Two knots and a half was all it showed. Jim thought we were going four.
I was thus certain that we had run a much shorter distance than he
supposed, but he was not convinced that I was right.
Day and night, between the intervals of pumping, he went forward to look
out. Another day went by. It was again night Jim had been a long time
pumping when he said that he would go forward and look out till it was
his turn to take the helm. I advised him rather to lie down, as I was
sure that he must be tired, but he would not, and away he went into the
darkness towards the bows.
I every now and then hailed him and he answered. I had not hailed for
some time when I felt the breeze freshen. The main-topsail and mainsail
bulged out, straining at the sheets, and the masts began to complain.
"Jim! Jim!" I shouted, "shorten sail, be smart about it."
But Jim did not answer. I dared not leave the helm lest the brig should
broach to and our masts again be carried overboard.
Once more I shouted, "Jim! Jim!" Still he did not come, and the
dreadful idea arose in my mind that he had fallen overboard.
At last I could withstand the desire no longer of rushing forward to
ascertain what had become of him. What mattered it, if he were lost,
what else might happen? I made a dash forward, keeping my eye on the
stars. I had got as far as the mainmast when I saw that the brig's head
was moving round, so I sprang back to right the helm.
Again and again I shrieked out my companion's name at the top of my
voice, springing forward, but had only got a little farther than before
when I had to return.
The wind continued to get up. The masts would go, I saw, if sail were
not shortened. I let go the main-topsail, and throat and
peak-halliards. The sails flapped loudly in the wind, but as the brig
now kept more steadily before it, I thought that I should be able to
reach the forecastle, though I had very little hope of finding Jim.
I was still shouting his name, when what was my joy to hear him cry out,
"Hillo! What's the matter?" and I saw his head rise from just before
the windlass. I never in my life felt more inclined to abuse him for
the fright he had given me, thankful as I was that no harm had happened
to him. I did not even tell him how much I had been alarmed, but merely
cried out, "Come, be smart, Jim, we must stow the canvas." We were
beginning to do so, when the wind fell, and instead we again hoisted the
fore-topsail. Jim owned that while he fancied he was looking out his
legs gave way and that he had sunk down on the deck.
"Take care that the same doesn't happen when you are steering, or worse
consequences may follow," I remarked.
He now let me take my nap, and when I awoke he said that we had had a
famous run; but towards noon the wind dropped, and it became towards
evening a stark calm. This lasted all night and far into the next day.
"Peter, do you know if there's a prayer-book aboard?" asked Jim.
The question surprised me. I was nearly certain that there was not.
"Well then, you can say some prayers without one," he continued. "For,
Peter, there's no use talking longer about it; we must bury the
skipper."
Reluctantly I agreed. Jim got a piece of canvas, a sail-maker's needle,
and some twine, with a pig of iron ballast which had been used in one of
the boats. As there was no sign of a breeze, with these he went below,
and for the first time since his death opened the captain's state-room.
We brought the corpse into the main cabin, and placing it on the canvas,
without loss of time Jim began sewing it up. The old man's kind face
had scarcely changed. We took one respectful last look at it, and then
Jim, drawing the canvas over it, shut it out from sight.
We had now to get the body on deck, but without a tackle this we could
not have done. At last we managed to haul it up the companion-ladder.
When Jim went below for more canvas and twine to fasten on the pig of
iron to the feet, we had been longer about our task than we had
supposed. Looking astern, I saw that the sky was darkened by heavy
masses of clouds, while a line of foam came hissing over the surface of
the deep towards us.
"Quick! Quick! Jim," I shouted; "shorten sail, or the masts will be
over the side!"
I ran as I spoke to the halliards; he followed; we had to be smart about
it, and even thus the gale was on us before we could get the canvas
stowed. That was not to be done in a hurry. First one sail got loose,
then another, and we had to hurry to secure them. The sea rose with
unusual suddenness, and the brig was soon tossing about in a way which
made us fear that another leak would be sprung, or the old ones break
out. We managed at length to set the fore-topsail, closely reefed, and
I going to the helm, we ran before the gale.
If Jim was before anxious about our being near the land, he was more so
now. His eyes were nearly always turned ahead, but I began to think
more about the leaks. I asked him what he thought.
"We'll try the well," he answered.