A SOUTH PACIFIC TYPHOON
Our fine weather held for five days. Then, just as we were approaching
the dangerous district Captain Steele had spoken of to me, the sky
lowered, a stiff breeze came out of the northwest and the waves began to
pile up as only the waves of the South Pacific can.
By night it was blowing a gale; but our passengers, with the exception
of Lucia and Alfonso, had taken to their berths long before this. The
_Seagull_ behaves beautifully in a storm. An ordinary gale does not
disturb her coolness in the least. She merely tosses her head, takes the
bit in her teeth, so to speak, and prances a trifle instead of gliding.
But this was no ordinary storm. We who had experienced all sorts of
weather in our voyages were soon forced to admit that fact. The wind
veered every hour or so; it blew steadily for a time and then came in
gusts—“pushes,” Uncle Naboth called them—that were exceedingly trying to
both the ship and crew. We would no sooner find our sea legs on one
slant of the deck when over she flopped and we had to seek a new angle
to cling to. The waves were tremendous and the wind seized their curling
edges and scattered them in foamy spray over the ship. The sky became
black as ink; the gale roared and shrieked with maddening intensity; yet
we bore it all stolidly enough for a time, confident of the staunchness
of our bark and the skill of her captain.
My father had put on his pea-jacket and helmet at the beginning of the
storm and kept his station on deck sturdily. He assured us he knew
exactly where we were and that we had a clear sea ahead of us; but when
the _Seagull_ began to swerve here and there, driven by the irresistible
power of the gale, even he became bewildered and uncertain of his
bearings.
All that night the ship fought bravely. It kept up the fight throughout
the long succeeding day. Perhaps it was because all hands were weary
that the ship seemed to head into the storm of the second night with
less than her usual energy and spirit.
Drenched to the skin I crept along the deck to where my father stood. I
am no seaman and have no business on deck at such a time, but I will own
that for the first time in my experience at sea I had become nervous,
and I wanted the captain to reassure me.
I found him near the bow, clinging to the rail and trying to peer into
the night. He was dripping with spray and had to wipe his eyes every few
moments to enable him to see at all.
“How’s everything, father?” I asked, my mouth to his ear.
He shook his head.
“All right if we don’t bump something,” he managed to say when a brief
lull came. “We’ve veered an’ sliced an’ slipped around so much that I
don’t just know where we’re at; ’cept we’re way off our course.”
That was bad; very bad. We hadn’t sighted an island since the storm
began, but that was no evidence we were not near a group of them. There
was a fairly good searchlight aboard the ship, and it was now being
worked every minute from the lookout; but it couldn’t do more on a night
like this than warn us of any near by danger.
“Go back!” roared my father in my ear. “Go to bed an’ save your
strength. You may need it afore long.”
That was the most fearful speech I ever heard him utter. Nothing had
ever disturbed his supreme confidence before. I crept away heartsick and
awed, and managed to get safely below, where I found Uncle Naboth
smoking his pipe in the main cabin.
“Where yer been, Sam?” he inquired.
“Talking to father.”
“What does he say?”
“We’ve lost our bearings and the sea is full of islands. The ship is all
right, you know. It’s only the water that’s dangerous.”
He gave a grunt and looked thoughtful.
“I’ve seen gales, ’n’ gales,” he remarked presently. “Usually they’re
respectable critters an’ you know what to expect of ’em. But this sort
of a jugglin’ wind beats all figgerin’. Fer me, Sam, I fall back on our
luck. It’s stayed by us so far, an’ I don’t see no reason fer it to
change front. Eh?”
“I agree with you, Uncle,” I replied, and was about to add another
optimistic remark when in rushed—or tumbled, rather—Señor de Jiminez,
his face white and his teeth chattering. He had shed his gorgeous
raiment and was attired merely in a dark brown bath robe.
“Tell me,” he said, steadying himself by the table as the ship lurched
to leeward, “is there—can there be—any danger?”
“Danger of what?” I asked, not knowing just how to reply to him.
“To the cargo—to the arms!” he gasped in choking tones. Then I saw he
was not frightened about the safety of the people, or even the ship, but
was exercised solely on account of those precious arms.
“Why, if we go down, the cargo goes with us,” I returned, smiling in
spite of the gravity of the situation. “But I imagine we’ll all float
long enough to—”
The _Seagull_ lurched the other way as a great wave caught her, and
while we clung to the furniture for support there came a sharp crack and
the ship staggered and keeled well over.
She lay there a long time, trembling slightly. I could hear the waves
dash against her with the force of a trip hammer. The door of the
stateroom opposite flew open and Madam de Alcantara came rolling into
the cabin and landed at my feet. I managed to seize her and drag her to
a chair beside me; but she clung round my neck sobbing and crying out:
“What is it? Oh, what is it? Are we sinking? Is all lost?” This in
Spanish was quite impressive.
“Be calm, Madam,” I replied, noticing that she was robed in a charming
dressing gown and had not been injured by her dash across the cabin
floor. “There’s nothing serious the matter, you may be sure.”
I was not really confident of this. Never had I known the _Seagull_ to
behave in such a manner before. She rolled terribly, and the waves were
dealing her sides thundering blows, one after another.
Uncle Naboth was endeavoring to gain the door to get on deck when Joe
came in, water running from his slicker in floods and his face covered
with grease and grime.
“What’s up, old man?” I demanded.
“Screw snapped and tore away the rudder,” said Joe. “I was in the
engine-room when it happened. It sent the wheels whirling, I can tell
you, before we could shut down.”
“Then we’re now drifting?”
He nodded.
“If there was any chance at all we could ship a new rudder. That would
serve to keep us straight, anyhow, and we could use the sails as soon as
the wind moderates. But the gale’s as crazy as a bedbug, and I can’t see
that anything can be done just now.”
“Nothing but wait,” said I. “Where’s father?”
“Trying to lash a rudder to the stern; but it’s hopeless.”
“And Ned?”
“Ned’s with him, of course. I wanted to help but they ordered me below.”
By this time all of our passengers had gathered in the cabin listening
to Joe’s dismal report. Nux was there, too, tying Madam de Jiminez fast
in a big chair so she would not fall out and then tendering his services
wherever they were needed.
For a wonder the ship became a bit steadier now that she was absolutely
helpless. She got into the trough of the sea where the wind did not
buffet her so badly, and although the waves washed over her constantly
she was so tight and staunch that she shed the water like a duck. I do
not remember ever to have passed a more uneasy hour than the one that
followed the cracking of the screw and the loss of our rudder. Had it
not been for the women it is likely I would have regarded our
predicament in the light of an adventure, and been excited and elated
over the danger. But the presence of our female passengers altered the
case entirely and rendered it far more serious.
We were a glum lot, if I may except Uncle Naboth, who still strove to
smoke his pipe and remain philosophic. Alfonso was calm and endeavored
to comfort his father by saying that as long as we floated the arms were
safe. Lucia devoted herself to her mother with a coolness that was
admirable, and Madam de Jiminez was as quiet and contented as ever, not
making any sort of a fuss and proving her courage in a way that quite
won us all. I do not know just what hysterics are; but if they’re a sort
of a wild fit that induces one to run amuck, then Madam de Alcantara had
them—and had them badly. She screeched, and kicked and howled and wailed
that she was too young to die; although for that matter she hadn’t the
advantage of many of us, and I don’t see that youth has any special show
in a South Sea gale, anyhow.
At the end of an hour my father came stumping in on his wooden leg,
looking haggard and weary.
“Brandy, Sam!” he said, tumbling into a chair.
I brought him the bottle and a glass and he took a good swig.
“Bry can’t make coffee. The galley’s washed out,” continued the captain.
And then he drew his hand across his forehead with a gesture that I well
knew, and that always betokened perturbation of an unusual sort.
“Did you fail to ship the rudder?” I asked.
“’Tain’t that, Sam. There wasn’t much chance, anyhow. But Billy Burke
an’ Dick Leavenworth is washed away—gone—done for!”
My heart gave a thump of dismay. Two of our finest seamen lost; fellows
I had earnestly respected and admired. It was the first fatality our
crew had ever experienced, so no wonder my father was broken-hearted
over it. I remembered that Leavenworth had a family, and the thought
made me shudder.
“The ship will the storm stand, and be all good—will it not?” asked De
Jiminez, by this time thoroughly unstrung and despairing. There was
something almost pitiful in the question—hoping against hope—and of
course Captain Steele lied to reassure him.
“The _Seagull’s_ all right,” he asserted. “She’ll stand a much worse
knockin’ around than this, an’ be none the worse for it. You’d better
all go to bed an’ try to sleep. If only we had a clear sea I’d turn in
myself.”
“But it is said we are drifting, Captain! A propeller we have not; a
rudder we have not! We have no defense against the sea—we are
impotent—helpless!” wailed De Jiminez.
“Why, yes; that’s a fact,” admitted the captain. “We’re jest like a
chip, floatin’ whichever way the wind blows. But you never heard of a
chip sinkin’, did you?”
“N—no,” was the doubting reply.
“What do you mean by saying there’s not a clear sea?” asked young
Alfonso.
“Study yer jogerfy,” said my father gruffly. “You’ll find the South Seas
specked with islands everywheres. I don’t jest know where we are at this
minute, but I’ll gamble there’s islands not far away.”
“Oh. Then if the ship happens to break up we can easily get to land, and
perhaps save the cargo,” remarked Little Jim complacently.
My father stared at him, muttered some inaudible remark and rose to
return to the deck.
“Must you go?” I asked.
“It’s my place, Sam,” said he.
“But you’ll be careful?” I never said such a thing to him before, but I
had poor Dick and Billy Burke in my mind—cautious fellows, both of
them—and my father had a wooden leg.
“I’ll lash myself to the riggin’ when I get to it,” he returned, and
disappeared up the companionway.
We sat in dismal silence for a time. The wind seemed to be abating, but
the waves continued their mad rolling as vigorously as ever. Finally
Madam de Jiminez expressed a wish to return to her stateroom. Nux
understood Spanish, for our blacks were marvels at acquiring languages
and could speak half a dozen tongues; so the steward assisted the old
lady to her berth and made her as comfortable as possible. After a long
argument Lucia prevailed upon her mother to go to bed, and the moaning,
despairing woman was led to her room. Perhaps inspired by this example
Uncle Naboth decided to “turn in,” but the two De Jiminez stuck it out
and remained all night in the cabin, deploring their hard luck in
choicest Spanish. As much to escape their moody companionship as
anything else I went to my own room and lay down upon the bunk without
removing my clothing. It was then about three o’clock, and although the
motion of the vessel had greatly moderated I found it no easy task to
stay in my berth. Being at the mercy of the waves the _Seagull_
performed some queer antics, and once or twice I wondered if she
wouldn’t “turn turtle,” so far over did the waves keel her. But, queerly
enough, we get used to anything in time, and as I was much exhausted I
finally fell into a doze, and then into a deep slumber.