"All hands on deck! Tumble up, my lads! Tumble up!"
The men needed no second bidding. They did tumble up, every man Jack of
them, as merrily as if marriage-bells had called them.
"All hands unship rudder!"
That was the next order. For there was great danger of this being
dashed to pieces by the cruel ice.
The rudder was about the only vulnerable portion of the ship indeed.
Two whole hours were spent at this work, for the men, unlike those who
sail to Arctic regions, had never been drilled to such work.
The short day had almost worn to a close before the job was finished.
But sail was now got on her, and by means of long poles, twenty men
overboard on the ice managed not only to clear the way for her by
shoving the pieces to one side, but also to steer the vessel, by keeping
her head in the right direction.
Frank was sent to the foretop-gallant masthead to see if he could, by
aid of the telescope, descry water to the nor'ards.
The sun was almost setting in the north-west, and there was plenty of
light, but no water was visible, only the great white ocean of snow-clad
ice, all in motion.
The scene was indeed a strange and impressive one, and after shouting
down that there was no open water anywhere in sight, Frank stayed in the
cross-trees for quite a long time, hardly ever feeling the cold, so
interested was he in all he saw around him.
One thing, however, was evident, namely, that the huge iceberg on which
they had spent so many merry hours tobogganing was fast aground down to
leeward of them.
The ship passed it slowly.
"Good-bye, old chap," Frank could not help saying. "Sorry we can't take
you to England with us, but can't see our way. By, by! See you later
on, perhaps."
Then slowly he came below to the deck.
He was happy that it was just tea-time. The ship was now considered out
of present danger, but watch after watch must remain on the ice to pole
and guide, perhaps for days to come.
"I want," the skipper said, "to make a good offing, for I don't half
like the look of the land in there, and should prefer to show it a pair
of clean heels, and, please God, we shall before long."
The tea was very comforting, and in spite of the noise above of high
winds and flapping sails, the saloon was very jolly and cosy indeed, and
Frank was in no hurry to go on deck again.
"Hullo! what is that?" said Talbot, "someone tumbled down the
companion?"
"Yes," said Conal laughing, "but it is only Old Pen. He finds that the
most expeditious way of getting below now. He just throws himself on
his back, head down, and toboggans down the steps."
And a second or two after, Pen appeared in the doorway, and looked
wonderingly at the group assembled round the fire.
"You all look very snug here," he seemed to say. "Is there room for poor
Old Pen among you?"
"Come along, Pen," said Conal, "we can always make room for you. Sit
there on your tail beside Vike, and warm your soles."
"Yah--yah--yah!" cried the monkey, offering Pen a cockroach in quite a
friendly way. But delicious as this might be, the bird preferred a bit
of tinned salmon.
"Pen," said Duncan, "knows on what side his bread is buttered."
The bird eyed him knowingly, as, leaning on his tail, he held one broad
foot up to the blaze.
"Pen", he seemed to say, "prefers his bread buttered on both sides."
It was comparatively late to-night before anyone thought of retiring.
Moreover, it was Frank's "all night in", but I do not think he slept a
great deal. There was noise enough on deck, aloft, and around the bows
on the ice to have awakened Rip Van Winkle himself, but slumber he did
at last, though only to revisit in dreams his native land, and the wild
and lonesome grandeur of romantic Scotland.
Nay, but I ought not to say lonesome, for how could he feel lonesome
with his sweetheart Flora walking by his side, or darting off every now
and then to chase a butterfly, or cull some rare and beautiful flower.
Ah! he could not help thinking, even in his dreams, if life were ever
ever like this. Late in the middle watch he was awakened in a very
unceremonious way indeed. In fact he was well-nigh pitched clean and
clear out of his bunk. He wondered what was up, for there was a more
sea-like motion about the ship. But, sailor-like, he just turned upon
his back and went off to sleep again.
The explanation was simple. The ship had struck a very wide lane of
open water. Open to a great extent that is, for many a dangerous and
nasty piece of green ice battered the sides of the vessel as, glad to be
free, she went dashing through the open water under all sail that could
be safely carried. Boats, also under sail, were ahead of her to keep
her in the right course.
But at daybreak the captain himself went aloft, and noticing that the
open water was visible at least a dozen miles ahead, and that the lane
grew wider towards the north, he had the main-yard hauled aback. The
boats were then hoisted, and all the crew bore a hand in shipping the
rudder once more.
The breeze still held, and a splendid day's record was made nor was
there at night any reason to fear danger.
The pieces of ice, however, lay about in all directions, and sometimes
three or four appeared ahead, suddenly too. As these could not always
be avoided, the plan was to select the largest and steer straight
stem-on to that. It is better to do so than to be struck on the
broadside by a heavy piece.
But as she sailed through streams of smaller pieces the noise of the
cannonading, as heard down below, was sometimes quite deafening.
It would have been very nice for all on board had this lane of water
conducted the ship right out into the open northern ocean.
It did not, however, for by and by the wind fell, and slowly, but
surely, the sides of the great natural canal came closer and closer
together, and finally the good ship _Flora M'Vayne_ was again completely
beset, with no signs of water even from the mast-head.
Only all around was the white and dazzling pack. For a whole fortnight,
or over, the frost continued, and never a cloud was seen.
One day, however, the active and busy little Frank Trelawney discovered,
from the crow's-nest--a barrel high up on the main truck--a cloud no
bigger than a man's hand, away down on the southern horizon.
It slowly increased, and before many hours was a huge and rolling mass
of cumulus.
Other clouds also were rolling up, and it was evident they were bringing
the wind with them.
About the same time the temperature rose, but the glass fell
considerably, so that the skipper and Morgan shook their heads
ominously.
"We're going to have a big blow, sir," said the latter.
"That is so, mate, and we are not in a very enviable situation."
"Listen, sir!"
The mate held up his finger.
There was a succession of loud reports almost alongside, and the
screeching and caterwauling sounds that followed, showed that the ship
was being nipped.
"We're in for it, mate; but she has a nicely-rounded bottom, and will
rise twenty feet rather than be staved in.
"But," he added, "we can't afford to lose our rudder, so we'll have that
unshipped once more."
This was done, and probably only in time, for the pressure increased
every hour.
It was evident now the ship would rise if the ice did not go clean
through her.
She did rise, and that too with a vengeance, for by next morning she was
lying almost on her beam-ends on the adjoining floe.
The yard-arms had been hauled fore-and-aft, else they would have touched
the snow.
To live on board now was impossible for days and days to come.
But boats and provisions were landed, and every preparation made to
journey northward over the great ice-pack, should the ship go down after
again righting herself.
The wind was bitterly cold, even in the poor ship's lee, but they
managed to light fires and to cook, though it was indeed a wretched
time.
Enveloped in rugs, the boys, with Viking, huddled together at night, but
for a long time after lying down sleep was impossible. And when slumber
did at last seal their eyes, the dreams they dreamt were far indeed from
pleasant.
But now came a warm and almost pleasant wind from the north-north-west,
and the ice began to open.
Captain Talbot's anxiety was now at its greatest, for there was water on
the starboard side of the ship and the berg or floe on which she lay.
Ropes were therefore attached to her masts, and all hands upon the ice
bent on to these, pulling slowly with a long pull and a strong pull.
For more than an hour they made no impression on the vessel, and it was
evident the cargo had shifted somewhat.
Talbot gave the steward an order to splice the mainbrace.
He countermanded this almost immediately after, however, for it was now
evident the vessel was doing her best to get righted.
"Pull now, lads! Pull steadily all! Heave-oh and she comes!"
Every hand is laid on the ropes; every nerve is braced, and the veins
start on the men's perspiring foreheads as they keep up the strain.
Viking barks as if to encourage them.
It is all the poor dog can do.
"Heave and she goes! Heave and she rips! Hurrah! lads, hurrah!"
"She is coming, boys! Heave-oh, again! Another pull does it! Easy!
Slack off! Hurrah!"
A wild cheer rent the air as the brave and sturdy barque slid downwards
off the floe and took the water like a duck or a penguin.
The men and officers paused now to wipe their faces.
Then all hands got on board and manned the pumps.
No, she was safe. Not a drop of extra water had she made, or was
making.
What a relief!
The sun was already sinking low on the horizon, and his last beams lit
up the great snow plain 'twixt the ship and sky, as if a canal of
crimson blood was there.
Talbot was happy now. The recovery of the ship from her serious
position was like a good omen, so, as soon as everything was got on
board, he thought it high time to splice the main-brace.
And so did the men also.
----
All hands were as merry that night as the winning team after a football
match.
The wind had gone down, but the weather continued fairly mild, and there
was not a sound to be heard on the pack.
On board, however, there were plenty of sounds--sounds of mirth and
music in the galley. For Frank had gone forward with his fiddle, and a
dance was the natural consequence.
Johnnie Shingles, and old mother Pen, were once more in glorious form,
and their dancing brought down the house, and elicited rounds and rounds
of applause.
Then dancing became general.
But the fatigues of the day had been very great, so that it is no wonder
pipes were soon got out, and a wide and cheerful circle formed about the
fire. Songs and yarns were now to be the order of the evening, and
although it was not Saturday night it bore a very strong resemblance to
it.
Just one song--written and sung by Frank himself, was to-night twice
encored. As to its composition I say nothing, except that everything
pleases the true-born British sailor that has got the ring of the sea
about it.
FRANK'S SONG.
And now, my boys, sit round the fire,
And pass the glasses round;
Our troubles all we'll soon forget
When we are homeward bound.
Ah! many a danger we've defied,
We've weathered many a gale,
Nor stormiest seas, nor grinding ice,
Have ever made us quail!
Though bergs are still about us, boys,
Far north the billows sound,
And we'll welcome every breeze that blows,
When we are homeward bound.
Why should we mourn for pals we've lost,
Or let the tear-drops fall,
They sleep in peace, their sorrows o'er,
Beneath the snow's soft pall.
So crowd around the fire, dear lads,
And pass the glasses round;
Our friends are moored on heavenly shores--
And we are homeward bound.