ABOARD AGAIN
The sun was floating over the horizon, and the pink of his glory was
melting into the flash of silver, as the wake of the _York_ streamed
in a short white gleam upon the sea. The light breeze was still to
the north of east, and thither it had hung for hours past. Hardy and
Julia stood at the brig's rail watching the ship that was distinct and
lifting in the ocean's recess.
"Is it possible that she's the _York_?" said Julia.
He answered with the telescope at his eye:
"Don't I know her! She's under single reefs. Her spanker is furled, and
her head sails keep her off, as though she were under control. Perhaps
she is, but I don't think so. She would head directly for us if she had
anything alive on board, because I can hold the line of her rail in
this glass, and if I can see her, she can see me."
"What will you do?"
"I will wait a little longer and see if she is manned. If her crew have
deserted her, I will launch that boat, and board her before she drifts
out of sight."
"Will you be able to catch her?"
"Catch her! Can you row?"
"Try me," she answered, with the proud look a girl will put on when she
feels she is of importance.
"She is drifting at about two, and we will make that boat buzz three,
and perhaps more. But if she is manned, she will come alongside, and
our getting aboard will be easy. But she is not manned, I am sure,"
said Hardy. "Pipe to breakfast, Julia."
This time they made beef sandwiches of biscuit, and they were swallowed
without the accompanying forecastle growl. Indeed, considering it
was meant for sailors' use, the beef was not very bad, and as it was
pickled to the heart, a little cooking had gone a long way to make it
almost food for the human stomach. The bottle of rum was half full
and they drank a little of the liquor, largely diluted with water. To
refresh himself Hardy went to the head, where he knew he would find a
pump which stood clear of the deck load. He picked up a bucket, carried
it to the pump and filled it with sparkling brine, and purified his
face with the cold salt-sweetness of the water and wrung his hands in
it, and felt that his beard was growing, for shipwreck does not stop
the growth of hair, as we see when a haggard crew steps ashore out of a
life-boat.
And all the time he kept his eyes fastened on the _York_, as he knew
her to be. When he went aft he found Julia sitting on a chair on
top of the deck-house. He mounted the steps and sat beside her with
the telescope, for he had made up his mind to wait a little before
launching the boat.
"What makes you know that she's the _York_?" she asked.
"Twenty points, and you must have served two years before the mast to
understand them if I explained. She is the _York_, my love, and with
God's eye watching us we shall be aboard her and safe before sunset."
"Hurrah!" cried Julia, and she picked up his hand and kissed it.
It was a thing to be settled in about an hour, and in that hour Hardy
discovered that she was not under control by her coming to windward and
her falling off; and when she came to windward she hung so long that
Hardy thought it time to turn to. And now began a process of which the
description shall not weary you.
First he unshipped the gangway and fetched some capstan bars for
rollers; he then passed his knife through the boat's lashings, took
the watch-tackle and secured it to a fore-shroud abreast of the boat,
overhauled the tackle to hook the block on the boat's gunwale, then
he and Julia clapped on to the hauling part of the tackle and easily
roused the little wagon on to her bilge. She was not very much heavier
than a smack's boat; her oars were lashed under the thwarts, and her
rudder had been on a thwart and now lay in her. They tried to run her
along the deck, but though they started her the toil must prove too
great for the girl who would be plying an oar shortly. So he carried
the block of the watch-tackle as far forward as its length would allow
him and made a strop with a piece of gear round the thwart, to which he
hooked the other block, bent a line on to the hauling part and carried
it to the winch, giving Julia the job of hauling the slack in as he
wound.
He wound lustily, for he was fighting for life and time and he was a
very strong man, and had entirely rid himself of all the evil effects
of the drug, as the girl had. So they brought the boat abreast of the
gangway; he had muscle enough to lift her bow whilst Julia placed a
skid, in the shape of a capstan bar, under her forefoot; he made other
skids of the capstan bars, and laying hold of her gunwales on either
side, the two brave hearts, with the boat's nose pointing to the sea,
ran the fabric, secured by a painter hitched to a main shroud, clean
through the gangway, and she fell with a squash, and floated like an
empty bottle with never a drop of water in her.
This done, Hardy, who was making haste, for the _York_ was keeping a
rap-full and forging into the stream of sunshine, though always coming
for the brig, seized a line, and watching his chance sprang into the
boat, secured the line to her after-thwart, leapt aboard, and brought
the boat broadside to the gangway.
The roll of the brig was very sullen and slow, and the swell of the sea
sometimes hove the boat flush with the brig's waterway.
"You must jump into her, Julia," said Hardy, "and for God's sake don't
go overboard. To provide against that, see here."
He took an end of main-royal-halliards and hitched it round her waist,
and overhauled some slack which he grasped.
"Pull up your clothes," said he, "and free your legs and aim for the
bottom of the boat, and jump when I sing out."
The little squab structure came floating up, and Hardy brought her in
by a tug of the after-rope as she was coming.
"Jump!" he shouted.
And that girl, whose heart was of British oak, holding her clothes to
her knees, sprang, and in a few breaths was sitting on a thwart and
liberating herself from the rope, whilst she smiled up at her lover.
"Now, Julia," said he, "I am going to send you down the provisions and
water. Stand by to receive them, but keep seated."
He handed the telescope to her, then fetched the breaker, which she
received as it lay in that instant of heaving swell on the rim of the
gunwale, and she rolled it to the thwart, then to the stern-sheets,
taking the glass from Hardy at the next heave. He made one parcel of
the provisions and hove them into the boat, then casting the painter
adrift he jumped into the boat, let go the remaining line that held
her, cut loose the oars, shipped the thole-pins, leaving the rudder
unshipped, and made Julia the bow oar.
Could she row? Very well indeed; but the oars were a little heavy and
she did not attempt to feather; in fact, she rowed like a smacksman,
lifting the blade with its streaming glory of water on high, but the
dip and thrust of it was that of a stout schoolboy, and between them
they made the boat buzz, Hardy, with larger power of oar, keeping her
straight for the _York_.
"Don't tire yourself," said he; "rest when you like. She'll not outrun
us."
"What a wonderful thing to happen!" said Julia, whose face was
whitening with the ardour of her toil.
She looked at nothing but her oar, and was certainly not going to be
tired this side the _York_.
"At sea, where all is wonderful, nothing is wonderful," said Hardy.
"Any sailor would easily see how this has come about. But don't waste
your breath in talking: let us row."
It was a strange and curious picture: a man and a girl in a little
open boat, pulling away for a ship that was rounding into the wind as
though she knew they were approaching, whilst astern receded the figure
of the brig, a melancholy sight, despite the gun-flashes of sunshine
which burst from her side at every roll; her hanging canvas flapped a
mournful farewell to the rowers, who took no heed of the poor thing's
tender and, for a north-countryman, graceful salutation of good-bye.
But, then, she had been a stage of maniacal horrors, of death, of
the lonely little ghost that struck the bell, of shipwreck with its
stalking shadows of famine, thirst, and the calenture that invites you
to die.
Hardy frequently turned to look at the _York_ so as to keep a true
course, and this time saw that she was involved in the wind, and was
waiting for him to come aboard to tell her what to do. They had four
miles to measure, and as they pulled with the spirit of shipwreck in
their pulse they were within hail of her in an hour.
No man showed himself; she was abandoned. But suddenly on the
forecastle rail appeared the fore-paws and magnificent head of a great
Newfoundland dog. He barked deep and long.
"Poor Sailor," said Hardy; "I had forgotten him."
"How inhuman to leave him," said Julia, panting.
"A few more strokes, sweetheart," shouted Hardy, "and we are free. What
a noble girl you are! What a good wife you will make a sailor!"
"I will make you a good wife, never fear," she answered, joyous in
despite distress of breath.
The ship's head was slowly paying off as the boat's stem struck the
side. Hardy secured the painter and jumped into the mizzen-chains.
"Hold out your hands," he exclaimed, "and jump when the boat lifts,"
and to the lift and to his fearless, muscular haul she sprang, and was
alongside of him.
He grasped her by the arm, passed her round the rigging, and helped her
over the bulwark rail. The dog was barking in fury of joy. When they
gained the deck he sprang upon the girl in love and delight and nearly
knocked her down.
"Get him some water and biscuit whilst I look about me," said Hardy.
He had long ago known by the help of the telescope that the ship
was abandoned because two pairs of davits were empty, and with the
perception of a sailor he understood that the crew had transferred
themselves to another ship in one boat, whereas if they had abandoned
the ship on their own account, which was improbable, they would have
gone away in three companies, and the davits would have been like
gibbets, since the after-boat had been used by the captain when he
stole the girl.
The wheel was not lashed, and was constantly playing in swift
revolution to starboard and port and back again. Hardy judged that the
dog had been left by the men because the faithful creature would not
quit the ship which had been his master's home, and the men, who would
have had very little time, did not choose that their flesh should be
torn by using violence. Yet it was cruel of them to leave him, for they
would know that the noble creature would soon need water and food, and
perish as lamentably as a famine-stricken sailor on a raft.
He saw that the figures of Mr. Candy and the man at the wheel, which
had been concealed by a tarpaulin, were gone; they had of course been
buried. Julia looked after the dog, that was lapping water thankfully
as she filled a bowl from the galley with fresh water out of the
scuttle-butt. Hardy slowly went forward, carefully gazing about him.
No man lay dead on the deck; he dropped into the forecastle and found
it empty of human life, so that the captain's birthday had killed but
two men, which was surely wonderful, for he had commanded a power that
could have murdered a thousand.
Why was not this fine ship taken possession of by the people who had
received her crew? I will tell you at once, for the story came out on
the men's arrival. Her drift had been swifter, with the helping hand of
the surge, than Hardy could have imagined or allowed for, and in the
morning of the gale she was close aboard a French brig that was hove to
sitting deep in the sea. They hailed her and were answered. They stated
they were without a navigator and they didn't know what to do. The
French captain spoke English, and said he would receive them if they
came aboard in their own boat and land them at Marseilles, the port
he was bound to. The weather was then moderating, and after calling a
council the boatswain, giving the mate and the girl up as lost, swiftly
decided, with the heedlessness of seamen, to abandon the _York_, and
with great difficulty the sailors gained the deck of the brig, leaving
their clothes behind them. Very shortly afterward the French captain
braced his yards round and shaped a course for Marseilles, leaving
nothing alive on board the _York_ but the dog.
This is the true story of the ship's adventure, and whoever questions
it is no sailor.
Hardy left the forecastle and stood awhile on deck near the hatch,
gazing aloft. In this moment he was fired by a resolution which would
have inspired no other heart than that of a true British sailor. He
determined that he and the girl and the dog should save this fine
ship without help, and carry her to England, and entitle them to a
reward which should prove a living to them whilst they endured. His
face, which was as manly as Tom Bowline's, was irradiated by the glory
of this resolution as he gazed aloft, smiling. It was possible--and
being possible it was to be done. But it needed doing by two hearts
of oak and the dog as a lookout, and great anxiety would accompany
the discharge of this splendid duty, much sleeplessness and ceaseless
urging of the spirit. But the eye of God would dwell lovingly upon
their toil and peril; he felt that and raised his cap to the thought,
and he said to himself, in the language of Nelson, "When we cannot do
all we wish, we must do as well as we can!"
He walked aft and joined the girl.
"Julia," he said, "I have formed the resolution of my life, and if I
can fulfil it we shall be rich, though that will not make us happy."
"What is it?" she asked, looking a little frightened, with her head
slightly drooped to the shoulder, and her left hand, white as foam,
reposing like a coronet upon the Newfoundland's head. Indeed, what
with the mad captain, drugs, and ghosts she was in such a condition of
mind that she was easily alarmed by any divergence from the commonplace.
"This is a valuable ship," he answered. "I know her cargo, for I helped
to stow it. She has a beautiful hull, and is perfectly sound aloft.
In addition to her cargo she carries a little treasure of jewelry
consigned to Melbourne--Colonials love jewelry. I dare say it is worth
ten thousand pounds. It is in a safe in the captain's cabin. I should
say that the value of this ship and cargo is between sixty thousand and
seventy thousand pounds, perhaps more. Julia, you and I and the dog
will carry her home. We shall be richly rewarded by the owners and the
underwriters--in fact, it is a matter of salvage to be assessed if my
terms are disputed."
She grasped him by both hands, her eyes were on fire, her cheeks were
burning, the spirit of delight and resolution filled her romantic face
with the light of conquest and realisation.
"Is it to be done?" she said.
"It is done," he answered. "We don't talk of failure. But let us make
ourselves comfortable whilst the weather is fine."
"How heavenly!" she sighed. "You will teach me to steer, George."
"I will teach you everything that is proper for a young woman to know,"
he answered.
He took her to his heart and pressed his lips to hers, which was like
signing articles: that lip pressure was the seal of their agreement
to serve each other loyally, and to eat the food on board without
growling.
The first thing they did was to go below. Here was the cabin just as
they had left it; there was the chair in which Captain Layard had sat
and talked metaphysics, yonder was the locker on which the drugged
girl had slept, and they stood on the deck where Hardy had lifted his
cannon-ball of a head, whilst his bewildered soul groped slowly into
his brains. They went into the captain's cabin and saw the drum and the
drumsticks and the little bedstead.
"What a fantasy of the sea!" said Hardy. "It is beyond me. It is like
a vision, sensible to perception and unreal to it. Will our story be
credited?"
"Who cares?" answered the girl. "Is that the safe, George?"
"Yes, and I'll look for the key by and by. The jewelry's there."
The safe was small and secured on a massive timber shelf, but though
small it was large enough to contain the Koh-i-noor, and to hold buried
the wealth and jewels of a rajah.
Hardy cast a keen look around him, saw that the table held the
necessary machinery of navigation, carefully wound up the chronometers,
which had not stopped, then went into his own cabin whilst the girl
entered hers. When they presently met they sought for food and found
plenty in the pantry; here were ham and tongue, palatable stuff in
tins, white biscuits, and pots of jam.
They sat down and ate, and the Newfoundland sat beside them, triumphant
in this familiar company of man and woman, and Julia, who loved him,
saw that he made a good breakfast.
"How are we to manage it, George?" she asked.
"It will require some scheming," he answered, "but we must not accept
help, because if we do our salvage share will shrink out of all
proportion to our merits. Can you steer in the least?"
"I can steer a boat, but not a ship," Julia answered.
"I will teach you; you will get the art in a very few lessons."
"One lesson will do if I have the strength."
"Oh," he answered, with a loving glance at her, "you are one of those
English girls whose shapes of beauty are wire-rigged. Wire is stronger
than hemp, though it looks delicate. What your strength can't do I have
arms for."
"So you have," she replied; "you are the manliest sailor that ever was."
"Let us change the subject," he replied, with a little colour of
pleasure in his face, for a compliment from your sweetheart is next to
a kiss. "We are fortunate in finding the ship under very easy sail.
We'll get some more fore-and-aft canvas upon her, for it is easily
hauled down, but I shall leave the square canvas that is furled to rest
as it is. I'll bring her to her course at noon when I find out where we
are. You will light the galley fire, as we shall want a hot drink. But
we need little cooking, for if we boil a good lump of beef, that, with
the food in the pantry, will last you and me and the dog five hundred
miles of sea."
"Are we near England?"
"Not very, I think, but I shall know presently exactly how near we are."
"How shall we get rest, George? We must sleep or die, or worse, go
mad."
"Aye," he answered, thoughtfully; "you see things rightly, but we must
not make sleep a difficulty."
"The rest seems quite easy," she said, joyously; "and I shall learn to
steer in one lesson."
They left the table and went on deck, followed by the dog, who growled
softly and often in a sort of undertalk with himself. There is a great
nature in a Newfoundland, and you often wonder whilst you look into his
soft, affectionate eyes what his thoughts are.
It was a glowing scene of forenoon ocean. The ripple ran with the
laughter of the summer in its voice. The endless procession of humps
of swell, as though old ocean was perpetually shrugging his shoulders
over spiteful memories, brought the flaming banners of the sun out of
the east, and swept them westwards in knightly array of fiery plume
and foam-crested summit. Four miles off wallowed the poor little brig,
tearfully flapping her pocket-handkerchief to the naked horizon, and by
mute and pathetic gesture coaxing nothing into being to help her. Many
soft, white clouds floated westwards, and Hardy noticed that the glass
was high and those clouds meant nothing but vapour.
What a noble ship to be in charge of, to virtually be the owner of,
to rescue from the toils of the sea, to witness in security in some
harbour of England, flying high the commercial flag of the Empire
in token of British supremacy, even in the hour of peril, when the
Foreigner would consider all was lost!
"It is not yet twelve o'clock," said Hardy, "and we will light the
galley fire."
They walked forward and entered the sea kitchen. Plenty of chopped
wood lay stacked. The ship's cook had been a man of foresight, and
anticipated labour by putting an axe into the ordinary seaman's hand;
also near the wood stood two buckets of coal and a little heap on
the deck. There was plenty of coal in the fore-peak for a voyage
to Australia. Hardy had matches, which are curiosities at sea in a
forecastle, for you light your pipe at the galley fire with rope
yarns or shavings, and the slush lamp is kindled by the binnacle or
side-light. But aft there are usually matches, because the cabin is the
home of elegance, refinement, and luxury, and the captain must have
matches, for he cannot light his cigar at the sailors' fire. Hardy
first explored the coppers; they were empty. He filled them from the
scuttle-butt; why should he use salt water when there was plenty of
fresh at hand? Fresh water would cleanse the mahogany beef of something
of its brine, and perhaps soften it into complacent recognition of
human digestion.
Then the fire was lighted; he could not find the key of the harness
cask, so he fetched a weapon from the carpenter's chest, and the
staples yielded to his blow with the shriek of lacerated wood. There
was plenty of beef and pork in the cask, buried in the horrible crystal
in which lurks the demon of scurvy; he turned the pieces over, and
selecting the fattest and least ill-looking lump, dropped it into the
copper for boiling when the water should begin.
This work, easily recited, cost time. Before he touched a brace or put
the ship to her course he must find out where she was. The last entries
in the log-book were in his handwriting, and they related the story of
the captain's birthday, how he kept it, and his disappearance with a
young lady passenger named Julia Armstrong. The latitude was then--N.
and the longitude--W. But the drifting ship had measured miles, and her
captain must know where he was. This he would find out in about an hour.
The sow under the long-boat was dead. To get rid of it before the
carcass stank he stropped it and clapped the watch-tackle on it, and
together they hauled the little mountain of what might have proved
tooth-alluring crackling and white fresh fat, always sweet at sea,
through the open gangway overboard. It fell without a prayer, and the
fish that nosed it that day dined well.
Some of the poultry in the hen-coops were dead; a few lived, and craved
with fluttering red pennons for drink and grain. Of course Hardy
knew "the ropes" of this ship and could lay his hand on anything he
wanted. He filled the little troughs with fresh water, and no one but
a beholder could have figured the profound gratitude with which the
varying row of bills was lifted to heaven. He helped them to grain,
and they filled their crops with all ardency of pecking. He cleared
the hen-coop of its plumed corpses, and so they sweetened the ship
forthwith.
It was about time that Hardy fetched his sextant: the soaring sun
excited his impatience; he desired that the ship should be sending
his sweetheart and himself home, and the ceaseless waving of those
pocket-handkerchiefs just over the horizon teased him with their
impertinence, and as a token of distress when the morning was fair and
their hearts high and hopeful. His reckoning found the ship's position
within a mile or two of her place when he had left her to succour his
darling.
"I have it now," said he, "and we must trim sail for home."
"Oh, how beautiful!" cried Julia, and the dog barked in recognition of
the girl's triumphant note.
The ship was on the port tack and must be wore to the north. Hardy
put the helm hard up and secured it, then let go the fore, main, and
mizzen-braces, and the yards, as the ship obeyed her rudder, swung a
little of themselves. With the starboard-braces let go Hardy and Julia
did not find it difficult to swing the yards. The wind would be almost
abeam when the ship was homeward bound, and there were the winch and
the capstan to brace the yards well forward if the wind drew ahead.
"Sing out, George!" cried Julia. And they brought the fore and
foretopsail-yard, with fore-tack and sheet all gone, round, to their
chanty of "Chillyman."
"Randy dandy, heigho!
Chillyman!
Pull for a shilling, heigho!
Chillyman!
Young and willing, heigho!
Sweet and killing ole bo',
Dandy, heigho!
Chillyman!"
The Newfoundland looked on and grumbled because he had no hands.
They got the main and the mizzen-yards round to the same song with
some laughter, because Hardy put a few words of sweetness into his
invention as he sang, and the girl's voice was rich with appreciation
as the flute of her lips swept the carol of her delight into his manly
tones.
Then they saw to the fore-tack and sheet and to the jib-sheets, and
the ship floated away steadily round in graceful salutations to the
dejected handkerchiefs on the quarter. Hardy cast the wheel adrift and
told the girl to hold it whilst he steadied the yards by hauling as
taut as his pair of hands could the weather-braces of the fore and main
and the lee-braces of the mizzen.
This done he stood beside Julia to teach her how to steer.