A SUDDEN DISASTER.
The jeweller’s accusation was so unexpected and startling to Breeze that
he flushed hotly, and for a moment found no words to answer it. Then he
demanded, indignantly,
“How dare you say such a thing? Give me back my property instantly, or I
shall be the one to call in the police!”
“Certainly, my young friend, certainly, when you produce the proof that
it is yours,” replied the man, dropping the trinket into a drawer, of
which he turned the lock.
There was no element of decision lacking in Breeze’s character; he was
quick to act in emergencies, and without another word he stepped to the
door. A small boy was passing.
“Sonny,” said Breeze, “run quick and bring a policeman. If he is here
within five minutes I will give you five cents.”
The boy, keenly alive to a situation that promised so much excitement as
this, started off on a run. Breeze remained standing where he could
survey the whole interior of the store, and could especially keep an eye
on the drawer in which lay his property.
The men inside watched him closely. They had seen him despatch the boy
on some errand, but had not overheard what he said, and did not know
what it was. Now the one who had opened the ball approached him and
said,
“Why don’t you go for your proofs? You had better hurry, as we shall
close up soon, and then we could not look at them until to-morrow.”
“I have sent for them,” answered Breeze, simply.
“Oh,” said the man, somewhat disconcerted. “Well, of course, if they
come in time, and are satisfactory, you shall have your charm back, and
an apology into the bargain.”
“Here comes one of them now,” replied Breeze, as he handed a five-cent
piece to a breathless small boy, who came running up just in front of a
big policeman.
[Illustration: "THAT GENTLEMAN THERE REFUSES TO RETURN A GOLD BALL AND
CHAIN THAT I HANDED HIM FOR EXAMINATION."]
To this officer Breeze said, “That gentleman there,” pointing to the
dark-skinned jeweller, “refuses to return a gold ball and chain that I
handed him for examination. He says he thinks I stole them, and he has
locked them up in a drawer. I think I can bring one of the best-known
men in New York to vouch for my honesty; but it may be some time before
I can find him. Now, I want to know if you will take this trinket, as
the gentleman calls it, and keep it for me until I return?”
“Why not just as well leave it where it is?” interrupted the jeweller,
eagerly. “It will be perfectly safe here, as this officer knows.”
“No,” said Breeze, “that will not do. You must give it to the officer at
once, or else I shall go to the police-station, and enter a complaint
against you for stealing.”
The partners whispered together for a minute. Evidently the bold stand
taken by the lad, and his prompt action, had made a decided impression
upon them.
Before they could reach a decision as to what they should do, the
officer spoke up and said,
“The young man is right. If there is any stolen property in the
question, the proper place for it is in the station-house. So, if you
will just hand over this article, whatever it is, I will take it there.”
There was no appeal from this decision. The locket was reluctantly given
up to the officer, who took both it and Breeze to the station-house near
by. Here the sergeant in charge listened attentively to all that he had
to say, as well as to the story Breeze had to tell.
“Go with him,” he said, finally, to the officer, “down to the schooner,
and see what sort of a character his captain gives him. Then bring him
back here.”
With this he placed the golden ball and chain in a drawer of his own
desk, and again turned to his writing.
Breeze and the officer found Captain Coffin talking to the gentleman to
whom he had sold his cargo of fish that morning. He happened to be not
only a prominent business man, but an active local politician, and was
the very person whom Breeze had in his mind when he had offered to bring
a well-known citizen to establish his character.
Begging their pardon for the interruption, Breeze told his story to
Captain Coffin, and the politician also listened to it.
When the story was finished, the latter, turning to the captain, said,
“Can you vouch for this lad’s honesty, skipper?”
“Certainly I can, as I would for my own,” was the answer. “I have known
him from his babyhood, and, moreover, I have often heard this golden
ball spoken of by his adopted father, though I have never seen it.”
“Then,” said the other, “supposing we step up to the police-station, and
have it returned to him. It is one of the most curious cases I ever
heard of, and I am interested to see that the boy comes out of it all
right.”
Within ten minutes the sergeant had been satisfied that Breeze was the
rightful owner of the locket, had returned it to him, and he had again
clasped its chain about his neck. He was very happy in thus regaining
possession of it, and very thankful to those who had so promptly
assisted him. When Captain Coffin proposed that they should now go to
the jeweller’s shop and get him to again open the ball, Breeze begged
him not to think of such a thing. “I don’t want that man ever to get it
into his possession,” he said, “and I don’t believe he’d open it for us
anyway, now.”
“I guess the boy is about right,” remarked the politician, thoughtfully.
“That fellow has evidently some strong reason for wishing to obtain the
trinket, and if he got hold of it again he might change it for another
that looked just like it, and we never be the wiser.”
This was just what Breeze had thought of when he had refused to leave
the jeweller’s shop and go in search of proofs of his ownership of the
locket, and he was greatly pleased at this evidence that he had acted
wisely.
That night the _Curlew_ sailed out of New York Bay, and was once more
headed to the southward in search of the early mackerel. The following
day was clear and bright, but very cold for that season of the year.
There were only a few clouds to be seen; but the sky was coppery in
color, and the wind, which was still off-shore, was fitful and baffling.
At supper-time, about an hour before sunset, the man at the wheel, who
happened to be one of those who ate at the first table, said,
“Here, McCloud, you belong to second mess; take the wheel while I eat
supper, will you?”
“Certainly I will,” answered Breeze, cheerfully. “What’s the course?”
“South by west, half west, an open sea, a favoring wind, and no odds
asked or given,” was the laughing response, as the man hurried forward.
Captain Coffin was impatient to get back among the mackerel, and so the
schooner was running under all the sail she could carry, including a
jib-topsail and a huge main-staysail.
Somewhat to his surprise, Breeze now found himself the sole occupant of
the deck. The skipper and half the crew were eating their supper in the
forecastle, while the others were in the cabin, sleeping, reading, and
keeping warm. On account of the cold, they had drawn the slide over the
companion-way.
It was the first time the young sailor had been left in sole charge of
the vessel, and he realized the responsibility of his position. Still,
owing to his father’s teachings and careful training, he felt quite
competent to manage her, so long as no especial danger threatened. He
also comforted himself with the thought that there was not the slightest
chance of anything happening in the short time before he should be
relieved.
While thus thinking, and at the same time keeping a sharp watch of the
sails, the compass, and the dog-vane that, fluttering from the
mainmast-head, denoted the direction of the wind, he was startled by a
curious humming sound in the air above him. It was a weird, uncanny
sound, unlike anything he had ever before heard, and it filled him with
a strange fear. He was just about to call the men in the cabin, when
suddenly there came a roar and a shriek above his head. Then the little
circular tornado, directly in whose track the unfortunate _Curlew_
happened to be, struck her such a terrible blow that she was powerless
to resist it. In an instant she was knocked down and thrown on her beam
ends. The white sails, that had soared aloft so gracefully, and offered
so tempting a mark for the spinning whirlwind, now lay flat in the
water, heavily soaking and holding the schooner down.
Breeze had spun the wheel with all his might, and thrown the helm hard
down, in the hope of bringing her up into the wind; but the blow had
been too sudden and too heavy. The rudder no longer controlled her, and
she lay as helpless as though waterlogged, held down by that terrible
dragging weight of top-hamper.
As she went over, one man had struggled up from the forecastle and been
instantly buried in the sea beneath the heavy canvas of the foresail.
Breeze knew that the reason no more came was that a torrent of water was
rushing with resistless force through the narrow opening. Beneath him he
could hear the smothered cries and struggles of the prisoners in the
cabin. In a few minutes more the vessel would sink, and all within her
would be miserably drowned. Their only hope was in him. What could he
do? What could he do?
Standing on the weather side of the wheel when the schooner was struck,
he had saved himself from going overboard by clinging to it. Now he
scrambled to the upper side of the house, and holding on to the
weather-rail, began to hack desperately at the lanyards of the main
rigging with his sheath-knife. If only the masts would break off and
relieve the vessel of that awful weight of soaked canvas, she might
right herself.
One after another the lanyards snap like strained harpstrings. There!
the rigging has gone and the mast cracks. Now for the fore rigging! How
he reached it the boy never knew; in fact he afterwards had very little
recollection of what he did amid the terrible excitement of those two
minutes; but he did reach and cut it.
Then there came a rending of wood as the tough masts broke off. Then
slowly, very slowly, the vessel righted herself, and once more rode on
an even keel, though half full of water, and as sad a looking wreck as
ever floated.
As she righted, the after companion-way was burst open by the mighty
effort of those beneath the slide, and they rushed out gasping for
breath and with glaring eyes. They had been very nearly suffocated by
steam and gas generated by the water pouring down the funnel on the
glowing coals in the cabin stove.
From the forecastle also emerged, one by one, the half-drowned figures
of those who had been imprisoned in it. But for the prompt action of the
brave boy on deck, they would never have left its flooded recesses. One
of their number was missing, and he was the man whose place at the wheel
Breeze had taken, and who had forced his way out as the vessel capsized,
only to be drowned beneath the canvas of the foresail. He would be
sincerely mourned later, but there was no time to think of him now. The
others were still in too imminent peril of losing their own lives.
As the stricken craft rolled like a log in the sea-way, she pounded
heavily against the masts and spars, which, still attached to her by the
lee rigging and head-stays, floated close alongside. The danger that her
planking might thus be crushed in was so great that, in spite of his own
wretched condition, Captain Coffin saw it the moment he gained the deck.
Calling upon the others to follow his example, he drew his knife and
began to cut away the tangle of cordage that bound the vessel to this
new enemy.
When it was finally cleared, the seine-boat, which was still dragging
astern, was pulled up, and half the crew went in it to tow the mass of
spars and canvas clear of the schooner, and save such of the sails as
they could. The rest began to labor at the pumps, and to rig a jury-mast
on which they might spread such sail as would carry her into port. The
main-mast had snapped off so close to the deck as to leave nothing to
which they might fasten a jury-spar; but of the foremast a stump some
six feet high remained, and with this they hoped to accomplish their
purpose.
While the skipper, Breeze, and two others were thus engaged, those at
the pumps suddenly called out that the water was gaining on them, and
that the vessel was about to founder.
It was only too true; the stanch little schooner had evidently made her
last voyage, and would never again sail into Gloucester harbor. In fact,
the water was gaining so rapidly that it was within a foot or two of her
deck, and there was no time to lose in leaving her. Those in the
seine-boat were fortunately within easy hail, and dropping their work,
they quickly had it alongside.
There was no need of seeking an explanation of the rapid inflow of
water. It was only too plain that gaping seams had been opened by the
great strain of her masts and sails while the schooner lay on her beam
ends. It was more than probable, also, that butts had been started here
and there by the jagged ends of the heavy spars as they lay in the water
pounding and grinding against her sides.
Nothing could be saved. There was barely time for all hands to tumble
into the seine-boat and pull it to a safe distance from the fast-sinking
vessel. Then they lay on their oars and watched her. She seemed like
some live thing, aware of the fate about to overtake her, and struggling
pitifully against it. The swash of the water in her cabin sounded like
sobs, and the faces of the men who watched her, usually so bright and
merry, were as sad as though they watched at the bedside of a dying
friend.
The sun was setting red and angry in a mass of black clouds that came
rolling up out of the west as she took the final plunge, and diving bows
first, disappeared forever, leaving her crew silent, motionless, and
awe-stricken at the catastrophe that had thus overtaken them.
The skipper was the first to break the silence, and in a tone of forced
cheerfulness he said, “Well, boys, the old _Curlew_ has gone where all
good crafts go, sooner or later, and we must be thankful she hasn’t
taken us along with her. I honestly believe we should all have shared
her fate, and that of poor Rod Mason, if it had not been for this brave
lad and the quick wit that taught him to do exactly the right thing at
the right moment. I have not the slightest doubt that we owe our lives
to Breeze McCloud, and right here I want to thank him, and to pay my
respects to the memory of the brave man who brought him up to act as a
true sailor should in such an emergency.”
These were grateful words to poor Breeze, who was feeling the loss of
his shipmate, and of the schooner, more keenly than any of his
companions, and fearing that perhaps they would blame him for what had
happened. He had given Captain Coffin a hurried account of the disaster,
and of how he had cut away the masts; but the skipper had found no time
then to say what he thought of the course the boy had pursued.
Now, one by one, the men reached forward to shake hands with him, and
had it not been for the thought of the drowned man, he would, in spite
of their miserable situation, have felt as light-hearted as though
already in port.
There were neither water nor provisions in the boat, they had no mast,
sail, nor compass. Most of them were wet through, and already chilled to
the bone by the cold wind, which was rising, and promised to freshen
into a gale before midnight. Breeze was the only one who was dry and had
his oil-skins on, and but for his hunger he would have been
comparatively comfortable.
They stopped near the floating wreckage of spars and sails long enough
to obtain the schooner’s main-topsail, and the foregaff which they hoped
to rig up as a mast in the boat. They also cut away a small lot of the
lighter cordage. Then they headed their craft to the westward, and
started to pull for the distant land. The skipper said they were not
more than fifty miles from the coast, and if the sea did not get too
rough, they ought to make it by noon of the next day.
They were divided into two watches, and while half of them rowed, the
rest huddled together as close as possible in the bottom of the boat for
warmth.
It was nearly midnight, the wind was blowing a gale dead against them,
and they seemed to be making no progress whatever. Breeze, unable to
sleep, was sitting up gazing out into the blackness behind them.
Suddenly, as the boat rose on the crest of a great wave, he sprang to
his feet and cried, “A light! I see a light!”