_In Which Is Pictured a Race in Mid-Ocean_
There was a snapping and crackling in the air over the laboring
ship. It sounded as though the taut stays were giving way, one after
another. For the moment, what Bob said about “corpse lights” I did not
understand; I was mainly giving my attention to the wheel.
But the ship came to an even keel for a minute and I was able to hold
her on her course, and get my breath. Then I beheld the strange lights
shining here, there, and everywhere about the rigging, and I was
amazed. Not that I was frightened, as Bob and some of the others of
the watch appeared to be. The sailor is a very superstitious person;
and let him tell it, there are enough strange things happen at sea to
convince a most philosophical mind that there is a spirit world very,
very close to our own mundane sphere. There’s a very thin veil between
the two, and at times that veil is torn away.
But I knew in a minute that what Bob meant by “corpse lights” were
corposant lights and were an electric display better known as “St.
Elmo’s fire.” The lights were globular in shape, and about four inches
in diameter. There were apparently a score of them all through the
rigging, and they appeared at intervals of a minute, or two. The
driving sleet could not hide them, and the fires illuminated the ship
and the sea for some distance around her.
It certainly was a queer sight, and the brilliance of the corposant
lights was very marked. I heard Mr. Barney shouting from his station:
“Keep your shirts on, you hardshells! They won’t bite--nor none o’ you
ain’t got to go aloft to put ’em out. There’s one sure thing about them
lights--they won’t set the rigging afire.”
“Get up and take hold of this wheel, Bob,” I exclaimed, “or I’ll yell
for help. I can’t handle her proper if she plunges again.”
He got up shakingly and took hold. When the sea was sucked away from
the bow of the Gullwing next time we held her on her course. But my
companion was still frightened and looked at the glowing lights askance.
“Holding your own there at the wheel, boys?” demanded Mr. Barney.
“Aye, aye, sir!” I replied, but Bob didn’t even whisper.
Suddenly the last light disappeared--as suddenly as the first had
appeared--and immediately there was a loud explosion over our heads and
Mr. Barney pitched down the ladder to the deck. Several of the other
men were flung to the deck, too, and Bob gave another frightened yell
and started forward on a dead run.
He collided with Captain Bowditch, who had just shot up through the
companionway.
“What’s this, you swab?” yelled the skipper, grabbing Bob by the collar
with one hand and seizing a rope with the other, as the ship staggered
again. “What d’ye mean?”
Then he saw Mr. Barney just scrambling to his feet.
“What’s this mutinous swab been doing, sir?” added the captain.
The second mate explained in a moment. But Bob suffered. The old man
was in a towering rage because he had left his post.
“You flat-footed son of a sea-cook!” he bawled, shaking Promise, big as
he was, like a drowned kitten. “What d’ye mean by leaving the wheel?
That boy yonder kept his place didn’t he? Scared of a light, be ye?
Why, if a sea-sarpint came aboard that wouldn’t be no excuse for your
leaving the helm. Git back there!”
And when he started Bob aft again he accelerated his motions with a
vigorous kick in the broad of the seaman’s back. Bob grabbed the spokes
of the wheel, and braced himself, with a face like a thundercloud. I
crowded down my amusement and perhaps it is well I did. The fellow was
in no mood for enduring chaffing. When a man is both angry and scared a
joke doesn’t appeal to him--much.
I am reminded that this is a sorry scene to depict. Yet Captain
Bowditch was a kindly man and not given to unjust punishments. And I
believe that Bob got only what he deserved. Even terror cannot excuse
a man for neglecting his duty, especially at sea. It is like a private
in the ranks enduring the natural fear of a first charge against the
enemy. No matter what he may feel in his trembling soul, for the sake
of the example he sets the man next to him, he must crowd down that
fear and press on!
The storm had broken, however. At daylight we found that four feet of
the fore-topmast had been snapped off short, whether by the electrical
explosion, or by the wind, we could not tell. But that was the end
of that bad spell of weather, thanks be! The Gullwing sailed through
it, we spliced on a new spar, trimmed our sails, and tore on, under a
goodly press of canvas, for the Horn.
But several of the crew remained gloomy because of the “corpse lights.”
Something was bound to happen--of course, something unlucky. The lights
had foretold it. And Stronson, with Tom Thornton and other of the old
salts, told weird tales in the dog-watch.
In spite of the hurricane we had made good time in this run from
Valparaiso. As far as I could see, however, nothing momentous happened
at once; and the next important incident that went down in the ship’s
log was the sighting of the Seamew.
We really saw her this time--“in the flesh,” not a ghostly mirage. She
came out of the murk of fog to the south’ard at dawn and, far away as
she was, the lookout identified her.
“Seamew, ahoy!” he yelled.
It brought all hands upon deck--even the mate himself who had just
turned in, and the captain, too. There the sister of the Gullwing
sailed, her canvas spread to the freshening morning breeze, her prow
throwing off two high foamy waves as she tacked toward us.
She was on one tack; we were on the other. Therefore we were
approaching each other rapidly. And what a sight! If a marine artist
could have painted the picture of that beautiful ship, with her
glistening paint, and pearl-tinted sails, and her lithe masts and taut
cordage, he would have had a picture worth looking at. And from her
deck the Gullwing must have seemed quite as beautiful to those aboard
the Seamew.
The two ships were the best of their class--more trimly modeled than
most. I had not realized before what a beautiful ship the Gullwing was.
I saw her reflected in the Seamew.
She carried an open rail amidships; and her white painted stations,
carved in the shape of hour-glasses, with the painted flat handrail
atop, stood clearly and sharply defined above her black lower sides and
the pale green seas.
Not that either ship showed much lower planking, saving when they
rolled; they were heavily laden. With all her jibs and all her whole
sails on the four lower spars, and most of the small sails spread
above, our sister ship certainly was a beautiful picture.
But the old man wasn’t satisfied. Through his glass he saw something
that spurred him to emulation.
“She’s got all her t’gallant-sails set, by Pollox!” he bawled. “Mr.
Gates! what are you moonin’ about? Get them men up there in short
order, or I’ll be after them myself.” And as we jumped into the
rigging, I heard him growling away on the quarter: “That’s the way
Cap’n Si beats us. He crowds on sail, _he_ does. Why, I bet he never
furled a rag durin’ that four-day breeze we just struck, and like
enough had the crew pin their shirts on the wash line inter the
bargain.”
Two vessels may be rigged alike and built alike, but that doesn’t mean
that they will sail exactly alike. The Seamew was a shade faster in
reaching and running than the Gullwing. Mr. Barney told me that.
“But to windward we have the best of her. And that’s not because of
our sailing qualities. The difference is in the two masters,” the
second mate said. “Captain Joe can always get more out of his ship
than Captain Si can out of his when the going is bad. In fair weather
the Seamew will beat us a little every reach. But it isn’t all fair
weather in a voyage of ten thousand miles, or so,” and he smiled--I
thought--rather nastily.
I was reminded of the hint Bob Promise had given me that there was bad
blood and no pleasant rivalry between our second mate and the twin
who held the same berth on our sister ship. Mr. Barney was in the tops
studying the Seamew a good deal through the glass that day, too. I
wondered if he was trying to see if his brother was on deck.
For we did not run near enough to her that day for figures to be
descried very clearly either on her deck or in her rigging.