“MAN OVERBOARD!”
“All the starboard watch, ahoy!” shouted the boatswain’s chief mate, at
eight bells, on the following morning.
Jack rubbed his eyes open as quick as he could, and slipped out of his
hammock; for the first thing that came to his mind was his resolution
always to be prompt and faithful in the discharge of his duties. As he
tumbled up the ladder, and made his way aft to the mizzen-rigging to
relieve the quarter-watch in the top, he saw that Sam Becket was the
next man before him. This circumstance recalled the incident of the
preceding evening, especially as he saw the man who had promised to be
his enemy glancing over his shoulder at him. It was still quite dark;
but Jack saw, or thought he saw, a very malignant expression in the
countenance of his topmate.
He was determined not to give Becket any cause of offence, and
therefore kept well away from him. He permitted his enemy to mount the
rail, and go up several ratlins, before he ventured to follow him,
fearful that the gambler would attempt to “sarve him out” by treading
upon his hands as he went aloft, or kicking him in the head.
“Lively, Jack, lively!” said Bob Rushington, who was next behind him.
“Ay, ay, Bob; but I mean to give my enemy a wide berth.”
“Heave ahead, Jack! Don’t stop there!” added the captain of the top;
for our sailor-boy had halted for a moment till his dangerous companion
should get out of his way.
At that instant, Jack felt the whole weight of Becket come down upon
him, and his hold upon the shrouds was wrenched off. The instinct of
self-preservation prompted him to seize the nearest object, which
happened to be the long legs of Sam Becket. The additional strain upon
the hands of that worthy was more than he was competent to sustain; and
Jack, realizing that he had grasped an insecure substance, released his
hold, and, recovering his balance, leaped down upon the quarter-deck of
the ship.
Sam Becket, unable to obtain a new hold upon the rigging, was pitched
over backwards into the sea. Jack saw with horror the catastrophe which
had overtaken the gambler, and jumped upon the rail to ascertain his
fate.
“Man overboard!” shouted several of the watch.
The officer of the deck gave the orders to the quartermaster at the
wheel necessary for stopping and backing the engines, while the man
stationed at the taffrail for the purpose detached the life-buoy.
Jack Somers stood on the rail, gazing down into the dark and
treacherous sea where his topmate had disappeared. He was a courageous
lad; and, without thinking of the consequences to himself or of his
own weakness, plunged into the water just as Becket rose to the
surface. The latter was but an indifferent swimmer, if he could swim
at all; and, instead of taking his misfortune like a reasonable man,
he commenced kicking and struggling in the most unaccountable manner,
evidently having no control over himself in the agonies of fear.
The steamer went ahead some distance before she stopped; and Jack and
his struggling enemy were left far astern in the rolling waves. Our
hero, as heroes always are, was cool and self-possessed. He could not
help wondering at the stupidity of his topmate in making such a fuss
at such a momentous time, when his safety absolutely depended upon
a careful husbanding of all his strength. But Sam continued to kick
and struggle till his wind gave out; and then, when he could kick and
struggle no more, he began to take the thing more coolly: in other
words, he was on the point of going to the bottom, mystically rendered
in the seamen’s vernacular as “Davy Jones’s locker.”
Jack, who had all the time behaved himself in a very orderly and
circumspect manner, kept his eye on the burning fuze of the life-buoy,
which had been ignited by the act of being detached from its beckets at
the stern of the vessel. It was quite near him; for it had been dropped
into the water the instant the cry which indicated the accident had
sounded through the ship. When Sam showed signs of the exhaustion which
rendered it safe for his topmate to approach him, Jack swam up to him,
and seized him by one of his hands.
The convulsive clutch with which the drowning man closed his hand upon
his enterprising deliverer assured the latter that the danger of being
carried down with him was not yet over. Jack was compelled to “pay out”
well to avoid this peril: but, after one more desperate struggle, the
unfortunate man was quiet again; and Jack succeeded by the exercise
of a great deal of well-expended strength in towing Becket to the
life-buoy, to the supporters of which he secured him as well as he
could.
Jack Somers was not made of iron, though he is the hero of our story;
and, by the time he had placed Becket in a position of comparative
safety, he began to think it was about time for a boat to come to
his relief. He was thoroughly worn out by his exertions; and when
her glanced over the tops of the waves, which were tumbling the
life-buoy about in a very unceremonious manner, he was appalled to see
the steamer apparently a mile off. To add to his consternation, the
pyrotechnic apparatus on the life-buoy had been extinguished, either by
the spray or by the limitation of its material.
The prospect was exceedingly dark and gloomy, and there were some
strong indications that the career of Jack Somers in the navy would be
completed with the close of the tenth chapter. Our sailor-boy could not
help thinking of his mother, and the assurance he had given her that he
was just as safe on board a man-of-war as in the cottage at Pinchbrook;
and perhaps he might have been if he had had the worldly-minded
prudence to remain on the deck of the Harrisburg, instead of trusting
his carcass to the uncertain mercies of an Atlantic sea to save the
life of a worthless fellow who had taken the trouble to publish himself
as his enemy.
It is true, it was a sublime and Christian act to attempt to save
the life of an enemy: but we are quite sure that Jack did not think
of his religion, or reason upon the subject, before he dashed into
the water; though a soul influenced by the pure gospel of love does
not have to consider in an emergency which requires an act of prompt
self-sacrifice. The atmosphere of love with which the Christian
heart surrounds itself inspires the thoughts, words, and deeds; so
that self-sacrifice, like a heavenly impulse, requires no cold and
calculating reflection.
It was a rash act, unquestionably, however noble and sublime it may
appear. It had been performed from impulse. Our sailor-boy had done,
at this time, no more than he had on three similar occasions in his
previous experience, though never under circumstances of so great
peril. To save a boy from a watery grave by jumping over the stern of
a yacht in Pinchbrook Harbor, and leaping from the rail of a ship far
out to sea in the sombre shades of a winter morning, were two entirely
different affairs, as Jack was now fully assured while clinging to the
life-buoy exhausted and chilled.
We might transcribe some of the great thoughts which rushed through the
mind of our hero, or give words to the simple prayer which his heart
rather than his lips breathed to Him who holds the waters in the hollow
of his hand; but, while every moment seemed a week, he saw the lights
of the ship moving on the rolling ocean. The sight gave him hope; and
he watched them with an intensity of feeling which no one, not clinging
to a life-buoy in mid-ocean, can appreciate or comprehend.
But the lights moved not towards him. Those on board had lost his
bearings, or he had drifted far from the spot where he had first
committed himself to the waves. He was chilled by the cold, and
exhausted by the violence of his exertions; and when he saw the steamer
backing by him, and too distant to be hailed, he felt a sinking
sensation of despair creep into his soul, which began to drive the
life from his body. When all hope seemed to have departed, a sound,
welcome as the music of the flowing rill to the thirsty, dying pilgrim,
attracted his attention, and gave him strength for one more struggle
for life. It was the measured thump of oars in the rowlocks of a boat.
He looked in the direction from which the sound came, and discovered a
blue light, which had just been fired, casting a lurid glare upon the
rolling billows.
“Boat ahoy!” he shouted with all the strength of his lungs; but his
voice sounded to him like that of a pygmy. He repeated the call several
times, and his heart was gladdened by the answering hail of his friends.
“Where--away!” came in hoarse tones across the long, sweeping surges of
the ocean.
“Boat ahoy!” repeated Jack with desperate earnestness; and he continued
to shout, while the gleams of rapidly expanding hope seemed to shoot
warmth and life through his chilled veins.
“I see him!” shouted the bow-oarsman, as the boat approached the buoy,
still bravely bearing up its freight of human life and hope. “Steady,
cockswain! Lay on your oars! Avast pulling! Back her! You will run ’em
down!”
By this time the boat-hook of the bowman was made fast to the buoy, and
in another moment Jack and his companion in misery were dragged into
the boat.
“God bless you. Jack, my boy!” exclaimed Ben Blinks, folding our hero
in his arms as a mother does her child.
“Give way!” said the cockswain; and the boat came about, and pulled to
the ship.
On the passage, Ben worked vigorously upon the benumbed limbs of Jack,
while two others performed a similar service for Beckett. When the boat
reached the gangway, our sailor-boy was able to grasp the manropes,
and ascend to the deck with the assistance of Ben Blinks; but Sam was
hoisted up in slings just like a barrel of hard-tack. The sufferers
were both handed over to the care of Dr. Sawsett; while the boats were
recalled, hoisted up to the davits again, and the ship went on her
course as though nothing had happened.
In a couple of hours, Jack Somers was as good as new; and Beckett, when
“the water was pumped out of him,” as Ben Blinks expressed it, began to
improve, and, after “general quarters,” was able to give an account of
his cruise.
It had been whispered about among the people that there was some foul
play connected with the affair; and, the report having reached Mr.
Bankhead through the officer of the deck, he proceeded to examine into
the case at the first practicable moment.
“How came you to fall overboard, my man?” demanded the executive
officer. “You are an ordinary seaman, and you ought to be able to go
aloft without accident.”
“Foul play, sir!” replied Beckett in surly tones.
“What do you mean?”
“The topman below me pulled me off the rigging, sir.”
“Who was he?”
“Somers, sir,” replied Beckett with the most unblushing effrontery.
“Somers!” exclaimed Mr. Bankhead, astonished at the charge against his
_protégé_.
“Yes, sir: he caught hold of my legs, and pulled me off the rigging,”
added he, looking up from the hammock in the sick-bay, where the
examination was in progress.
“Do you know who saved your life?--who jumped overboard after you?”
“No, sir. Who was it?”
“No matter who it was. Did Somers pull you off by accident?”
“No, sir; I think not. We had some trouble in the mizzen-top last
night, and I think he has a grudge against me. He was sarvin’ me out,
sir.”
“Marine, pass the word for Somers,” added Mr. Bankhead.
Jack presently appeared, and had no difficulty in divining the occasion
of the summons. The first-lieutenant stated the charge, which Jack
promptly denied, giving a full explanation of the affair as it was.
“Pass the word for Rushington,” said Mr. Bankhead; and the captain of
the mizzen-top appeared, and substantiated Jack’s story. The trouble in
the top was also ventilated.
“They are lying on me, sir!” said Beckett.
“You black-hearted scoundrel!” exclaimed Mr. Bankhead warmly; for his
indignation could be no longer controlled. “Would Somers push you
overboard one minute, and dive after you the next?”
The wretch was taken all aback when he learned that his injured topmate
had saved his life at the peril of his own; and, having convicted the
culprit, Mr. Bankhead went on deck, followed by Jack and Rushington;
for the ship was now approaching the capes of Virginia.