work beyond the rest of us, and the most we could do was to stand by
a-lee and bear on the spokes with the helmsman. Dutchy was the best
steersman, and his steering was no truer than the stout heart of him.
Once she pooped, and the crest of a huge following sea came crashing on
top of us. But for our hold-fasts, all would have been swept away.
That was the time of trial. A falter at the helm--she would have
'broached-to'--to utter destruction!
Amid the furious rush of broken water, 'Dutchy' stood fast at his post,
though there was a gash on his forehead and blood running in his
eyes--the work of the wrenching wheel.
We showed no lights; no lamps would stand to the weather. There was
only the flickering binnacle, tended as never was temple fire, to show
the compass card. By turns we kept a look-out from the tops'l yard,
but of what use was that when we could steer but to one point. We were
a ship of chance, and God help us and the outward-bounder, 'hove-to' in
the trough, that had come between us and the east that night!
How we looked for daylight! How it was long a-coming! How the
mountain seas raced up and hove our barque, reeling from the blow, from
towering crest to hollow of the trough! How every day of the
twenty-five years of her cried out in creak of block, in clatter of
chain sheet, in the 'harping' of the backstays, the straining groan of
the burdened masts!
From time to time through the night the Mate and some of us would go
forward to see to the gear; there was no need to touch a brace, for the
wind blew ominously true. When we got back again, battered and
breathless, it was something to know that the foretops'l still stood
the strain. It was a famous sail, a web of '00 storm,' stitched and
fortified at seam and roping for such a wind as this. Good luck to the
hands that stitched it, to the dingy sail loft in the Govan Road that
turned it out, for it stood us in stead that night!
Once an ill-stowed clew of the mains'l blew out with a sounding crack,
and thrashed a 'devil's tattoo' on the yard. We thought it the tops'l
gone--but no! Macallison's best stood bravely spread to the shrieking
gale, and we soon had the ribbons of the main clew fast to the yard.
There was no broad dawn, no glow in the east to mark its breaking; the
light grew out of the darkness. The masts and spars shaped themselves
out of the gloom, till they stood outlined against the dull grey
clouds. We could see the great seas, white-streaked by lash of driven
spray, running up into the lowering sky. When day came, and the
heaving, wind-swept face of the waters became plain to us, we saw the
stormy path round the Horn in its wildest, grandest mood. Stretching
far to the black murky curtain--the rear of the last shrieking rain
squall--the great Cape Horn greybeards swept on with terrific force and
grandeur, their mile-long crests hurtling skyward in blinding foam.
The old barque ran well, reeling through the long, stormy slopes with
buoyant spring, driving wildly to the trough, smashing the foam far
aside. At times she poised with sickening uncertitude on the crest of
a greater wave, then steadied, and leapt with the breaking water to the
smoother hollow.
The Old Man stood by the helmsman, 'conning' her on. All night he had
stood there, ordering, to the shock of following seas, a steady voiced
command. Never a gainly man--short-legged, broad, uncouth--his was yet
a figure in keeping with the scene; unkempt and haggard, blue-lipped,
drenched by sea and rain, he was never less than a Master of the Sea.
At daybreak we heard a hail from the tops'l yard, and saw the
'look-out' pointing ahead. Peering down the wind, we made out the loom
of a ship rising and falling in the trough of the sea. A big
'four-master' she proved, lying 'hove-to' the wind. We shuddered to
think of what would have been if daylight had been further delayed!
Out of the mist and spray we bore down on her and flew by, close to her
stern. We could see figures on her poop staring and pointing, a man
with glasses at his eyes. Only a fleeting glimpse--for she was soon
swallowed up by the murk astern, and we were driving on. The shift of
wind came suddenly. Nearly at noon there was a heavier fall of rain, a
shrieking squall that blew as it had never blown. The Old Man marked
the signs--the scud of the upper clouds, a brightening low down in the
south.
"Stan' by ... head ... yards," he yelled, shouting hoarsely to be
heard. "Quick ... the word!"
All hands struggled to the braces, battling through the wash of icy
water that swept over the decks.
The squall passed, followed by a lull that served us to cant the yards;
then, sharp as a knife-thrust, the wind came howling out of the
sou'-west. The rain ceased and the sky cleared as by a miracle. Still
it blew and the seas, turned by the shift of wind, broke and shattered
in a whirl of confusion. For a time we laboured through the
treacherous cross sea--the barque fretting and turning to windward,
calling for all of 'Dutchy's' cunning at the helm, but it was none so
ill with the sun in sight and a clearing overhead.
"Blast ye," said the Old Man, shaking his benumbed arms towards the
sou'-west. "Blast ye--but ye've been a long time comin'!"
The wind was now to his liking, it was the weather he had looked for,
and sure enough, as quick succeeding squalls rolled up on us, the sea
grew less and ran truer, and the barque sailed easier. The wind fell
to a moderate gale, and by four in the afternoon we had a reefed
foresail and the tops'ls set, and were staggering along at a great
speed.
The decks were yet awash, there was no comfort on deck or below; but
through it all we had one consoling thought: _East, half south_, we
were covering the leagues that lay between us and our journey's end!
XVII
ADRIFT!
Car-conducting may be a work of niceness and despatch, but it is ill
training for working on the spars of a rolling ship. John Cutler was
mousing clew-blocks on the main-yardarm, the ship lurched heavily, the
foot-ropes were wet and slippery, and John, ill-balanced and unready,
was cast into the sea. Instant, there was the cry "Man overboard"; the
Old Man ordered the helm down, and, springing to the rack, threw a
lifebuoy from the starboard quarter; the Second Mate, not seeing him
throw it, threw another from the port.
We were below at the time, just after dinner, about to turn in, when we
heard the call. All hands ran on deck. The watch were swinging the
head yards; some were unlashing the lee boat. We joined them, tore the
cover off, hooked the tackles, and swung her out. There was confusion;
the Old Man and the Mate shouting cross orders, the boat swinging
wildly on the tackles, men crowding about the rail.
"Another hand in the boat," yelled the Second Mate, as he sprang into
the stern-sheets, "lower away, you!"
There was a whirr of block sheaves, the falls smoking on the pins, a
splash, a rush of water on the rusty side. "Bow off, there! Bow off,
you!" and I found myself in the bow of the boat, tugging frantically at
the heft of a long oar.
There was that in the steady _clack--clack-a_ of oar on rowlock to
soothe the tremors of our moment of excited haste. Astern was the
barque, her mainyards aback, rolling heavily athwart the swell; we were
leaving her slowly, for, though the breeze was light, we had to climb
the long steep slopes of a Cape Horn swell. Old Martin's broad back
was bent to the oar in front of me, Houston beyond, and the bo'sun at
the stroke. The Second Mate was standing up at the tiller, listening
for a hail, gazing anxiously ahead for gleam of a painted life-buoy.
_Clack--clack-a, clack--clack-a_; the bo'sun was setting us a feverish
stroke; it couldn't last. _Clack--clack-a, clack--clack-a_; we were
already breathing heavily. Up and down the heaving swell we went;
crawling laboured to the crown--the shudder, and the quick, sickening
descent! _Clack--clack-a_! Would it ever end? Now I was pulling out
of stroke--a feeble paddle. My neck! I had the pain there! ... "Bow,
there! Lay in, an' keep yer eyes about. He must be here somewhere!"
I laid in my oar, and faced about. We could not see far, the swell was
too great. When the boat rose we had a hasty glimpse of the face of
the water, but in the hollow, the great glassy walls rose ahead and
astern. We thought we had overrun the distance, and lay-to for a time.
Then on again, shouting as we went. The Second Mate saw something on
the crest of a roller, just a glimpse, and we pulled to it. It was
Cutler's round cap; we had steered a good course. Near by we found him
with his arm twisted round the grab rope of the lifebuoy. He was dazed
and quiet when we dragged him over the stern.
"Oh, Chris'! Oh, Chris'!" was all he said.
We were about to return when Mr. M'Kellar thought of the second
lifebuoy.
"Bow, there! D'ye see the other buoy; it'll be somewhere t' th'
norrard!"
I stood up, unsteadily. There was something white in the hollow of a
farther roller. We edged over; it was but a fleck of foam. Farther
over, up and down the swell we climbed until we found it. We turned to
row back. "Back starboard! Pull port, you!" the boat's head swung
round, and we rose quickly on the following swell.
There was a startled cry from the stern-sheets, "_O Dhia! O Dhia!_"
Well might M'Kellar cry out, for, unobserved of any, the mist had
closed in on us. There was no ship in sight, no point to steer
for--nothing to guide; there was only the great glassy walls rising and
falling, moving up into the thickening mist.
A panic seized us; furiously we rowed, driving the boat into it with no
thought of course or distance. She was awash underfoot before we
exhausted ourselves, and lay, breathing heavily, over the oars.
The bo'sun was the first to regain a state of sanity. "Vast rowin',"
he cried; "vast rowin'! We cawn't do no good like this. Liy 'er to,
Mister! Liy-to; it's the ownly thing!"
M'Kellar put the tiller over, and we brought her head to swell again.
We stood up, all eyes a-watching; we shouted together, listened intent;
there was no friendly sail looming in the mist, no answer to our cries.
We rowed aimlessly. Sometimes we fancied we could hear a hail or a
creak of blocks. We would lash blindly at the oars till the foam flew,
then lie-to again. There was no compass in the boat, no food; only a
small barreca of water. Sometimes it is thick weather off the Horn for
days! If the mist held?
Cutler, crouching, shivering in the stern-sheets, began to cry like a
child. Cold, wet, unnerved, he was feeling it worst of us all. "Shut
up," said the Second Mate, dragging off his jacket and throwing it over
the shivering lad. Old Martin was strangely quiet; he, too, was
shivering. He had been just about to turn in when he heard the call,
and was ill-clad for boat service. Only once did he show a bit of his
old gallant truculence. "All right, Mister! If we loses track o' th'
ship, we've got plenty o' prewisions! We can eat them lifebuoys, wot
ye was so keen a-gettin'!"
"Oh, quit yer chinnin', ye old croak! 'Oo's talkin' abaht losin' track
o' th' ship!" The bo'sun didn't like to think! Cutler became
light-headed, and began to talk wildly; he would stand up, pointing and
shouting out, "There she is, there!" Then he began to make queer
noises, and became very quiet. There was the canvas boat cover lying
in the bottom of the boat. The bo'sun put this round him, and I was
ordered aft to rub him down.
The cold became intense. When the heat of our mad spurt had passed,
depression came on us and we cowered, chilled to the marrow by the
mist, on the gratings of the heaving boat. Long we lay thus, Houston
and the bo'sun pulling a listless stroke to keep her head to the swell.
We had no count of time. Hours must have passed, we thought.
"The Dago 'll hae ma trick at th' wheel, noo," said Houston strangely.
"It wis ma turn at fower bells!"
No one heeded him.
"They'll hae tae shift some o' th' hauns i' th' watches, eh? ... wi'
you, an' Martin, an' th' young fla' no' there!" he continued.
"Oh, shut up, damn ye! Shut up, an' listen. _O Dhia!_ can ye hear
nocht?" M'Kellar, standing up on the stern-sheets, was casting wild
glances into the pall that enshrouded us. "Here! All together, men--a
shout!"
A weakly chorus went out over the water.
Silence.
Suddenly Houston stood up. "Maister, did ye hear that--a cheep!" We
thought that he was going off like Cutler; we could hear nothing. "A
cheep, Ah telt ye, Maister; a cheep, as shair's daith!" Houston was
positive. "The jerk o' a rudder, or" ... Almost on top of us there was
a flash of blinding fire, the roar of a gun followed!
We sprang to the oars, shouting madly--shaping out of the mist was the
loom of a square sail, there was sound of a bell struck. No need now
to talk of eating lifebuoys; Houston would be in time for his trick at
the wheel!
* * * * *
"What th' blazes kept ye, Mister? We saw ye pickin' th' man up! What
made ye turn t' th' norrard?" The Old Man had a note of anger in his
voice.
"Well, Sir, we couldn't see th' other buoy, an' I thought it a peety if
we didn't pick it up; an' while we were lookin' for it, we lost track
o' th' ship," said Mister M'Kellar, ashamed and miserable.
The Mate broke in, "Ye damn fool! D'ye mean t' tell us ye risked a
whole boat's crew for a tuppence-ha'penny lifebuoy? B'gad, it would
serve ye right if ye had t' go seekin' like th' Flying Dutchman!" The
Mate continued to curse such stupidity, but the Old Man, though
permitting the Mate to rail, was wonderfully silent. After all,
M'Kellar, like himself, was a Scotchman, and much may be forgiven to a
Scotchman--looking after his owners' property!
XVIII
"----AFTER FORTY YEAR!"
"Martin?" ... "_Huh!_" "Lewis?" ... "_Iss!_" "Granger?" ... "_'Ere!_"
"Ulricks?" ... "_Ya!_" "Dago Joe?" ... "_Ser!_" "'Ansen?" ... "_Yep!_"
"Bunn?" ... "_Yes!_" "Munro?" ... "_Here!_"
"Eccles?--ECCLES!--ECC--Damn your eyes, lay 'long 'ere! You goin' t'
keep awl 'ans waitin'?" Eccles joined us fumbling with the buttons of
his jacket. (Eccles, for the time limit!) "Awl 'ere," continued the
bo'sun; then reported to the Mate, "Watch is aft, Sir!"
A surly growl that might have been, "Relieve the wheel and look-out,"
came from the poop, and we were dismissed muster; the starboard watch
to their rest; we of the port to take our turn on deck.
It was a cold, raw morning that fell to our lot. A light wind, blowing
from north of west in fitful puffs, scarcely slanted the downpour of
thin, insistent rain; rain that by the keenness of it ought to have
been snow or sleet. The sea around was shrouded in mist, and breaking
day, coming in with a cold, treacherous half-light, added to the
illusion that made the horizon seem scarcely a length away. The barque
was labouring unsteadily, with a long westerly swell--the ghost of the
Cape Horn 'greybeards '--running under her in oily ridges.
It needed but a bite of freshening wind to rouse the sea; at the lash
of a sudden gale the 'greybeards' would be at us again--whelming and
sweeping. Even in quiet mood they were loath to let us go north, and
we jarred and rattled, rolled, lurched, and wallowed as they hove at
us. Heave as they did, we were still able to make way on our course,
standing with yards in to the quartering wind and all plain sail on her.
Thick weather! The horizon closed to us at a length or so ahead. But
she was moving slowly, four knots at the most, and we were well out of
the track of ships! Oh, it was all right--all right; and aft there the
Mate leaned over the poop rail with his arms squared and his head
nodding--now and then!
As the light grew, it seemed to bring intenser cold. Jackets were not
enough; we donned coats and oilskins and stamped and stamped on the
foredeck, yawning and muttering and wishing it was five o'clock and the
'doctor' ready with the blessed coffee: the coffee that would make men
of us; vile 'hogwash' that a convict would turn his face at, but what
seemed nectar to us at daybreak, down there in fifty-five!
By one bell the mist had grown denser, and the Mate sung out sudden and
angrily for the foghorn to be sounded.
"Three blasts, d'ye 'ear," said the bo'sun, passing the horn up to
Dago, the look-out. "_Uno! ... Doo! ... Tray!_" (Three fingers held
up.) ... "_Tray_, ye burnt scorpion! ... An' see that ye sounds 'em
proper, or I'll come up there an' hide th' soul-case out o' ye! ...
(Cow-punchin' hoodlum! Good job I knows 'is bloomin' lingo!)"
Now we had a tune to our early rising, a doleful tune, a tune set to
the deepening mist, the heaving sea, at dismal break of day. _R-r-ah!
... R-r-ah! Ra!_ was the way it ran; a mournful bar, with windy gasps
here and there, for Dago Joe was more accustomed to a cowhorn.
"A horn," said Welsh John suddenly. "Did 'oo hear it?"
No one had heard. We were gathered round the galley door, all talking,
all telling the 'doctor' the best way to light a fire quickly.
"_Iss_! A horn, I tell 'oo! ... Listen! ... Just after ours is
sounded!"
_R-r-ah! ... R-r-ah! ... R-ah!_ Joe was improving.
We listened intently.... "There now," said John!
Yes! Sure enough! Faint rasps answering ours. Ulrichs said three;
two, I thought!
"Don't ye 'ear that 'orn, ye dago fiddler," shouted the bo'sun....
"'Ere! Hup there, one of ye, an' blow a proper blast! That damn
hoodlum! Ye couldn't 'ear 'is trumpetin' at th' back of an area
railin's!"
John went on the head; the bo'sun aft to report.
A proper blast! The Welshman had the trick of the wheezing 'gad jet.'
... Ah! There again! ... Three blasts, right enough! ... She would
be a square rigger, running, like ourselves! ... Perhaps we were
making on her! ... The sound seemed louder.... It came from ahead!
R-R-R-R-R-AH! ... R-R-R-R-R-AH! ... R-R-R-R-R-AH!
_... R-r-r-r-eh! ... R-r-r-r-eh! ... R-r-r-r-eh!_
The Mate was now on the alert, peering and listening. At the plain
answer to our horn, he rapped out orders. "Lower away main an'
fore-to'gal'ns'ls ... let 'em hang, an' lay aft and haul th' mains'l
up! Come aft here, one of you boys, and call th' Captain! Tell him
it's come down thick! Sharp, now!"
I went below and roused the Old Man.
"Aye ... all right," he said, feeling for his sea-boots. (South'ard of
the 'forties' Old Jock slept 'all standing,' as we say.) .... "Thick,
eh? ... Tell th' Mate t' keep th' horn goin'! ... A ship, ye say? ...
Running, eh? ... Aye! All right ... I'll be up...."
I had scarcely reached the poop again before the Old Man was at my
back. "Thick, b'Goad," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Man, man! Why was
I not called before?"
The Mate muttered something about the mist having just closed in....
"Clear enough t' be goin' on before that," he said.
"Aye, aye! Where d'ye mak' this ship? Ye would see her before the
mist cam' doon, eh?"
"Sound that horn, forrard there!" shouted the Mate, moving off to the
gangway. "Keep that horn going, there!"
John pumped a stirring blast.... R-R-R-R-R-AH! ... R-R-R-R-R-AH! ...
R-R-R-R-R-AH!
We bent forward with ears strained to catch the distant note.
... _R-r-r-r-eh!_ ... At the first answering blast Old Jock raised
his head, glancing fearfully round.... _R-r-r-r-eh! ... R-r-r-r----_
"Down hellum! DOWN HELLUM! DOWN," he yelled, running aft to the
wheel! "Haul yards forrard! Le'go port braces! Let 'm rip! Le'go
an' haul! ... Quick, Mist'r! Christ! What ye standin' at? ...
Ice! Ice, ye bluidy eedi't! Ice! Th' echo! Let go! LE'GO AN' HAUL!
LE'GO!"
Ice! The Mate stood stupid for an instant--then jumped to the
waist--to the brace pins--roaring hoarse orders. "All hands on deck!
Haul away, there! All hands! On deck, men--for your lives!"
Ice! At the dread cry we ran to the ropes and tailed on with desperate
energy! Ice! The watch below, part dressed, swarmed from house and
fo'cas'le and hauled with us--a light of terror in their eyes--the
terror that comes with stark reason--when the brain reels from restful
stupor at a trumpet of alarms!
Ice! The decks, that so late had been quiet as the air about us,
resounded to the din of sudden action! Yards swinging forward with a
crash--blocks _whirring_--ropes hurtling from the pins--sails lifting
and thrashing to the masts--shouts and cries from the swaying haulers
at the ropes--hurried orders--and, loud over all, the raucous bellow of
the fog-horn when Dago Joe, dismayed at the confusion, pumped
furiously, _Ra! Ra! Ra! Ra! Ra!_
... _Reh! Reh! Reh! Reh! Reh!_ ... Note for note--the echo--out
of the mist!
"Belay, all! Well, mainyards!" The order steadied us. We had time
now to look! ... There was nothing in sight! ... No towering monster
looming in our path--no breakers--no sea--no sky; nothing! Nothing but
the misty wall that veiled our danger! The Unknown! The Unseen!
She was swinging slowly against the scend of the running swell--laying
up to the wind. Martin had the wheel and was holding the helm down,
his keen eyes watching for the lift that would mark the limit of
steering-way. The Old Man stood by the compass, bending, peering,
smiling--nosing at the keen air--his quick eyes searching the
mist--ahead--abeam--astern.... Martin eased the helm; she lay quietly
with sails edged to the wind, the long swell heaving at her--broadside
on.
Suddenly a light grew out of the mist and spread out on both bows--a
luminous sheen, low down on the narrowed sea-line! The 'ice-blink'!
Cold! White!
At the first glow the Old Man started--his lips framed to roar an
order! ... No order came!
Quickly he saw the hopelessness of it; what was to happen was plain,
inevitable! Broad along the beam, stretching out to leeward, the great
dazzling 'ice-blink' warned him of a solid barrier, miles long,
perhaps! The barque lay to the wind, at mercy of the swell, drifting
dead to leeward at every heave! ... On the other tack, perhaps? There
was a misty gap to the south of us; no 'ice-blink' there! ... If she
could be put about? ... No, there was no chance! ... To gather speed
to put her about he would have to bear off towards the brightening
sheen! Already the roar of the swell, lashing at the base, was loud in
our ears! ... There was no room! No sea-room to wear or stay!
"Embayed!" he said bitterly, turning his palms up! ... "All hands aft
and swing th' port boat out!"
The port boat? The big boat? Had it come, so soon, to that? More
than one of us cast an anxious look at the broad figure of our Master
as we ran aft. He stood quite still, glaring out at the ice ring.
"This is it, eh!" he muttered, unheeding the stir and cries of us.
"This is it--after forty year!"
Madly we tore and knifed at the lashings, working to clear the big
boat. She was turned down on the skids (the fashion of thrifty
'limejuicers'), bound and bolted to stand the heavy weather. We were
handless, unnerved by the suddenness of it all, faulty at the task.
The roar of breaking water spurred us on.... A heave together! ....
Righted, we hooked the falls and swayed her up. The Mate looked aft
for the word. "Aye," said the Old Man. "Oot wi' her, an' try tae tow
th' heid roun'! On th' ither tack we micht----" He left the words
unfinished! Well he knew we could never drag three thousand tons
against that swell!
A wild outcry turns our eyes forward. Dago Joe (forgotten on the
lookout) is running aft, his precious horn still slung from his
shoulders. "_Arretto! Arretto! Arretto!_" He yells as he runs.
"_Arretto, Capitan!_" waving his arms and signing to the Old Man to
stop the ship! Behind him, over the bows, we see the clear outline of
a small berg--an outflung 'calf' of the main ice! There is no time!
Nothing can be done! Small as the berg is--not the height of our lower
yards--it has weight enough to sink us, when aided by the heaving swell!
"Quick with th' boat, there," yells the Old Man! He runs over to the
companion-way and dives below, jostling the Second Mate, who is
staggering up under a weight of biscuit bags.
In a moment we have closed with the ice and are hammering and grinding
at the sheer glistening wall. At the first impact the boom goes with a
crash! Then fore-to'gallant mast--yards--sails--rigging--all hurtling
to the head, driving the decks in! A shelf of solid ice, tons weight
of it, crashes aboard and shatters the fore-hatch! Now there is a
grind and scream of buckling iron, as the beams give to the
strain--ring of stays and guy-ropes, parting at high tension--crash of
splintering wood! The heaving monster draws off, reels, and comes at
us again! Another blow and----