LEFT ON THE BRIG
Clenching his fist as he came, he struck at me with all his tremendous
strength, and, had he hit me, I am certain I should have been killed,
but I was on the alert, and jumped to one side in time to avoid the
blow. At the same instant the wind came again with great violence,
the brig suddenly lurched, and my assailant pitched headlong against
the starboard rail, striking his head with a force that knocked him
senseless. The fact that he was attacking me did not prevent my
hastening to his assistance. But quick as I was, another was before
me. It was the first mate. He had come on deck in time to witness the
skipper’s fall, and was already kneeling over the unconscious man when
I reached his side. Tearing open the Captain’s waistcoat, he placed his
hand over the heart, announcing a moment later:
“He’s only stunned, Master Dunn. I’ll have him taken down below, and do
all I can for him. But you’d better keep out of his way for a while,
and he may forget the whole affair.” Then rising, he directed two of
the sailors to carry him down into the cabin. “Liberate Bill,” he added
as he turned to follow them.
I was not slow to obey that order, and as I assisted the old tar in
putting on his shirt and jacket, he said:
“I’m obleeged to ye, sir, for what ye’ve done, but I fear ye haven’t
seen the last of it, an’ I’d rather ben flogged than got ye into
trouble.”
“It’s all right, Bill,” I assured him. “Come what may, I shall never
whip an innocent man. I should have done the same for any of the crew.”
“I knows it, sir, but Bill Howard won’t forget ye’ve done it for him,
as ye’ll see,” and he went back to his station.
A half-hour later Master Marshall returned to the deck, saying:
“He wasn’t hurt any to speak of. There’s a big swelling on the top of
his head, and he’s a little dazed over what has happened. But it don’t
prevent him from going back to his rum. He’s pouring it down again as
if it were water, and in a short time will be drunker than ever. I only
hope he’ll keep so until we are in port. Then you can light out for
Lisbon and join Captain Tucker. It will be safer than to stay here and
face his anger when he does come to himself.”
“I won’t do that unless I have to,” I answered stoutly. “I’m as ready
to do my full duty by Captain Weston as ever, but I won’t aid him in
abusing innocent men,” and I explained how it was that Bill Howard had
aroused the skipper’s wrath.
“I knew it was something of the kind,” he returned warmly, “for I was
on deck in time to hear what you said. But you never know what freak
a drunken man will take. He may forget this whole affair, as I have
intimated, or he may hold the whole matter against you until he’s had
his revenge. My advice is to leave the brig as soon as we are in port.”
“Why cannot we appeal to the consul?” I questioned. “Surely he will
take our word against that of a drunken captain.”
“He may not give us the chance to make any complaint against him,” he
replied, “but we’ll see. I only fear he will vent his anger in some way
on you before we can make any move to prevent it.”
I tried to think that he was altogether too apprehensive of coming
trouble, though I confess I finished my watch with much heaviness of
heart. Then, having determined to face the worst immediately, I went
down to my quarters as usual for a much needed rest. No sooner had I
entered the cabin, however, than I found for the present at least I
had nothing to fear, as the captain lay in a drunken stupor.
Throwing myself into my berth, I tossed about for some time, thinking
over the incidents of the last hour or two. It seemed therefore as
though I had scarcely closed my eyes when there came a call: “All hands
on deck!”
I leaped to my feet, ran quickly to the ladder, noticing as I ran that
the captain was still lying there in the same condition in which I had
found him on entering the cabin, and clambered to the deck. A single
glance told me why we had been called. The storm, which was brewing
during my last watch, now raged in full force and the brig, under
shortened sail, was staggering along before it, while the huge waves
were chasing her and threatening to engulf her.
Master Marshall met me at the hatch.
“How’s the Captain?” he inquired somewhat anxiously. “Is he of any use
to us?”
“Not the slightest,” I replied. “He don’t even know that I have been
into the cabin.”
“Then, Master Dunn, we shall have to fight out the storm for
ourselves,” he declared. “That is why I have called you to the deck.
You must share the responsibility with me. What more would you do than
I have done?”
I ran my eye over the craft. All her top-sails were taken in, but she
still carried her mainsail, her foresail, and her jibs. Under these she
dove her bow into the waves. It was evident she was too heavy forward
to ride easily under the gale, so I said promptly:
“I’d take in every stitch of canvas but the jib and mainsail, sir, and
reef those down to just enough to keep her steady. Then I’d ease her
off a point or two from her course; it’ll keep her from diving into the
seas that are threatening to swamp her.”
“It’ll keep her off shore and give us more sea room,” he admitted, “and
as neither of us is acquainted in here, it isn’t a bad idea;” and then
he gave the orders necessary to put my suggestions into execution.
For hours we kept on under the reefed canvas, the storm scarcely
changing in its violence. Drenched to the skin, chilled to the bone,
hungry from long fasting, we were in poor condition to meet the night
which was now fast approaching. Since noon our hatches had been lashed
down, and we knew nothing of what was going on in the cabin. If the
skipper had aroused sufficiently to realize we were struggling with the
tempest, he gave no signs of it.
We looked for no help from him. Still, assistance was to be
providentially furnished us.
“Sloop ahoy!” shouted the forward lookout.
“Where away?” asked Master Marshall, hastening towards the bow.
“Two points off our larboard, and bearing straight down this way, sir,”
was the reply.
“She’s a pilot boat, sir,” Bill Howard declared a moment later to me.
“I’ve seen ’em too many times in here to be mistaken.”
He was right, for within five minutes she had run near enough for her
commander to hail us in English and ask if we wished him to send a man
on board.
“Yes, sir,” responded Master Marshall at the top of his lungs. Then he
said to me in lower tones: “This is a Godsend, Master Dunn, though I
don’t see how he can put a man aboard of us. No boat can live in this
sea.”
But the Portuguese commander was equal to the occasion. Working up
under our lee, he tossed a rope to our deck, the other end of which
had already been made fast to the waist of the man he was going to
send over to us; and no sooner did this fellow see we had caught the
line than he plunged into the sea and swam vigorously for us. We
speedily pulled him on board, well drenched but none the worse for his
voluntary bath. He could speak enough English to make us understand we
were only about thirty miles out of Oporto, into which he could take
us, notwithstanding the darkness and storm. Greatly relieved, Master
Marshall surrendered the command of the brig to him, and under his
orders we were soon headed for that city.
Slowly the hours wore away, and as they passed the wind decreased
somewhat in its violence, and the sea became less boisterous. It was
evident the storm was abating, and new hope filled the hearts of all.
Then when the pilot at length declared we were approaching the outer
harbor of our desired haven, a cheer broke from the lips of the worn
and weary sailors. Five minutes later, however, the newborn hope was
suddenly changed to the gravest anxiety.
“Breakers!” called out the bowman, and the pilot himself ran forward at
the cry.
“It’s long reef, off harbor,” he said a minute later in his broken
English. “Drifted too far south; I soon clear them though.”
But he could not keep his promise. An adverse current as well as an
adverse wind was against us, and soon he declared our only hope was to
anchor until morning, when with a flood tide and daylight to guide us,
we might sweep over the reef. So we cast over our anchor, took in all
sail, and anxiously waited for the morning.
But it was not an easy place for a vessel to ride, and before long we
discovered we were dragging our anchor, and making straight for the
breakers.
“Must take boats--only hope,” the pilot announced.
Before Master Marshall could issue a single order, however, there came
a loud rap on the cabin hatch near which I was standing. Throwing off
the fastenings, I pushed the cover back and out stepped Captain Weston.
In the darkness we could obtain little idea of his appearance, but his
voice sounded out loud and clear, as he asked:
“What’s the trouble? Where are we? Why have I not been called?”
It was a rather embarrassing situation, but ignoring the last question,
I replied:
“We are drifting on the long reef off Oporto harbor, and the pilot says
our only hope is to take to the boats.”
“The pilot says so? Where is he? How came he here?” the skipper next
demanded.
Master Marshall kindly, saved me from further reply.
“Here he is, Captain Weston,” he said, bringing the Portuguese forward.
“He’ll tell you all about our situation.”
Confronted by the pilot, and, apparently now recognizing the danger the
brig was in, the captain made no further allusions to our neglect of
him, but listened attentively to what the fellow had to say.
Though dumbfounded that he was now for the first time brought face to
face with the real commander of the vessel, the pilot made a short and
straight explanation of the situation, ending:
“No time to spare, Capt’n, we soon be on reef.”
Captain Weston had but to listen to understand the force of these
words. Already above the howling of the wind could be heard the noise
of the waves dashing on the rocks, and every moment the sound grew
louder.
“Clear away the boats!” he commanded. “Master Marshall, you and your
watch may take the first one. Let the pilot go with you. Master Dunn,
see that the second one is made ready for you and your men. I’ll go
with you.”
His words were calm and dignified, and I felt sure that in the common
danger that threatened us he had forgotten any animosity he might have
felt towards me. So I sprang to my station, and saw that our yawl was
lowered into the tossing sea.
Master Marshall was first off, clearing from the brig’s side without
mishap, and then my men tumbled into their waiting craft.
“Ready, sir,” I reported to the skipper, who still stood near the cabin
as though loath to leave his vessel.
“All right,” he responded pleasantly, coming promptly over to the rail.
“You are younger and sprier than I, Master Dunn, and so I’ll swing down
first, and you may follow.”
“Certainly, sir,” I answered, and watched him as he disappeared in the
darkness down the rope. I even took hold of the line to steady it, for
it was swaying violently with every heave of the boat.
A moment later I knew he had reached the yawl in safety, for the cord
was relieved of his weight, and so I swung myself over the rail to
follow him. The next instant the rope parted below my feet and I was
left dangling in the air. For a minute I knew not what to do, then
thinking if the line had given away at the stern of the craft, her bow
was probably still holding fast, I drew myself up as best I could to
the deck, and hurried over to the other fastening. Swinging for the
second time over the rail, I endeavored to lower myself down to the
yawl, but as I did so I became aware of two things: this rope was also
loose, and someone else as well as myself was clinging to it. Before I
had recovered from my astonishment at these discoveries, the voice of
Bill Howard cried out just below me:
“Go back, sir! For God’s sake, go back, sir! The Capt’n has cut you
loose!”