldn't suit a civilised ship. So unless you can fix
me up decent and different, don't talk, that's all."
"That's fair, that's right, Methus--I mean, Mr Seth."
"Bother your misters," said the old trapper; "I'm Seth, simply Seth."
"Well, Seth," said Stevenson, "see here, I can fix you in a brace of
shakes; you ain't much more'n a yard taller than me. Come below,
Methus--ahem! Seth. Mind your hat. It would be a pity to crush that,
you know."
When Seth appeared on deck again, rigged out in a suit of Stevenson's,
albeit his legs stuck rather far through their covering, and his long
bony wrists were nicely displayed, it must be confessed that he _did_
look a little less remarkable.
Where was Seth to sleep at night? Was he to be a cabin passenger? Nay,
Seth himself decided the matter by simply taking the big mastiff in his
arms, and lying down on a skin in front of the galley-fire.
As for the dog himself, he began to improve in condition from the very
day he came on board, and before he was a week at sea he was positively
getting fat. But the Yankee trapper remained as lanky as ever. Do not
think, however, that honest Seth was of no service on board; old as he
was, he proved a very useful fellow. He assisted the cook, the cooper,
and the sailmaker all in turns; and when he was not assisting them he
was squatting on deck, making and mending fishing-tackle, and busking
fishhooks with feathers, to make them represent flies.
The _Snowbird_ had now got so far into the northern and western bays
that, summer although it was, the weather was far from warm, but it
continued fine. Immense snow-clad pieces of ice were to be seen daily,
sometimes even hourly, and the yacht often sailed so closely to them
that the very blood and marrow of the onlookers felt as if suddenly
frozen into ice itself.
One morning a berg was reached larger than any they had yet seen, and
the vessel had to alter her course considerably in order to avoid it.
To all appearance it was an island in the midst of the dark sea, and
quite an hour elapsed ere it was rounded, and the ship could again be
kept away on the right tack. Hardly had she been put so, when,--
"A sail!" was the shout from the crow's-nest--"a sail on the weather
bow."
Captain McBain went aloft himself to have a look at her, the yacht in
the meantime being kept close to the wind. When he came down Rory and
Allan went eagerly to meet him.
"What is she?" said the former. "Our old friend the pirate?"
"Nay," said McBain, "not this time; it's a whaler, right enough; all her
boats are hanging handy, and she is evidently on the outlook for
blubber. Peter!" he cried, speaking down the main hatch, "have lunch
ready in a couple of hours. I think," he continued, addressing our
heroes, "we'll board her. Would any of you like to go?"
Of course they would, every one of the three of them.
While they were discussing luncheon Stevenson came below.
"We're nearly close abreast of her," he said, "and I've been signalling.
She's an English barque--the _Trefoil_, from Hull."
"Been whaling, I suppose?" said McBain.
"Yes, sir," said Stevenson; "she's been wintered, and is now engaged at
the summer fishing. She's dodging now; and I've had the foreyard hauled
aback."
"Thank you, Mr Stevenson. Call away the gig if the men have dined.
Let them dress in their smartest. We'll be up in a few minutes."
It was a lovely day; a gentle swell was on, broken into myriads of
rippling wavelets by a southern wind, and on it the tall-masted barque
rocked gently to and fro. The gig was soon lowered and manned, and,
with Rory as coxswain, they left the _Snowbird's_ side. How pretty she
looked! This thought must have been in every one's mind as they gazed
on her beautiful lines, and thence at the large but cumbersome vessel
they were rapidly approaching. Hard weather and hard usage she must
have experienced since leaving England. The paint was planed and
ploughed off her bows and sides in all directions, and the woodwork
itself deeply furrowed and indented.
"It is evident enough she has been in the nips," said McBain, "pretty
often, too."
A Jacob's-ladder was thrown overboard as they approached, and a rope,
when up they sprang, and next moment stood on the deck of the
Greenlandman, lifting their hats with true sailor courtesy as soon as
they touched her timbers.
Rough and unkempt both the seamen and officers looked beside our smart,
gaily-dressed yachtsmen, but they accorded them a kindly welcome
nevertheless. They were invited down below, and found themselves in a
little octagon-shaped saloon, with a stove on one side, and doors
opening off every other. So small was this crib, as one might call it,
that, with the captain and the mate, our friends quite filled it.
The captain was a tall, stout, blustering fellow of about forty years of
age, who welcomed them in, roughly but not unkindly, and showered upon
them about a dozen questions without waiting for an answer to either.
What was the latest from England? Were we at war? Was Hool (Hull)
still in the same place? Had they brought newspapers? What would they
drink? Ending up with--
"Steward, bring the bottles--confound you! what are you standing
grinning there at, like a vixen fox? Sharp's the word, quick's the
motion."
There were many words in this sailor's vocabulary that I do not think it
right to repeat, as they were not fit for ears polite.
"What!" he cried, when McBain assured him they neither of them cared to
drink--"what, a teetotal ship! Why, how the humpty-dumpty do you manage
to keep the cold out, then?"
"Coffee," was the laconic reply.
"Well, well, well!" said the Greenland captain, filling himself up half
a tumblerful of rum, and drinking it off at one gulp. "But sit down all
the same, and give us all the news."
That they would, and that they did, and they answered all his questions
with extreme politeness, and were just on the eve of asking him some in
return anent his own adventures, when that cry, so musical and exciting
to the ear of the Greenland whaler, was shouted from the mast-head, and
taken up by those below, and resounded all over the ship from stem to
stern, and back again--"A fall! a fall! a fall!"
The captain sprang to his feet, almost capsizing the bottles in his
excitement.
"Hurrah, men! hurrah!" he roared, as he sprang up the companion, "luck's
going to turn after all. Hurrah, men! a fall!--yes, a fall in good
earnest! Away, boats! Tumble in, lads! tumble in!"
Our friends were left in the _Trefoil's_ saloon, all staring in blank
astonishment save McBain. "Listen!" said the latter.
They did, and could hear every now and then three blows struck on the
deck, as if by a sledge-hammer, followed immediately by a sentence
bellowed from stentorian lungs, but of which they could only distinguish
the first word and the last. These were "Away!" and "Ahoy!"
"Whatever is up?" cried Rory at last; "is the ship going down, or has
everybody taken sudden leave of his senses?"
"There's a whale in sight; that's it!" McBain replied.
"But what is the knocking?" continued Rory.
"Oh, that is to awaken the sleepers," explained McBain; "they have no
boatswain's pipe in these ships, so they knock with their booted feet.
But come, let us go on deck and see the fun."
The captain met them at the top of the companion.
"We're off, you see!" he cried, hurriedly. "Come on board and dine with
me. I'm going to spear that fish myself; I haven't a harpooner worth a
dump. Keep in the rear of my boat if you're going to follow, and you'll
see the fun and be in at the death?"
_In at the death_! Strangely prophetic were the captain's words; our
heroes remembered them afterwards for many a long day.
"A fall! a fall! Yonder she rips! yonder she spouts! A fall! a fall!"
The men were tumbling up the hatches--pouring up. You could hardly have
believed so many men had been below. They ran along the decks and
trundled into the hanging boats like so many monkeys; the tackles are
let go, blocks creak, and one by one they disappear beneath the bulwarks
and reach the water, with a flop and a plash that tell of speed and
excitement. And now they are off. The men bend well to their oars,
and, encouraged by the shouts of the coxswain and harpooner, they fly
over the water--together first, but soon in a line, for it is a race,
and the first harpooner that strikes the fish will be well rewarded.
But where is the whale? Why, yonder; two goodly miles to leeward. You
can only see three parts of it--black dots above the water; the skull,
the back, and the tail tip.
McBain and his boys were left almost alone, for here were hardly men
enough to work the ship, and the silence that had succeeded the noise
and shouting was intense in its gloominess.
"Come, lads!" cried McBain, "we mustn't stop here; let us see the fun;
let us follow the hunt, and be in at the death!"
The _Snowbird's_ gig was speedily alongside, and in a few minutes more
was bounding over the rippling waters to where the other boats were. It
needed not McBain's "Give way, my lads! give way with a will!" to make
the men do their utmost. They too were wild with excitement.
But see, the boats are spreading out; they are no longer together; the
whale has dived, and there is no saying where she may come up. Ten,
fifteen, twenty minutes of suspense creep slowly away; the crew of the
gig have been lying on their oars. But look! there she is again! her
huge bulk appears in the very midst of the boats. Let her go either
way, or any way, she is sure of a shot. She makes a dash for it. Bang,
bang, bang! from the bows of three of the boats. She is struck--twice
struck--but she but increases her speed, the line goes spinning over the
bows; there is blood in her wake, and the men bend now to their oars
with the fury of maniacs. She is badly hurt; she is confused; she stops
for a moment to lash the water madly with her tail, then dives once
more. But she cannot sulk long, breathe she must. And the boats still
go tearing on, and the lines are being coiled in again. The other boats
move on ahead, too; they want to surround "the fish." One of these is
the captain's boat; they can see his burly form in the bow. Mindful of
his words, the gig keeps on in her wake.
"Back astern, men!" cries McBain, as the giant whale rises almost under
their very bows. "Back, back for your lives!"
To say that our heroes were astonished at the size and strength of the
angry monster, would but poorly express the amount of their surprise.
Their hearts seemed to stand still with awe. They were thunderstruck.
Ah! and here was thunder too, those awful blows! The sound may be heard
miles and miles away on a still day. I know, reader, of nothing in
nature that gives one a greater idea of vastness, of strength and power,
than a whale's body raised high in air and curved round in the attitude
of striking; the skin seems tightened over, it glitters like a gigantic
piston-rod, and it seems trebly powerful. But oh! to be under that
dreadful tail.
When, awestruck and half-drowned with spray, our heroes managed to look
around them, the thunder had ceased, the whale was gone; there were
blood and foam in front of them, beyond that the wreck of the captain's
boat. She was so smashed up that she hadn't even sunk; her timbers lay
all about, and clinging to them the drowning and maimed wretches that
had not been killed outright. The gig and two other boats made haste to
assist. In at the death! They were indeed in at the death. The
captain was among the slain. His body was found floating, strange to
say, at some considerable distance from the wreck. He seemed in a deep
quiet sleep. Alas! it was a sleep from which he would awake no more in
this world.
And the whale had gone. She had made direct for the island of ice and
dived beneath it, and there the lines were cut.
But hark! adown the wind comes the sound of a signal-gun; a minute goes
by, then there is another. All eyes are turned towards the _Trefoil_,
and now smoke can be distinctly seen rolling slowly up from her decks,
near the bows.
Once again the signal-gun.
The _Trefoil_ is on fire!