The Cumbermede had passed the line of gentle winds, and had struck a
point where strong ones and even storms might be looked for. Still the
sailors took no notice of the clouds; they believed too strongly in
luck, and the new captain had been running in a “streak” of it ever
since he hoisted anchor for the outward trip; he would get in all safe,
no fear of that. But the captain had less faith in his star, and more
in watchfulness, and was more frequently on deck as every day went by.
“I don’t like those clouds there to starboard, Morton,” he said to his
first officer one afternoon; “they look a little ugly to me.”
The mate took a sharp look towards them.
“I don’t believe there’s much in them,” he said, “and they’re to
leeward of us, too, or have been, rather; the wind’s getting round a
trifle, I see.”
“That’s just it,” said the captain; “and if it gets round a little
farther we may find out what’s in them before night. Keep a good
lookout, and I’ll be on deck again in half an hour.”
Before the half hour had passed the wind had shifted decidedly, and was
blowing very brisk from where the clouds lay.
“Reef the topsails,” said the captain the moment he came up.
“Ay, ay, sir,” said the mate, and passed the order to the men. But the
winds worked faster than the men could, and before the order was fairly
executed it was time to issue another, and still another followed. All
hands were called, and in another half hour the vessel was driving,
close-reefed, before a constantly increasing gale. “A half a gale,” as
the sailors called it at first, then “a gale of wind,” and by the time
the darkness gathered, “a living gale of wind.”
The captain’s voice could be heard clear and sharp above the tempest
for some time, but at last it was almost impossible for either his or
the mate’s to be distinguished, though there was little to do by that
time but to let the vessel drive.
“I don’t know what’s coming of this, Morton,” said the captain during a
moment’s lull; “but, however we come out, we’ve done all we can.”
“I’m afraid we have, sir; but I can’t think this will last much longer.
It seems to be holding off a little just now; and it would be hard to
see anything go wrong so near home, and after such a run as we have
had.”
But the momentary lull seemed only to have redoubled the strength of
the tempest; the beating and the roar increased until it seemed as if
every sail, close-reefed as it was, would be carried away. At last,
through all the commotion, a sharp, tearing crash and a heavy fall
announced that the foretopmast had yielded to the strain.
“Clear away there!” shouted the captain, and the men sprang forward
with their axes. It was almost impossible to do anything, with the
vessel pitching as if she would go under with every wave, but the work
must be done, and the captain’s voice was heard now above everything.
But something else was not heard: a broken spar, just above the
captain’s head, was swaying back and forth, crackling and snapping for
one instant before it should come down. Only Jake’s eye, raised for one
instant, caught sight of it. To shout or to gesture through the roar
and darkness would have been vain; only a momentary flash of lightning
had shown the danger to Jake. In one instant, almost like the lightning
itself, he was at the captain’s side.
“Stand from under!” he shouted, and pointed upward. The captain sprang
aside, Jake turned to do the same, but a pitch of the vessel destroyed
his balance. The one second taken to recover it, was the one second too
late. With a crash near enough now to be heard over all, the spar was
down, and Jake--? Where was he? Overboard? For one moment it seemed
so, but another flash showed him lying senseless against the windlass.
If he could but have known that it was the captain himself who sprang
toward him, lifted him up, and drew him to a place of safety?
In another half hour, as if the storm with this last cruel blow had
wreaked its vengeance, it had passed away, a fine steady breeze was all
that remained of its force, and the clouds were breaking in rifts along
the sky. And with just such a momentary uncertain light as the moon
was sending through them, Jake’s consciousness was returning; enough,
though to show him that the captain was standing by his bunk and
holding water to his lips. That moment repaid Jake for all the bygone
years that had made his life a wretchedness.
“On hand again, my man? That’s all right! I was afraid you had shipped
for another voyage, and all for my sake too!”
If Jake could only have told him what was in his heart! He would have
given worlds to do it, but he could not speak.
“You saved my life, my hearty, and I shall remember that I owe it to
you,” said the captain again.
Jake made a tremendous effort. He _would_ speak! “No, captain,” he
said, “I owed it to you before! Ever since the night you took me into
your watch. I did not know I _had_ a soul, before that, or that anybody
cared for it if I had, but when I found _you_ did, I believed Another
might. I’ve lived for you ever since, and have tried to live a little
for Him, if He’d accept it, and I’d have died for you any day. If I do
now, it’s all right, and more than I ever thought He’d grant me. It’s
only shipping for another voyage, as you say, and if he takes me safe
to port, you’ll follow.”
When the morning sun rose over a calm blue sea, Jake’s voyage was
ended, and the Divine hand he had reached out to grasp, in the
loneliness of his comfortless bunk, that night so long ago, had steered
him safely home!