CHAPTER IV

Having no means of knowing the time--for the clock had never been

wound, owing to my not being able to find the key--I cannot tell

when the change came; but I think it must have been about eight next

morning. The vessel suddenly righted, and then began to tumble about in

so outrageous a fashion that I thought she must go all to pieces. Elsie

awoke screaming with fright; and with all You Sing’s catlike capacity

for holding on, it was some minutes before he could get to her to

comfort her. He had not left my side more than ten minutes, when, with

a tremendous lurch, the vessel was hurled over to starboard, and I knew

that my greatest fear was realized--she had been caught aback! Over,

over she went, until it was almost possible to stand upright upon the

lee bulk-heads of the cabin. In sea-phrase, she was on her beam-ends.

I now gave all up for lost, and waited, hardly breathing, for the crash

of the end. The water on deck burst in through every crevice, and rose

upon the lee-side until I was obliged to climb up to the fast-clamped

settees to windward to avoid being drowned. The uproar on deck was

louder than ever, and I fancied that I could hear every now and then

through the tumult the rending and crashing of spars, and feel the

shattering blow of their great masses against the hull alongside. But

still the vessel appeared staunch, although every inch of her framework

visible in the cabin was all awork.

After what seemed like a whole day, but could only have been two or

three hours, she began to right herself, and the din outside grew less

deafening. Rapidly the howl of the wind moderated, although the vessel

still tossed and tumbled about in frantic fashion, until my anxiety to

see daylight again got the better of my fears, and I painfully made

my way up the companion, opened it, and stepped on to the poop. The

sight I beheld took away my breath. The Blitzen was a complete wreck.

Not a stick was standing except the three jagged stumps of the lower

masts; the bulwarks were stripped from her sides for their entire

length, the house on deck had clean disappeared, and everything that

could be torn from its fastenings about the decks had gone also. It was

a clean sweep. A cold shiver went through me, such as one might feel

upon awakening to find his house roofless and all his household goods

exposed to the glare of day. But the sky was clear, the sea was going

down, and we were still afloat. A great wave of thankfulness came over

me, suddenly checked by the paralyzing thought that perhaps we had

sprung a leak. I stood still for a moment while this latest fear soaked

in; then, bracing myself up to learn the worst, I hurried forrard to

try and find the rod to sound the well. But it had gone, among the

rest of the carpenter’s gear, with the deck-house, and I was obliged

to give up the idea. Returning aft, I uncovered the cabin skylight and

went below, finding You Sing busy preparing some food. Then I suddenly

remembered that I was ravenously hungry, and we all three sat down and

ate our fill cheerfully and gladly. But while we were swallowing the

last morsels of our meal, You Sing gravely lifted his hand and sat

listening intently. There was a strange sound on deck, and it made me

almost helpless with fear; for it sounded like the singing chatter of

Chinese. We sat for a few moments as if suddenly frozen, listening with

every faculty, and hardly breathing. Then, ghost-like, You Sing rose,

and, taking the two of us by the arms, gently persuaded us into one

of the state-rooms at hand, and signed to us to keep close while he

went to investigate. Noiselessly he glided away from us and was gone,

leaving us a prey to the most harrowing sensations in the belief that

all our cruel forebodings were about to be proved true. For some time

not a sound could be heard in our hiding-place except the soothing

creak of the timbers or the wash of the caressing waves outside the

hull. Yet I remember curiously how even in that agony of suspense I

noticed that the motion of the ship was changed. She no longer seemed

to swing buoyantly from wave to wave, but solemnly, stolidly, she

rolled, as if the sea had taken possession of her, and bereft her of

her own grace of mastery.

A confused thudding sound reached us from above, as if caused by the

pattering of bare feet on deck; but there were no voices, nor, indeed,

any other noises to give us a clue as to what was going on. Very soon

even that slight sound ceased, and we were left again to the dumbness

of our surroundings. The child went to sleep; and I, after perhaps half

an hour of strained listening, felt that I could bear this condition

of things no longer, for it had seemed like a whole day to my excited

imaginings. So, as silently as had You Sing long ago, I stole from the

little state-room and across the saloon. With all my terrors weighing

me down, I crawled, worm-like, up the companion-ladder, and wriggled

on to the deck on all-fours. The sea, and the sky, and the barren

deck all lay in perfect silence, which pressed upon me like one of

those nightmares in which you feel that unless you can scream you must

die. After two or three attempts, I moistened my parched mouth and

called, “You Sing!” There was no voice of any one that answered. But

that I think the limit of my capacity for being terrified had been

reached some time before, I believe this irresponsiveness, with its

accompanying sensation of being utterly alone, would have made me an

idiot. As it was, I only felt numbed and tired. Slowly I stood up upon

my feet, and went forrard to the break of the poop, learning at once

the reason of You Sing’s silence; for by the side of the after-hatch

lay three Chinese, naked and dead, bearing on their bodies the grim

evidences of the method of their ending. Close to the cabin door, as if

he had dragged himself away from his late antagonists in the vain hope

of reaching his friends again, lay You Sing. As I looked down upon him

he moved slightly. In a moment, forgetting everything else, I was by

his side, and lifted his head upon my knee. He opened his glazing eyes

and looked up into my face with his old sweet smile, now with something

of highest satisfaction in it. His dry lips opened, and he murmured,

“’Ullo, Tommy; all litee.” Then the intelligence faded out of his eyes,

and he left me.

It must have been hours afterwards when I again realized my

surroundings. Elsie was sitting by the piece of yellow clay that had

been You Sing, perfectly still, but with an occasional tearing sob.

She must have been crying for a long time. Gradually the whole of the

past came back to me, and I saw how our dead friend had indeed paid

in full what he considered to be his debt to us; although how that

mild and gentle creature, in whom I never saw even so much as a shade

of vexation, much less anger, could have risen to such a height of

fighting valour as to slay three men in our defence was utterly beyond

my powers of comprehension. For, without attempting any eloquence of

panegyric, that was precisely what he had done, and with his opponent’s

own weapons, too. To say that I had not really felt lonely and helpless

until now only faintly conveys the appalling sense of loss that had

come upon me. As for the poor child, she crouched by the side of

the corpse, scarcely more alive than it was, manifesting no fear or

repugnance at the presence of death; indeed, she appeared unable to

realize the great fact in its full terror.

How long we both sat in this dazed condition it is impossible to say

with any definiteness. No doubt it was for several hours, for we both

seemed only partially alive; and, for my part, the only impression left

was that all besides ourselves were dead. That feeling carried with it

a dim anticipation that we too might expect to find our turn to depart

confronting us at any moment; but in this thought there was no fear,

rather relief.

How often, I wonder, has it been noted that in times of deep mental

distress, when the mind appears to have had a mortal blow, and all

those higher faculties which are our peculiar possession are so numbed

that they give no definite assistance to the organism, the animal needs

of the body have instinctively asserted themselves, and thus saved the

entire man or woman from madness or death? It must surely be one of the

commonest of experiences, although seldom formulated in so many words.

At any rate, this was now the case with me. Gradually the fact that I

was parched with thirst became the one conscious thing; and, without

thinking about it, without any definite idea even, I found myself on my

feet, swaying and staggering as I crossed the bare deck to where the

scuttle-butt used to be lashed. Finding it gone, I stood helplessly

staring at the ends of the lashings that had secured it, with a dull,

stupid anger of disappointment. _Then_ I began to think; I had to, for

my need was imperative. I remembered that You Sing had brought into the

cabin before the typhoon a store of water sufficient for days. This

mental effort was bracing, doing much to restore me again to some show

of usefulness. I soon found the water, and hurried on deck once more,

for the cabin was no place to stay in now. It was tenanted by shapes

of dread, full of inaudible signs of woe; and right glad was I to

regain the side of the little girl for living companionship. I offered

her some water. She looked at it dully, as if unable to attach any

idea to it; and it was only by repeatedly rousing her that I managed

to awaken any reason in her injured mind at all. In the absence of any

such compulsion, I think she would have just sat still and ceased to

live, painlessly and unconsciously.

Now that the needs of another were laid upon me, I began to move about

a little more briskly, and to notice our condition with returning

interest. For some time the strange steadiness of the ship had

puzzled me without arousing any definite inquiry in my mind as to the

cause of it. But in crossing the deck to re-enter the cabin the true

significance of that want of motion suddenly burst upon me, for I

saw the calm face of the water only a few inches from the deck-line.

The Blitzen was sinking. During the typhoon she must have received

tremendous injuries from the wreckage of her top-hamper, that, floating

alongside, entangled in the web of its rigging, was as dangerous as

so many rocks would have been. There was urgent need now for thought

and action also, for there was nothing of any kind on deck floatable.

Boats, spars, hen-coops, all had gone. A thousand futile thoughts

chased one another through my throbbing brain, but they ran in circles

that led nowhere. There seemed to be no possible means of escape. Yet

somehow I was not hopeless. I felt a curious reliance upon the fact

that we two small people had come through so much unhurt in any way,

and this baseless unreasoning faith in our good (?) fortune forbade

me to despair. So that I cannot say I felt greatly surprised when I

presently saw on the starboard side forrard a small _sampan_ floating

placidly, its grass painter made fast to the fore-chains. There was no

mystery about its appearance. It had brought those awful visitors whose

defeat caused You Sing his life, and was probably the only surviving

relic of some junk that had foundered in the storm. The sight of it

did me a world of good. Rushing to Elsie, I pointed out the fact of

our immediate danger, and of the hope left us, and after some little

difficulty succeeded in getting her into the _sampan_. The Blitzen

was now so low in the water that my remaining time was countable by

seconds. I flew into the cabin, snatched up a few biscuits and the

large can of water that stood in the bathroom, and rushed for the boat.

As I scrambled into her with my burden I noticed shudderingly that the

ship was beginning to move, but with such a motion! It was like the

death-throe of a man--a physical fact with which of late I had been

well acquainted. Every plank of her groaned as if in agony; she gave a

quivering sideway stagger. My fingers trembled so that I could hardly

cast adrift the painter, which I was compelled to do, having no knife.

I got the clumsy hitches adrift at last, and with one of the rough oars

gave our frail craft a vigorous shove off, Elsie staring all the while

at the huge hull with dilating eyes and drawn white face. Presently the

Blitzen seemed to stumble; a wave upreared itself out of the smooth

brightness of the placid sea and embraced her bows, drawing them gently

down. So gently, like a tired woman sinking to rest, did the Blitzen

leave the light, and only a few foam-flecked whorls and spirals on the

surface marked for a minute or two the spot where she had been.

Happily for us who were left, our troubles were nearly at an end.

One calm night of restless dozing under the warm sky, trying not to

think of what a tiny bubble we made on the wide sea, we passed not

uncomfortably. Just before dawn I felt rather than heard a throbbing,

its regular pulsations beating steadily as if inside my head. But they

had not lasted one minute before I knew them for the propeller-beat

of a steamer, and strained my eyes around through the departing

darkness for a sight of her. Straight for us she came, the watchful

officer on the bridge having seen us more than a mile off. In the

most matter-of-fact way we were taken on board, and Elsie was soon

mothered by the skipper’s wife, while I was being made much of by the

men. And that was all. Of all that mass of treasure that had caused

the sacrifice of so many lives not one atom remained where it could

ever again raise the demon of murder in human breasts. And although I

could not realize all this, I really did not feel sorry that I had not

succeeded in saving the slightest portion of it, my thankfulness at

being spared alive being so great.

There were no passengers on board to make a fuss, so none was made.

Three days afterwards we were at Hong Kong, and Elsie was handed over

to the German Consul, who gravely took down my story, but I could see

did not believe half of it. I bade good-bye to Elsie, having elected

to remain by the steamer, where I was being well treated, and in due

time reached England again, a step nearer to becoming a full-fledged

seaman.

THE DEBT OF THE WHALE

Elisha Cushing, skipper of the Beluga, South Seaman, of Martha’s

Vineyard, was a hard-bitten Yankee of the toughest of that tough race.

Even in the sternest of mankind there is usually to be found some soft

spot, some deeply-hidden well of feeling that at the touch of the right

hand will bubble up in a kindly stream, even though it be hermetically

sealed to all the world beside. But those who knew Captain Cushing best

were wont to say that he must have been cradled on an iceberg, spent

his childhood in a whaler’s fo’c’sle, hardened himself by the constant

contemplation and practice of cruelty, until, having arrived at the

supreme position of master of his own ship, he was less of a man than a

pitiless automaton who regarded neither God nor devil, and only looked

upon other men as an engineer might upon the cogs of a machine. Few,

indeed, are the men who, throughout a voyage lasting from three to four

years, shut up within the narrow bounds of a small ship, could entirely

do without human companionship, could abstain from some friendly

intercourse, however infrequent, with those around them. Yet Captain

Cushing was even such a man. No one knew how he passed his abundant

leisure. He was never seen reading, he did not smoke, no intoxicating

drink was ever allowed on board his ship; in fact at all times, except

when whale-fishing was being carried on, he was to all appearance a

body without a mind, a figure of a man who moved and ate and slept

mechanically, yet whom to offend was to court nothing less than

torture. Those unspeculating eyes missed nothing; not a member of the

crew but felt that in some not-to-be-explained fashion all his doings,

almost his very thoughts, were known to the grim commander, and hard,

indeed, was the lot of any unfortunate who in any way came athwart the

stern code of rules that appeared to govern Captain Cushing’s command.

Nevertheless he had one virtue--he did not interfere. So long as the

business of the ship went on as goes a good clock, there was peace. The

discipline was perfect; it reduced the human items that composed the

Beluga’s crew to something very nearly resembling a piece of carefully

constructed mechanism, for Captain Cushing’s genius lay that way.

Out of the many crews that he had commanded during his thirty years’

exercise of absolute power he was wont to winnow officers that were a

reflex of his own mind, and it mattered not how raw were the recruits

bundled on board his ship at the last moment before leaving home,

the Cushing system speedily reduced them to a condition of absolute

mindlessness as far as any wish of their own was concerned. They became

simply parts of the engine whereby Captain Cushing’s huge store of

dollars was augmented.

It was an article of religion among the afterguard of the Beluga,

handed on to each new-comer by some unspoken code of communication,

that the “old man’s” being and doing might never be discussed. The

subject was “tabu,” not to be approached upon any pretext, although

nothing could be more certain than that it lay uppermost in every

officer’s mind. Among the crew, in that stifling den forrard where

thirty men of almost as many differing nationalities lived and

sometimes died, the mystery of the grim skipper’s ways, coupled with

queer yarns about his antecedents, was occasionally commented upon

with bated breath in strange mixtures of language. But somehow it

always happened that, closely following upon any conversation of the

kind, the injudicious talkers ran butt up against serious trouble.

No charges were made, no definite punishments were awarded; but

loss of rest, dangerous and unnecessary tasks, kickings and stripes

exhibited casually, were their portion for a season. These things

had the effect of exciting an almost superstitious reverence for the

captain’s powers of knowing what was going on, coupled with a profound

distrust of each other among the foremast hands, that made for their

subjection perhaps more potently than even the physical embarrassments

which formed so liberal a part of their daily lot. And yet, such is

the perversity of human nature, whenever the Beluga gammed another

whaler, and the wretched crowd got a chance to talk to strangers, they

actually indulged in tall talk, “gas” about their skipper’s smartness

as a whaleman, his ability as a seaman, and, strangest of all, his

eminence as a hard citizen who would “jes’ soon killer man’s look at

’im.” Every fresh device of his for screwing extra work out of his

galley-slaves, every mean and low-down trick played upon them for the

lessening of their scanty food or robbing them of their hard-earned

pay, only seemed to increase their admiration for him, as if his

diabolical personality had actually inverted all their ideas of right

and wrong.

The man himself, the centre of this little cosmos of whose dreary round

pleasure formed not the minutest part, was apparently about 55 years of

age. He had been tall, above the average, but a persistent stoop had

modified that particular considerably. The great peculiarity about his

appearance was his head, which was shaped much like a fir-cone. From

the apex of it fell a few straggling wisps of hay-coloured hair that

did not look as if they belonged there, but had been blown against the

scalp and stuck there accidentally. Wide, outstanding ears, pointed at

the top like a bat’s, eyes that were just straight slits across the

parchment face, from between whose bare edges two inscrutable pupils

of different but unnameable colours looked out, a straight, perfectly

shaped nose, so finely finished that it looked artificial, and another

straight lipless slit for a mouth completes his facial portrait.

His arms were abnormally long, and his legs short, while his gait,

from long walking upon greasy decks, was a bear-like shuffle. It was

whispered in the fo’c’sle that his strength was gigantic, and there was

a tradition extant of his having wrung a recalcitrant harpooner’s neck

with his bare hands as one would a fowl’s; but none of his present crew

had seen him exert himself at all. What impressed them most, however,

was his voice. Ordinarily he spoke in almost a faint whisper, such as

a dying man might be supposed to utter, but it must have been very

distinct in articulation, as he was never known to speak twice. Yet,

if at any time it became necessary for him to hail a boat or a passing

ship, that strange opening in his head would unclose, and forth from it

would issue a strident sound that carried farther than the bellow of

any angry bull.

His “luck” was proverbial. None of his officers ever knew, any more

than did the meanest member of the ship’s company, whither he was

bound, nor in what unfrequented areas of ocean he sought the valuable

creatures from which he was amassing so much wealth. Of course, they

knew, as all sailors do from close observation of courses made, land

seen, weather, etc., within a few hundred miles or so, but their

knowledge was never ample enough to have enabled them afterwards to

take another ship along the same tracks that the Beluga had found

so richly frequented by payable whales. But Elisha Cushing added to

his so-called luck almost superhuman energy. If he did not spare his

unhappy slaves, he was no more merciful to himself. Never a boat was

lowered after whales, no matter what the weather or how few the prey,

but he was foremost; as if he loved (if it be admissible to mention

love in connection with this emotionless man) the chase for its own

sake, or, knowing that he carried a charmed life, dared to take risks

that no ordinary man would do except under compulsion. There was one

marked feature of his whaling, however, that was noticed by all his

crew, if, owing to the difficulties hinted at before, it was seldom

discussed. Whenever the boats approached either a single whale or a

whale school, Captain Cushing would surely be seen standing high on

the two quarter-cleats in the stern-sheets of his boat, searching

with sparkling, almost glaring eyes among them for _something_. It

was believed that the boats never “went on a whale” until the skipper

had first passed them (the whales) all in review, and fully satisfied

himself that the object of his search, whatever it might be, was not

there. His scrutiny over, the game commenced, and surely never, since

the bold Biscayan fishermen first attacked the questing rorquals that

visited their shores, with bone and flint pointed lances, was there

ever seen such whale-hunting as that carried on by Elisha Cushing.

Without changing colour, or raising his voice above its usual low

murmur, he would haul his boat up alongside of the mountainous mammal,

order her to be held there, and then, disregarding the writhings and

wallowing of the great creature, he would calmly feel for the ribs

or the shoulder-blades with the lance point. And having found an

interspace, the long arms would straighten out, and four feet of the

lance would glide like a slender bright snake into the mighty vitals,

only to be withdrawn on the instant and plunged home again and again

and again, each thrust taking a new turn within, and causing the black,

hot blood to burst from the wound as from the nozzle of a fire-hose.

Or, quietly seated on the gunwale, he would select his spot, and probe

with the lance as a surgeon might seek for a bullet in the body of an

insensible patient. Should the boat swerve away from the whale ever

so slightly until he gave the signal, he would look round, and on the

instant five men, albeit in the very shadow of death, would feel a

creeping at the pit of their stomachs, and a frantic desire to avert

his anger; for he had been known to reach across the boat and snatch a

man from his thwart with one hand, flinging him, a limp, ragged bundle,

far out of the boat, and not caring where. The only signs that he ever

showed of anything unusual being toward, was a faint blue patch that

appeared in the middle of his otherwise yellow cheek, and a reddish

glint in his eyes. In spite of his peculiarities, his men were proud to

be members of his boat’s crew, for his skill was of so high an order

that his apparent recklessness never got him a boat stove or lost him

a man; while his officers, though the pick and flower of whalemen, had

their usual share of casualties.

About two years of the cruise had gone by, and the Beluga’s hold was

already more than two-thirds full of oil, in spite of the fact that

several shipments home had been made during the voyage. After a season

on the Vasquez ground in the South Pacific, where she had averaged two

whales a week, she was now steering an easterly course with a little

south in it--not cruising, but making a passage apparently for the

“off-shore grounds,” on the coast of Chili. One morning at daybreak the

cry of “sail-ho” from the crow’s-nest reached Captain Cushing in his

cabin, and before the officer on deck had time to answer, his deep

breathed tones were heard welling up from below in reply, “Where away.”

The stranger was a whaling barque also, lying hove-to right ahead, as

if expecting and waiting for the Beluga. When the two vessels were

within three miles of each other, Captain Cushing ordered his boat

away, and with an order to the mate to “keep her jes ’s she is,” he

departed. No sooner had his crew put him alongside than he climbed on

board, and, contrary to the usual practice, ordered them away from the

stranger, telling them to lie on their oars at a little distance until

he should call them. The skipper of the stranger (still an unknown ship

to the Beluga’s crew, as she had no name visible) met Captain Cushing

at the gangway, presenting as complete a contrast to that inscrutable

man as could well be imagined. A dumpy, apple-faced little fellow, with

a lurking smile in every dimple, and a mat of bright red curls covering

his round head. Snatching the languidly offered paw of his visitor, he

burst forth, “Wall, ef this ent grate! I be tarnally ding-busted ef I

wa’nt a talkin’ ’bout ye las’ night, talkin’ t’ meself that is,” he

hastily interjected, upon seeing the look that Cushing turned upon him.

“But kem along daown b’low n’hev--wall I wonder wut y’ _will_ hev. Don’

seem sif y’ ever hev anythin’. Nev’ mine, less git b’low anyhaow.” And

together they descended.

For a long time the little man did all the talking--after the manner

of a trusted manager of a thriving business making his report to his

principal. He told of whales caught, of boats stove, of gear carried

away--quite the usual routine--while Cushing listened with his

impenetrable mask, through which it was impossible to see whether he

was interested or not. It was like talking to a graven image. But

still, as the tale went on, and it appeared that the little talker had

been fairly successful, there was a slight relaxing of the rigid pose,

which to the eye of the initiate spelt satisfaction. For all unknown

to any one except the ruddy skipper talking to him, Cushing was really

the owner of this unnamed ship--a vessel that he had stolen from an

anchorage in the Pelew Islands, while all her crew were ashore on a

furious debauch which had lasted for several weeks, and had ever since

been running her in this mysterious fashion by the aid of the one man

in the wide world in whom he could be said to repose any confidence.

That story is, however, too long to be told here.

The recital was apparently finished, when suddenly, as if he had just

remembered an important part of his report, the narrator resumed, his

jolly red face assuming an air of gravity that was strangely out of

harmony with it. “An’ cap’,” said he, “I’d eenamost fergot--I met up

with the spotted whale of the Bonins las’ cruise. I----”

But there was a sudden change, an unearthly brightening into copper

colour of Cushing’s face, as he sprang to his feet, and, with his

long fingers working convulsively, gurgled out, “’R ye sure? Don’t ye

mislead me, Silas, ’r ye’d be better dead every time. Naow yew jest

gi’ me th’ hull hang o’ this thing ’fore y’ say ’nother word ’bout

anythin’!”

There was no mask of indifference now. The man was transformed into a

living embodiment of eager desire, and bold indeed would any have been

that would have dared to thwart him. No such idea was in his hearer’s

thoughts, at any rate, for no sooner had he done speaking than Silas

leaned forward and said--

“Yes, cap’, I _am_ sure, not thet it’s hardly wuth while sayin’ so, fur

yew couldn’t imagine me bein’ mistook over a critter like thet. ’Twas

this way. Ev’ since _thet_ affair I’ve scurcely ever fergot yew’re

orders--t’ look eout fer Spotty an’ let ye’ know fust chance whar he

uz usin’ roun’, but at this perticler lowerin’ we jest had all eour

soup ladled eout fer us an’ no mistake. Ther’d ben a matter o’ a dozen

ships ov us in compny, ’n I wuz bizzy figgerin’ haow t’ git rid’r some

ov ’em befo’ we struck whale. I noo they wuz abaout; the air wuz jest

thick up with whale smell, ’n every one ov my boys wuz all alive. Wall,

we hove to thet night ’s ushal till midnight, ’n then I sez t’ myself,

sez I, ef I don’t up-stick ’n run south I’m a horse. Fur, ye see, ’twuz

born in ’pon me thet whales wuz comin’ up from the line away, ’n a big

school too. I doan’ know why, ov course not, but thar twuz--y’ know how

’tis yerself.

“Sure ’nough by dayspring they wa’nt a ship in sight of us, but at

seven bells we raised whale, ’n b’ gosh I reckon they was mos’ a

thousan’ of ’em spread all out to looard of us more like a school o’

porps than hunderd bar’l whales--which they wuz every last one ov ’em,

cep them thet wuz bigger. They wa’nt much wind, ’n we lowered five

boats ’n put f’r them whales all we knew. Tell y’ wut, cap’, I’ve seen

some tall spoutin’, but that mornin’s work jest laid raight over all

I ever heer tell ov, much less see. We all got fas’ on the jump, ’n

then we cut loose agen. Reason why, we couldn’t move fur ’em. They jest

crowded in on us, quite quiet; they wa’nt a bit er fight in one ov ’em,

and we handled the lances on the nearest. That patch o’ sea wuz jest

a saladero now I’m tellin’ ye. We never chipped a splinter ner used

ten fathom o’ tow line, ’n be _my_ recknin we killed twenty whales.

Gradjully the crowd drawed off, leavin’ us with all that plunder lyin’

roun’ loose, an I wuz beginnin’ t’ wish I hadn’t run so fur away from

the fleet. Fur I knew we couldn’ handle sech a haul’s thet--more’n haef

ov em’d be rotten ’fore we c’d cut in ef we’d worked f’r a week on eend

’thout a minnit’s rest.

“While we wuz jest drawin’ breth like after th’ war, and the

shipkeepers ’uz a workin’ her daown t’ us, my harponeer sings out ’sif

he’d a ben snake bit, ‘Blow-w-s ’n breaches! Ee’r sh’ white waterrs.

Madre di Gloria, Capena, lookee what come.’ ’N thar shore nuff he uz

comin’; Spotty fur true. I know, cap. I never see him afore. All I

knoo ’bout him uz wut ye told me, an’ I doan mine ownin’ up naow at I

thought y’ mout ha ben a bit loony on thet subjec, but I tek it all

back, ’n ’umbly axes yer pardin.

“Yaas, sir, he come; like all hell let loose. He jes flung himself

along the top er th’ sea like a dolphin, ’n I reckin we all felt

kiender par’litic. Soon’s I got me breath I sings out t’ cut adrif’,

fur we’d all got tow-lines fast to flukes ready to pass abroad, and

handle bomb-guns quick. Then when he come within range t’ let him have

’em full butt’n put f’r th’ ship. Don’t say I felt very brash ’baout

it, but twuz the best I c’d think ov. He kem, oh yes, sir, he kem,

’n the sight of his charge brung a verse of th’ Bible (haint looked

inside one f’r twenty years) into my mind. Goes suthin like this ‘The

mountings skipped like rams, th’ little hills like young sheep.’ We

done all we knoo, we twisted and tarned an’ pulled an’ starned; but

you know, cap, better ’n any of us, thet the boat never was built thet

c’d git out of th’ way ov a spalmacitty whale when he’d made up his

mine fur mischief. ’N we wa’nt no excepshin. We weakened at las’, ’n

took th’ water, whar we knoo he wouldn’t tech us, ’n b’ gosh he didn’

leave a plank o’ one o’ them thar boats whole. I doan know why he didn’

foller it up or go fur th’ ship. Ef he hed thar’d a ben an eend of the

story, sure. But no, he just disappeared quiet ’s death, ’n we all gut

picked up in time. Yes, ’n we managed to rig up our spare boat ’n git

five of them whales cut in too, though I’m free t’ confess the last of

’em wuz middlin’ gamey by th’ time they got t’ th’ try pots. The rest

jest floated erroun ’n stunk up th’ North Persific Ocean till twuz like

a graveyard struck be ’n erthquake. But we got six hunderd barl out of

th’ catch, anyway.”

While the recital was proceeding, Cushing’s face was a study. He

listened without moving a muscle, but rage, hope, and joy chased one

another over that usually expressionless mask like waves raised by

sudden squalls over the calm surface of a sheltered lake. And when it

was over he rose wearily, saying--

“All right, Jacob; when ye’re through put fur the old rondyvoos an’

discharge. I’ll be long ’bout March an’ range fur next cruise. So long.

I’m off t’ th’ Bonins full pelt.”

“But, Cap’n Cushing, is ut worth huntin’ up that gauldern spotty beast

’n gettin’ ’tarnally smashed up fur an’ idee? Why caint y’ leave ’im

alone? Sure’s deeth he’ll do ye a hurt. Take a fool’s advice, cap’n, ’n

let him die ov ole age or accident.”

“Jacob, my man, y’ fergit yerself. When I want yew’re advice, I’ll

seek it. Till then don’t ye offer it. Tain’t t’ my likin’, fur I’m

accustomed to take no man as my counsellor. So long once more, ’n don’t

fergit y’r orders.”

In two strides he reached the top of the companion-ladder, and with

that wide-breathed cry of his that we knew so well had summoned his

boat. She sprang to the nameless barque’s side like a living thing,

Captain Cushing stepped into her, and the queer gam was over. Back

alongside he came, standing erect as a monolith in the stern-sheets,

and, hardly allowing time for the boat to be hooked on, issued rapid

orders for all sail to be made; the helm was put hard up, and away we

went N.W. No one ventured an opinion upon this sudden change, but every

one looked volumes of inquiry. And no one dared even hint to his fellow

the wonder, the painful curiosity, he felt as, day after day, before a

strong south-east trade, the Beluga did her steady seven knots an hour,

nor stayed for anything. Again and again the cry of “blow” came ringing

down from the crows’-nests, and as often as it was heard the old man

mounted aloft with his glasses, and stayed until he had apparently

satisfied himself of something. But never a halt did we make. No, and

as if the very whales themselves knew of our pre-occupation, a school

actually rose near and accompanied us for a whole watch, gambolling

along massively within gun-shot on either side. They might as well have

been a thousand miles away for all the notice the old man took of them.

He just leaned upon the weather-rail, gazing with expressionless face

at the unchanging ring of the horizon--a fathomless enigma to all of

us. The proximity of those whales, however, troubled the officers more

than anything else had done, and it took all their inbred terror of the

old man to keep them from breaking into open mutiny. Even among us, who

had little interest in the voyage from a monetary point of view, and to

whom the capture of whales only meant a furious outburst of the hardest

work, the feeling of indignation at the loss of so grand an opportunity

was exceedingly hard to bear.

Onward we sped until we got among the islands, but no slackening of

haste, except when the wind lulled, was indulged in. By day or by

night we threaded those mazy archipelagoes as if the whole intricate

navigation was as familiar to the skipper as the rooms of his cabin.

Such ship-handling surely never was seen. Perched upon the fore-yard,

the only light visible being the blazing foam spreading widely out on

either bow and ahead where the staunch old ship plunged through those

phosphorescent waters, the glowing patches cropping up hither and

thither all around as the indolent Pacific swell broke irritably over

some up-cropping coral patch, and the steely sparkles of the stars in

the blue-black sky above, Captain Cushing conned the ship as easily and

confidently as a pilot entering New York harbour on midsummer day, his

quiet voice sounding down from where he crouched invisible as if we

were being celestially directed. There was no feeling of apprehension

among us, for our confidence in his genius was perfect, making us sure

that whatever of skill in navigation was required he surely possessed

it.

Nevertheless, the mystery of our haste across the whole vast breadth

of the Pacific fretted every man, even the dullest. It was outside all

our previous experience. Perhaps the only thing that made it bearable

was the knowledge that not one of the officers was any better informed

than we were. Foremast hands are always jealous of the information

obtainable in the cuddy, and even though it may not be of the slightest

use to them, any scrap they may obtain gives to the lucky eavesdropper

a sort of brevet-rank for the time being. Here, however, all that was

to be known as to our movements, the reason for them, and the ultimate

object of our long passage, with its unprecedented haste, was locked up

in one man’s mind, and that man a graven image for secretiveness.

Such was the expeditiousness of our passage that seven weeks after

gamming the nameless whaler on the “off-shore” ground, we sighted

one of the Volcano group of islands which lie near the Bonins in the

great eddy of the Kuro Siwo or Japanese current, and form one of the

landmarks of what was once the busiest sperm whaling-ground on the

globe. The shape of the island, more like the comb of a cock than

anything else, was familiar to many of us, and gave us for the first

time for months a clear idea of our position. So we were on the Japan

ground. It was a relief to know that much, certainly; but why--why

had we, contrary to all whaling precedent, made a passage of several

thousand miles in such haste? No answer. But having arrived, our usual

whaling tactics were immediately resumed. With a difference. Instead

of being kept hard at work during all the hours of daylight scrubbing,

polishing, cleaning, until the old oil-barrel of a ship was as spick

and span as a man-o’-war, the word was passed that the watch on deck

were to keep a look-out for whale--every man of them except him at the

wheel. And the watchers in the crows’-nest were provided each with a

pair of binoculars--a thing unheard of before. So the ship became a

veritable argus. It is safe to say that nothing, not even a frond of

seaweed, or a wandering sea-bird, ever passed within range of sight

without being seen and noted. After a few days of this most keen

outlook came another surprise in the shape of a speech from the old man.

Calling all hands aft, he faced us for a minute in silence, while

every heart beat a trifle quicker as if we were on the threshold of

a mystery deeper than any that had yet worried us. He spoke quietly,

dispassionately, yet with that blue patch in the middle of each yellow

cheek that was to us the symbol of his most intense excitement. “I’ve

kem up hyar aefter _one_ whale, ’n ef I git him th’ v’yge is over. He’s

big, bigger’n enny man here’s ever seen, I guess, an’ he’s spotted

with white on brown like a pieball horse. Yew kaint mistake him. I’ll

give five hundred dollars t’ th’ man that raises him first, ’n I’ll

divide five thousand among ye ’cordin t’ grade ef I kill him. An’ when

we’ve cut him in we’ll up-stick f’r Noo Bedford. Naow, ef this is enny

indoocement t’ ye, keep y’r eyes skinned by day and night. Moreover, I

warn ye thet this ship doan’t see civilization agen until I git wut I’m

after, ’r I go under. Thet’ll do, all haends.”

In any other ship this harangue would have been succeeded by a buzz

of chat as soon as the fellows got forward, but here not a word was

spoken. Thenceforward, though it was evident that not a thought could

be spared, not a look wasted from scanning the wide circle of blue

around, by night and by day the watch never slackened, and men would

hardly sleep for eagerness to be the first to claim the prize. Yet,

as so often happens, it fell to one who had the least opportunity of

obtaining it, the mulatto steward whose duties kept him below most of

the time. About ten days after the skipper’s offer the steward crept

on deck one evening about eight bells, his long day’s work just over,

and slouching forward into the waist leaned over the side and began

to fill his pipe. It was a heavenly evening, hardly a breath of air

breaking the sleekiness of the sea-surface, the slightest perceptible

swell giving us a gentle undulatory motion, and overhead the full moon

hung in the cloudless dome like an immense globe glowing with electric

light. The steward had finished filling his pipe, and was just feeling

for a match when he stopped suddenly and said to his nearest neighbour,

“Oliver, what in thunder’s thet right in the moon-glade?” The whisper

ran round the ship as if on a telephone, and in less than a minute

all the night-glasses were on the spot. The skipper’s voice broke the

silence--hardly broke it--so quiet yet audible was it. “’Way boats. Th’

first man thet makes a noise, I’ll cripple him f’r life. Stoord, g’lang

b’low ’n git y’r money; ye’ll find it on my bunk-shelf.”

Like a crew of ghosts, we sped to our stations, hanging over side and

booming the boats off as they were lowered with the utmost caution lest

there should be a rattle of a patent block or a splash as they took

the water. In five minutes we were all away, five boats, the skipper

leading and every man, except the officers steering, wielding an Indian

paddle as if his life depended upon utter silence. As we sat facing

forrard every eye was strained for a glimpse of the enemy, but at

that low level and in the peculiar glare of a moonlit tropical night

we could see nothing. Moreover, we were paddling along the glittering

path cast upon the sea by the moon, and a few minutes’ steady gaze

upon that stretch of molten silver made the eyes burn and throb, so

that it was an intense relief to close them for a while. At every dip

of the paddles there was an additional flash in the water, behind each

boat and far beneath myriads of dancing gleams disported themselves,

while in ever-accumulating numbers wide bands of pale fire radiating

from opaque bodies keeping company with us told us of the shark hosts

mustering for the fight wherein they, at any rate, were likely to fall

heirs to goodly spoil.

Without a pause for rest, and in the same utter stillness, we toiled

on for at least two hours. It was backbreaking work, and but for

the splendid training we were in we could not possibly have held

out. Then suddenly from ahead came a yell of wild laughter, the most

blood-chilling sound surely ever heard. Immediately following it we

saw a veritable hill of light upraise itself out of the sea ahead,

and realized that at last our quarry was brought to bay. “In paddles,

out oars!” yelled the officers, and as we obeyed we were aware that a

terrific commotion was in progress ahead. The greenish-glaring spray

ascended in long jets, and the dull boom of mighty blows reverberated

over the hitherto quiet sea. Pulling till our sinews cracked, we

reached the storm-centre, and, by what seemed a miracle, actually

succeeded in getting fast to the whale--every boat did that, although

it seemed to many of us a suicidal policy under the circumstances.

Shouts and curses resounded until a voice was heard that enforced

silence, the far-reaching tones of Captain Cushing, who was nearest

to the foe, but for all his ability was unable to do more once he

had got fast. For now the whale had settled down into a steady

straightforward rush at the rate of about fourteen knots an hour, the

five boats sweeping along in his wake like meteors glancing across the

deep darkness of the night. The whale could not be seen. Only at long

intervals did he slant upwards and, with a roar like the lifting of an

overloaded safety-valve, disappear again.

So on we went through the warm quiet night without the slightest

sign of slackening until the gladsome light of dawn quickened on the

sea-rim, and showed us that we were alone--there was no sign of the

ship. A gaunt and haggard crew we looked, anxiety scoring deep furrows

in our wan faces. And as the sun sprang into the sky we suddenly came

to a dead stop. The strain on the line compelled us to pay out, and

thus we hovered in a circle, bows awash, and awaited the pleasure

of our foe. There was a sudden upspringing of all boats, a hasty

manœuvring to clear one another as far as might be, and, before any

of us could have imagined it possible, high into our midst leaped

the spotted whale, his awful jaws agape, and his whole body writhing

in its evolution. Straight for the skipper’s boat he came, taking it

diagonally, and, with a crash that set all our teeth on edge, she

disappeared. A mist arose before our sight, the spray of the conflict

filling the air, but, fired beyond fear by the wholesale tragedy we

believed had taken place, we bent to our oars till they cracked,

thirsting for that monster’s blood. As we came bounding to the spot he

disappeared, and, to our unspeakable amazement (though we had no time

to show it) all the destroyed boat’s crew reappeared. But if Captain

Cushing had looked dangerous before, his appearance now was that of a

demoniac. His cap was gone, so that the yellow dome of his head loomed

strangely in the early morning light, his clothing hung from him in

ribbons, and his right arm dangled as if only held by a few sinews. He

had come right out of the whale’s jaws. All the others were scathless.

To all offers of help he turned a savage scowl, and seizing a bomb-gun

in his uninjured hand he jammed himself in the boat’s bows, his voice,

unaltered save for being a little higher in pitch, being heard and

obeyed among the other boats on the instant. The whale returned. At the

captain’s orders all cut their lines, and the real fight began. Truly

Captain Cushing was fit to be a leader of men, for his eyes missed

nothing. At his orders all four boats advanced, retreated, backed,

circled, stopped dead. He seemed able to penetrate the misleading

medium of the water, where a whale at twenty fathoms’ depth looks like

a salmon, and whatever move the monster made, his counter-move baffled

the savage intent. Yet all the time we were strictly on the defensive.

Our long night’s tow, want of food and drink, and since daylight the

tremendous strain upon our nerves, was surely telling against us, and

our adversary was apparently tireless. Not only so, but his ingenuity

never flagged. Ruse after ruse was tried by him, but no two were alike.

And without a doubt our hopes of coming alive out of this battle were

growing fainter and fainter every moment.

Things were in this gloomy stage when, with a most appalling roar, the

whale suddenly broke water on his back, and launched himself at the

captain’s boat. The wide sea boiled like a pot as he came, but, to our

horror, the boat lay still, as if anchored to the spot. The crash came,

and amidst its uproar we heard the sharp report of a gun. Like a great

whirlpool the waters foamed and rose, nothing being distinguishable in

the midst of the vortex until it gradually subsided, and we saw the

fragments of the boat idly tossing upon the crimson foam. Hastening

to the rescue, we found six men still alive, but all sadly hurt. The

seventh was gone. At last Captain Cushing had paid in full the debt

that had been owing. We were now completely overborne with fatigue as

well as overloaded with helpless men--utterly unfit to compete any

further with so fearful a foe. While we lay thus helplessly awaiting

what all felt must be the end, the whale again broke water about twenty

yards away. Up, up, up into the air he rose, effortless, majestically;

and as he soared aloft every heart stood still to see the body of our

late commander hanging limply at the angle of that yawning mouth. The

yellow visage was towards us, the same savage grin frozen upon it, but

the will against which everything had shivered was now but the will of

the drift-weed round about; that clammy piece of clay was tenantless.

Down came the gigantic form, tearing up the sea into foam and

disappeared from our sight, to be seen no more. Long and wearily we

waited, hungry and thirsty, and some in agony from their injuries,

until twenty-four hours later the Beluga found us, and all were safely

taken on board. Strangely transformed the old ship appeared. At first

we went about as we had been wont, not daring to exchange thoughts

with one another. But gradually the blessed truth soaked in. We were

freed from a tyranny more dire than any of us had realized--a tyranny

over mind as well as body. Officers and men rejoiced together, for all

had suffered. And it was at once decided to return home in leisurely

fashion, calling at well-known ports on the way, and endeavouring to

make up by a little joy of life for past miseries.

What the true inwardness of Captain Cushing’s desire of revenge on the

spotted whale was we never rightly knew, but many rumours were current

among ships that we gammed that he had, with his own hand many years

before, killed the whale of a small pod, or company of whales, of which

the spotted whale was the leader, and that they had met on several

occasions afterwards, their meeting always being attended by some grave

disaster to Cushing’s ship and crew. This had wrought upon his mind

until it had become a mania, and he was willing to risk all for the

chance of slaying his redoubtable foe. But we had no doubt that the

whale was merely the instrument chosen by Providence for meting out to

him a death he richly deserved for his many crimes.

THE SKIPPER’S WIFE

Stories of the Sea have in my humble opinion been quite unfairly

dealt with by the majority of their narrators. Told for the benefit

of non-seafaring folk by writers, who, however great their literary

gifts, have had merely a nodding acquaintance with the everyday doings

on board ship, they generally lack proportion, and fail to convey to

shore folk an intimate sense of the sea-atmosphere. Especially has this

been so with books for young people, as was no doubt to be expected. So

much has this been the case that sailors generally despise sea-stories,

finding them utterly unlike anything they have ever experienced

themselves. Of late years there have been some notable exceptions among

sea story writers, most of them happily still living and doing splendid

service. One cunning hand is still, that of James Runciman, whose

yarns are salt as the ocean, and have most truly held the mirror up

to Nature in a manner unexcelled by any other marine writer living or

dead. Freedom from exaggeration, clarity of expression, and sympathetic

insight into sea-life were his main features, and no one hated more

than he the utterly impossible beings and doings common to the bulk of

sea-fiction.

Whether it be from lack of imaginative power or an unfertile

inventiveness I cannot say, but it has always appeared to me as if

one need never travel outside the actual facts of his experience,

however humdrum it may appear to the casual observer, to find matters

sufficiently interesting to hold any intelligent reader enthralled,

always providing that matter be well presented. And in that belief I

venture to tell a plain tale here, into which no fiction enters except

proper names.

Drifting about the world, as the great fucus wanders from shore to

shore, having once been dislodged from its parent rock, I one day

found myself ashore at Quilimane, desperately anxious to get a berth

in any capacity on board ship for the sole purpose of getting away. My

prospects were not very rosy, for the only vessels in the hateful place

were two or three crazy country craft with Arab crews, that looked

exceedingly like slavers to me. At last, to my intense relief, a smart

looking barquentine entered the port and anchored. I was, as usual,

lounging about the beach (it seemed the healthiest place I could find)

and my longing eyes followed every move of the crew as they busied

themselves in getting the boat out. When the captain stepped ashore I

was waiting to meet him, and the first words he heard were--

“_Do_ you want a hand, cap’n?”

Taking keen stock of me, he said, “What sort of a berth do you want?”

“Well, sir,” I replied, “I’ve got a second-mate’s ticket, but I’ll go

as boy for the chance of getting away from here, if necessary.”

“I want a cook-and-steward,” he murmured dubiously, “and as I’ve got my

wife aboard the cooking’s rather important.”

“I’m your man, sir,” I cried, “if I can’t cook you can dump me

overboard. I never shipped as cook yet, but I’ve had to teach a good

few cooks how to boil salt water without burning it.”

He smiled pleasantly at this, and said, “I must say I like your looks

and--well there, jump into the boat. I’ll be back directly.”

Sure enough, in a couple of hours I was busy in her cosy galley, while

the chaps were rattling the windlass round with a will, anxious enough

to get clear of that sweltering coast. From the first my relations with

all hands were of the pleasantest kind. They had suffered many things

at the hands of several so-called cooks during the eighteen months they

had been away from home, each dirty destroyer of provisions being worse

than his predecessor. But especially were my efforts appreciated in the

cabin. The skipper had with him his wife and two little girls, aged

four and five respectively, who made that little corner of the ship

seem to a homeless, friendless wanderer like myself a small heaven.

Mrs. Brunton was a sweet-faced grey-eyed woman of about thirty, with a

quiet tenderness of manner and speech that made a peaceful atmosphere

about her like that of a summer Sunday evening in some tiny English

village. Her husband was a grand specimen of a British seaman, stalwart

and fair-haired, with a great sweeping beard and bright blue eyes that

always had a lurking smile in their depths. The pair appeared to have

but one mind. Their chief joy seemed to be in the silent watching of

their children’s gambols, as, like two young lambs, they galloped round

the decks or wriggled about the cramped fittings of the small saloon.

The charm of that happy home-circle was over all hands. You might say

that the ship worked herself, there was so little sign of the usual

machinery of sea-life.

So the days slipped away as we crept down towards the Cape, bound

round to Barbadoes, of all places in the world. Then in the ordinary

course of events the weather got gradually worse, until one night it

culminated in a following gale of hurricane fierceness, thundering down

out of an ebony sky that almost rested on the mastheads. By-and-by the

swart dungeon about us became shot with glowing filaments that quivered

on the sight like pain-racked nerves, and the bass of the storm fell

two octaves. Sail had been reduced to the fore lower topsail and the

fore-topmast staysail, which had the sheet hauled flat aft in case

of her broaching-to. Even under those tiny rags she flew before the

hungering blast like a hare when the hounds are only her own length

behind. The black masses of water gradually rose higher alongside as

they bellowed past until their terrible heads peered inboard as if

seeking the weakest spot. They began to break over all, easily at

first, but presently with a sickening crash that made itself felt in

one’s very bowels. At last two menacing giants rose at once on either

side, curving their huge heads until they overhung the waist. Thus,

for an appreciable fraction of time, they stood, then fell--on

the main-hatch. It cracked--sagged downward--and every man on deck

knew that the foot-thick greenheart fore-and-after was broken, and

that another sea like that would sink us like a saucer. Hitherto the

skipper had been standing near the cuddy scuttle, in which his wife

crouched, her eyes dim with watching her husband. Now he stooped and

whispered three words in her ear. With one more glance up into his

face she crept down into their berth, and over to where the two little

ones were sleeping soundly. Gently, but with an untrembling hand,

she covered their ruddy faces with a folded mosquito net and turned

out the light. Then she swiftly returned to her self-chosen post in

the scuttle, just reaching up a hand to touch her husband’s arm, and

let him know that she was near. The quiver that responded was answer

enough. He was looking astern, and all his soul was in his eyes. For

there was a streak of kindly light, a line of hope on the murky heaven.

It broadened to a rift, the blue shone through, and stooping he lifted

his wife’s head above the hatch, turning her face so that she too might

see and rejoice. She lifted her face, with streaming eyes, to his for

a kiss, then fled below, turned up the light again, and uncovered the

children’s faces. Five minutes later she heard his step coming down,

and devoured him with her eyes as he walked to the barometer, peered

into it and muttered “thank God.”

[Illustration: Gently she covered their ruddy faces.]

A fortnight later I was prowling up and down the cabin outside their

closed state-room door, my fingers twitching with nervousness, and a

lump continually rising in my throat that threatened to choke me; for

within that tiny space, the captain, all unaided except by his great

love and quiet common sense, was elbowing a grim shadow that seemed

to envy him his treasure. Now and then a faint moan curdled round my

heart, making it ache as if with cold. Beyond that there was no sign

from within, and the suspense fretted me till I felt like a bundle of

bare nerves. Overhead I could hear the barefooted step of the mate,

as he wandered with uncertain gait about the lee side of the poop

under the full glow of the passionless moon. At last, when I felt as

worn as if I had been swimming for hours, there came a thin, gurgling

little wail--a new voice that sent a thrill through the curves of my

brain with a sharp pang. And then I felt the hot tears running down my

face--why, I did not know. A minute later the door swung open, and the

skipper said, in a thick, strange tone, “It’s all right, Peter; I’ve a

son. And she’s grand, my boy, she’s grand.” I mumbled out something;

I meant well, I’m sure, but no one could have understood me. He knew,

and shook hands with me heartily. And presently I was nursing the bonny

mite as if I had never done aught else--me that never had held a baby

before. It was good, too; it lay in my arms on a pillow, and looked up

at me with bright, unwinking eyes.

Then came three weeks of unalloyed delight. Overhead the skies were

serene--that deep, fathomless blue, that belongs of right to the

wide, shoreless seas of the tropics, where the constant winds blow

unfalteringly to a mellow harmony of love. On board, every thought

was drawn magnet-wise to the tiny babe who had come among us like

a messenger from another sphere, and the glances cast at the tender

mother as she sat under the little awning, like a queen holding her

court, were almost reverential. Never a man of us will forget that

peaceful time. Few words were spoken, but none of them were angry,

for every one felt an influence at work on him that, while it almost

bewildered him, made him feel gentle and kind. But into the midst of

this peaceful time came that envious shadow again. How it happened

no man could tell; what malign seed had suddenly germinated, after

so long lying dormant, was past all speculation of ours. The skipper

himself fell sick. For a few days he fought man-fashion against a

strange lassitude that sapped all his great strength and overcame even

his bright cheery temper until he became fretful as a sickly babe.

At last there came a day when he could not rise from his cot. With a

beseeching look in his eyes he lay, his fine voice sunk to a whisper

and his sunny smile gone. His wife hovered about him continually,

unsparing of herself, and almost forgetting the first claim of the

babe. The children, with the happy thoughtlessness of their age, could

not be kept quiet, so, for the most part, they played forward with the

crew, where they were as happy as the day was long. Every man did his

best to entertain them; and when sailors make pets of children, those

children are favoured by fortune. Meanwhile, in the cabin, we fought

inch by inch with death for our friend. But our hands were tied by

ignorance, for the rough directions of the book in the medicine chest

gave us no help in dealing with this strange disease. Gradually the

fine frame of the skipper dwindled and shrank, larger and more wistful

grew his eyes, but after the first appalling discovery of his weakness

he never uttered a complaining word. He lay motionless, unnoticing,

except that into the deep wells of his eyes there came an expression of

great content and peace whenever his wife bent over him. She scarcely

ever spoke, for he had apparently lost all power of comprehension as

well as speech, except that which entered his mind by sight. Thus he

sank, as lulls the sea-breeze on a tropical shore when twilight comes.

And one morning at four, as I lay coiled in a fantastic heap upon one

of the settees near his door, sleeping lightly as a watch-dog, a long,

low moan tugged at my heart-strings, and I sat up shivering like one in

an ague-fit, although we were on the Line. Swiftly I stepped into his

room, where I saw his wife with one arm across his breast and her face

beside his on the pillow. She had fainted, and so was mercifully spared

for a little while the agony of that parting--for he was dead.

Up till that time every device that seamanship could suggest had been

put into practice to hurry the ship on, so that she was a perfect

pyramid of canvas rigged wherever it would catch a wasting air. But all

was of little use, for the wind had fallen lighter and lighter each day

until, at the time of the skipper’s passing, it was a stark calm. Then,

as if some invisible restraint had been suddenly removed, up sprang the

wind, strong and steady, necessitating the instant removal of all those

fragile adjuncts to her speed that had been rigged everywhere possible

aloft. So that no one had at first any leisure to brood over our

great loss but myself, and I could only watch with almost breathless

anxiety for the return of that sorely-tried, heroic woman to a life

from which her chief joy had been taken away. She remained so long in

that death-like trance that again and again I was compelled to reassure

myself, by touching her arms and face, that she was still alive, and

yet I dreaded her re-awakening. At last, with a long-drawn sigh, she

lifted her head, looked steadfastly for a while at the calm face of her

dead husband, then stooped and kissed him once. Then she turned to me

as I stood at the door, with the silent tears streaming down my face,

and said, in a perfectly steady voice (I can hear it now), “Are my

children well?” “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, “they are all asleep.” “Thank

you,” she murmured; “I will go and lie down with them a little while.

I feel so tired. No” (seeing I was about to offer), “I want nothing

just now but rest.” So she turned into their little cabin and shut the

door. I went on deck and waited until the mate (now skipper) was free,

and then told him how she was. He immediately made preparations for the

burial, for we were still a week’s sail from port. In an hour all was

ready, and silently we awaited the re-appearance of the chief mourner.

She came out at breakfast-time, looking like a woman of marble. Quietly

thanking the new skipper for what he had done, she resumed her motherly

duties, saying no word and showing no sign of the ordeal she was

enduring.

All through the last solemn scene, except for a convulsive shudder

as the sullen plunge alongside closed the service, she preserved the

same tearless calm, and afterwards, while she remained on board--which

was only until we arrived at Barbadoes--she preserved the same

automaton-like demeanour. The mail steamer arrived the day after we

anchored, and we took her on board for the passage to England; her

bitter tragedy moving most of the passengers to tears as the history

of it spread like wildfire among them. And as the Medway steamed out

of the harbour, we all stood on the poop of our own vessel, with bared

heads, in respectful farewell to, and deepest sympathy for, our late

captain’s wife.

A SCIENTIFIC CRUISE

Five and twenty minutes, I believe, was the extreme limit of time it

took me to discover that my new ship was likely to provide me some of

the queerest experiences I had yet met with in all my fishing. But

after a month’s weary munching the bread of the outward-bounder, and

in Calcutta too, I was so hungry for a berth that I would have shipped

as mess-room steward in a Geordie weekly boat, and undertaken to live

on the yield of the dog-basket from the engineers’ table, if nothing

better had offered. So when Romin Dass, a sircar that I was very chummy

with, hailed me one morning at the corner of the Radha Bazaar, with a

quotation from Shakespeare to point his information that he had heard

of a second-mate’s berth for me on board the Ranee, a fine iron ship

moored off Prinseps Ghât, I was so glad that I promised him the first

five dibs I could lay hands on. Trembling with eagerness, I hurried

down to the ghât and wheedled a dinghy-wallah into putting me on board.

The mate, a weary looking man, about my own age, met me at the foot

of the gangway ladder with that suspicious air common to all mates

of ships abroad, especially when they see an eager looking stranger

with a nautical appearance come aboard uninvited. In a diffident

uncertain way, born of a futile attempt, to conceal my anxiety and

look dignified, I inquired for Captain Leverrier.

“He isn’t aboard,” snarled the mate, “an’ not likely to be to-night.

What might your business be?”

“Well, you see--the fact is--I thought--that is,” I blundered, getting

red in the face as I saw a sarcastic grin curdling the mate’s face.

“I--I thought you wanted a second mate, an’ I----”

“Oh, why the devil didn’t you say so,’thout gay-huppin’ about it like

that. I begun ter think you was some beach-comber tryin’ on a new

bluff. Come an’ have a drink.”

Greatly relieved I followed him into the saloon, which was almost as

gorgeous as a yacht’s, carpets, and mirrors, and velvet settees, piano

and silver-plated metal work till you couldn’t rest. A gliding Hindoo

came salaaming along with a bottle and glasses and some ice in a bowl

at a word from the mate, and solemnly, as if pouring a libation, we

partook of refreshment. Then, offering me a Trichie, the mate began to

cross-examine me. But by this time I had got back my self-possession,

and I soon satisfied him that I shouldn’t make half a bad shipmate. I

happened to have sailed with an old skipper of his, I knew two or three

fellows that he did, or at least I thought I knew them, and before half

an hour had passed we were on quite confidential terms. No, not quite;

for two or three times I noticed that he checked himself, just when he

was on the point of telling me something, although he let drop a few

hints that were totally unintelligible to me. At last he said--

“You might as well stay to supper an’ keep me company, unless you’ve

got to get back anywhere.”

“Anywhere’s just the right word, Mr. Martin,” I broke in; “anywhere

but ashore again in this God-forsaken place. If you’d been ashore here

for six weeks, looking for a pierhead jump as I have, you’d think it

was heaven to get aboard a ship again. It’d be a mighty important

engagement that ’ud take you up town again.”

“All right, my boy. Hullo, what do you want?” to the suppliant steward,

who stood in a devotional attitude awaiting permission to speak.

“Dinghy-wallah, sab, waitin’ for speaky gentyman, sab.”

I went cold all over. That infernal coolie was after me for his fare,

and I hadn’t a pice. I’d forgotten all about him. I did the only thing

possible, owned up to the mate that I had a southerly wind in my

pockets, and he came to the rescue at once, paying the dinghy-wallah

a quarter of what he asked (two rupees), and starting him off. Then

we sat down to a sumptuous supper, such as I had not tasted for many

months, for I came out before the mast, and the grub in the Sailors

Home (where I had been staying) was pretty bad. Over the pleasant

meal Mr. Martin thawed out completely, and at last, in a burst of

confidence, he said--

“Our ole man’s scientific, Mr. Roper.”

As he looked at me like a man who has just divulged some tremendous

secret, I was more than a little puzzled what to say in reply, so I

looked deeply interested, and murmured, “Indeed.”

“Indeed, yes,” growled the mate; “but I’ll bet you a month’s wages you

won’t say ‘indeed’ like that when we’ve ben to sea a few days. I’ll

tell you what it is, I’ve been with some rum pups of skippers in my

time, but this one scoops the pot. He’s a good enough sailor man, too.

But as fer his condemn science--well, he thinks he’s the whole Royle

Serciety an’ Trinity House biled down into one, an’ I’m damfee knows

enough to come in when it rains. He’s just worryin me bald-headed,

that’s what he is. Why, if it wasn’t fer the good hash and bein’ able

to do pretty much as I mind to with the ship, I’d a ben a jibbin

mainyac ’fore now, I’m dead shore o’ that. Looky here,” and he sprang

up and flung a state-room door wide open, “djever see anythin’ like

that outen a mewseeum?”

I stared in utter amazement at a most extraordinary collection of queer

looking instruments, models, retorts, crucibles, and specimen glasses,

turning round after completing my scrutiny, and gazing into the mate’s

face without speaking.

He was peering at me curiously, and presently said, interrogatively,

“Well?”

Seeing that I was expected to make some sort of a reply, I said, with a

cheerful air--

“’Looks as if the skipper was no end of a scientific pot, I must

confess; but, after all, Mr. Martin, it’s a harmless fad enough, isn’t

it?”

“Harmless! Well, of all the---- Good heavens, man, you hain’t the

least idea--but, there, what’s the use er talkin’. Better letcher wait

’n see fer yerself. Come on up onter the poop ’n git a whiff er fresh

Calcutta mixtcher, dreadful refreshin’, ain’t it?”

A long confab succeeded to the accompaniment of many cigars and sundry

pegs, but not another word about the skipper and his hobbies did the

mate let slip. No; we discussed, as housewives are said to do when they

meet, the shortcomings of those over whom we were put in authority,

compared notes as to the merits and demerits of skippers we had served

under, and generally sampled the gamut of seafaring causeries, until,

with my head buzzing like a mosquito in a bottle, I gave the mate

good-night, and retired to my bunk in an enviable state of satisfaction

at my good fortune. Next morning I was up at coffee-time, and while

sitting on the after-hatch coamings enjoying the enlivening drink and

chatting with the mate, a most unearthly howl fairly made my whiskers

bristle. I looked at Mr. Martin, whose face wore a sarcastic grin, but

never a word spake he. Another nerve-tearing yell resounded, starting

me to my feet, while I exclaimed--

“Whatever is it, Mr. Martin? I’ve never heard such a devilish noise in

my life.”

“Oh, it’s only some o’ the ole man’s harmless fads he’s a exercisin’.

You’ll git used ter them chunes presently.”

He _was_ going to say something else, but just then the steward emerged

from the saloon--that is to say, he shot out as if he had been fired

from a balista. When I saw him a few minutes before he was a suave

olive-complexioned Hindoo, cat-like in his neatness, and snowy in his

muslin rig. Now he was a ghastly apparition, with streaming scalp-lock

and glaring eyeballs, his face a cabbage-water green, and his lank body

as bare as a newly-scalded pig. Apparently incapable of flight, he

crouched where he fell, salaaming with trembling hands, and chattering

almost monkey-like. While the mate and I stood silently regarding him,

and indignation at the poor wretch’s plight was rapidly ousting my

alarm at the manner of his appearance, a mild and benevolent looking

man of middle-age dressed in pyjamas appeared at the saloon door.

“Good morning, Mr. Martin,” said the skipper, for it was himself, “did

you see where that heathen landed?”

“Oh yes, sir,” drawled the mate, “’eer ’e is, what’s left ov ’im.”

“Ah,” replied the skipper, with a placid smile, “he’s a bit startled I

see. He trod on the plate of my new battery, and got a slight shock, I

think. But where’s his close?”

“The Lord only knows,” piously ejaculated the mate. “Looks ter me ’sif

he’d ben shot clean out ov ’em, puggree an’ all.”

By this time the luckless steward, finding, I suppose, that he had not

reached Jehannum yet, began to pull himself together, and, doubtless

ashamed of his being all face in the presence of the all-powerful

sahibs, writhed his way worm-like towards the other door of the

saloon, and disappeared within, the skipper regarding him meanwhile

with gentle interest as if he were a crawling babe. Then turning his

attention to me, the old man courteously inquired my business, and

finding that I suited him, engaged me there and then as second mate.

During the short stay we made in port after my joining, nothing further

occurred to change the opinion I had already formed that I was in a

very comfortable ship. The fellows forward seemed fairly well contented

and willing. The food both fore and aft was wonderfully good, and so

was the cooking, for a marvel. But that was because we had a Madrassee

cook who had served an arduous apprenticeship in P. and O. boats, from

which excellent service he had been driven by some amiable inability to

comprehend the laws of meum and tuum. Here there was no chance for him

to steal, and every inducement for him to earn a good name by pleasing

his many masters. The result was singularly happy for all of us. The

foremast hands were fairly divided into Britons and Scandinavians,

all good seamen and quiet, well-behaved men. One thing, however, was

noticeable, they all seemed nervously anxious to avoid the after part

of the ship as much as possible. All seamen before the mast have an

inbred sense of reverence for the quarter-deck, walking delicately

thereon, and studiously keeping to the lee-side, unless compelled by

duty to go to windward. But in the Ranee, whenever a man came aft for

any purpose whatever, his movements were much like those of a man

visiting a menagerie for the first time alone, and morbidly suspicious

that some of the cage doors were unfastened. This behaviour was highly

amusing to me, for I had never seen anything like it before, and I

couldn’t help wondering how the helmsman would hang out a trick at the

wheel when we got to sea.

All preparations complete, we unmoored, and in tow of the Court Hey

proceeded majestically down the Hooghly, waking all the echoes and

scaring the numberless pigeons of the King of Oude’s palace with the

exultant strains of “Sally Brown.” One of those majestic creatures,

the Calcutta pilots, paced the poop in awful state, alone, the skipper

being nowhere visible. Presently, my lord the pilot, feeling slightly

fatigued, I suppose, threw himself into the old man’s favourite

chair, an elaborately cushioned affair of peculiar shape and almost

as long as a sofa. No sooner had he done so than, with a most amazing

movement, the whole fabric changed its shape, and became one of the

most bewildering entanglements conceivable, gripping the astounded

pilot in so many places at once that he was in imminent danger of being

throttled. I rushed to his assistance, and exerted all my strength to

set him free, but my energetic efforts only seemed to hamper him more,

and fearing lest I should break him all to pieces, I rushed below

for the skipper. That gentleman was busy in his laboratory, making

carburetted hydrogen, I should judge, from the “feel of the smell,” as

the Scotch say, but in answer to my agitated call he emerged, serene

and bland, to inquire my business. Faith, I could hardly tell him, what

with the reek, my haste, and the anxiety I felt. Somehow I managed to

convey to him that the pilot was being done to death in his chair,

and as I did so I noticed (or thought I did) a momentary gleam of

satisfaction in his starboard eye. But he mounted the companion, and

gliding to the spot where the unhappy man, voiceless and black in the

face, was struggling, he stooped, touched a spring, and that infernal

chair fell out flat like a board. I stooped to assist the victim,

but, unluckily for me, he sprang to his feet at the same moment, and

his head catching me under the chin, I had urgent business of my own

to attend to for some little time. When I got quite well again, I

heard conversation. In fact I might almost say the coolies in the

jungle heard it. The pilot was expressing his opinion upon his recent

experience, and from his manner I concluded that he was annoyed. When

at last he had finished, and the lingering echoes had died away, the

old man, looking as happy as a lamb, offered to show him the beauty

and ingenuity of the mechanism. But the pilot merely suggested that

the only sight that could interest him just then would be the old man

dangling by the neck at the cro’jack yard-arm, with that something (I

didn’t quite catch the adjective) chair jammed on to his legs. And then

the unreasonable man walked forward, leaving the skipper looking after

him with a puzzled, yearning expression upon his pleasant face. Perhaps

it is hardly necessary to say that thenceforward relations between the

pilot and the captain were somewhat strained. At any rate, the former

potentate refused to come below, taking his meals on deck with an air

as of a man whose life was at the mercy of irresponsible beings, and

when at last we hauled up at the mouth of the river for the pilot

brig to send a boat for our pilot, he left the ship looking supremely

relieved. To the skipper’s outstretched hand he was blind, and to that

gentleman’s kindly good-bye he said naught but “thank God, I’m safe out

of your ship.” Away he went, never once looking back to where we were

busily setting sail for the long homeward passage.

For some days everything went on greased wheels. Except for an air of

mystery that overhung the ship, and which puzzled me not a little, she

was the most comfortable craft I ever sailed in. The skipper scarcely

ever appeared, although sundry strange noises and unpleasant odours

proceeding from his laboratory were evidence all-sufficient that

he was on the alert. I was somewhat aggrieved though by the mate’s

sardonic grin every time he relieved me, and made the usual remark,

“still alive, eh?” Still, as each quiet day succeeded a quieter night

my wonderment became dulled, and I thought that either the mate was

mistaken or that he had been trying to fool me.

One evening, however, when we were drawing near the line, I came on

deck at four bells to find the mate’s watch busy rigging up a sort of

theatre aft. An awning had been stretched over the front of the poop,

weather cloths were hung along each side, and seats arranged. As soon

as I appeared, looking round me in astonishment, the mate approached

me and said, “th’ entertainment’s goin’ ter begin.” Before I had time

to question him as to his meaning, the old man emerged from the cabin

loaded with sundry strange-looking machines, and followed by the

steward bearing more. For a few minutes he was mighty busy placing his

menagerie in order, and then he turned to me and said briskly, “Now,

Mr. Roper, I’m all ready, go forrard and invite the hands aft to the

lecture.” “Aye, aye, sir,” I answered mechanically, and departed. I

found all hands outside the forecastle, evidently waiting for the

summons, but looking as unlike men expecting a treat as one could

possibly picture. But they all shambled aft in silence, and took their

seats with eyes fixed upon the strange-looking assemblage of machinery

in the centre.

It was a lovely evening, the sails just drawing to a steady air, while

the sea was so smooth that the vessel was almost as motionless as

if in dock. As it was my watch on deck, I mounted the poop, glanced

at the standard compass, cast my eye aloft to see that all was as

it should be, and then turned my gaze with intense interest upon

the scene below. And what a scene it was to be sure. All hands were

glaring upon the high priest of the mysteries as if mesmerised, every

expression gone from their faces but that of painful anxiety to know

what was going to happen. The skipper was as busy as two people about

his wheels and things, and the unhappy steward like an image of fear

obeyed mechanically the various commands of his dread master. At last a

whirring sound was heard like the humming of some huge imprisoned bee,

and to this accompaniment the skipper took up his parable and proceeded

to talk. I frankly confess that I know no more what he said than I

should have done had he been speaking in Sanskrit, and I am perfectly

sure that none of his audience were in any better case. Indeed, from

what I could see of their faces, I believe every other sense was merged

in the full expectation of an explosion, and they couldn’t have taken

their strained eyes off the buzzing gadget in their midst for any

consideration whatever. Suddenly a dark shadow glided across the patch

of deck behind the skipper, which I recognized as a monkey belonging

to one of the crew. It reached the machine, and then----What really

happened nobody is ever likely to know, for in a moment there was a

shriek, a perfect shower of blue sparks and a writhing, kicking, biting

heap of skipper, monkey, and steward. Some of the fellows, acting

upon impulse, forgot their fears and rushed to the rescue, but only

succeeded in adding to the infernal riot, as they too became involved

in the mysterious calamity. Others, wiser in their generation, fled

forward to the fo’c’sle, from whence they gradually crept aft again

near enough to watch in safety the devil’s dance that was going on.

I looked on in a sort of coma of all the faculties, until the mate

touched me on the shoulder, and said in a sepulchral voice--

“Now, Mr. Roper, djever strike anythin’ o’ this kind before. _Ain’t_ it

scientific? Ain’t he a holy terror at science? What I’d like ter know

is, where do I come on in this Gypshun Hall business? Damfime goin’

ter be blame well paralyzed, or whatever it is, for all the skippers

erflote, n’ yet--n’ yet; I _don’t_ like ter see sech ungodly carryins

on aboard of any ship I’m mate of.”

I hadn’t time to answer him--besides I couldn’t, I was all shook up

like; but while I was trying to get my thinking-gear in order, there

was a bang, all the sufferers yelled at once, and then all was quiet.

Both the mate and myself sprang into the arena, fully expecting to

find all the actors dead, but, bless you, they were all laying round

looking as if they’d been having no end of a spree. All except the

monkey, that is. He was a very unhandsome little corpse, and I picked

him up by the tail to throw him overboard, getting a shock through my

right arm that took all the use out of it for quite a while. Presently

the fellows began to get up one by one and slink away forrard, still

with that half-drunk smile on their heads, but when we came to the

skipper, although he wore a wide smile too, he hadn’t any get up about

him. Not he. He lay there as comfy as you please, taking no notice of

anything we said, or any heed of the deliberate way in which the mate

was pushing the remains of his machinery out through the gaping port

with a broom. We couldn’t move him. He was just charged jam full of

electricity, and one of the men who _did_ touch him let a yell out of

him fit to call D. Jones, Esq., up from below, but it didn’t change

the skipper’s happy look one fragment. Well, he laid there all night

alongside of the steward, and in the morning he gets up just before

wash-deck time, and, says he, “Mr. Roper, I shan’t give any more

scientific exhibitions this trip; I think they’re immoral.” With that

he hobbled into his cabin, and we saw no more of him for a week. When

we did, you couldn’t have got a grain of science out of him with a

small-tooth comb, and the mate looked as glad as if he’d been appointed

Lord High Admiral. And from thenceforward she was, as I had at first

imagined she would be, the most comfortable vessel I ever sailed in.

A GENIAL SKIPPER

Captain Scott was as commonplace a little man as ever commanded an

old wooden tub of a barque lumbering her way forlornly from port to

port seeking freight as a beggar seeks pence. His command, the Sarah

Jane, belonged to a decayed firm of shipowners that, like many other

old-fashioned tradesmen, had not kept pace with the times, and were

now reduced to the possession of this ancient pauper and a still older

brig, all the rest of their once stately fleet having been sold or lost

or seized to satisfy mortgages. Yet they still retained a keen sense

of respectability, and when Captain Scott applied for the command of

the Sarah Jane they were exceedingly careful to ascertain that he was

strictly sober and trustworthy. He not only succeeded in satisfying

them on these points, but in some mysterious manner persuaded them also

that he was exceedingly pious, and would certainly hold service on

board every Sunday, weather permitting. That settled his appointment,

for the senior member of the firm was a good, honest Dissenter, who,

if a trifle narrow and bigoted in his religious views, was sincerely

anxious to live up to the light he had. Beyond all question the Sarah

Jane was the best-found vessel of her class in the food line that we

chaps forrard had ever sailed in. It would have been hard to find

a more agreeably surprised little crowd than we were when the first

meal appeared in the fo’c’sle, for our preliminary view of the ship

certainly gave us the idea that we were in for “plenty pump and velly

flat belly,” as a quaint little Italian A. B. said while we were

selecting bunks.

But no, she was a comfortable ship. There was certainly “plenty pump,”

but the grub was so good that there was never a growl heard among us,

and a pleasanter passage out to Algoa Bay than we enjoyed could hardly

be imagined. The Sunday services were held, too--that is to say, twice;

after that they were quietly dropped without any reason assigned. No

one felt sorry, for there was an air of unreality and constraint about

the whole thing that was puzzling and unsatisfactory; and on several

occasions there was wafted across the poop, as the skipper emerged from

the companion, a tantalizing odour which none of us could mistake--the

rich bouquet of old Jamaica rum. This gave rise to many discussions

in the fo’c’sle. The port watch took sides against the starboard,

insisting that the old man had fallen from grace, if, which was

problematical, he had ever possessed any of that mysterious quality.

We of the starboard, or skipper’s watch, as in duty bound, stood up

for him, accounting for the thirst-provoking smell that came wafting

upwards from the cabin periodically by the theory of the Sarah Jane

having been an old sugar drogher for many years, until her timbers were

saturated with the flavour of rum, and, according as the wind tended

to diffuse it, we were favoured with it on deck.

Never was a skipper watched more closely by his crew than Captain

Scott was by us, for the steward and the officers were unapproachable

upon the subject, and it was only by catching him really drunk that

our continual dispute could be settled. After we had crossed the Line,

and were getting rapidly to the suth’ard, I began to lose faith, for,

although I could not determine whether the skipper’s peculiar gait

was or was not the regular nautical roll accentuated by some physical

peculiarity, there was no mistaking the ever-deepening hue of his face.

When we left home it was fresh-coloured, but as the weeks went by it

took on the glow of burnished copper--especially after dinner--and

sometimes his nose looked warm enough to light one’s pipe at it.

However, we reached Algoa Bay without settling our argument--openly,

that is. In truth, we of the starboard watch were looking eagerly

for some way of retreat from what we all felt was getting to be an

untenable position. Still, no agreement was arrived at until we had

been at anchor off Port Elizabeth for a week, during which time we had

never seen our respected skipper once.

Then there arrived alongside, on a Saturday afternoon, after we had

washed decks and were dabbing out our own few bits of duds for Sunday,

a surf-boat, in the stern of which sat precariously a very drunken

man. He was truculently drunk, and the big cigar, which was stuck

in one angle of his protruding lips, pointed upwards like an old

collier’s jibboom. Both his hands were thrust deep into his pockets,

and his top-hat was jammed hard down on the back of his head. As the

boat bumped alongside, his insecure seat failed him, and he lurched

massively forward upon the crown of his hat, which caved in after its

brim had passed his ears, adding to the picturesqueness of his outfit.

The boatmen seized and reinstated him upon a thwart, receiving for

their pains an address that reeked of the pit. For variety of profanity

we all admitted it to be far beyond anything of the kind that we had

ever heard, and one of our number suggested that he had been founding

a new church during his absence, his outbreak of peculiar language

being part of the liturgy thereof. We only had an ordinary side ladder

of the usual type carried in those ships--two ropes with wooden rungs

seized between them--which was suspended perpendicularly from the rail.

This kind of approach is not easy of negotiation by anybody but a

sober sailor; it was impossible now to Captain Scott. He gazed upwards

fiercely at the anxious face of the mate, and, with many flowers of

speech, insisted that a whip should be rigged on the mainyard for

him--blasphemously sharp, too, or he would, yes, he would, when he

_did_ get aboard.

So we rigged a single whip at the mate’s order, not without many

audible comments upon this new development and recriminations between

the members of the two disputing watches. With many a bump, as the

vessel rolled to the incoming swell, we hoisted our commander on board,

letting him come down on deck with a jolt that must have well-nigh

started all his teeth. Released from his bonds, he rose swaying to his

feet, and, glaring round upon the assembled crew, roared thickly, “All

han’s short’n sail!” There was a shout of laughter at this maniacal

command, which infuriated him so much that he seemed transformed into

a veritable demon. His face went purple, he ground his teeth like a

fighting boar, and would no doubt have had some sort of fit but for

a diversion made by the boatmen who had brought him off. One of them

approached him, saying abruptly but quite civilly--

“If you don’t want us any more, sir, we sh’d like our fare, so’s we can

get ashore again.”

Peculiarly, this interruption changed his mood into the coldly

sarcastic. With an air of exquisite politeness he turned to the

boatman, and, with a bear-like bow, said--

“Ho, indeed; Hi ’ave much pleasure in ’earin’ ov it. An’ may we take

th’ hopportunity hof harskin’ oo th’ ’ells a-preventin’ hof yer frum

goin’ t’ the devil hif ye likes.” (Be it noted that when sober he

spoke fairly correct English.) “Has ter a-wantin’ hof ye hany more,

Hi wouldn’t ’ave a barge-load hof yer fur a gift; Hi wouldn’t carry

yer fur ballast, there! Might come in ’andy for dunnagin’ carsks--but

there, I don’ know. Anyway, get t’ ’ell houter this.”

Of course, it could hardly be expected that such sturdy independent

souls as Algoa Bay boatmen would be likely to take contumely of this

sort meekly in exchange for their hard labours. At any rate, if such a

thing had ever been expected, the expectation was doomed to instant

disappointment. Turning to the rail, the boatman who had spoken to the

skipper gave a shout which brought the six of his mates on deck. Just

a word or two of explanation, and they advanced threateningly towards

their debtor. We stood in passive enjoyment of what we felt was soon

to be a due meting out of reward to a man who deserved such recompense

richly. The two mates made a feeble attempt to interfere, but were

roughly thrust aside, while the enraged boatmen seized the burly form

of our skipper, and were about to manhandle him over the side when he

roared for mercy, saying that he would pay all their demand. He did so,

and they departed, not without a full and complete exposition of what

they considered to be all his characteristics, mental and physical.

They had hardly left the side when the skipper ordered the windlass to

be manned, and, in spite of his drunken condition, no long time elapsed

before we were under way and standing rapidly out to sea.

But that night a black south-easter sprang up, to which we set all the

sail we could stagger under for our northward passage to Pondicherry,

but towards morning the wind backed to the northward, and blew so hard

as to necessitate the sudden taking in of all the sail we had set

except a tiny storm-staysail. But, while we were, all hands of us,

in the throes of our conflict with the slatting topsails, a curious

thing happened. Sharp snapping noises were heard, and flashes of light

totally unlike lightning were seen on deck. Cries were heard, too,

that were disconcerting, for it seemed as if a row was going on for

which we could imagine no cause. Suddenly the little Italian, who was

manfully struggling by my side to get the topsail furled, yelled at

the pitch of his voice something in his own language, at the same time

disappearing to a dangling position on the foot-rope. This was strange,

but almost immediately after something with a sharp “ping” struck the

yard by my side, and the horrible truth flashed into my mind that

somebody on deck was shooting at us poor wretches struggling aloft.

It is difficult, indeed, to express what the conditions of our minds

were upon making this discovery. The handling of sails by a weak crew

in a gale of wind at night is no child’s play at any time, but when to

that great fight is added the peculiar complication of a drunken madman

amusing himself by taking potshots at the men aloft, the condition of

things is, to say the least, disconcerting. The sails were let go.

Incontinently we slid down on deck, taking refuge behind whatsoever

shelter we could find. Happily, Natalie, the poor little Italian,

managed to get down too, having, as we presently discovered, a bullet

through the fleshy part of his arm. The sails blew to pieces, the ship

tumbled about helplessly, the helmsman having run from his post, and

it appeared as if a terrible calamity was about to overtake us, but

presently the two mates came forrard, saying, “It’s all right, men.

We’ve knocked him down, and, although we couldn’t find his revolver, we

have locked him up in his cabin. For God’s sake, turn to and get the

ship in hand.”

With many muttered curses and desires of taking the skipper’s life we

resumed our duties, and soon had got the rags of sail still left on

the yards snugly secured. Then the watch entitled to go below retired.

Natalie had his wound dressed, and peace reigned for a time. In the

morning the skipper, being sober, begged piteously to be released.

All of us protested strongly against any such piece of folly being

perpetrated. However, after he had been confined a week our hearts

relented towards him, and, upon his making a solemn assurance that he

had no more ammunition or grog, which latter disturbing element the

mates assured us they had searched for and were unable to find, it was

agreed that he should resume command.

During the rest of our passage to Pondicherry there was certainly

nothing to complain of. More, she was as comfortable a ship as one

could wish to be on board of. Evidently, with a view to mollifying

our feelings towards him, Captain Scott allowed us to fare as well

as he and his officers did, so that by the time we anchored in

Pondicherry we had, with the short memory for previous sufferings

peculiarly characteristic of sailors, apparently entirely forgotten

his amiable little outbreak. Nor during her stay at Pondicherry did we

have anything to complain of. Then came the welcome news that we were

homeward bound. On a glorious morning, just at daybreak, the order was

given to man the windlass, and, with the singing that old-time shanty

of “Hurrah, my boys, we’re homeward bound,” we were all lustily engaged

in tearing out the big mud-hook, when suddenly, to our unspeakable

horror, Captain Scott emerged from the cabin, his outstretched hands

each grasping a huge navy revolver, and almost immediately after

bullets were flying like hail. Like frightened rabbits, we bolted for

even the most impracticable holes and corners--anywhere, indeed, out of

that withering fire. The situation was desperate, but, happily for us,

a British gunboat was lying near. The officer in charge of her deck,

hearing the fusillade, with naval promptitude sent a boat’s crew on

board to inquire into the cause of this strange occurrence.

It so happened that the inquirers arrived just as Captain Scott was

recharging his revolver, and they lost no time in taking him prisoner.

We, the luckless crew, emerging from our various hiding-places, laid

the matter before them with much wealth of detail, and the result that

we presently had the satisfaction of seeing our vivacious commander,

bound hand and foot, being lowered into the boat for conveyance on

board the man-o’-war. Her commander held an inquiry immediately into

Captain Scott’s conduct, examining us closely as to the reasons for

this outbreak, if we could give any. Strange to say, our recollection

of his good treatment outweighed our immediate resentment against him,

and we agreed that if only he could be rendered incapable of either

getting drunk or shooting, we should be glad to finish the voyage with

him. So, after a thorough search for fire-arms and rum, resulting in

the discovery of no less than four more revolvers, quite a large box

of ammunition, and an extraordinarily large quantity of the potent

liquor, all of which was duly confiscated by the naval authorities, we

returned to our duties, got under way, and sailed for home.

The Sarah Jane was a most fortunate ship, as far as weather was

concerned, at any rate. Catching the first breath of the north-eastern

monsoon immediately outside the harbour, under all canvas we bowled

briskly down to the line, crossed it with a steady, if light breeze

from the northward, and, without experiencing any calm worth

mentioning, presently found ourselves in the tender embrace of the

south-east trade-winds, and being wafted steadily at the rate of about

five knots an hour across the vast placid bosom of the Indian Ocean.

Life at sea under such conditions is very pleasant. For the

vicissitudes of a sailor’s life only become hard to bear when weather

is bad, food scanty, and officers brutal. When the opposites of these

three conditions obtain, the sailor can gladly put up with many evil

qualities in the ship itself. The leakiness of our old vessel troubled

us not at all as long as the pleasant conditions of which I have spoken

continued. Even when we reached the stormy latitudes adjacent to the

Cape of Good Hope we were favoured by fair winds until we arrived off

Simons Bay, when the wind fell away, and a perfect calm ensued with

lowering, ugly-looking weather. But our good fortune still remained.

The great sweep of the Agulhas current carried us round the Cape of

Storms homeward without any wind worth taking notice of coming upon us

out of the leaden-looking sky, and so we rounded the Cape, and with a

fine southerly breeze pointed the Sarah Jane jibboom homeward.

The usual routine work of cleaning ship was indulged in. Nothing worthy

of notice occurred until losing the trades. In about 7° N. lat. a calm

of a week’s duration ensued. Here we fell in with several other ships,

and our captain, apparently with a view of getting a little amusement,

had a boat out, and went ship-visiting. This suited us admirably.

Sailors always enjoy it, perhaps because they get so little of it on

board merchant ships. The first two ships we visited were evidently

strongly teetotal, for we noticed that while our captain returned

on board perfectly sober, he always looked exceedingly glum and

disappointed. But at last we spoke a vessel whose captain was in dire

want of a little fresh water. We had plenty to spare, and in no long

time had filled a couple of puncheons, lowered them over the side into

the water, and towed them to the other ship. Her captain’s gratitude

was great; in fact, he seemed hardly able to reward us sufficiently.

Among other gifts we received a huge hog, two cases of preserved beef,

a barrel of cabin biscuits, and two large cases of what appeared to us

to be lime-juice. We returned on board, and hoisted in our spoils.

That night a breeze sprang up, and the little company of vessels that

had clustered together in the vortex made by the “trades” separated,

and pursued their various ways. Next morning we were alone, our ship

was by herself on the face of the deep. The steward went to call

the captain as usual, but could get no response. Alarmed, he came

and reported the matter to the mate, whose watch on deck it was at

the time. The mate went down, and, after repeated knockings at the

captain’s door which failed to obtain any response, took violent

measures, and burst the door open.

The captain was not there. A search was immediately made without

result, but presently, to the horror of every one on board, the

steward, a rather feeble-minded mulatto, rushed on deck shouting

“Fire!” It need not be said how terrible this cry at sea always is,

but it is never more so than when on board a badly-found wooden ship.

However, all hands rushed aft at the call of the mate, and prepared to

do everything that was possible for the subdual of the fire when it

should be located. The smoke appeared to be rising from the lazarette,

a store-room in the after part of the ship beneath the cabin. The mate

and a couple of men tore off the hatch, and, half choked with the smoke

that burst up in a great volume, made their way below, only to scramble

out again in double quick time and fall fainting on the deck.

Meanwhile everybody was wondering what had become of the captain, until

suddenly an awful-looking figure was seen emerging from a ventilator on

deck at the fore part of the cabin. It was the captain, who announced

his presence with a series of horrible yells. His clothes were in

ribands, his face was black, his eyeballs glared. Several of us made a

rush at him, conceiving him to have suddenly gone mad, but he eluded

our grasp, and, nimble as a monkey, rushed up aloft, and sat mowing on

the mainyard. A couple of us started after him, but were recalled by

the second mate, who said--

“Let the old ---- alone. We have got something else to do if we want to

save our lives.”

And indeed we had. The feeble pump in the bows of the ship, which

we used for washing decks, was not of the slightest service as a

fire-engine, and drawing water overside by buckets is a tedious

process. We could hear the roaring of the flames underneath our feet,

we could feel the decks getting hot, and as it appeared that our labour

was utterly in vain, and that if we wished to save our lives we must

waste no time in getting the boats provisioned and lowered, we turned

all our energies in that direction. By the most tremendous exertions

we succeeded in getting a fairly satisfactory amount of food and water

into the two boats, along with some clothing, a compass, and a sextant.

Hardly had we done so before a sudden outburst of flame from the cabin

of furious violence warned us that it was time to be gone.

Meanwhile the skipper had been raging, a howling madman, on the

mainyard. What was to be done about him? Truth compels me to state that

the majority of us were for leaving him to his fate, realizing that

to him we owed all our misfortunes. But still, _that_ we could hardly

bring ourselves to do when the time came. The ship herself solved the

question for us. She seemed to suddenly burst into flame fore and aft,

the inflammable cargo, most of which was of cotton and various grasses,

burning almost like turpentine. Indeed, some of us were compelled to

spring into the sea and clamber on board the boats as best we could.

Having done so, it became necessary to put a goodly distance between us

and the ship with little delay, for the heat was terrible. And there

sat the skipper on the mainyard, while the long tongues of flame went

writhing up the well-tarred rigging. Suddenly we saw him spring to his

feet, balancing himself for a moment on the yard, and then, with a

most graceful curve, he sprang into the sea. He reappeared, swimming

strongly, and the mate’s boat picked him up. And here occurred the

strangest part of the whole matter, for no sooner was he in the boat

than all the previous occurrences seemed to be wiped clean out of his

mind, and he was as sane as any man among us. We stared at him in

amazement, but he took no notice, saying a word or two on the handling

of the boat or the direction in which she was to be steered, but making

no comment upon the sudden catastrophe that had overtaken us.

Fortunately for us all, the weather remained perfectly fine, and as

we knew we were directly in the track of ships, we were under no

apprehensions as to our safety, but we certainly looked upon the

skipper as, to say the least of it, uncanny. We watched him closely by

day and by night, lest in some new maniacal outbreak he should endanger

the lives of us all once more, and this time without hope of recovery.

But he remained perfectly quiet and sensible, nor did he betray by any

sign whatever any knowledge of what had happened. On the third day we

sighted a barque right astern. She came up grandly, and very soon we

were all safely on board of the same vessel from which we had received

the provisions. Then we found that the two cases we had supposed to

contain lime-juice had really been full of lime-juice bottles of

rum--which explained matters somewhat.

And now another astonishing thing happened. Captain Scott suddenly

conceived the notion that the Jocunda was his own ship, nor could any

arguments convince him that he was wrong. The captain humoured him for

a while, but at last his mania reached such a height that it became

necessary to confine him in irons, and thus he was kept under restraint

until our arrival in Plymouth, where no time was lost in placing him in

a lunatic asylum.

What became of him I do not know, but at the Board of Trade inquiry all

hands had the greatest difficulty in persuading the officials that we

were not joined in a conspiracy of lying, and I for one felt that we

could hardly blame them.

MAC’S EXPERIMENT

“Mahn, A’am nae carin’ a snap wut ye think aboot ma. A’am a Scoetchman,

ye ken, fra Fogieloan; an’ them ’at disna laik ma th’ wye Ah aam, c’n

juist dicht ther nebs an’ ma bachle-vamps. Tha rampin’, roarin’ lion

uv Auld Scoetland aye gaed his ain wye, an’ A’am thinkin’ ’at maist

o’ his weans ’ll dae the same thing. An’ if tha canna dae’t yin day,

they’ll dae’t the neist, an’ muckle Auld Hornie himsel’ winna stap them

a’thegither.”

It was a long speech for Jock MacTavish, our taciturn shipmate aboard

the Yankee whaling-barque Ursus. Like several other luckless deep-water

sailors, he had been “shanghaied” in San Francisco, awaking from the

combined effects of a drug that would have killed anybody but a sailor,

and sundry ugly blows on the head, to find himself booked for a cruise

in a “spouter” for an indefinite length of time, and at a remuneration

that none of us were ever able to understand. This was bad enough, in

all conscience, but it might easily have been much worse, for the Ursus

was a really good ship, as whalers go.

At the time when this yarn begins, we had been employing a slackness

in the fishing by having a thorough clean up. It was very nearly time,

for she was beginning to stink so badly that every morsel of food we

ate seemed saturated with rancid whale-oil. So we worked, if possible,

harder than usual, with sand and ley, to remove the clotted fat from

decks, bulwarks, and boats, until on Christmas Eve she was almost her

old clean self again. There remained only the tryworks, but they were

certainly in a vile condition of black grease.

At knock-off time (all hands had been working all day) we began

discussing our chances of having a merry Christmas on the morrow, and,

with the usual argumentativeness of sailors, had got a dozen different

theories started. But running through them all there seemed to be a

fixed idea that no notice whatever would be taken of a day that we all

regarded as the one festival of the year which could, by no possible

means, be allowed to pass unhonoured.

No, not all, for when the discussion was at its height, Conkey, a

lithe Londoner, whose epithet of Cockney had somehow taken this form,

suddenly looked straight to where Mac was sitting stolidly munching a

gigantic fragment of prime East India mess beef (it hadn’t been round

Cape Horn more than four times), and said, “Wot d’yer sye, Mac? Ain’t

’erd from yer. ’Ow d’yer feel abart workin’ a Crissmuss dye?”

There was an instant silence, while every one fastened his eyes on Mac

and awaited his answer. Slowly, as if the words were being squeezed out

of him, he replied, “It disna matter a snuff tae me what wye ’tis. Ah

belong tae the Free Kirk o’ Scoetland, an’ she disna gie ony suppoert

tae siccan heathen practusses as th’ obsairvin’ o’ days, an’ months,

an’ yeers.”