DUNMAN'S CAVE.
Flags hung at half mast the rest of that day, and minute guns were fired
at sunset. And there was something sad and solemn in the dull, booming
sound as it echoed and reechoed over that broad and mysterious sea. And
when night came, and drew a dark curtain around the ship, and her
timbers murmured and complained, and every sail stood out in shadow
against the clear sky, and the surface of the water seemed alive with
sprites, flitting and dancing here and there, groups of sorrowing men
were seen gathered about the decks, giving expression to their grief at
the loss of their old captain.
"God bless him! He was good to us all. There'll be no more whales to
kill where he has gone." These were the words of regret that fell from
lips that rarely invoked a prayer.
At midnight, when the bells had struck, the crew gathered together on
the forward deck, and while one held a lamp another read the Episcopal
service for the burial of the dead. And as the light at times reflected
each figure of the group, giving it a phantom-like appearance, the
picture presented was sad and impressive--such as can only be seen at
sea, where each sound calls up some memory, and the sailor fancies he
can see the spirit of some departed friend in every flitting shadow.
Officers and men alike began to feel how great was their loss. They were
alone, as it were, on this broad and mysterious ocean, and they had
lost that odd old man who was their guiding spirit, and who never failed
them as friend and protector. All through that night the men watched and
strained their eyes in every direction, expecting to see the old sailor
rise on some crest; and more than one sailor that night cheered his
drooping feelings with the firm belief that some mysterious agency would
give them back the old captain before morning.
There was no one on that ship, however, who felt the loss more seriously
than Tite. It seemed to change all his prospects, to throw a shadow over
his future. He paced the deck, silent and thoughtful, until long after
midnight. To him the captain had been not only a friend, but a father.
Between them there had grown up the strongest of attachments. Tite had
looked forward to the time when this odd old man would have lifted him
into the confidence of his owners, and perhaps secured his future
prosperity.
All his hopes and joys seemed blasted now. Love, too, had been playing
its bewitching part; amidst all these drawbacks and disappointments,
love had been prompting his ambition with her dreams of a happy future.
Mattie's image, so bright, so beautiful, had been with him everywhere,
prompting his thoughts and actions as only the woman you love can, and
making him more ambitious to secure that golden future his fancy had
pictured. Never before had his courage failed him. No matter what the
danger, he had felt that she was at his side, encouraging him. Now the
gloomy thought of returning home penniless, with, indeed, nothing but
his adventures and misfortunes to offer her and his aged parents, began
to prey upon his mind, to make him sad and despondent. Then the advice
so often given him by the old captain, never to get discouraged, not
even under the most adverse circumstances, and that the brightest day
was sure to follow the darkest night, would cheer him up.
When the whale had been taken aboard, the ship, under her new commander,
Mr. Higgins, stood away into the North Pacific, where she cruised along
the land, in the direction of Behring's Straits, for several weeks. The
prospect not seeming to brighten much, Mr. Higgins thought he would try
an experiment in what he called "high latitudes," and to that end headed
the ship for the Auckland Islands. Now the crew had but little respect
for their new commander, and no confidence whatever in his skill as a
navigator.
After proceeding in this direction for ten days, one morning about four
o'clock the lookout called the attention of the officer of the watch to
strange sounds heard close ahead. It resembled the dull, sluggish sound
of breakers on shore during a calm. The sounds became louder and seemed
to be approaching the ship, but as her reckoning gave no land anywhere
near, the cause of the sounds began to excite great alarm. The captain
was called and the crew turned out, and an effort made to put the ship
on the other tack, but it was of no avail. An almost dead calm
prevailed, and the ship refused to obey her helm. In short, the ship was
being carried rapidly forward in the grasp of a strong under-current. A
heavy fog hung like a pall overhead, enveloping the ship's royals and
top-gallant sails; and as the noise increased a strange feeling of awe
and fear came over the crew, exciting their superstitions to the highest
pitch.
As the ship went on the sounds began to resemble the dashing and surging
of a heavy body of water forced by a strong tide through a narrow
gorge. Still nothing could be seen of land, which increased the strange
sensations produced by so singular a phenomenon. Nothing either crew or
officers could do would improve the situation, for in the ship's
condition they were as helpless as children. The lead was cast, and
sixty fathoms called. It was now evident that there was land close by.
But the trail of the line only showed the more clearly that the ship was
at the mercy of some rapid and dangerous current, perhaps being drawn
into some whirlpool. Now the fog seemed to lift, and long lines of light
were seen ahead, but it was only to be succeeded by greater darkness.
Then the sounds began to change and vary; and while what seemed voices
were heard singing and sighing overhead, the deep rush and roll of
waters below had a strange and bewildering effect on the feelings. Now
the moon seemed to be rising through the fog ahead, and a pale, white
light gleamed for a few seconds, then disappeared, and all was dark
again. And as the ship advanced, the bold outline of a high and nearly
perpendicular bluff revealed itself above the fog, and had the
appearance of hanging directly over the ship. There was no mistaking the
danger now. In a few minutes more the ship was between walls of rock
three hundred feet high, drifting swiftly through a narrow channel of
deep and agitated water into a dark and dangerous cavern.
The ship passed in under full sail; the atmosphere changed and became
singularly oppressive; the very blood chilled; fear seized on all on
board, and men who a short time before were full of courage and strength
now became as helpless as children. The current was less rapid inside,
but the noise increased and became even more bewildering; while the
barometer would rise and fall quickly, and the compasses became
agitated under the influence of some strong magnetic disorder. Every few
minutes deep and rumbling sounds would break in the distance, roll along
the cavern, and echo and reëcho through the great arches overhead. And
these would be succeeded by soft, flute-like voices, mingling in chorus.
The effect of this, in so dark and dungeon-like a place, where the
mighty hand of Nature had performed one of her wildest freaks, was
bewildering in the extreme, and gave wing to the strangest fancies.
Hardly a word was spoken; not a brace manned, nor a sheet touched. The
ship moved along as if directed by some unseen hand, for there was no
wind in that deep, dark cavern. Then the water became broken, and the
surface checkered with phosphoric lights, flitting and dancing, like so
many sprites on a revel. The arch overhead became covered with a pale
light, which seemed to struggle against the darkness; then stars, or
what appeared to be stars, were seen, as through a mist. Then they would
suddenly change into every variety of color, and reveal the existence of
massive columns of basaltic rock supporting the arch. Still the
distracting sounds were heard, but no order was given concerning the
ship, scarcely a word exchanged between the men. They felt that they
were drifting into some unknown sea, perhaps some place of enchantment,
where death was certain, and from whence nothing more would ever be
heard of them.
Could this be the mermaid's retreat of which the old captain had spoken,
and of which the natives on Queen Charlotte's Island had such a strange
superstition? Tite thought to himself. All the pleasant associations of
home, all that he loved there, and all that he had hoped for, now rose
up in his mind like a sweet and beautiful dream, only to be overshadowed
by the terrible thoughts this strange and gloomy place had impressed
upon him. There was no hope for him now; he felt that he should never
enjoy those scenes again. But what was that to the anguish of his poor
old parents, who would linger on week after week, month after month, and
year after year, wondering and waiting in vain for some news of him, and
dying of hope deferred.
While he was thus musing a pale, aurora-like light broke in the
distance, directly ahead of the ship. Now it opened gently, now shut
again. Again it glimmered and gradually expanded until the whole cavern
became aglow with light, and presented a scene of such enchanting beauty
that all on board were spell-bound with admiration. Massive columns,
grand and impressive, rose on every side to the very roof, and reflected
all the colors of the rainbow. And through them the gallant old ship
continued to sail, like a phantom.
This bright, bewitching scene continued for about fifteen minutes, when
the light gradually died away, and all became dark and solemn. Then
deep, plunging sounds of falling water indicated with startling effect
that the ship was approaching a mighty cataract, down which she must
soon plunge to her destruction. These sounds, made more terrible by the
darkness, were like death-knells, calling the men to prepare to meet
their doom.
And while all on board were contemplating these sounds, the ship
suddenly careened a-starboard, a harsh, grating noise was heard
overhead, and quantities of broken crystallites began falling on deck.
This was followed by a crashing sound, and the ship righted. The
topmasts had fouled, and one after another were carried away and now
hung, a dangerous wreck. Then her gib-boom came in contact with one of
the columns, and met the same fate. The ship now swung round and struck
with a violent shock on a sunken rock, and almost simultaneously her
mainmast went by the board, she began to fill and settle down, and soon
became a forlorn wreck. A short consultation was held between the
officers and men as to what was best to be done. There was, however, no
alternative but to take to the boats, and make the best effort possible
to save life. There was no time to lose. Five boats were quickly
launched, and manned, and supplied with such provisions and water as
could be procured in the hurry of the moment. An officer took command of
each boat, and Tite managed to secure six of the best oarsmen on board.
There was no excitement, no disorder. Everything was done with as much
order and regularity as if nothing had occurred to interrupt discipline.
And now when the five boats were ready, and the order given to "pull
away," each man seemed to pause and take a last fond look at the old
ship, as if a lingering affection caused him to part from her with
reluctance. And as they stood taking this last look, the light again
broke forth, giving to the strange scene a weird and bewildering effect.
The boats now pulled away, Tite's boat taking the lead. They had agreed
to keep together as much as possible, (and to that end made signals at
short intervals,) gain the ocean and seek relief along the shore.
Darkness soon shut in again, however, and the noises were so bewildering
that the signals from the boats could not be understood, and they
separated never to meet again.
We must now follow the fortunes of the boat commanded by Tite. He had
been fortunate enough to secure a compass, which, though it did him
little good while in the cave, would be of great assistance to him
outside. The question as to how the entrance of the cave bore, and the
surest way of gaining it, was of most importance now. Tite estimated
that they were at least ten miles from it, and that by steering directly
against the current, they could not fail to make it. After pulling
steadily for four hours, stopping only once to refresh themselves, they
came in sight of the entrance, and saw daylight beyond. A feeling of joy
now came over the men, and three hearty cheers were given that echoed
curiously through the arches overhead. Still there was another and
serious obstacle to contend with. A boar, or tidal wave, had made at the
entrance, and was rushing in with a roaring noise and such force that
the boat could not have stemmed it for a minute. It was therefore,
necessary to seek safety behind some high rocks on one side of the
entrance, and wait a change in the tide. After waiting in this position
for nearly an hour they again put out, and headed for the entrance. A
rapid current was still setting in, and the men had to pull with all
their strength to stem it and gain the ocean.
When they had gained the ocean they felt as if they had been suddenly
transferred to another world. After waiting several hours, and none of
the other boats making their appearance, Tite headed his boat west and
stood down the coast, close in shore, in the hope of finding a safe
landing place, perhaps a friendly settlement. An almost perpendicular
bluff of rocks, more than two hundred feet high, forming a walled coast,
such as is seen in the Bay of Fundy, and at the foot of which the sea
dashed and broke, rendering it impossible to make a landing, extended as
far as the eye could reach. Along this frowning coast the boat swept
until nightfall; but not a human being was seen, nor a place where they
could land safely discovered.
Three days and three nights they coasted along this bold sea-wall, and
now their provisions and water had given out, and such was their
suffering from thirst, hunger, and cold, that two of the crew died from
sheer exhaustion. Indeed, it was only extraordinary exertion on the part
of Tite, and his manner of encouraging the others, that kept them from
giving up in despair. Early on the morning of the fourth day an
indentation in the land was discovered, sloping into a quiet little
valley, a place of welcome to the weary, through which a stream of water
winded down into the sea. Each heart now beat high with joy. Deliverance
had come at last. The boat's head was directed toward the beach, but the
wind had freshened, and a heavy surf was beating on shore, and unless
the boat was skilfully handled there was great danger of swamping. Still
the boat was kept on, and in less than half an hour from the time the
beach was discovered the boat was plunging through the breakers.
On entering the surf an immense roller overtook the boat, lifted her
high up on its crest, and, owing to some unskilful management, she was
capsized. The crew were tossed into the boiling surf, and left to
struggle with the receding waves for their lives. Tite's first thought
was to secure the boat, and seizing hold of the line he made a desperate
effort to gain the beach, and was successful, as were two of the men.
The others were too weak to make much of a resistance, and were carried
away by the undercurrent, and nothing more was seen of them.