Manned by ten stout tars, and as many oars propelling her, the cutter
continues her course with celerity. The lieutenant, seated in the
stern-sheets, with the midshipman by his side, directs the movements of
the boat; while the glances of both are kept constantly upon the barque.
In their eyes is an earnest expression--quite different from that of
ordinary interrogation.
The men may not observe it; if they do, it is without comprehension of
its meaning. They can but think of it as resembling their own, and
proceeding from a like cause. For although with backs turned towards
the barque, they cast occasional glances over their shoulders, in which
curiosity is less observable than apprehension.
Despite their natural courage, strengthened by the late appeal to their
humanity, the awe is strong upon them. Insidiously returning as they
took their seats in the boat, it increases as they draw farther from the
frigate and nearer to the barque. Less than half-an-hour has elapsed,
and they are now within a cable's length of the strange vessel.
"Hold!" commands the lieutenant.
The oar-stroke is instantly suspended, and the blades held aloft. The
boat gradually loses way, and at length rests stationary on the tranquil
water.
All eyes are bent upon the barque; glances go searchingly along her
bulwarks, from poop to prow.
No preparations to receive them! No one appears on deck--not a head
raised over the rail!
"Barque ahoy!" hails the lieutenant.
"Barque ahoy!" is heard in fainter tone; but not in answer. Only the
echo of the officer's voice, coming back from the hollow timbers of the
becalmed vessel! There is again silence, more profound then ever. For
the sailors in the boat have ceased talking; their awe, now intense,
holding them speechless and as if spellbound!
"Barque ahoy!" again shouted the lieutenant, louder than before, but
with like result. As before, he is only answered by echo. There is
either nobody on board, or no one who thinks it worth while to make
rejoinder.
The first supposition seems absurd, looking at the sails; the second
equally so, regarding the flag at the main-royal masthead, and taking
into account its character.
A third hail from the officer, this time vociferated in loudest voice,
with the interrogatory added:
"Any one aboard there?"
To the question no reply, any more than to the hail.
Silence continues--stillness profound, awe-inspiring. They in the boat
begin to doubt the evidence of their senses. Is there a barque before
their eyes? Or is it all an illusion? How can a vessel be under sail--
full sail--without sailors? And if any, why do they not show at her
side? Why have they not answered the hail thrice given; the last time
loud enough to be heard within the depths of her hold? It should have
awakened her crew, even though all were asleep in the forecastle!
"Give way again!" cries the lieutenant. "Bring up on the starboard
side, coxswain! Under the forechains."
The oars are dipped, and the cutter moves on. But scarce is she in
motion, when once more the officer commands "Hold!"
With his voice mingle others, coming from the barque. Her people seem
at length to have become aroused from their sleep, or stupor. A noise
is heard upon her deck, as of a scuffle, accompanied by cries of strange
intonation.
Presently two heads, apparently human, show above the bulwarks; two
faces flesh-coloured, and thinly covered with hair! Then two bodies
appear, also human-like, save that they are hairy all over--the hair of
a foxy red! They swarm up the shrouds; and clutching the ratlines shake
them, with quick violent jerks; at the same time uttering what appears
angry speech in an unknown tongue, and harsh voice, as if chiding off
the intruders. They go but a short way up the shrouds, just as far as
they could spring from the deck, and only stay there for an instant;
then dropping down again, disappear as abruptly and unceremoniously as
they had presented themselves!
The lieutenant's command to "Hold!" was a word thrown away. Without it
the men would have discontinued their stroke. They have done so: and
sit with bated breath, eyes strained, ears listening, and lips mute, as
if all had been suddenly and simultaneously struck dumb. Silence
throughout the boat--silence aboard the barque--silence everywhere: the
only sound heard being the "drip-drop" of the water as it falls from the
feathered oar-blades.
For a time the cutter's crew remains mute, not one essaying to speak a
word. They are silent, less from surprise than sheer stark terror.
Fear is depicted on their faces and observable in their attitudes, as no
wonder it should. What they have just seen is sufficient to terrify the
stoutest hearts--even those of tried tars, as all of them are. A ship
manned by hairy men--a crew of veritable Orsons! Certainly enough to
startle the most phlegmatic mariner, and make him tremble as he tugs at
his oar. But they have ceased tugging at their oars, and hold them,
blades suspended. Almost the same is their breath. One alone, at
length, musters sufficient courage to mutter:
"Gracious goodness, shipmates! what can it all mean?"
He receives no answer, though his question brings the silence to an end.
It is now further broken by the voice of the lieutenant, as also that
of the midshipman. They do not speak simultaneously, but one after the
other. The superstitious fear pervading the minds of the men does not
extend to them. They too have their fears, but of a different kind, and
from a different cause. As yet neither has communicated to the other
what he himself has been thinking; the thoughts of both being hitherto
vague, though every moment becoming more defined. And the appearance of
the red men upon the ratlines--strange to the sailors--seems to have
made things more intelligible to them. Judging by the expression upon
their faces, they comprehend what is puzzling their companions. And
with a sense of anxiety more than fear--more of doubt than dismay.
The lieutenant speaks first, shouting in command:
"Give way! Quick! Pull in! Head on for the forechains!"
He acts in an excited manner, appearing nervously impatient. And, as if
mechanically, the midshipman repeats the order, imitating the mien of
his superior. The men execute it, but slowly, and with seeming
reluctance. They know their officers to be daring fellows, both. But
now they deem them rash, even to recklessness. For they cannot
comprehend the motives urging them to action. Still they obey; and the
prow of the boat strikes the barque abeam.
"Grapple on!" commands the senior officer soon as touching.
A boat-hook takes grip in the chains; and the cutter, swinging round,
lies at rest alongside.
The lieutenant has already risen to his feet, as also the mid. Ordering
only the coxswain to follow, they spring to the chains, lay hold, and
lift themselves aloft.
Obedient to orders, the men remain in the boat, still keeping seat on
the thwarts, in wonder at the bold bearing of their officers--at the
same time admiring it.