OLD SETH BECOMES SURGEON--A TERRIBLE DANGER--RALPH FLOODS THE MAGAZINE--
FIGHTING THE FIRE--WRECK OF THE "TREFOIL"--BURIED AT SEA--"LAND HO!"
The second mate had been left in charge of the _Trefoil_ when the boats
left the vessel to go in pursuit of the whale. How sadly that pursuit
ended the reader has already been told. Besides this officer, when the
fire broke out there were only on board the cook, the steward, and three
or four ordinary seamen. Smoke was first seen issuing from the fore
hold, and, whether for good or for bad, the mate at once ordered the
hatches to be battened down, then he hoisted the boat's recall, and
commenced firing minute-guns as a signal of distress.
It had been a race for wealth with the _Trefoil's_ boats when leaving
her. As they sped back again to their burning ship it was a race for
life itself, or at all events for all they held dear in life. Yonder,
with the smoke hanging like a dark and ominous cloud over her
forecastle, and rolling slowly upwards hiding yards and shrouds, was
their home upon the waters, the good ship in which they had sailed from
England more than a year ago. If anything were to happen to her, how
were they ever to reach their native shores, where wives and children,
fathers, mothers, and sisters, were even now pining for the return of
the absent sailors?
The bold, straightforward character of McBain was never so well seen as
in times of emergency and danger, and then, too, the goodness of the
man's heart shone forth. Our heroes' boat was among the first, if not
_the_ first, to render assistance, after the terrible wreck of the
captain's whale-boat, as described in the last chapter; and as soon as
it was discovered that the _Trefoil_ was on fire, McBain had an
interview with the mate.
"A burning ship," he said, "is no place, sir, to convey wounded men to,
nor dead either. Place them in my boat, they will receive every
attention on board our little craft. Meanwhile, you speed away to your
ship, and presently we will follow you, bringing to your assistance all
the men we can spare from the _Snowbird_."
"God bless you, sir!" said the mate, much affected. "What a blessing
that your vessel was here! It shows me that He has not altogether
deserted us, bad though our fortunes have been."
Out of the crew of the lost whale-boat, numbering eight in all,
including the harpooner, the captain himself, and the coxswain, only
three escaped intact, while three were killed outright, and the
remaining two badly hurt, one having both bones of a leg broken, the
other sustaining a grievous wound in the forearm. In solemn silence,
and with all due respect, the captain and his two brave fellows who had
lost their lives were laid side by side on the quarter-deck, and their
bodies covered over with the Union Jack--the sailors' pall, for surely
it is meet and proper that the flag a man sails or fights under while
alive shall cover his poor body when life has fled, and ere yet it is
committed to the cold, dark, fathomless ocean.
The wounded men were carried below, and placed in comfortable cots
between decks.
"I daresay," said McBain, "my duty for a time will keep me here by these
two poor fellows, though I would like to be hastening away to the
assistance of that unhappy ship."
"Nary a duty, sir," said trapper Seth.
McBain looked up. Here was this tall, ungainly Yankee, with the lantern
jaws and the iron fists, standing forth in quite a new light, namely,
that of surgeon. He had stripped off coat and waistcoat and rolled up
his sleeves. Beside him stood little Magnus, holding in his two hands a
basin of warm water, in which a sponge floated, holding under his arm a
bundle of hastily-manufactured bandages.
"Nary a duty!" repeated Seth. "I guess you'd better leave the wounded
to the care of the two old 'uns here. Seth has done up more cuts and
skivers in his time, than there are days in leap year. As for the
broken leg, we'll soon cooper that, won't we, Magnus?"
"That will we!" Magnus replied, cheerfully.
Nothing loth to be relieved of a somewhat unpleasant duty, McBain at
once called for volunteers, and was considerably surprised to be almost
immediately surrounded by every man in the ship except the man at the
wheel.
"I didn't pipe all hands," he said, with a quiet smile.
However, he picked out twelve of the sturdiest of his fellows, and with
these in the cutter--he himself holding the tiller--he was soon
alongside the _Trefoil_.
The pumps had been already manned and the hoses rigged, and two lines of
men were ranged along the decks, drawing water in buckets from the
starboard and port sides. The smoke was spewing up the forehatch, the
decks were wet and slippery, and the men, stripped to the waist with the
exception of their guernseys, were working away with such a will that
the perspiration stood in beads on their arms, and trickled down their
smoke-begrimed faces.
Something like a cheer arose when our heroes and their volunteers sprang
on deck, and at once set about preparations for work. McBain beckoned
the mate aft, and a consultation was held, at which Rory, Ralph, and
Allan were present.
Very much to his surprise, the captain of the _Snowbird_ speedily
discovered that the mate of the _Trefoil_ had completely lost his head,
as the saying is.
"This is a bad business, sir," McBain began. "Oh, it is dreadful--it is
fearful!" cried the mate; "it is--it is--whatever shall we do?"
"We'll keep cool to begin with," said McBain; "nothing is to be gained
by hurry or excitement. Tell me this: How did the fire originate?"
The mate gave him a strange glance. "It is not for me to guess even,"
he said. "There is one, perhaps, on board who could tell you."
"Then where did it originate?"
"Ah! that I can tell you," said the mate. "Among the coals--under the
galley in the hold. The fire is confined to that place now; but look
you, sir! smashed up among those coals are the bodies of six pigs that
we took out with us. For warmth on the voyage out they buried
themselves among the coals, and were killed by the roll of the ship.
Their bodies are, we know, cut into piecemeal and intimately mixed with
the coals. No wonder they burn!"
"But you are simply pouring water into the 'tween decks," said McBain;
"you're not even sure if it be reaching the fire."
"I didn't think of that," said the poor confused mate. "But," he
continued, "there is worse to tell you!"
"Go on, and quickly!" cried McBain. "What is the worse?"
The mate's reply was gasped out rather than spoken, and he turned as
pale as death as he uttered the words.
"The magazine is not flooded, and it is close to where the fire is
raging!"
The blood sprang to McBain's cheek, the fire seemed to flash from his
eye, as he brought his fist down with a ringing crash upon the hatchway,
near which he stood.
"What sinful folly!" he cried. "Call for volunteers at once. Call for
volunteers, I say, and flood your magazine, man!"
"Stay!" said the mate, now fully aroused, and regaining a little common
sense--"stay! You little know my men; they are not picked Englishmen
like yours, they are principally stevedores and fishermen. Did they
know the magazine was not flooded it would be _sauve qui peut_. They'd
take to the boats and leave the _Trefoil_ to her fate. I have myself
been down below, and had to be dragged up through the smoke, fainting.
Besides, it needs two hands, and I've no one to trust."
"But the danger is imminent; we may all be blown to pieces without a
moment's warning," said McBain.
"See here, mate!"
It was Ralph who spoke--brave, quiet, English Ralph--and bravely and
quietly did he speak, while his comrades looked on astonished.
Courageous they all knew he was, in a fine old lazy Saxon fashion; but
to see him stand forth in the hour of need, six feet and over of brawny
stalwart heroism, ready and willing to lead a forlorn hope, took his
friends aback.
"See here, mate. I'll go with you to flood the magazine. If it's only
the smoke you fear, I know how to steer clear of that. I was at the
burning of Castle Bryn Mawr, and gained an experience there that will
last me a lifetime. Come below with me quickly. Now get me towels and
a basin of water. Thanks! now watch what I do. Your handkerchief,
Rory; yours, Allan. See here now--with this tiny pair of scissors I
first cut two small eyeholes in the towel. Then I wet it in the water.
Now I tear a handkerchief in two, and wet the parts and fold them into
pads. Sit down, mate, sit down. One little pad I place at each side of
the nose, the towel I bind firmly round the head and fasten behind.
Now, mate, you can only breathe through the wet towel, and no smoke can
harm you. Now, boys, here is the other wet towel and the pads, do the
same by me."
In less time than it has taken me to describe them, these simple
operations were completed, and next minute Ralph was stepping manfully
forward to the forehatch, followed by the mate.
The latter seized the hose with his left hand, and took Ralph's left
hand in his own right. He could thus guide him, for the mate knew where
the magazine lay, but Ralph could not. Then they disappeared.
The bucket-men had, at the mate's orders, ceased to work for a time, and
took their turn at the pumps to relieve the others. They stood quietly
with their backs to the bulwarks and with folded arms. Something they
knew was being done below--something connected with the safety of the
ship, and they were content.
Minutes, long minutes of terrible suspense to McBain and his two boys,
went slowly, slowly by. Rory, who was passionately fond of Ralph,
thought the time would never end, and all kinds of horrible fancies kept
creeping into his mind. But look--they come at last; the heroes come.
They stagger to where their friends are standing, and Rory notices that
Ralph's hands are sadly blackened, and that his finger-nails drip blood.
It had been trying work. The magazine lid had fouled, and it took them
fully five minutes to wrench it off, and five minutes more to flood the
compartment. But it is done at last, and safety, for a time at least,
is insured.
And now to fight the fire, to flood the hold, without admitting too much
air to feed the flames.
McBain's proposal was carried unanimously. It was to scuttle the lower
deck, and fasten into the hole so made, the end of the long copper
ventilator which stood between the fore and the main masts, and was used
for giving access to air into the men's living and sleeping rooms.
Ralph determined to go down again, and could not be restrained from
doing so. His work, he averred, was but half finished; the mate and he
between them could scuttle the deck with adzes and axes, and fix the
funnel-shaped ventilator, in a quarter of an hour. They were too
anxious to stop long for refreshment. Only a draught of water, and
seizing their implements, down they went once more.
So perfect were the simple face-guards they wore, that they might have
stopped below until the work was completed, had it not been necessary to
come on deck to have them removed and re-rinsed in clean water. Happily
the fire was not raging immediately beneath the spot where they cut the
hole, or the flames might have defied all their efforts to fix the
copper funnel. It was no easy task to do so as it was, for the smoke
rolled up in blinding volumes, and the heat was intense. But they
finished the work nevertheless, and finished it well, carefully
surrounding the end of the ventilator with wet swabs.
With pumps and with buckets the water was now poured down the
communication thus effected with the hold, and surely men never worked
harder for dear life itself than did the crew of the _Trefoil_ and the
_Snowbird_ volunteers, to save that burning ship. The danger was very
urgent, for if the water were not constantly kept pouring down in
volumes the heat must soon melt the end of the ventilator, and the fire
gain access to the 'tween decks.
At first volumes of sparks flew upwards, and it was feared this might
fire the sails. Hands were told off, therefore, to clew them. Then
came volumes of dense smoke only, and this for a whole hour without
abatement; but gradually the smoke grew less and the steam more.
Gradually the 'tween decks cleared of smoke; and ere long steam alone,
and but little of that, came up the ventilator. Then they knew the fire
was mastered, that the danger was past.
McBain parted that evening from the mate, now master of the _Trefoil_,
with the promise that the _Snowbird_ would keep near his barque for a
day or two at least, until the chance of the fire once more breaking out
was no longer to be dreaded. Although the sun sets every night, even at
midsummer time, in the latitude in which the yacht was now sailing,
there is very little darkness, only just a few hours of what might be
called a deepened twilight, then day again.
The breeze had freshened. Just before turning in for good, our heroes
noticed they were approaching a stream of somewhat heavy ice. They were
but little alarmed at this, however; they were used to the sight of ice
by this time, and could sleep through the din of "boring" through fields
of it.
"I'm glad the wind keeps strong, Stevenson," McBain said, previously to
going below. "Keep her stem-on to the big pieces, and don't bump her
amidships, if possible. Call me if anything unusual occurs."
It was precisely three bells in the middle watch when the mate entered
Captain McBain's room.
"Well, Stevenson," said McBain, sitting up in bed, for he was a light
sleeper; "we're clear of the ice, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir," said Stevenson. "We're in open water. We're dodging, sir.
I've hauled the foreyard aback, to wait for the _Trefoil_."
"She's in sight, then, of course?" asked McBain.
"No, sir, that is the curious part of it. I can't see a sign of her;
not a vestige, even from the crow's-nest."
"What?" cried McBain.
"It is true, sir," continued the mate. "We were both working through
the ice-stream just before darkling. I was too busy to look much about
me till we got outside; then I missed her. There are two or three large
bergs among the smaller. She may be hidden by one of these. If she
isn't I greatly fear, sir, something has happened to her."
The captain was on deck in a few minutes, and found the mate's words
were sadly true.
He tacked up and down for hours, so as to see both sides of every large
berg in the stream, but no _Trefoil_ was there. She was gone. Never
more would this goodly barque sail the northern seas.
Towards noon that day one solitary boat was seen to emerge from the
bergs of the ice-stream, and begin advancing towards the _Snowbird_.
One boat--eleven men and the first mate--were all the survivors of the
ill-fated ship. She had been struck amidships. A three-cornered piece
of ice had gone half-way through her, then receded, and in three
minutes' time she had filled and gone down, the mate and the watch on
deck having barely time to cut a boat away.
[The same fate befell the _Innuit_, of Peterhead, some fifteen years
ago; she went down in the short darkling of a summer's night, a very few
minutes after being struck. She had been lying beset, with my own ship
and several others, in an ice-pack, to the south-west of Jan Mayen. The
hands, however, were saved.--_The Author_.]
That day, after dinner, the mate told the short but sad history of the
_Trefoil's_ cruise.
"The same captain was in her," he said, "for three years, and never yet
succeeded in getting a paying voyage. His owners weren't pleased, you
may be well sure. Unscrupulous men they are, every one of them. They
told him, and they told me and our second mate, before we left England
last, that if we were a clean ship this voyage they would rather _never
see the `Trefoil' again_! We knew what that meant. We knew the
_Trefoil_ was heavily insured. But the captain was a gentleman; he
would have died sooner than harm a timber of the dear old _Trefoil_.
But the second mate--ah! it is wrong, I know, to speak ill of the dead,
but I have reasons, strong reasons, for believing that it was he who
fired the ship.
"We had bad luck last summer; we never struck a fish. Then we got beset
among such terrible ice as I had never seen before, and there we had to
winter. There was another ship not far off in the same predicament,
though she lay on an evener keel.
"It was because our poor captain was so unhappy that, during the winter,
he began to acquire sadly intemperate habits. We could not see him
dying by inches before our faces; we loved the man, and tried to save
him. We mutinied--ay! it was mutiny, but if ever mutiny was excusable
it was in this case. We marched aft and seized the keys of the room
where the grog was stored, and, with the exception of a few gallons,
which we kept for the spring fishing, we poured every drop down the
ice-hole. Two weeks after that the captain sent for me and thanked me
before the men for what I had done. You know the rest of our story,
gentlemen."
Next morning it had fallen calm again; the sky was of a deeply azure
blue, the sea a sea of glass, with one or two beautiful Arctic birds
floating lazily on its surface. And thus lazily floated the good yacht
_Snowbird_, rising and falling on the gentle swell. All hands were aft
at an early hour listening to the solemn words of the Burial Service.
The bodies had been sewn in hammocks and weighted with portions of iron,
and at the words, "Earth to earth, dust to dust," the flag was quietly
withdrawn, the grating on which they lay was tilted, and, one by one,
they were allowed to drop into the depths of that dark mysterious ocean,
where shall repose the bodies of so many of England's bravest sons, till
the sea gives up its dead.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
By noon the glassy surface of the water was touched here and there by
what sailors term "cat's-paws." Half-an-hour later the sea was all of a
ripple; then the _Snowbird's_ sails filled again, and she bore away to
the west. And so west and west she went for several weeks, only
altering her course at times to avoid the heavier ice, or when compelled
to do so by a change of wind. Then for days and days they kept nearly
south and by west, till one morning there was a shout from the mast-head
that thrilled every heart with joy,--
"Land ho!"