Once fairly out of the breakers the fishermen--at great risk to their
little craft--opened the companion leading down into the _Seamew's_ tiny
after-cabin, and the poor souls from the wreck were conveyed below, out
of the reach of the bitter blast and the incessant showers of icy spray.
Bob and two or three others of the smack's crew also went below and
busied themselves in lighting a fire, routing out such blankets and
wraps of various kinds as happened to be on board, and in other ways
doing what they could to ameliorate the deplorable condition of their
guests. Fortunately the wind, dead against them on the way out, was
fair for the homeward run, and the _Seamew_ rushed through the water at
a rate which caused "Dicky" Bird to exclaim--
"Blest if the little huzzy don't seem to know as they poor innercent
babbies' lives depends on their gettin' into mother Salmon's hands and
atween her hot blankets within the next hour! Just see how she's
smoking through it."
Very soon the "Middle" lightship was reached, and as the smack swept
past old Bill shouted to the light-keepers the joyful news of the
rescue. A few minutes afterwards three rockets were sent up at short
intervals from the smack, as an intimation to "mother" Salmon that her
good services were required; and in due time the gallant little smack
found her way back to her moorings in the creek.
The anchor was scarcely let go when three or four boats dashed
alongside, and "Well, Bill, old man, what luck?" was the general
question.
"Five-and-twenty, thank God, men, women, and children," responded old
Bill. "Did ye catch sight of our rockets, boys!"
"Ay, ay; never fear. And `mother' ashore there, she's never turned-in
at all this blessed night. Said as she was _sure_ you'd bring somebody
in; and a rare rousing fire she's got roaring up the chimbley, and
blankets, no end; all the beds made up and warmed, and everything ready,
down to a rattlin' good hot supper; so let's have these poor souls up on
deck (you've got 'em below, I s'pose), and get 'em ashore; they must be
pretty nigh froze to death, I should think."
At Bill's cheery summons the survivors from the wreck staggered to the
smack's deck--their cramped and frozen limbs scarcely able to sustain
them--and the bewildered glances which they cast round them at the
scarcely ruffled waters of the creek glancing in the clear frosty
moonlight, with the fishing smacks and other small craft riding cosily
at anchor on either side, the straggling village of Brightlingsea within
a stone's throw--a tiny light still twinkling here and there in the
cottage windows, and a perfect blaze of ruddy light streaming from the
windows of the "Anchor," and flooding the road with its cheerful
radiance--the bewildered glances with which they regarded this scene, I
say, showed that even now they were scarcely able to realise the fact of
their deliverance.
But they were not left very long in doubt about it. As they emerged
with slow and painful steps from the smack's tiny companion, strong arms
seized them, all enwrapped in blankets as they were, and quickly but
tenderly passed them over the side into the small boats which had come
off from the shore for them. Then, as each boat received its
complement, "Shove off" was the word; the bending oars churned the water
into miniature whirlpools, and with a dozen powerful strokes the boat
was sent half her length high and dry upon the shore. Then strong arms
once more raised the sufferers, and quickly bore them within the wide-
open portal of the hospitable "Anchor," where "mother" Salmon waited to
receive them.
"Eh, goodness sakes alive!" she exclaimed, as the first man appeared
within the flood of light which streamed from the "Anchor" windows.
"You, Sam; you don't mean to say as there's women amongst 'em."
"Ah! that there is, mother," panted Sam, "and children--poor little
helpless babbies, some on 'em, too."
The quick warm tears of womanly sympathy instantly flashed into the
worthy woman's eyes; but she was not one prone to much indulgence in
sentiment, particularly at a time like the present; so instead of
lifting up her hands and giving expression to her pity in words, she
faced sharply round upon the maids who were crowding forward, with the
curiosity of their sex, to catch a first glimpse of the strangers, and
exclaimed--
"Now then, you idle huzzies, what d'ye mean by blocking up the passage
so that a body can get neither in nor out? D'ye want these poor souls
to be _quite_ froze to death before you lets 'em in? You, Em'ly, be off
to Number 4 and run the warmin' pan through the bed, and give the fire a
good stir. Emma, do wake up, child, and take a couple of buckets of hot
water up to Number 4, and put 'em in the bath. Run, Mary Jane, for your
life, and see if the fire in Number 7 is burning properly; and you,
Susan, be off and turn down all the beds."
The maids rushed off to their several duties like startled deer, while
the mistress turned to Sam and directed him to convey his burden to
Number 4, herself leading the way.
A number of women, the mothers and wives of the fishermen, had gathered
at the "Anchor" as soon as it was known that the smack had gone out to a
wreck, in order that they might be at hand to render any assistance
which might be required. They were all collected in the bar-parlour;
and two of them now rose, in obedience to "mother" Salmon's summons, and
following her upstairs, took over from Sam their patient; and, shutting
the door, lost not a moment in applying such restoratives and adopting
such measures as their experience taught them would be most likely to
prove beneficial.
The rest of the survivors speedily followed; the women and children
being promptly conveyed to the rooms already prepared for them; but the
men, for the most part, proved to be very little the worse for their
exposure, seeming to need for their restoration a good hot supper more
than anything else; and this contingency also having by "mother"
Salmon's experience and foresight been provided for, the rescued and
their rescuers were soon seated together at the same table busily
engaged in the endeavour to restore their exhausted energies.
One man only of the entire party seemed unable to do justice to the meal
spread before him, and this was the master of the wrecked ship. He
seated himself indeed at the table, and made an effort to eat and drink,
but his thoughts were evidently elsewhere. He could not settle
comfortably down to his meal, but kept gliding softly out of the room,
to glide as softly back again after an absence of a few minutes, when he
would abstractedly swallow a mouthful or two, and then glide out once
more. At length, after a somewhat longer absence than before, he
returned to the room in which the meal was being discussed, the look of
care and anxiety on his face replaced by an expression of almost
overwhelming joy, and, walking up to Bob, somewhat astonished that
individual by exclaiming--
"Young man, let me without further delay tender you and your brave
comrades my most hearty thanks for the rescue of my passengers, my crew,
and myself from a situation of deadly peril, a rescue which was only
effected at very great hazard to yourselves, and which was successfully
accomplished mainly--I am sure your comrades will join me in saying--
through _your_ indomitable courage and perseverance. The debt which I
owe you is one that it will be quite impossible for me ever to repay; I
can merely acknowledge it and testify to the overwhelming nature of my
obligation, for to your gallant behaviour, under God, I owe not only the
deliverance of twenty-five human lives from a watery grave, but also the
safety of my wife and only child--all, in fact, that I have left to me
to make life worth living. As I have said, it will be quite impossible
for me ever to cancel so heavy a debt; but what I _can_ do I _will_.
Your conduct shall be so represented in the proper quarter as to secure
for you all the honour which such noble service demands; and, for the
rest, I hope you will always remember that Captain Staunton--that is my
name--will deem no service that you may require of him too great to be
promptly rendered. And what I say to you especially, I say also to all
your gallant comrades, who will, I hope, accept the grateful thanks
which I now tender to them."
Poor Bob blushed like a girl at these warm outspoken praises, and
stammered some deprecatory remarks, which, however, were drowned by the
more vigorous disclaimers of the rest of the fishermen and their
somewhat noisy applause of the shipwrecked captain's manly speech; in
the midst of which commotion "mother" Salmon entered to enjoin strict
silence and to announce the gratifying intelligence that all the women
and children were doing well, including the skipper's little daughter,
the apparently lifeless body of whom Bob had recovered when first he
boarded the wreck. A low murmur of satisfaction greeted this
announcement, and then all hands fell to once more upon their supper,
which was soon afterwards concluded, when old Bill and his mates,
shaking hands heartily all round, retired to seek the rest which they
had so well-earned, while the shipwrecked men were disposed of as well
as circumstances would allow in the few remaining unappropriated bed-
rooms of the hospitable "Anchor."
By noon next day the shipwrecked party had all so far recovered that
they were able to set out on the journey to their several homes.
Captain Staunton sought out old Bill and arranged with him respecting
the salvage of the wrecked ship's cargo, after which he handed the
veteran fisherman, as remuneration for services already rendered, a
draft upon the owners of the _Diadem_, which more than satisfied the
smack's crew for all their perils and exertions of the previous night.
He then left for London to perform the unpleasant duty of reporting to
his owners the loss of their ship, mentioning, before he left, the
probability of his speedy return to personally superintend the salvage
operations. In bidding adieu to Bob, who happened to be present while
the final arrangements with old Bill were being made, Captain Staunton
remarked to him--
"I have been thinking a great deal about you, my lad. You are a fine
gallant young fellow, and it seems to me it would be a very great pity
for you to waste your life in pursuit of the arduous and unprofitable
occupation of fishing. What say you? Would you like to take to the sea
as a profession? If so, let me know. I owe you a very heavy debt, as I
have already said, and nothing would afford me greater pleasure than to
repay you, as far as possible, by personally undertaking your training,
and afterwards using what little interest I possess to advance you in
your career. Think the matter over, and consult with your father upon
it"--he was not then aware of poor Bob's peculiar position--"and let me
know your decision when I return. Now, once more, good-bye for the
present."
The weather having moderated by the next day, the _Seamew's_ crew
commenced salvage operations at the wreck, and for more than a week all
hands were so busy, early and late, that Bob had literally no time to
think about, much less to consult with old Bill respecting, Captain
Staunton's proposal.
On the third day the chief mate of the _Diadem_ appeared at
Brightlingsea, having been sent down by the owners to superintend the
work at the wreck. He announced that he had been sent instead of
Captain Staunton, in consequence of the appointment of the latter by his
owners to the command of a fine new ship then loading in the London
Docks for Australia. It appeared that Captain Staunton stood so high in
the estimation of his employers, and possessed such a thoroughly-
established reputation for skill and sobriety that, notwithstanding his
recent misfortune, there had been no hesitation about employing him
again. A few days later a letter came from the captain himself to Bob
confirming this intelligence, and stating that he had then a vacancy for
his young friend if he chose to fill it.
Bob, however, as has already been remarked, was at the time too busy to
give the matter proper consideration, so he wrote back saying as much,
and hinting that perhaps on the return of the ship to England he might
be glad to have a repetition of the offer.
To this letter a reply soon came, announcing the immediate departure of
the ship, and containing a specific offer to receive Bob on board in the
capacity of apprentice on her next voyage.
The idea of taking to the sea as a profession was so thoroughly novel to
Bob that he had at first some little difficulty in realising all that it
meant. Hitherto he had had no other intention or ambition than to
potter about in a fishing smack with old Bill, living a hard life,
earning a precarious subsistence, and possibly, if exceptionally
fortunate, at some period in the far-distant future, attaining to the
ownership of a smack himself. But a month or two later on, when all had
been saved that it was possible to save from the wreck, and when nothing
remained of the once fine ship but a few shattered timbers embedded in
the sand, and showing at low water like the fragment of a skeleton of
some leviathan; when Bob found time to fully discuss the matter with old
Bill Maskell and his mates, these worthies painted the advantages of a
regular seaman's life over those of the mere fisherman in such glowing
colours, and dwelt so enthusiastically upon the prospects which would
surely open out before our hero under the patronage of a man like
Captain Staunton, that Bob soon made up his mind to accept the captain's
offer and join him on his return to England.
Having once come to this decision the lad was all impatience for the
time to arrive when he might embark upon his career. As it is with most
lads, so it was with him, the prospect of a complete change in his mode
of life was full of pleasurable excitement; and perhaps it was only
natural that, now he had decided to forsake it, the monotonous humdrum
fisher's life became almost unbearably irksome to him. Old Bill Maskell
was not slow to observe this, and with the unselfishness which was so
eminently characteristic of him, though he loved the lad as his own
soul, he decided to shorten for him as far as possible the weary time of
waiting, and send him away at once.
Accordingly, on the first opportunity that presented itself, he remarked
to Bob--
"I say, boy, I've been turnin' matters over in my mind a bit, and it
seems to me as a v'yage or two in a coaster 'd do you a power o' good
afore you ships aboard a `South-Spainer.' You're as handy a lad as a
man need wish to be shipmates with, aboard a fore-and-aft-rigged craft;
but you ought to know some'at about square-rigged vessels too afore you
sails foreign. Now, what d'ye say to a trip or two in a collier brig,
just to larn the ropes like, eh?"
Note: "South-Spainer"--A term frequently employed by seamen to designate
a foreign-going ship, especially one sailing to southern waters.--H.C.
Life on board a collier is not, as a rule, a condition of unalloyed
felicity; but Bob was happily, or unhappily, ignorant of this; the
suggestion conveyed to his mind only the idea of _change_, and his face
lighted joyfully up at his benefactor's proposition, to which he at once
eagerly assented.
Bob's slender wardrobe was accordingly at once overhauled and put into a
condition of thorough repair; Bill, meantime, employing himself
laboriously in an effort to ascertain, through the medium of a
voluminous correspondence, the whereabouts of an old friend of his--last
heard of by the said Bill as in command of a collier brig--with a view
to the securing for Bob a berth as "ordinary seaman" under a "skipper"
of whom Bill knew something, and who could be trusted to treat the lad
well.
Old Bill's labours were at length rewarded with success, "Captain"--as
he loved to be styled--Turnbull's address in London being definitely
ascertained, together with the gratifying intelligence that he still
retained the command of the _Betsy Jane_.
Matters having progressed thus far satisfactorily, old Bill's next
business was to write to "Captain" Turnbull, asking him if he could
receive Bob on board; and in about a month's time a favourable answer
was received, naming a day upon which Bob was to run up to London and
sign articles.
Bob's departure from Brightlingsea was regarded by his numerous friends
in the village quite in the light of an event; and when the morning
came, and with it the market-cart which was to convey him and his
belongings, together with old Bill, to Colchester, where they were to
take train to London, nearly all the fishermen in the place, to say
nothing of their wives and little ones, turned out to say farewell.
The journey was accomplished in safety and without adventure; and
shortly after noon Bill and Bob found themselves threading their way
through the narrow crowded streets to the "captain's" address, somewhere
in the neighbourhood of Wapping.
On reaching the house the gallant skipper was found to be at home, in
the act of partaking, together with his wife and family, of the mid-day
meal, which on that occasion happened to be composed of "pickled pork
and taturs." Old Bill and Bob were gruffly but cordially invited to
join the family circle, which they did; Bob making a thoroughly hearty
meal, quite unmoved by the coquettish endeavours of Miss Turnbull, a
stout, good-tempered, but not particularly beautiful damsel of some
seventeen summers, to attract the attention and excite the admiration of
"pa's handsome new sailor."
"Captain" Turnbull proved to be a very stout but not very tall man, with
a somewhat vacant expression of feature, and a singular habit of looking
fixedly and in apparent amazement for a full minute at anyone who
happened to address him. These, with a slow ponderous movement of body,
a fixed belief in his own infallibility, and an equally firm belief in
the unsurpassed perfections of the _Betsy Jane_, were his chief
characteristics; and as he is destined to figure for a very brief period
only in the pages of the present history, we need not analyse him any
further.
After dinner had been duly discussed, together with a glass of grog--so
far at least as the "captain," his wife, and old Bill were concerned--
our two friends were invited by the proud commander to pay a visit of
inspection to the _Betsy Jane_. That venerable craft proved to be lying
in the stream, the outside vessel of a number of similar craft moored in
a tier, head and stern, to great slimy buoys, laid down as permanent
moorings in the river. A wherry was engaged by the skipper, for which
old Bill paid when the time of settlement arrived, the "captain" being
apparently unconscious of the fact that payment was necessary, and the
three proceeded on board. The brig turned out to be about as bad a
specimen of her class as could well be met with--old, rotten, leaky, and
dirty beyond all power of description. Nevertheless her skipper waxed
so astonishingly eloquent when he began to speak her praises, that the
idea never seemed to occur to either Bill or Bob that to venture to sea
in her would be simply tempting Providence, and it was consequently soon
arranged that our hero was to sign articles, nominally as an ordinary
seaman, but, in consideration of his ignorance of square-rigged craft,
to receive only the pay of a boy.
This point being settled the party returned to the shore, old Bill and
Bob going for a saunter through some of the principal streets, to enjoy
the cheap but rare luxury, to simple country people like themselves, of
a look into the shop windows, with the understanding that they were to
accept the hospitality of the Turnbull mansion until the time for
sailing should arrive on the morrow.
Bob wished very much to visit one of the theatres that evening--a
theatre being a place of entertainment which up to that time he had
never had an opportunity of entering; but old Bill, anxious to
cultivate, on Bob's behalf, the goodwill of the _Betsy Jane's_
commander, thought it would be wiser to spend the evening with that
worthy. This arrangement was accordingly carried out, the "best
parlour" being thrown open by Mrs Turnbull for the occasion. Miss
Turnbull and Miss Jemima Turnbull contributed in turn their share toward
the evening's entertainment by singing "Hearts of Oak," "The Bay of
Biscay," "Then farewell my trim-built wherry," and other songs of a
similar character, to a somewhat uncertain accompaniment upon a
discordant jangling old piano--the chief merit of which was that a large
proportion of its notes were dumb. Their gallant father meanwhile
sipped his grog and puffed away at his "church-warden" in a high-backed
uncomfortable-looking chair in a corner near the fire, utterly sunk,
apparently, in a fit of the most profound abstraction, from which he
would occasionally start without the slightest warning, and in a most
alarming manner, to bellow out--generally at the wrong time and to the
wrong tune--something which his guests were expected to regard as a
chorus. The chorus ended he would again sink, like a stone, as abruptly
back into his inner consciousness as he had emerged from it. So passed
the evening, without the slightest pretence at conversation, though both
Bill and Bob made several determined efforts to start a topic; and so,
as music, even of the kind performed by the Misses Turnbull, palls after
a time, about eleven p.m. old Bill hinted at fatigue from the unusual
exertions of the day, proposed retirement, and, with Bob, was shown to
the room wherein was located the "shakedown" offered them by the
hospitable skipper. The "shakedown" proved to be in reality two fair-
sized beds, which would have been very comfortable had they been much
cleaner than they were, and our two friends enjoyed a very fair night's
rest.
Bob duly signed articles on the following morning, and then, in company
with his shipmates, proceeded on board the _Betsy Jane_. Captain
Turnbull put in an appearance about an hour afterwards, when the order
was given to unmoor ship, and the brig began to drop down the river with
the tide. Toward evening a fine fair wind sprang up, and the _Betsy
Jane_, being only in ballast, then began to travel at a rate which threw
her commander into an indescribable state of ecstasy. The voyage was
accomplished without the occurrence of any incident worth recording, and
in something like a week from the date of sailing from London, Bob found
himself at Shields, with the brig under a coal-drop loading again for
the Thames.
Some half a dozen similarly uneventful voyages to the Tyne and back to
London were made by Bob in the _Betsy Jane_. The life of a seaman on
board a collier is usually of a very monotonous character, without a
single attractive feature in it--unless, maybe, that it admits of
frequent short sojourns at home--and Bob's period of service under
Captain Turnbull might have been dismissed with the mere mention of the
circumstance, but for the incident which terminated that service.
It occurred on the sixth voyage which Bob had made in the _Betsy Jane_.
The brig had sailed from the Tyne, loaded with coals for London as
usual, with a westerly wind, which, however, shortly afterwards backed
to S.S.W., with a rapidly falling barometer. The appearance of the
weather grew very threatening, which, coupled with the facts that the
craft was old, weak, and a notoriously poor sailer with the wind
anywhere but on her quarter, seemed to suggest, as the most prudent
course under the circumstances, a return to the port they had just left.
The mate, after many uneasy glances to windward, turned to his superior
officer, who was sitting by the companion placidly smoking, and proposed
this.
The skipper slowly withdrew his pipe from his mouth, and, after
regarding his mate for some moments, as though that individual were a
perfect stranger who had suddenly and unaccountably made his appearance
on board, ejaculated--
"Why?"
"Well, I'm afeard we're goin' to have a very dirty night on it," was the
reply.
"Umph!" was the captain's only commentary, after which he resumed his
pipe, and seemed inclined to doze.
Meanwhile the wind, which had hitherto been of the strength of a fair
working breeze, rapidly increased in force, with occasional sharp
squalls preceded by heavy showers of rain, while the threatening aspect
of the weather grew _every_ moment more unmistakable. The brig was
under topgallant-sails, tearing and thrashing through the short choppy
sea in a way which sent the spray flying continuously in dense clouds in
over her bluff bows, until her decks were mid-leg deep in water, and her
stumpy topgallant-masts where whipping about aloft to such an extent
that they threatened momentarily to snap off short at the caps. It was
not considered etiquette on board the _Betsy Jane_ for the mate to issue
an order while the captain had the watch, as was the case on the present
occasion; but seeing a heavy squall approaching he now waived etiquette
for the nonce and shouted--
"Stand by your to'gallan' halliards! Let go and clew up! Haul down the
jib."
"Eh!" said the skipper, deliberately removing his pipe from his mouth,
and looking around him in the greatest apparent astonishment.
Down rushed the squall, howling and whistling through the rigging,
careening the brig until the water spouted up through her scuppers, and
causing the gear aloft to crack and surge ominously.
"Let fly the tops'l halliards, fore and main!" yelled the mate.
The men leapt to their posts, the ropes rattled through the blocks, the
yards slid down the top-masts until they rested on the caps, and with a
terrific thrashing and fluttering of canvas the brig rose to a more
upright position, saving her spars by a mere hair's-breadth.
Captain Turnbull rose slowly to his feet, and, advancing to where the
mate stood near the main-rigging, tapped that individual softly on the
shoulder with his pipe-stem.
The mate turned round.
Captain Turnbull looked fixedly at him for some moments as though he
thought he recognised him, but was not quite sure, and then observed--
"I say, are you the cap'n of this ship?"
"No, sir," replied the mate.
"Very well, then," retorted the skipper, "don't you do it agen." Then
to the crew, all of whom were by this time on deck, "Bowse down yer
reef-tackles and double-reef the taups'ls, then stow the mains'l."
"Don't you think we'd better run back to the Tyne, afore we drops too
far to leeward to fetch it?" inquired the mate.
The captain looked at him in his characteristic fashion for a full
minute; inquired, "Are _you_ the cap'n of this ship?"
And then, without waiting for a reply, replaced his pipe between his
lips, staggered back to his seat, and contemplatively resumed his
smoking.
The fact is that Captain Turnbull was actually pondering upon the
advisability of putting back when the mate unluckily suggested the
adoption of such a course. Dull and inert as was the skipper of the
_Betsy Jane_, he was by no means an unskilled seaman. The fact that he
had safely navigated the crazy old craft to and fro between the Thames
and the Tyne, in fair weather and foul, for so many years, was
sufficient evidence of this. He had duly marked the portentous aspect
of the weather, and was debating within himself the question whether he
should put back, or whether he should keep on and take his chance of
weathering the gale, as he had already weathered many others.
Unfortunately his mind was, like himself, rather heavy and slow in
action, and he had not nearly completed the process of "making it up"
when the mate offered his suggestion. _That_ settled the question at
once. The "captain" was as obstinate and unmanageable a man as ever
breathed, and it was only necessary for some one to suggest a course and
he would at once adopt a line of action in direct opposition to it.
Hence his resolve to remain at sea in the present instance.
Having finally committed himself to this course, however, he braced
himself together for the coming conflict with the elements, and when the
watch below was called at eight bells all hands were put to the task of
placing the ship under thoroughly snug canvas before the relieved watch
was permitted to go below. The brig was normally in so leaky a
condition that she regularly required pumping out every two hours when
under canvas, a task which in ordinary weather usually occupied some ten
minutes. If the weather was stormy it took somewhat longer to make the
pumps suck, and, accordingly, no one was very much surprised when, on
the watch going to the pumps just before eight bells, an honest quarter
of an hour was consumed in freeing the old craft from the water which
had drained in here and there during the last two hours. Their task at
length accomplished the men in the skipper's watch, of whom Bob was one,
lost no time in tumbling into their berths "all standing," where they
soon forgot their wet and miserable condition in profound sleep.
Captain Turnbull, contrary to his usual custom, at the conclusion of his
watch retired from the deck only to change his wet garments and envelop
himself in a suit of very old and very leaky oilskins, when he resumed
once more his favourite seat by the companion, stolidly resolved to
watch the gale out, let it last as long as it might.
Note: "All standing" in this case means without removing any of their
clothing.
A _gale_ in good truth it had by this time become; the wind howling
furiously through the brig's rigging, and threatening momentarily to
blow her old worn and patched canvas out of the bolt-ropes. The dull
leaden-coloured ragged clouds raced tumultuously athwart the moonlit
sky; now veiling the scene in deep and gloomy shadow as they swept
across the moon's disc, and anon opening out for an instant to flood the
brig, the sea, and themselves in the glory of the silver rays. The caps
of the waves, torn off by the wind, filled the air with a dense salt
rain, which every now and then gleamed up astern with all the magical
beauty of the lunar rainbow; but though the scene would doubtless have
ravished the soul of an artist by its weird splendour, it is probable
that such an individual would have wished for a more comfortable view-
point than the deck of the _Betsy Jane_. That craft was now rolling and
pitching heavily in the short choppy sea, smothering herself with spray
everywhere forward of the fore-mast, filling her decks with water, which
_swished_ and surged restlessly about and in over the men's boot-tops
with every motion of the vessel, and straining herself until the noise
of her creaking timbers and bulkheads rivalled the shriek of the gale.
At four bells the _Betsy Jane_ gave the watch just half an hour of
steady work to pump her out.
This task at length ended, the men, wet and tired, sought such partial
shelter as was afforded by the lee of the longboat where she stood over
the main hatch, the lee side of the galley, or peradventure the interior
of the same, and there enjoyed such forgetfulness of their discomfort as
could be obtained in a weazel-like surreptitious sleep--with one eye
open, on watch for the possible approach of the skipper or mate. All of
them, that is, except one, who called himself the look-out. This man,
well cased in oilskin, stationed himself at the bowsprit-end--which
being just beyond the reach of the spray from the bows, was possibly as
dry a place as there was throughout the ship, excepting, perhaps, her
cabin--and sitting astride the spar and wedging his back firmly in
between the two parts of the double fore-stay, found himself so
comfortably situated that in less than five minutes he was sound asleep.
Captain Turnbull, meanwhile, occupied his favourite seat near the
companion, and smoked contemplatively, while the mate staggered fore and
aft from the main-mast to the taffrail, on the weather side of the deck,
it being his watch.
Suddenly the mate stopped short in his walk, and the skipper ejaculated
"Umph!"
The attention of both had at the same moment been arrested by something
peculiar in the motion of the brig.
"Sound the pumps," observed the skipper, apparently addressing the moon,
which at that moment gleamed brightly forth from behind a heavy cloud.
The mate took the sounding-rod, and, first of all drying it and the line
carefully, dropped it down the pump-well. Hauling it up again, he took
it aft to the binnacle, the somewhat feeble light from which showed that
the entire rod and a portion of the line was wet.
"More'n three feet water in th' hold!" exclaimed the mate.
"Call the hands," remarked Captain Turnbull, directing his voice down
the companion as though he were speaking to some one in the cabin.
The crew soon mustered at the pumps, and manned them both, relieving
each other every ten minutes.
After three-quarters of an hour of vigorous pumping there was as little
sign of the pumps sucking as at the commencement.
They were then again sounded, with the result that the crew appeared to
have gained something like three inches upon the leak.
The men accordingly resumed pumping, in a half-hearted sort of way,
however, which seemed to say that they had no very great hope of freeing
the ship.
Another hour passed, and the pumps were again sounded.
"Three foot ten! The leak gains on us!" proclaimed the mate in a low
voice, as he and the skipper bent together over the rod at the binnacle-
lamp.
Shortly afterwards the wheel was relieved; the man who had been steering
taking at the pumps the place of the one who had relieved him.
A hurried consultation immediately took place amongst the men; and
presently one of them walked aft to where the skipper was seated, and
remarked--
"The chaps is sayin', skipper, as how they thinks the best thing we can
do is to `up stick' and run for the nearest port."
The skipper looked inquiringly at the man for so long a time that the
fellow grew quite disconcerted; after which he shook his head
hopelessly, as though he had been addressed in some strange and utterly
unintelligible language, and, withdrawing his pipe from his mouth,
pointed solemnly in the direction of the pumps.
The man took the hint and retired.
The mate, who had witnessed this curious interview, then passed over to
the lee side of the deck, and steadying himself by the companion, bent
down and said in a low voice to his superior--
"After all, cap'n, Tom's about right; the old barkie 'll go down under
our feet unless we can get her in somewheres pretty soon."
Captain Turnbull, with his hands resting on his knees, and his
extinguished pipe placed bowl downwards between his teeth, regarded his
mate with the blank astonishment we may imagine in one who believes he
at last actually sees a genuine ghost, and finally gasped in sepulchral
tones--
"Are you the cap'n of this ship?"
The mate knew that, after this, there was nothing more to be said, so he
walked forward to the pumps, and, by voice and example, strove to
animate the men to more earnest efforts.
Another hour passed. The pumps were again sounded; and now it became
evident that the leak was rapidly gaining. The general opinion of the
men was that the labouring of the brig in the short sea had strained her
so seriously as to open more or less all her seams, or that a butt had
started. They pumped away for another hour; and then, feeling pretty
well fagged out, and finding on trial that the leak gained upon them
with increased rapidity, they left the pumps, and began to clear away
the boats. The mate made a strong effort to persuade them to return to
their duty, but, being himself by that time convinced of the
impossibility of saving the ship, he was unsuccessful. Seeing this, he,
too, retired below, and hastily bundling together his own traps and
those of the skipper, brought them on deck and placed them in the stern-
sheets of the longboat. The men had by this time brought their bags and
chests on deck; and finding that the brig had meanwhile settled so deep
in the water that her deck was awash, they lost no time in getting their
belongings, as well as a bag or two of bread and a couple of breakers of
water, into the boat. The _Betsy Jane_ was then hove-to; and as she was
rolling far too heavily to render it possible to hoist the boat out, the
men proceeded to knock the brig's bulwarks away on the lee side, with
the intention of launching her off the deck. This task they at last
accomplished, aided materially therein by the sea, which by this time
was washing heavily across the deck. The crew then passed into her one
by one--Bob among the rest--and made their final preparations for
leaving the devoted brig.
Seeing that all was ready the mate then went up to the skipper, who
still maintained his position on his favourite seat, and said--
"Come, skipper, we're only waitin' for you, and by all appearances we
mustn't wait very long neither."
Captain Turnbull raised his head like one awakened from a deep sleep,
glanced vacantly round the deserted decks, pulled strongly two or three
times at his long-extinguished pipe, and then two tears welled slowly up
into his eyes, and, overflowing the lids, rolled one down either cheek.
Then he rose quietly to his feet and, with possibly the only approach to
dignity which his actions had ever assumed, pointed to the boat and
said--
"_I'm_ cap'n of this ship. You go fust." The mate needed no second
bidding. He sprang to the ship's side and stepped thence into the boat,
taking his place at the tiller. Captain Turnbull, with his usual
deliberation, followed.
He was no sooner in the boat than the anxious crew shoved off, and,
bending to their oars, rowed as rapidly as possible away from their
dangerous proximity to the sinking brig.
The short summer night was past, day had long since broken; and though
the gale still blew strongly, the clouds had dispersed, and away to the
eastward the sky was ablaze with the opal and delicate rose tints which
immediately precede the reappearance of the sun. A few minutes later
long arrowy shafts of light shot upward into the clear blue sky, and
then a broad golden disc rose slowly above the wave-crests and tipped
them with liquid fire. The refulgent beams flashed upon the labouring
hull and grimy canvas of the brig, as she lay wallowing in the trough of
the sea a quarter of a mile away, transmuting her spars and rigging into
bars and threads of purest gleaming gold, and changing her for the
moment into an object of dream-like beauty. The men with one accord
ceased rowing to gaze upon their late home as she now glittered before
their eyes in such unfamiliar aspect; and, as they did so, her bows rose
high into the air, dripping with liquid gold, then sank down again
slowly--slowly--lower and lower still, until, with a long graceful
sliding movement, she plunged finally beneath the wave.
"There goes the old hooker to Davy Jones' locker, sparklin' like a
di'mond--God bless her! Good-bye, old lass--good-bye!" shouted the men;
and then, as she vanished from their sight, they gave three hearty
cheers to her memory.
At the same time Captain Turnbull rose in the stern-sheets of the boat,
and facing round in the direction of the sinking brig, solemnly lifted
from his head the old fur cap which crowned his somewhat scanty locks.
He saw that her last moment was at hand, and his lips quivered
convulsively for an instant; then in accents of powerful emotion he
burst forth into the following oration:--
"`Then fare thee well, my old _Betty Jane_,
Farewell for ever and a day;
I'm bound down the river in an old steamboat,
So pull and haul, oh! pull and haul away.'
"Good-bye, old ship! A handsomer craft, a purtier sea-boat, or a
smarter wessel under canvas--whether upon a taut bowline or goin' free--
never cleared out o' the port of London. For a matter of nigh upon
forty year you've carried me, man and boy, back'ards and for'ards in
safety and comfort over these here seas; and now, like a jade, you goes
and founders, a desartin' of me in my old age. Arter a lifetime spent
upon the heavin' buzzum of the stormy ocean--`where the winds do blow,
do blow'--you're bound to-day to y'ur last moorin's in old Davy's
locker. Well, then, good-bye, _Betsy Jane_, my beauty; dear you are to
me as the child of a man's age; may y'ur old timbers find a soft and
easy restin' place in their last berth? And if it warn't for the old
'oman and the lasses ashore there, I'd as lief go down with thee as be
where I am."
Then, as the brig disappeared, he replaced the fur cap upon his head,
brushed his knotty hand impatiently across his eyes, flung his pipe
bitterly into the sea, and sadly resumed his seat. A minute afterwards
he looked intently skyward and exclaimed, "Give way, boys, and keep her
dead afore it! _I'm_ cap'n of this boat."
The men, awe-stricken by the extraordinary display of deep feeling and
quaint rugged eloquence which had just been wrung from their hitherto
phlegmatic and taciturn skipper, stretched to their oars in dead
silence, mechanically keeping the boat stern on to the sea, and so
regulating her speed as to avoid the mischance of being pooped or
overrun by the pursuing surges.
About mid-day--by which time the gale had broken--they sighted a
schooner bound for the Thames, the master of which received them and
their traps on board. Four days afterwards they landed in London; and
upon receiving their wages up to the day of the _Betsy Jane's_ loss,
dispersed to their several homes.