Who Goes There?
Jarl’s oar showed sixteen notches on the loom, when one evening, as the
expanded sun touched the horizon’s rim, a ship’s uppermost spars were
observed, traced like a spider’s web against its crimson disk. It
looked like a far-off craft on fire.
In bright weather at sea, a sail, invisible in the full flood of noon,
becomes perceptible toward sunset. It is the reverse in the morning. In
sight at gray dawn, the distant vessel, though in reality approaching,
recedes from view, as the sun rises higher and higher. This holds true,
till its vicinity makes it readily fall within the ordinary scope of
vision. And thus, too, here and there, with other distant things: the
more light you throw on them, the more you obscure. Some revelations
show best in a twilight.
The sight of the stranger not a little surprised us. But brightening
up, as if the encounter were welcome, Jarl looked happy and expectant.
He quickly changed his demeanor, however, upon perceiving that I was
bent upon shunning a meeting.
Instantly our sails were struck; and calling upon Jarl, who was
somewhat backward to obey, I shipped the oars; and, both rowing, we
stood away obliquely from our former course.
I divined that the vessel was a whaler; and hence, that by help of the
glass, with which her look-outs must be momentarily sweeping the
horizon, they might possibly have descried us; especially, as we were
due east from the ship; a direction, which at sunset is the one most
favorable for perceiving a far-off object at sea. Furthermore, our
canvas was snow-white and conspicuous. To be sure, we could not be
certain what kind of a vessel it was; but whatever it might be, I, for
one, had no mind to risk an encounter; for it was quite plain, that if
the stranger came within hailing distance, there would be no resource
but to link our fortunes with hers; whereas I desired to pursue none
but the Chamois’. As for the Skyeman, he kept looking wistfully over
his shoulder; doubtless, praying Heaven, that we might not escape what
I sought to avoid.
Now, upon a closer scrutiny, being pretty well convinced that the
stranger, after all, was steering a nearly westerly course—right away
from us—we reset our sail; and as night fell, my Viking’s entreaties,
seconded by my own curiosity, induced me to resume our original course;
and so follow after the vessel, with a view of obtaining a nearer
glimpse, without danger of detection. So, boldly we steered for the
sail.
But not gaining much upon her, spite of the lightness of the breeze (a
circumstance in our favor: the chase being a ship, and we but a boat),
at my comrade’s instigation, we added oars to sails, readily guiding
our way by the former, though the helm was left to itself.
As we came nearer, it was plain that the vessel was no whaler; but a
small, two-masted craft; in short, a brigantine. Her sails were in a
state of unaccountable disarray, only the foresail, mainsail, and jib
being set. The first was much tattered; and the jib was hoisted but
half way up the stay, where it idly flapped, the breeze coming from
over the taffrail. She continually yawed in her course; now almost
presenting her broadside, then showing her stern.
Striking our sails once more, we lay on our oars, and watched her in
the starlight. Still she swung from side to side, and still sailed on.
Not a little terrified at the sight, superstitious Jarl more than
insinuated that the craft must be a gold-huntress, haunted. But I told
him, that if such were the case, we must board her, come gold or
goblins. In reality, however, I began to think that she must have been
abandoned by her crew; or else, that from sickness, those on board were
incapable of managing her.
After a long and anxious reconnoiter, we came still nearer, using our
oars, but very reluctantly on Jarl’s part; who, while rowing, kept his
eyes over his shoulder, as if about to beach the little Chamois on the
back of a whale as of yore. Indeed, he seemed full as impatient to quit
the vicinity of the vessel, as before he had been anxiously courting
it.
Now, as the silent brigantine again swung round her broadside, I hailed
her loudly. No return. Again. But all was silent. With a few vigorous
strokes, we closed with her, giving yet another unanswered hail; when,
laying the Chamois right alongside, I clutched at the main-chains.
Instantly we felt her dragging us along. Securing our craft by its
painter, I sprang over the rail, followed by Jarl, who had snatched his
harpoon, his favorite arms. Long used with that weapon to overcome the
monsters of the deep, he doubted not it would prove equally serviceable
in any other encounter.
The deck was a complete litter. Tossed about were pearl oyster shells,
husks of cocoa-nuts, empty casks, and cases. The deserted tiller was
lashed; which accounted for the vessel’s yawing. But we could not
conceive, how going large before the wind; the craft could, for any
considerable time, at least, have guided herself without the help of a
hand. Still, the breeze was light and steady.
Now, seeing the helm thus lashed, I could not but distrust the silence
that prevailed. It conjured up the idea of miscreants concealed below,
and meditating treachery; unscrupulous mutineers—Lascars, or
Manilla-men; who, having murdered the Europeans of the crew, might not
be willing to let strangers depart unmolested. Or yet worse, the entire
ship’s company might have been swept away by a fever, its infection
still lurking in the poisoned hull. And though the first conceit, as
the last, was a mere surmise, it was nevertheless deemed prudent to
secure the hatches, which for the present we accordingly barred down
with the oars of our boat. This done, we went about the deck in search
of water. And finding some in a clumsy cask, drank long and freely, and
to our thirsty souls’ content.
The wind now freshening, and the rent sails like to blow from the
yards, we brought the brigantine to the wind, and brailed up the
canvas. This left us at liberty to examine the craft, though,
unfortunately, the night was growing hazy.
All this while our boat was still towing alongside; and I was about to
drop it astern, when Jarl, ever cautious, declared it safer where it
was; since, if there were people on board, they would most likely be
down in the cabin, from the dead-lights of which, mischief might be
done to the Chamois.
It was then, that my comrade observed, that the brigantine had no
boats, a circumstance most unusual in any sort of a vessel at sea. But
marking this, I was exceedingly gratified. It seemed to indicate, as I
had opined, that from some cause or other, she must have been abandoned
of her crew. And in a good measure this dispelled my fears of foul
play, and the apprehension of contagion. Encouraged by these
reflections, I now resolved to descend, and explore the cabin, though
sorely against Jarl’s counsel. To be sure, as he earnestly said, this
step might have been deferred till daylight; but it seemed too
wearisome to wait. So bethinking me of our tinder-box and candles, I
sent him into the boat for them. Presently, two candles were lit; one
of which the Skyeman tied up and down the barbed end of his harpoon; so
that upon going below, the keen steel might not be far off, should the
light be blown out by a dastard.
Unfastening the cabin scuttle, we stepped downward into the smallest
and murkiest den in the world. The altar-like transom, surmounted by
the closed dead-lights in the stem, together with the dim little sky-
light overhead, and the somber aspect of every thing around, gave the
place the air of some subterranean oratory, say a Prayer Room of Peter
the Hermit. But coils of rigging, bolts of canvas, articles of
clothing, and disorderly heaps of rubbish, harmonized not with this
impression. Two doors, one on each side, led into wee little state-
rooms, the berths of which also were littered. Among other things, was
a large box, sheathed with iron and stoutly clamped, containing a keg
partly filled with powder, the half of an old cutlass, a pouch of
bullets, and a case for a sextant—a brass plate on the lid, with the
maker’s name. London. The broken blade of the cutlass was very rusty
and stained; and the iron hilt bent in. It looked so tragical that I
thrust it out of sight.
Removing a small trap-door, opening into the space beneath, called the
“run,” we lighted upon sundry cutlasses and muskets, lying together at
sixes and sevens, as if pitched down in a hurry.
Casting round a hasty glance, and satisfying ourselves, that through
the bulkhead of the cabin, there was no passage to the forward part of
the hold, we caught up the muskets and cutlasses, the powder keg and
the pouch of bullets, and bundling them on deck, prepared to visit the
other end of the vessel. Previous to so doing, however, I loaded a
musket, and belted a cutlass to my side. But my Viking preferred his
harpoon.
In the forecastle reigned similar confusion. But there was a snug
little lair, cleared away in one corner, and furnished with a grass mat
and bolster, like those used among the Islanders of these seas. This
little lair looked to us as if some leopard had crouched there. And as
it turned out, we were not far from right. Forming one side of this
retreat, was a sailor’s chest, stoutly secured by a lock, and monstrous
heavy withal. Regardless of Jarl’s entreaties, I managed to burst the
lid; thereby revealing a motley assemblage of millinery, and outlandish
knick-knacks of all sorts; together with sundry rude Calico
contrivances, which though of unaccountable cut, nevertheless possessed
a certain petticoatish air, and latitude of skirt, betokening them the
habiliments of some feminine creature; most probably of the human
species.
In this strong box, also, was a canvas bag, jingling with rusty old
bell-buttons, gangrened copper bolts, and sheathing nails; damp,
greenish Carolus dollars (true coin all), besides divers iron screws,
and battered, chisels, and belaying-pins. Sounded on the chest lid, the
dollars rang clear as convent bells. These were put aside by Jarl the
sight of substantial dollars doing away, for the nonce, with his
superstitious Misgivings. True to his kingship, he loved true coin;
though abroad on the sea, and no land but dollarless dominions ground,
all this silver was worthless as charcoal or diamonds. Nearly one and
the same thing, say the chemists; but tell that to the marines, say the
illiterate Jews and the jewelers. Go, buy a house, or a ship, if you
can, with your charcoal! Yea, all the woods in Canada charred down to
cinders would not be worth the one famed Brazilian diamond, though no
bigger than the egg of a carrier pigeon. Ah! but these chemists are
liars, and Sir Humphrey Davy a cheat. Many’s the poor devil they’ve
deluded into the charcoal business, who otherwise might have made his
fortune with a mattock.
Groping again into the chest, we brought to light a queer little hair
trunk, very bald and rickety. At every corner was a mighty clamp, the
weight of which had no doubt debilitated the box. It was jealously
secured with a padlock, almost as big as itself; so that it was almost
a question, which was meant to be security to the other. Prying at it
hard, we at length effected an entrance; but saw no golden moidores, no
ruddy doubloons; nothing under heaven but three pewter mugs, such as
are used in a ship’s cabin, several brass screws, and brass plates,
which must have belonged to a quadrant; together with a famous lot of
glass beads, and brass rings; while, pasted on the inside of the cover,
was a little colored print, representing the harlots, the shameless
hussies, having a fine time with the Prodigal Son.
It should have been mentioned ere now, that while we were busy in the
forecastle, we were several times startled by strange sounds aloft. And
just after, crashing into the little hair trunk, down came a great
top-block, right through the scuttle, narrowly missing my Viking’s
crown; a much stronger article, by the way, than your goldsmiths turn
out in these days. This startled us much; particularly Jarl, as one
might suppose; but accustomed to the strange creakings and wheezings of
the masts and yards of old vessels at sea, and having many a time
dodged stray blocks accidentally falling from aloft, I thought little
more of the matter; though my comrade seemed to think the noises
somewhat different from any thing of that kind he had even heard
before.
After a little more turning over of the rubbish in the forecastle, and
much marveling thereat, we ascended to the deck; where we found every
thing so silent, that, as we moved toward the taffrail, the Skyeman
unconsciously addressed me in a whisper.