distant from the schooner. James saw he was doomed to life. He could
not even die. Then the beauty of the woman, the sympathy, the love he
could not deny, had its way with him, and they decided to vanish into
the country, to disappear together.
This might or might not have been hard to do in the islands where
every one is well known. But it happened that Captain Black, of the
whaling station situated near the entrance of the fiord, was on deck
that morning. He saw an amazing thing, a woman and a man swimming
together, and finally making the land near the point.
Calling a couple of men, he started for them in his whaleboat, and
caught up with them before they had gone more than a few fathoms from
the shore. They were chilled through, cold and exhausted. He took them
aboard the whaling steamer, and soon saw that he had a seaman of parts
in Mr. James. Men were hard to get. All of his crews were convicts or
ticket-of-leave men; and the addition of a man even with a wife was
something to be taken advantage of.
He took James aside and asked him a few questions. He was satisfied
that he would not get into trouble by giving the officer a billet; and
he forthwith made him one of the company in charge of a small boat. The
affair would be kept secret, and the governor would be told nothing. He
probably would not ask too many questions, anyhow.
"I shall ship you both to the north'ard station, fifty miles up the
coast. You can have a shack there--plenty of peat for fires and good
grub--I'll inspect you once a month. Johnson will be in charge of the
station. You can take this letter to him. Your wife can go with you if
you wish."
James looked at the girl. She nodded her head.
"Is there a priest about here?" asked James.
"Yes. Why?" asked Black.
"Well, if you'll kindly send for him, he can marry us before we start."
* * * * *
Back of the northward station, on the ramp that rises sheer back from
the beach like a table-land, there are a few cottages. These are
occupied by the crews of the whaling station and their families. In
one of them is a handsome woman with two little tots--happy-faced and
smiling she is. But she seems a bit out of place in her surroundings.
Mrs. James Smith they call her, and she is apparently very happy, very
happy indeed, in spite of it all.
James Smith is the best gun pointer in the fleet, the best harpooner
with the gun-firing harpoon. He is a sober, quiet, steady man, who has
nothing now of the ship's officer about him. He never talks of wrecks.
If some one starts a conversation regarding them--and they are much
hoped for in the Falklands--he goes away.
Sometimes in Jack's saloon down at Stanley, he has been known to sit
and stare out over the dark ocean, to sit and often mutter:
"Was it right, after all--was it worth while--was it?"
But he is a sober, quiet, industrious man, who goes about his duties
without enthusiasm, without effort.
THE WRECK OF THE "RATHBONE"
"Eight bells, sir," came the voice from without, following the _rap_,
_rap_ upon the door of my room. I had just five minutes to dress myself
and get out, and I rolled over, listening to the sounds on deck. As
I had only taken off my sea boots, I was in no hurry to turn to. My
sou'wester hung upon a peg, but my oilskin jacket was still buttoned up
close about my neck, where it had been during my sleep; and the oilskin
trousers scraped noisily as I slid my legs to the edge of the bunk.
I had slept three hours and forty minutes, and must go out and relieve
Slade, the second mate, who had, in turn, relieved me at the end of the
mid-watch. It was now just five minutes of four in the morning, a cold,
snowy nor'easter blowing, and the brig running wildly into the thick of
it.
We had cleared from New York for Rio, and were trying to run out into
the warm Gulf Stream before the gale overblew us and forced us to heave
to, to ride it down. January at sea on the coast was hard, indeed.
I swore at the hard luck, for my sleep had seemed just an instant,
just a second's unconsciousness, and I was stiff and soaked with sea
water; so cold that I had to keep on my oilskins to sleep at all. I had
finally steamed my body, incased as it was, into some sort of warmth,
and the first movement sent the chills running down my spine. I threw
off my blankets and stood shivering, trying to jam my feet into the wet
boots as the bells struck off, and I was due on deck.
Slade stood with his shoulders hunched to his ears at the break of the
poop, holding to the rail to steady himself as the brig plunged and
tore along under a reefed fore-topsail and close-reefed spanker, with
the wind abaft the beam. The gray light of the winter morning had not
come yet, and the snow beat upon my face, as if some invisible hand
hurled it from the utter blackness to windward.
The dull, snoring roar of the wind under the feet of the topsail told
of the increasing velocity of the squalls; and the quick, live jerk
of the ship as she went rushing along the crest of a roller for an
instant, and then slid along the weather side, dropping stern foremost
into the trough, with a heave to windward, indicated that we were doing
all we could.
"Southeast b'south!" yelled Slade into my ear. "You'll have to watch
her."
I knew what he meant. She was steering hard, and might broach to in any
careless moment.
"Call the old man if there's any change," he added, and stumbled down
the poop steps to the main deck, where the watch were huddled under
the lee of the deck house. Then he disappeared aft, and the night
swallowed him up.
I made my way to the wheel. Bill, a strong West Indian negro, was
holding her steady enough, meeting her as she came to and swung off. He
was assisted by Jones, a sturdy little fellow with a big shock head. I
could just make out their faces in the light from the binnacle, which
burned, for a wonder, in spite of the gale. It generally blew out in
spite of all we could do to keep the lamps lit. Beyond was a hopeless
blackness.
I went to the weather rail and tried to see to windward. A fleeting
glimpse of a white comber caught my gaze close aboard; but beyond a few
fathoms I could see nothing at all. Aft under the stern the torrent
of dead water boiled and roared, showing a sickly flare from the
phosphorus. We were going some, probably twelve or fifteen knots an
hour; and right ahead was nothing--that is, nothing we could see; just
a black wall of darkness.
Vainly I tried to make out the light of the coming morning; but the
snow squalls shut off everything. Pete, sharp-eyed fellow of my watch,
was on lookout on the forecastle head. I knew Pete's eyes were the best
ever, but he could see nothing in that wild gale of snow and sleet and
inky darkness. I went to the break of the poop again, and hailed the
deck below.
"Keep a sharp lookout ahead, there," I said, bawling the words out to
reach through the storm. Then I stood waiting, for there was nothing
else to do.
Two bells came--five o'clock--and the watch reported all well and the
lights burning brightly. Our starboard and port--green and red--lights
were none too bright at any time, yet they were well within the law,
and had served the ship for five years or more.
I answered the hail, and stood trying again to see something over
the black hills of water that were rushing to the southwest under
the pressure of the gale. Something made me very nervous. I began to
shiver, and the snow struck my face and melted enough to run down my
neck, making me miserable, indeed. I still stood gazing right ahead
into the night, hoping for the dawn which was now due in another hour,
when I heard a yell from the forecastle head.
"Light dead ahead, sir," came the hail.
I looked and saw nothing, but took Pete's word for it.
"Keep her off all she'll go," I roared to the wheel.
And just as I felt her swing her stern to the following sea, I saw
close to us the green light of a steamer, and above it her masthead
light. Then the thing happened.
A wild cry from forward, followed by the loom of a gigantic object in
the gloom ahead. We were upon the vessel in a moment.
A tremendous crash, grinding, tearing, splintering. The brig staggered,
seemed to stop suddenly, and then the deep, roaring note of the gale
smothered the rest.
We struck, fairly head on, swung to, glanced along the ship's side,
and were lying dismasted in the trough of the sea, our foremast over
the side, and nothing but the lower main mast standing. The seas tore
over us, and we lay like a log, while the shadow of the steamer passed
slowly astern.
The old man was on deck before I knew just what had happened. So also
was Slade. The smashing and grinding of the wreckage alongside told of
the spars; but we were too stunned to think of them.
Was the hull split open with that furious impact? That was the thought
in our minds. Ours was a wooden vessel--little, light, and very strong.
Did we ram our plank ends in? If so, we were lost men, all of us.
It was fully a half minute before we spoke of it. We knew just what to
do, but we were stunned for a few moments. Then we made for the main
deck, and tried the pumps. The water was coming in lively.
"All hands on the pumps!" came the skipper's order; and we manned the
brakes with the feeling that it was just a respite, just a little time
to lose. The men took to them with a will, however; but I had a sinking
feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I worked half-heartedly for a few
minutes, until I brought myself around with a jerk. I was mate. I had
the responsibility. And more than that--it had happened in my watch on
deck. I was the one who must do the most.
"Come along, bullies--get a couple of axes!" I roared, and made my way
to the weather fore channels, where the rigging of the topmast and
lower mast held the wreckage alongside, being drawn taut, as it were,
across the deck, the spars to leeward, and banging and pounding against
the ship with each surge. "Get into those lanyards!" and they chopped
away in the gray light of the morning, cutting everything they could,
and clearing the weather rigging of the strain.
The wreckage now hung by the lee rigging, and drifted farther aft. The
wheel was lashed hard down, and a bit of spanker raised again upon the
mainmast, the halyards still being intact, although the boom had been
broken by the shock. We soon had canvas on her aft, and she headed
the sea, dropping back from the wreckage to a mooring hawser bent to
the standing rigging of the foremast. We got a lashing to the foot of
the mast, and she dragged the mass broadside, making a lee of it, and
riding easily to the heavy seas, which now took her almost dead on her
bows.
When I had a chance to look about me again, the light of the morning
had grown to its full height, and we were able to see around us.
The gray light made things look almost hopeless for us. The pumps
worked full stroke, and the water gained rapidly on us. There had been
three feet made during the first half hour. We were settling, and the
brig was riding more heavily, taking the seas over her head with a
smothered feeling that told of what was coming.
I had a chance to breathe again, and I looked out over the gray ocean,
where the white combers rolled and the heavy clouds swept along close
to their tops. A large, black object showed to the westward of us, and
we recognized her as a steamer. She was very low in the water, and upon
her rigging floated the signal, "_We are sinking._" She was the one we
had run down.
The old man stood gazing at her as I came on the poop. He was trying
to make her out; and this he did finally, when the wind stretched her
flag in a direction so that we could see it plainly. She was one of the
Havana steamers bound up from Cuba, and was about five thousand tons.
Her number was that of the _William Rathbone_.
"No better fix than we are," snarled the skipper. "What was the matter?
Didn't you see him? He's big enough."
"Too dark," I said. "You know what kind of a night it was--look at it
now. We might do something if we were sure of floating ourselves--no
boat would live in this sea five minutes; but it'll smooth out,
maybe----"
"Maybe blow a hurricane!" howled the old man, his voice rising above
the gale. "Get the boats ready, anyhow--get the steward to put all the
grub he can get in them--too bad, too bad," he went on.
While Slade helped to get the boats ready for leaving the brig, I went
to the bow and tried to see just what damage we had done ourselves. It
was dangerous work, as the seas came over in solid masses, and more
than once I came near getting washed overboard. Splintered plank ends,
a crushed stem showed through the wreck of the bowsprit, which still
hung by the bobstays and shrouds, jammed foul of the catheads, so
that only the end swung, and struck us a blow now and then. It was a
hopeless mess.
A great sea rose ahead, with its crest lifting for a break, and I
ducked behind the windlass, holding on with both hands. The solid water
swept over the bows, and I was almost drowned; but I held on. There was
nothing I could do forward, and no men could work there. The steady
grind of the pumps took the place of desperate rushing about the decks.
The men stood in water to their knees as the seas swept her, but they
still kept it up. As fast as one man gave out another took his place,
regardless of watch; and the waiting ones chafed under the shelter of
the mainmast.
The boats were on booms over the forward house, where the seas could
not wash them away; and Slade had them all ready to leave, although it
was a study how to get them overboard in that sea with nothing forward
to raise them with. The mainstay still held, and the mainmast was
strong enough; but there was nothing forward at all above them. I went
aft and waited.
Old Captain Gantline was still standing at the poop rail watching
the steamer. Our drift was about equal to hers, and we sagged off to
leeward together, keeping about a mile apart. The steamer was settling.
"Of course, he ought to have gone clear of us!" howled the old man as
I came up. "I don't blame you, Mr. Garnett; I don't blame you--but you
certainly swung us off at the last minute when you knew the law was to
hold your course, and let him get out of our way."
"But he was dead ahead, sir. I saw his lights right aboard. To luff
meant to come to in that sea, and that would have been just as bad, for
he'd have struck us aft--probably cut us in two."
I really had done nothing out of the way. The steamer had not seen us,
that was certain. I was supposed, under the law, to hold on until the
last moment, and I had done so. I had only swung her off a little;
tried to clear when I saw he would not. I knew the law well enough,
and had followed it up to the moment of striking. Our swing off had
made our bows fetch up against the steamer, and had probably caused him
serious damage. But it had saved us from being cut down by her sharp
steel stem, which would have gone through our wooden side as if through
butter.
No, I did not feel guilty; although there were evidently some hundred
passengers and crew of that ship in dire peril and sore put to it. The
old man knew I had done the best thing I could for us, and there was no
possible way of avoiding a collision in a wild, thick night like the
last when the ships were invisible but a few fathoms distant.
We waited, and the brig settled slowly, while the wind still held
from the northeast, and the sea still ran strong and high. There was
apparently no chance for launching a small boat. The scud flew fast
and the gray wind-swept ocean looked ugly enough, the surface covered
with white. The steamer was slowly sinking, like ourselves, and it
was only a question whether either would go through the day or not. I
hoped that it would not come in the night. There's something peculiarly
nerve-racking in wild night work in a sinking ship. The very absence of
light lends terror to the already awful situation, and the wild rush of
the wind and seas makes chaos of the blackness about.
The day dragged slowly. It was like waiting for the end of the world.
The vessels drifted apart but another mile or two, and we were still
close enough to exchange signals. We had long ago run ours up, telling
that the same state of affairs existed aboard the brig. If some
passing coasting steamer came along, all might still be well with the
passengers and crews of both of us. But not a sign of anything showed
above the horizon.
At five o'clock--two bells--that evening, the brig was well down in the
water; and she was taking the seas nastily over her. The main deck was
all but impossible to remain upon, and the men at the pumps had to lash
themselves to keep there. It would be only a question of a few hours
now. The drawn faces told of the strain. Slade, the second mate, came
to me.
"All over but the shouting," he said. "How'll we ever get them boats
clear in this sea?"
"Better start now before it's too late," I said, and went to the old
man for orders.
"All right, get them over," said the old man, in answer to my question;
and we started on the last piece of work we were to do in that brig.
Bill, the West Indian negro; Wilson; Peter, the Dutchman; and Jones
were to row; and, with myself at the steering oar in command, made the
working crew. Besides these men we had three others, making eight men
all told for our boat. Slade went with the old man, dividing the little
crew up evenly.
We had a good crew. Long training in that little ship had made them
good men. But for their steadiness we would never have got those
boats clear. It was desperate work getting them over the side without
smashing them. With a tackle upon the main, however, we managed to lift
them clear and let them swing aft, lifting and guying them out by hand.
Then we dropped them over the quarter, and let them tow astern to the
end of a long line, and they rode free, being lighter than the ship and
pulling dead to leeward.
I was the first to leave, as became my place. The old man, as captain,
must be the last. I hauled the boat up, and we climbed in, jumping the
now short distance as she took the seas and rose close to the taffrail.
The brig was very low, and settling fast.
"Go to the steamer first," said the old man; "then head westerly until
you get picked up or get ashore. We are not more than one hundred and
fifty miles off--good-by."
I dropped over, and the line was cast off, letting the boat drift
slowly back, but still heading the sea so that she rode almost dry, in
spite of the combers.
The _Rathbone_ was in view about three miles distant, and by the weight
upon the four oars we held her so that she drifted off bodily in that
direction, while still heading well up to the wind. There was plenty
of light left yet, but there was a night coming, and I hoped we would
get a chance to board the big vessel before it was black dark. Perhaps
she was not so dangerously hurt as she looked.
I saw the old man's boat come away and take the general direction of
our own; but the seas were too high to see her often. She was evidently
making good weather of it, and I thanked the lucky stars that we had
whaleboats for our business, and not the tin things they use for
lifeboats in steamers.
By keeping the boat's head quartering to the wind and sea, she drifted
bodily off toward the _Rathbone_, and before dark we drew close aboard.
There was much action taking place on her decks as we came close enough
to see. Passengers ran about, and forms of seamen dashed fore and aft.
It was evident that they were hurrying for some purpose, and that
purpose showed as we noted the list to starboard the ship had. She was
very low forward, and seemed to be ready to take the final plunge any
moment.
Our boat had been pretty badly smashed getting her overboard, and she
was leaking badly from the started seams. In that strong, rolling sea
she had all she could do with the crew in her; and I fervently hoped
that I would not be called upon to take passengers. Four rowing and
three for relief was all right, but a dozen more would swamp her.
We came close under the _Rathbone's_ lee. She lay broadside to the sea,
and her high stern, raised as it were by her sinking head, shut off the
sweep of the combers.
"Steady your oars," I commanded, as we came within a few fathoms. A man
in uniform rushed to the ship's rail and hailed us through a megaphone.
He was followed by several passengers.
"Can you come aboard and help us?" he bawled. "We're sinking--all the
boats gone to starboard--captain killed and chief mate knocked on the
head by wreckage."
"Men have refused duty," howled a man standing near him. "Mutiny
aboard, and we're going down--come aboard and help us."
While they hailed, I noticed the boats to port going over the side. One
had already gone down, but she had fouled her falls, and had dropped
end up, smashing against the ship's side and filling. Struggling men
tried to clear her, but the sea was too heavy. A life raft was pushed
over the rail, and fell heavily close to us, held by a line. It surged
in the lee, and, as the ship drifted down, it struck her heavily,
smashing the platform.
"Don't go, sir," said Jake, in a voice that barely reached me.
"We'll have troubles enough of our own," said another.
"Shut up, there are passengers--don't you see the women?--we've got to
help them," I said.
I looked for the other boat. It was not in sight. The forms of two
women came to the rail, one a young girl.
"Throw me a line," I yelled to the man in uniform.
A small line came sailing across the boat. I seized it, and went
forward.
"Jake and you, Bill, come with me, the rest lie by--keep her clear
whatever you do," I said, and waved my hand to those above to haul
away. With the bowline under my arms, I was soon on deck. Then I helped
to haul my two men up.
"I'm the second," said the man in uniform; "but I can't make 'em do
anything. Just stretched one out when the rest knocked me over and took
to the boats."
Without delay we made our way along the port rail to amidships, where
the boats were being lowered. Men crowded around them, and fought for
places. The fireroom crew, white-skinned and partly clothed, their pale
faces dirty with coal dust, stood around the nearest boat, and worked
at the lashings, cursing, swearing, and shoving each other in the
suppressed panic of men who are hurrying from death.
The canvas covering was ripped off, and four men sprang into her,
the rest shoving her bodily outboard. The men at the falls howled
and swore, slacked off without regard to consequences, and the craft
dropped a few feet, then swung off, and came with a crash against the
side.
"Fine discipline," I said to the second mate, who was close to me.
A form touched my elbow. I turned, and saw a young girl.
"Aren't they going to take us along with them?" she asked quietly, but
with a voice full of pleading.
I looked at her. She was not over twenty, and very pretty. Her big eyes
were looking right into mine.
"Sure, lady, you shall go," I said.
Jake and Bill stood right behind me.
"Have you a gun?" I asked the officer.
"No; haven't got a thing--let's hoof 'em."
"Avast slacking that boat down," I roared, rushing in.
"Tell it to George," snarled a big fireman, shoving me aside.
I hooked him under the jaw with all my strength, and he staggered back.
Jake slammed the next man in the stomach, while the second officer
waded in now, striking right and left in the press.
"Get back--stand back!" we roared; and, for a wonder, forced our way
along the ship's side, taking the falls.
"Get a line below the block hook. Hold her off," came the order, and
some one passed a line at the after fall, while a man in the boat
pushed manfully against the ship's side to steady her.
"Now, then, slack away together," I yelled; and Bill, who had the
forward fall, slacked off with me, and the craft went rushing down just
as the ship rolled to leeward. She struck the sea, the block unhooked;
and, as the sinking ship rolled up, she fell clear, and hung to her
painter. We had got one down all right. The men then rushed.
Four of us fought back with all our might; but the weight of frantic
men was too heavy for us. We were forced back and down, struggling
under the crush of fighting firemen and seamen, who trampled, struck,
and then tore loose to slide down the hanging boat falls or jump over
into the sea, to climb in the floating craft below. The men below in
the boat saw they would be swamped by numbers, and cut the painter. She
drifted off, then crashed up against the ship's side, and finally swept
around the stern, where she met the sea. That was the last I saw of her.