FRANK GETS HIS OPPORTUNITY
I hope I have made it clear to my readers that Frank, although now
barely seventeen, was a fine specimen of a young man both in physique
and in morale or mind. For sheer love of his profession he had learned
all that there was to learn about it as far as his opportunities went,
and above all he had acquired the habit of self-reliance, which is a
mighty factor in advancement at sea. For no matter how clever the man
is in theory, if, when the time comes to act, he is ever looking round
for some one else to rely upon, has a certain and deep-rooted distrust
of himself, that man is debarred from obtaining an early command, or
if he does obtain it, he generally loses it painfully soon, because he
cannot trust himself.
Of course practice is essential to prove theory, however certain we
may be of the theory, and Frank as yet had only been able to prove his
learning in minor things, such as his boat-handling, his steering, his
watching the trimming of the sails, and comparing his working of the
ship’s position with the skipper’s when he and Johnson had been allowed
to take and work up observations of the sun, moon, and stars. But in
spite of his limitations he was far above the average of his years; he
already had that steadfast outlook upon the world of his profession,
that fearless grasp of its details that go to make up the complete
seaman even in these so-called degenerate days, when conditions have
so changed that we may, and do, find men of the highest education and
refinement in charge of our merchant ships, and especially steamships.
However, I must not now spend more space in describing Frank’s mental
and physical condition, as I need to get on with the consequences of
their high development. The _Sealark_ rolled comfortably along up the
pleasant stretches of the south-east Trades, with all hands busily
engaged in the commonplace duties of painters and house-decorators.
It was an easy, happy time. Captain Jenkins was far too genuine a
man, and also far too just, to keep his men out of their honest watch
and watch in the senseless Yankee custom. He hated the sight of those
dazzlingly white bulwarks, shining black topsides, and glistening
spars, knowing how much human agony it represented of absolutely
useless and grotesque brutality practised by armed, well-fed officers,
upon cowed, bruised, and demoralised men, such as was the rule in the
“smart Yankee fliers.” So all hands were happy, cleansed and painted
the white work, scraped and varnished the bright work, and did all
those minor things that go to make a ship look beautiful, with a
meticulous care and pride in her appearance that was quite absurd when
you come to look at it, since probably not one of those poor sailors
would be in her again either next voyage or afterwards.
She glided by St. Helena with its many memories; by Ascension, that
naval rock which is borne upon the books of the Admiralty as if it were
a man-of-war; on, on, gently, certainly, and almost unknowingly across
the line until, in 7° N., the faithful south-east wind faltered at last
and left them to wallow in calms for a day or two, watching the dank
sea-grass on her bottom spread like a dead woman’s hair as she rolled
listlessly on the oily swell. There was little really left to do by
this time in the decoration and smartening of the ship internally--that
is to say, on deck and aloft, but outside she looked rusty and unkempt,
and Mr. Cope cast longing eyes upon his pots of black paint, imagining
how splendid a thing it would be if he could only complete his work by
spreading them upon her outside. For although it may sound trivial to
the ordinary reader, the appearance of his ship to others is a very
serious, and, in fact, an all-important matter in the eyes of a good
seaman. And when you come to consider it, rightly so, for it reveals
the character of those who have had charge of her.
But before anything could be done in the matter of external painting,
the pleasant north-easterly breeze, the first breath of the Trades,
came down upon them, freshened, and in three or four hours from their
first feeling it they were bowling merrily along on the starboard tack
“full and bye” for New York. The easy home stretch of their voyage,
unless indeed they met with abnormal weather in the Gulf Stream, had
begun. Frank was already looking forward with pleasurable anticipation
to his visit to America’s greatest city, the second greatest in the
world, and half wondering to himself how it was that he did not feel
annoyance at the thought that he was not bound home direct, as Johnson
did.
The latter young man was dragged on by the sheer force of Frank’s
example, but, as he often said, he had no real love for the profession,
and if a chance offered as soon as he was out of his time, he would be
content with a very subordinate position ashore rather than ever go
to sea as a sailor again. He, like so many others, had discovered too
late that he had made a leap in the dark, had mistaken his vocation,
could take no pride in his calling despite its many disabilities,
difficulties, and dangers, and consequently would never make a _good_
sailor, and would only swell the ranks of the passable and disappointed
ones.
The days now sped rapidly on as the ship, with every stitch set and
drawing, made splendid progress across the Trades, with the wind
steadily strengthening as she made northing. But she was barely clear
of the tropics when the weight of the wind increased so much that
they were fain to reduce sail, much to Captain Jenkins’ disgust, the
wind being nearly due east, and consequently allowing him to make
his course good going free. He hung on as long as he could, but was
gradually compelled to shorten down until the _Sealark_ was tumbling
about in a most tremendous sea, hove to under a patch of tarpaulin in
the mizzen rigging; and Frank, vivid as were his recollections of the
cyclone, felt as if he had never till now realised the deep, steadfast
malignity of wind at the height of its power. For it was not squally,
its force was persistent, massive, terrible, having in its roar a note
of doom.
But yet there was an amelioration of the conditions as compared with
the lurid horrors of the cyclone. It was light, and often the sky
was quite clear until, with a speed that was appalling to witness,
a mass of cumulous cloud would hurtle across the ether, torn into a
thousand fantastic shapes in its passage. And rage the gale never
so furiously, rise the sea never so high, the tiny pretty petrels,
Mother Carey’s chickens, still flitted unconcernedly over the mighty
corrugations of the deep, even nestling to all appearance in the most
perfect confidence under the over-curling head of some awful billow as
if it were a shelter from the fury of the storm. And though I suppose
he should by this time have lost such a boyish illusion (alas that we
should ever lose them), he could not help feeling a renewed confidence
in the successful issue of the great fight between ship and sea on
witnessing the easeful security manifested by those wee birds.
Three days that gale blew, then died away to a gentle series of “cat’s
paws,” which failed to steady the ship in the still gigantic upheavals
of the so lately tormented deep. One other vessel was in company with
them some five miles distant, and as she was behaving strangely to a
seaman’s eye, backing and filling and manifesting all the motions of
an unmanageable vessel, Captain Jenkins used all his endeavours to get
nearer to her. But owing to the lightness and variableness of the wind
he was only able to approach sufficiently close by nightfall to make
sure that from some cause or another she was really at the mercy of
wind and wave. Her masts were intact, and so were the yards, but from
them there dangled long streamers as of sails blown away and running
gear flying adrift. She was a barque of apparently the same size as
themselves, and setting fairly deep in the water, in great contrast to
the _Sealark_, which being loaded with hemp was in excellent trim, not
down to her marks by a long way.
A very careful watch was kept on her all night, during which the
weather was almost perfectly calm. But now and then a light air
would come along, which was utilised immediately to get nearer to
this mysterious ship, and with such good effect that about two hours
before daylight they were almost within hailing distance of her. She
showed no sign of life in response to repeated shoutings through a
speaking-trumpet, nor was there a light visible anywhere on board of
her. Intense curiosity was manifested by all hands in the mystery, so
much so that the watch going below at 4 A.M. could not sleep, but sat
anxiously awaiting the dawn.
This, however, must not be put down to any philanthropic desire to save
life or to assist distressed fellow-seamen, ready as they all would
have been to do their utmost in such a cause, but because every man on
board was imbued with the idea that she was a derelict, or an abandoned
vessel, still manageable and likely to afford her salvors a rich
reward. Such golden prizes are, of course, far more usually the prey of
the steamboat man, for obvious reasons, but still the sailing-ship men
do occasionally get a look in, and the present encounter promised well
at any rate.
At last the glorious dawn flushed the whole sky with rosy light, the
great sun leaped into the firmament, and the lonely barque was fully
revealed in all her pathos of abandonment only about five hundred yards
away. There is no inanimate object in the world that seems to demand
our sympathy so imperatively as a deserted ship at sea. She is so
helpless, all her powers are so utterly unavailable, she is a gigantic,
unburied corpse, terrible, obstructive, dangerous, yet full of
deprecation, as if she would implore the crowning mercy of destruction
before she has become potent for harm to her still man-energised
sisters passing by. And this ship was of the saddest class, for she had
obviously been abandoned so short a time ago, most probably in the very
last gale; everything about her except the shreds of her destroyed,
wind-riven sails dangled from yards and stays, and entangled in the
rigging seemed to ask piteously why she had thus been left to encounter
the ocean unaided, unguided, alone.
No sooner had she become fully visible in all her pathetic helplessness
than the captain gave orders to get the boat out, an order which
was obeyed with the utmost alacrity, so much so that one might have
imagined it to be a matter of life and death. As soon as she was in the
water, the skipper and four hands went off to the derelict, passing
under her stern and noting her name, the _Woden_ of Stavanger. She
was manifestly an English-built vessel of the best type, composite,
that is, with an iron frame and hardwood skin, with wonderfully
good-looking rigging, not at all neglected-looking; indeed she appeared
to have only recently changed hands, as the word “London” was plainly
visible under Stavanger, and she had not yet shipped a windmill pump,
the distinguishing mark of all Norwegian and Swedish sailing vessels.
[Illustration: THE DERELICT.]
The skipper climbed briskly on board by the aid of one of the loose
ends which trailed over the side, and looking about him was struck with
the small amount of damage which appeared to have been done to her.
True, several panels of the house on deck were smashed in, the front of
the full poop was also damaged, and she looked as if her decks had been
swept continuously by heavy seas for a long time, but she was very far
from presenting the appearance of the usual derelict ship. Finally, and
presenting the most puzzling problem of all, her three boats, obviously
all she carried, were in their places on the skids, the biggest of them
having her bottom stove completely in as if by a gigantic sea.
Below, or in the cabin, there were the usual poor signs of occupation
common to Scandinavian ships, which are never given to luxury in any
form, and from the presence of food in a still eatable condition, it
was certain that she had not been abandoned for a longer period than
two or three days. The men’s quarters confirmed the idea, there was
nothing alive on board except the rats, although how or why the crew
had gone was a profound mystery. Finding the sounding-rod, the skipper
tried the well. There was a depth of four feet of water in her, which
afforded no reason why she should have been left.
After a few moments of intense thought, Captain Jenkins made up his
mind what to do, and with an air of relief went straight to the
captain’s cabin, noted that the chronometer, an eight-day one, was
still going, and finding the ship’s papers, saw that she was from
Tonala, Mexico, bound to London with a cargo of mahogany. A shade of
wonder crossed his mind as to why she had none of it on deck, as is
usual, but that was so trifling a matter as compared with the main
problem that he did no more than note it. Then, jumping into the boat,
he returned to the _Sealark_.
As soon as he reached the deck of his own ship he called his two
officers to him and said, “Now, here’s a prize worth making a big
effort to secure. I think we can, and we ought, to secure it, if we
have anything like decent luck. It’s not too late in the year to expect
middling fine weather, in spite of that tremendous snorter of a gale we
had the other day. I propose that you, Jacks, take charge of her with
your watch of white men, if they’ll go, that is, and make the best of
your way home with her to London. We’ll work our way under easy canvas
with the Lascars to New York. What do you think?”
Seeing that Mr. Cope remained silent with a somewhat discontented look
on his face, the second mate replied, “I’m ready and glad of the
chance, if you can spare me that youngster, Frank. I’ve watched him
carefully for a long time now, and I feel sure that he can be trusted
to keep a watch, and as for navigation, I’ve found that he’s a jolly
sight better at it than I am.”
“Ah,” murmured the skipper, “that wants thinking about. However, we’ll
call ’em all aft and see. Mr. Jacks, call all the white men aft, there
is a Lascar at the wheel.”
The order was given and obeyed with exceeding promptness, all the white
men striding up to the quarter-deck, and the four lads gazing wistfully
in the background.
“Now, men,” said the skipper quietly, “there’s a ship and cargo there
that’s worth, at the lowest estimate, £15,000. And if we can get her
safely to her port, which is London, since her own crew has entirely
disappeared, we’ll get two-thirds of her value as salvage, say £10,000,
which will mean more money than we could earn in several years of
hard work. It will be a big job and a hard job for you white chaps,
only six or seven of you altogether with Mr. Jacks here, to get her
to London, but its like has been done before, indeed harder jobs than
this. Anyhow, if you are willing to take this job on, I am willing to
risk getting our own ship to New York with Mr. Cope, the bo’sun, the
carpenter, and the Lascars. You can take the cook, too, if he’ll go.
What do you say?”
There was not the slightest ambiguity about their answer. In fact their
eagerness was almost pathetic to witness. For the average sailor in
ships of the _Sealark_ type welcomes almost anything as a relief to the
monotony of his life, a monotony that would not exist to a thoughtful,
observant man with books to read and facilities for reading them, but
does certainly press with iron ruthlessness upon most men of the sea
during long passages.
“All right,” responded the skipper cheerfully, “now go and get your
dunnage together as quick as you can, we don’t want to dawdle away this
fine-weather slant.”
The men rushed forward with the utmost alacrity to obey, while the
skipper called Frank to his side and said kindly, “Frank, my lad, would
you like to go with Mr. Jacks? He has said that he would rather have
you than any one else in the ship to be his relief. You’ll be able to
keep a watch, and it will be grand practice for you. But if you have
any scruples about going, only say so. Or if you think your people
would not like you to take the risk. Although, I am bound to say, that
I think there will be no more risk in her than there will be here.”
He paused a moment, and Frank, his eyes sparkling and his whole frame
quivering with delightful excitement, cried, “Oh, Captain Jenkins, I
feel it will be the chance of my life! I am _so_ glad to go, I can’t
tell you. I would have begged you to let me if you hadn’t said anything
about it, but I felt sure you would. I’m immensely thankful to you,
sir. Shall I run and pack up, sir?”
The skipper merely nodded, for his heart was full as he noted the eager
joy in the dear lad’s face, and saw how whole-hearted he was in the
matter. And a fervent hope filled him that nothing would happen to mar
or stop so promising a career.
The next couple of hours were tremendously busy ones, for two or three
trips had to be made between the ships before all was ready. It was
found that she was exceedingly poorly provisioned, but she had plenty
of water and spare sails; in fact she was fairly well equipped for any
moderate passage, except that her stores of all kinds were poor and
scanty. By dint of hard work, however, midday saw all the necessary
transhipments made, the chronometer had been compared, and two or
three sails, just sufficient to give her steerage-way to the light
south-westerly breeze which was just springing up, were bent and set.
Then the flag was found and hoisted, dipped three times, and the two
ships drew slowly away from each other, one for London and the other
for New York. By nightfall, the breeze having increased, they were hull
down apart.
And now we must leave the _Sealark_ to pursue her legitimate voyage
towards America with her largely reduced crew, and follow Frank’s
fortunes in the _Woden_. The first few hours on board were of furious
toil, for, fine though it was, that part of the ocean is proverbially
unstable in its weather, and they were liable at any hour to find a
gale beginning. So that they all worked their hardest to try and get
the running gear in its place and fit for service, and also, a far
heavier task, to get sufficient sail bent to take full advantage of
the present slant of wind. So hard did they work that when, amid much
astonishment, eight bells (midnight) was announced, all hands, though
feeling desperately weary, realised gratefully that as the result of
their toil the _Woden_ was once more fit and ready to be handled, and
that they might safely take a little rest.
So Mr. Jacks, having previously ordered the cook to prepare as good a
meal as possible, called his little crew together, numbering five, not
counting the man at the wheel and the cook, or seven all told. He then
divided them into two watches, taking himself two hands and the cook,
and appointing the other three men, two Scotchmen and a Finn, as the
starboard watch.
“And now, men,” he said, “Frank here is going to stand the watch,
and I want you to remember that although he is young he’s a clever
fellow, and fully capable of handling the ship, besides knowing all the
navigation necessary. So in spite of his youth I hope you’ll all do
your best for him and yourselves, and I feel sure we shall rub along
splendidly. The grub isn’t up to much, but we’ll all fare alike and do
as well as we can on it. Now you, Bill and Tom, of my watch, go and get
some grub as soon as you can, so as to let the watch below go to sleep.
I’ll go down and relieve August at the wheel.”
Then turning to Frank he said, “Tell the cook to bring something aft
for us as soon as he has given the chaps theirs. You don’t want to
waste any time in getting to your bunk. When you’re as old as I am
you’ll wonder how people can sleep as they do.”
When at 4 A.M. Frank heard Mr. Jacks’ gruff voice calling him to rise,
he sprang up as usual, but his brain was in a tangle of conflicting
recollections. But as he dragged on his clothes, one fact began to
separate itself from the rest--responsibility. And it was with a novel
sense of trepidation and a certain diffidence and distrust of his own
powers that he hurried on to the poop, and approaching the _captain_
said, “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Mr. Brown,” replied the skipper pleasantly, without the
slightest suspicion of sarcasm, and Frank felt a glow of satisfied
ambition pervade his whole frame. It did more, that simple little
salutation, to nerve him for his duty and to dispel his distrust than
any long address could have done. But the skipper went on to say,
“Now, Frank, don’t be afraid of yourself. I’m not afraid for you. I’ve
watched you close ever since our first unfortunate meeting, for a long
time trying to find fault with you, and you’ve made me more fond of
you than I’ve ever been with a shipmate before. Now I’m going below,
tired out, but quite satisfied to leave her to you. And I don’t want
you to call me unless you are absolutely obliged to. I can trust you
fully. Oh, you might give her a sluice down, easily you know, nothing
elaborate, and then if you have any time, see if you can find any
topgallant sails in the sail-locker. If you can, get ’em up ready for
bending. Course is E.N.E. and the weather’s steady. Good morning.” And
away he went below, leaving Frank in charge.
I am not going to attempt any elaborate analysis of Frank’s feelings
as he stood there, the autocrat of the quarter-deck. But certainly the
paramount sensation was one of perfectly legitimate pride, happy pride
in the result of honest endeavour allied to the eager hopefulness of
youth that it would be still better further on. And so the time flew
rapidly until the cook shouted “Coffee!” and that ever-welcome reviver
with its aromatic smell was dispensed, Frank taking the wheel while the
man whose trick it was went forward and got his coffee without delay.
A curious little incident occurred here. One of the Scotchmen, called,
as usual, Mac (and the other was of course Scotty), said to the Finn as
he was knocking the ashes out of his pipe preparatory to going back to
the wheel, “What r’ye doin’ that for? Just tak’ yer pipe along. Ther’s
naethin’ severely against smokin’ anywhere the noo.”
But the Finn said mildly, “I like fine t’ schmoke at de veel, but I
ton’t like to begin id mit de poy in charge. Ef de olt man schmoke
all right, nodt ellas,” and aft he went. Mac muttered something
uncomplimentary, and that suggested little breach of discipline was not
committed either then or subsequently.
As soon as ever four bells sounded, Frank, who had been nerving himself
for the effort, shouted, “Wash decks!”
“What’s that?” said Mac angrily. “Wash decks! What th’ ’ell’s the
meanin’ o’ this anyhow?”
“Oh! think shame o’ yersel’,” answered Scotty. “This ’s th’ second
time you’ve been sejestin’ kickin’ at the laddie aft. An’ it disna
maetther a snuff anyway, fur it’s yer wheel. Why shudn’t the decks be
washed, though, ye bletherin’ cauf? Hev we changed into pigs all in a
minnut?”
There was no answer. Mac went to the wheel, and never again was any
attempt made to resent Frank’s authority, while he, happily for his
peace of mind, never knew that any such attempt had even been in
contemplation. The deck-washing was a very perfunctory performance, and
was finished by six bells (seven o’clock). Then Frank, full of zeal,
suggested--I can’t say ordered--that it would be a great idea if they
could get the two topgallant sails up.
Immediately all the watch and the cook, who had got his breakfast well
under way, sallied below and turned out the sail-locker, finding two
good topgallant sails. They dragged them on deck and actually succeeded
in getting the main topgallant sail bent and set before eight bells,
quite a feat remembering their small numbers, but one that I fear will
not appeal to the shore readers of this book, who cannot possibly be
expected to understand the technique of the sea.
The beautiful southerly breeze still strengthened, and the _Woden_
began to give them a taste of her quality. She was a really fast ship,
and greatly superior in every respect, save one, to the _Sealark_. That
one was in her power of keeping out the water below. It was really
quite time that she was “sucked out,” as we call it, and as soon as
the morning sights for longitude were taken and Frank had gone to his
well-earned sleep, the flywheel pumps were overhauled and set in motion
for the purpose of getting her free of an element that, however useful
outside, had no business within, although fortunately it could not do
her cargo any harm.
Thenceforward for two days, during which the steady clankety clank,
clank, clank of the pumps became horribly wearisome to listen to,
nothing was done but pumping, so anxious were all hands to get a suck
out of her, and find out whether the leak was of serious dimensions
or not. At last that welcome sound was heard, and the good ship was
herself at last, careful calculation showing that a few minutes’ spell
in every four hours would keep her free.
This again aroused the question, Why did the crew leave her? how did
they leave her? what had become of them? and there was no answer. It
was of all mysteries one of the most profound. And none of them had
ever heard of the exactly similar case of a barque which was seen
yawing about in the Straits of Gibraltar one brilliant day, and on
being boarded by a boat from the guard-ship, was found to be abandoned
without any apparent reason. Her boats were all in their places and in
good condition, and the minutest search failed to reveal the reason why
she should be thus deserted. My own theory, in which I am supported
by Dr. Andrew Wilson, is that she was boarded while becalmed by one
of those terrific nightmares of the sea, the gigantic decapoda, vast
creatures with gelatinous bodies, from twenty to sixty feet long, and
tentacles extending like an immense network of living wire, gripping
and holding with most tenacious clutch everything they touch. It
is certainly possible, even if only remotely probable, that such a
monster, prompted by some incomprehensible desire, may have risen
alongside of her, and extending its enormous arms over her, have
gathered the terrific crew, one by one, into its capacious maw. The
imagination recoils before the spectacle of those long snaky arms,
apparently irresistible in their power, searching out the remotest
corner of the ship, and collecting the horror-stricken crew in a
hasteless, fateful way, and one can only hope that so awful a trial
never did fall to the lot of any man to endure. But I confess that it
is the only possible solution of the problem which occurs to me.
The ship having been pumped out, all the necessary sail bent, all the
running gear made as fit as possible, Captain Jacks said to Frank,
“My dear boy, we’ll devote all our energies now to getting her home.
She’s doin’ splendid, but there’s a tough time coming. With all luck we
shall fetch the English Channel just as the winter is beginning to try
its hand at a few gales to start with, and we can’t be too careful to
save ourselves up for that. I don’t mind telling you that I’m mighty
anxious over this; if it comes off all right I’m going to quit the sea
for good, and settle down on a tiny little farm somewhere in England.
I’m done up, sick to death of the constant brutality that I’ve always
practised up till now, and also sick to find that if I hadn’t learned
a little better this voyage, I couldn’t go on doing what I have done
in that line, because I’m not strong enough now. I’m fifty years of
age, and sometimes I feel a hundred. Do you know, Frank, I feel as if
I’d like to be a good, quiet, religious man, and forget all about the
old roaring, fighting, cursing life I’ve led. And, please God, if this
adventure of ours pans out all right, I’ll have a tremendous go at it.”
Frank will never forget that conversation. The ship, carrying as much
canvas as she could stagger under, plunged forward over the rising sea
with a gallant, easy motion, and the great grey masses of cloud came
rolling up from the southward in majestic battalions, ever reinforced
from the gloomy horizon. The cold light fell full on Mr. Jacks’ face
as he stood speaking, and Frank, looking earnestly at him, noted that
he seemed to have suddenly aged, the hard lines of his features had
softened, and the grim look of determination, almost ferocious in its
expression, was replaced by an almost pitiful appearance of weakness.
So forcibly did this strike Frank, that he said anxiously, “Are you
quite well, sir?”
A ghost of a smile curled the corners of the hard mouth as the skipper
replied, “Oh yes! I suppose I am. Nothin’ the matter with me that I
know of, except that, as I said, I’m tired, feel I want to take things
easy. Well, I hope I can look forward now to as long a rest as I want.
In the meantime, here goes for what I can get now. Carry on as long as
you can, but don’t carry anything away if you can help it. Call me if
you feel you must, but not unless, for I think that you can handle her
now as well as I can, and I want you to feel all confidence. Keep her
as she goes, it’s a good course enough, N.E.” And down he went.
Left to himself, Frank began to meditate with a swelling heart upon
the wonderful change in his prospects. Mr. Jacks no longer filled his
thoughts, but he dwelt with perfectly legitimate pride upon the fact
that he, a youth not yet eighteen, was in a position of great trust
and responsibility. Of profit in a commercial sense he had no idea;
probably he was the only person on board of either the _Woden_ or the
_Sealark_ who had not as yet bothered his head over the possibilities
of money-making presented in this latest adventure of his.
Lest it should be accounted as too offensively heroic on his part thus
to ignore the financial side of things, let me remind you that he had
as yet never known the need of money. Never had he felt that craving
for those few coins that are as absolutely necessary for satisfying
the gnawing needs of the stomach as for clothing the body. Nor had
he, because of his happy youth and keen love of the sea, yet had time
to realise the bitter anxiety about the future, which haunts men who
work hard for their living and are yet entirely unable, owing to the
scantiness of their pay, although always at work, to make provision for
the old age they see dogging their footsteps like some dread spectre.
At present he was free from all such sad prevision, free to let his
fancy soar into contemplation of himself, as a great commander of men,
doing things upon the deep that should cause his name to be spoken of
all over the world. Again, fortunately for his peace of mind, he did
not realise that unless something extremely sensational happens, the
greatest men of the British mercantile marine--and they are on such a
high level of excellence that it is difficult to fix upon any as higher
than the rest--may pass their lives of splendid usefulness to their
country and their fellow-men without any recognition by either state or
public. Their own cloth know and admire them, and with that they must
needs be satisfied.
And so Frank paced the deck, manfully keeping his watch, and staggering
now and then as the driven ship began to leap and roll to the rapidly
rising sea, through which she was being driven at an ever-accelerating
rate. The wind came in fierce snarling gusts, making every portion
of the great framework of masts, yards, sails, and rigging crack and
complain, while the Finn at the wheel began to glance uneasily at the
young officer who strode to and fro in such apparent unconcern.
At last, when it wanted about an hour to eight bells, Hans could stand
it no longer, but said sullenly, as Frank neared him in one of his
turns, “You goes to blow de masts outen der ship, ain’t it?”
Frank flushed up, but wisely did not answer. Only he wished now for
eight bells to come quickly, as he could then hand over his charge
without the danger of coming into collision with this man, who was
either frightened, or else afraid that after he was relieved it would
be “All hands shorten sail,” and he would be let in for a lot of work,
instead of standing quietly looking on.
Eight bells, and Frank immediately plunged below to call the skipper,
and tell him that in his opinion sail should be shortened at once, for
she was carrying all that she could bear with safety, and the wind
was increasing so fast that it was becoming dangerous. But there was
no answer to his voice, although he raised it to a shout. He went and
shook the shoulder of the still form, and the chill struck through his
hand to his very heart. Mr. Jacks was dead.