THE DISMASTED SLOOP.
Of course no one knows better than the writer, that within hailing
distance of the Ocean-Born is a dismasted sloop, on board of which are
at least two ladies and three or four young men. Certainly it would be
gallant, courteous, polite, and even humane, to rescue those unhappy
voyagers, especially the ladies, without a moment’s delay; yet as they
have endured the hardships and braved the perils of their present
situation for several hours, I am of the opinion that they can stand
it a little longer, while I give my readers, to whom I am under still
greater obligations to be courteous, polite, and humane, some needed
information in regard to the steam yacht and those on board of her, who
have been talking and acting through a whole chapter without a proper
introduction.
There were seven of them on board of the Ocean-Born. Undoubtedly the
captain, Neil Brandon, was the “greatest toad in the puddle,” though I
have already intimated that the social relations of the ship’s company
were very democratic. He was a young man of eighteen, the only son of
a poor widow who was worth just half a million of dollars, yielding
her an income of exactly thirty-five thousand dollars a year. It is
necessary that these figures should be accurately stated in order to
render it probable that the son could own a share in a steam yacht of
thirty-eight and twenty-six hundreths tons, old measurement, and be
able to pay a portion of the expenses of running her. Steam yachts like
the Ocean-Born are expensive luxuries; but it must be admitted that
the expense of keeping one, when equally divided among four persons,
is only one fourth as much as when the whole is paid by a single
individual. Without stopping to demonstrate this proposition, I will
content myself by adding that the captain’s share of the expenses was
comparatively light.
I can only give the current information, at this stage of the story, in
regard to Madam Brandon, the mother of the captain, without vouching
for its correctness. Everybody in the vicinity of her residence knew
that her husband had made his fortune by the rise of land. Grandfather
Brandon had owned a farm in what is now, but was not then, the city of
Philadelphia. He left it to his three sons, two of whom made haste to
sell their portions for the most they could get, and then made haste to
spend the money they obtained for it in eating, drinking, and riotous
living, so that they died and filled drunkards’ graves. Neil Brandon,
the oldest son, did not sell his fifty acres, and did not indulge in
riotous living. He was a seafaring man, and he thought that after he
had become tired of voyaging on the ocean from clime to clime, he might
wish to settle down upon the old place, and end his days on the farm.
The house and barn of his father were on his land, and he leased his
estate for more than enough to pay the taxes and all other expenses.
He had gone to sea before the mast when he was eighteen, and when
he was thirty he was mate of an East Indiaman, with the hope and
expectation of soon becoming her commander; but, according to the
current story, he had suddenly become disgusted with the sea, and
abandoned his calling before he had reached the summit of his ambition.
When he became mate of the ship, he married a woman of French descent
in New Orleans. She sailed with him to Liverpool, and thence to the
East Indies, as a passenger. He left her in Hong Kong, while he made a
voyage to San Francisco, and she again sailed with him for New York. On
the voyage their only child, Neil, was born. His mother often called
him her Ocean-Born, and when the boy was old enough to understand it,
he rather liked the name. The ship went to New Orleans from New York,
and took a cargo of cotton for Liverpool. After this voyage, the mate
expected to be the captain of the vessel; but for some reason which
Madam Brandon did not very clearly explain, even to her son, he left
the ship at Hong Kong, and came home as a passenger.
When the boy was four years old, Neil Brandon took up his residence
on his farm near Philadelphia. The city was pushing its way out in
the country. Great avenues were cut through his farm, and Neil sold
all his land for twenty-five cents a foot, except the lot on which
his house stood. It is true that he was vexed, a year later, to see
the same land sold for double, triple, and quadruple the price he had
received. Houses were erected all around him, and finally he sold the
old homestead lot, to become the site of a church. After he had bought
another lot, and built a substantial residence upon it, he found that
he had invested just half a million dollars in bonds, mortgages, and
other securities. When he had moved into his new house, he was taken
sick. The doctors told him he might live a month, and he might live a
year, but the end was near. He made his will, leaving all his property
to his wife, now not more than thirty years old. People thought, after
Neil Brandon was dead, that this was a very strange will, for Madam
Brandon might marry again, and even deprive the son of any portion of
his father’s wealth. But when the boy was eighteen, she had not married
again, though even at forty-two, she was a good-looking woman; and it
was said that she had made a will, giving all her fortune to the boy.
Madam Brandon was not a well-educated and accomplished woman. She even
admitted that her parents were poor, and that she had been a servant
before she was married. But she was a lady of good common sense, and
she took care that her boy should have every advantage which the
educational institutions of the country afforded. Unfortunately, as she
considered it, Neil began to manifest an inclination for a seafaring
life. When he was a dozen years old, he “took to boats” as a duck
takes to the water. The neighbors said he had inherited his father’s
taste for the sea. At sixteen he sailed a boat like an old yachtman;
but Madam Brandon kept him to his studies with great tact. She gave
him a boat for his leisure hours and vacations, but she insisted that
his lessons should be learned. His friend and nautical companion was
Berry Owen, the son of a rich merchant; and they spent weeks together
in sailing up and down the Delaware, and even far out to sea, in the
Niobe, a sloop of five tons, which they owned in common.
While thus engaged in yachting, they made the acquaintance of Gerald
and Martin Roach, two of the sons of a wealthy and enterprising
machinist, who built the largest and finest steam engines and other
machinery in the country. They sailed together, and became fast
friends. Off Cape May, in a calm, one day, they talked about a steam
yacht, and what a glorious plaything it would be. In one they could
defy a calm, which was the abomination of enthusiastic sailors and
yacht-men. In another year the dream was realized. Mr. Roach had been
experimenting in iron vessels, and had built the hull of the yacht.
Neil’s mother and Berry Owen’s father together agreed to pay one half
of the expense of the vessel, and she was completed. Because they liked
the name, and because the idea had been first talked about on the
ocean, they called her the Ocean-Born.
Gerald and Martin Roach were both learning their father’s business, and
both of them had worked on the hull and engine of the yacht. Gerald was
nineteen, and “knew an engine all to pieces,” as Neil expressed it to
his mother, when she spoke of the peril of playing with so dangerous
a motor as steam. He was competent to make the designs and build an
engine, and certainly he was able to run one, and make all needed
repairs upon it. Martin, though two years younger, was not much less
accomplished, and had actually constructed a little engine, which he
had attached to the steam-heating apparatus in his father’s house.
Both of these boys worked three hours in the machine shop every day,
besides attending to their studies in school. They had their holidays
and vacations, like other boys, which were employed in the steam yacht,
till the ice closed the river. Neil said nothing more about going to
sea, and Madam Brandon was entirely satisfied. She gladly paid her
son’s share of the expenses of the vessel.
During the first year of their experience, the ship’s company of the
Ocean-Born, as the young men called themselves, seldom went beyond
the Capes at the mouth of the Delaware, though on the long vacation
they made a voyage around Cape Charles, and to the head of Chesapeake
Bay. Neil and Berry were studying navigation at school and they often
invited their instructors, to make excursions with them, in order to
obtain the practical application of the science. Both of them could
take observations with the instruments, and work out the problems
to obtain the latitude and longitude. They were deeply interested in
the study, and once at least every day, when on board of the yacht,
they worked out the ship’s position, wherever they were. They had a
record of the precise latitude and longitude of scores of points on
the river and bay, taken for the sake of the practice. All the young
men were zealous students, and during the first year, at least, the
pilot-house and engine-room were places for study. When they went up
the Chesapeake, it was necessary to employ a pilot, and they procured a
very intelligent shipmaster, who voluntarily became their instructor.
For a month before the long vacation, the second year, an extended
voyage was discussed. The Ocean-Born had proved herself to be a
thorough sea-going vessel. The boys had been out in her at sea in a
gale of wind, and knew precisely what she would do. Finally it was
agreed that the trip should be to the coast of Maine, including a
run up the Penobscot River, and a visit to Mount Desert, going in at
Newport on the way. The yacht was coaled and provisioned for the voyage.
Ordinarily the four owners sailed the Ocean-Born alone, though, as
may well be supposed, there were plenty of volunteers to assist on
board, even in the most menial capacities. It was necessary to have a
cook for a long cruise, for Mr. Roach and Madam Brandon insisted that
the boys should not depend upon amateur efforts for their diet. Peter
Blossom, a colored man, and a first-rate cook, was engaged; and he was
the only hired man on board. Neil Brandon was the captain, because he
was believed to be the best sailor. Berry Owen was the mate, though
practically the two young men performed the same duties. On short
cruises, one of them had to act as deck-hand, when there was any work
for one, as in anchoring, getting under way, and making a landing.
Gerald Roach was nominally the engineer, and Martin the fireman; but
at sea one of them would tend the fire and take charge of the engine.
While Neil and Berry took turns at the wheel, Gerald and Martin spelled
each other at the engine. They kept the regular nautical watches in
both departments.
Karl Schnaffer was the nephew of a rich German merchant, who had been
in the country but a short time. He lived next door to Mrs. Brandon,
and Neil was much interested in him. He was still struggling with the
difficulties of the English language. He was the captain’s friend, and
acted as cabin steward. Ben Lunder was a former schoolmate of Berry
Owen, but was now a sophomore in Columbia College, in New York. Ben had
never been far out at sea. He knew very little about nautical matters,
and he affected to know still less. Both he and Karl made a great deal
of fun on board, and sedate as Gerald Roach generally was, he could not
help laughing at the follies and blunders of Ben, the deck-hand, and
Karl, the cabin steward.
The Ocean-Born had been to Newport, and was now on her voyage to the
Penobscot. On the day before we introduced her to the reader, the wind
had been south-east, with heavy rains. Early in the morning the breeze
had swung around to the north-west, and it had blown very fresh all day.
The yacht was eighty-six feet long, and eighteen feet beam. Her “house
on deck” was fifty feet long. The forward and after cabins were each
fifteen feet long. Connected with the forward cabin were two large
state-rooms, occupied by Neil and Berry. Abaft the engine-room were
two more, one of which was used by the Roaches, who preferred to room
together. In the forecastle, which was of good size, light, and well
ventilated, were eight berths, in which good beds were made up for the
use of any party who might be on board. Indeed, this forecastle was
fitted up and furnished quite as well as the forward cabin, which was
the mess-room of the officers. The after-cabin was quite elegant, and
was seldom opened, except when ladies were on board. The galley, where
Peter Blossom presided, was fitted up with every convenience a cook
could expect to find on board a vessel. In the hold, under the main
deck, were the engine, boiler, and coal-bunkers. The ice-house was in
the run, reached by a scuttle in the quarter-deck, and it was well
filled with beef, mutton, poultry, fish, and other substantials.
* * * * *
Before the Ocean-Born came within hailing distance of the dismasted
yacht, Neil Brandon had made up his mind in regard to the character
of the yacht. Two ladies had showed their heads above the side of the
companion-way. It was evident that a pleasure party was on board of the
yacht, that her mast had been carried away, and thus disabled, she had
been blown off the coast.
“How now, captain of the Ocean-Born? What shall I do?” asked Ben
Lunder, as the steamer approached the wreck.
“Do nothing, Ben, but keep still if you can,” replied Neil.
“I will try to keep still; but I’m afraid it’s quite impossible.”
“Ring your speed-bell, Berry,” continued the captain, as the yacht
approached still nearer to the dismasted craft.
The speed of the steamer decreased; but in a few moments she was near
enough to the wreck to heave a line on board.
“Steamer, ahoy!” shouted some one on board of the sloop.
“On board the sloop!” replied Neil. “What shall we do for you?”
“Can you tow us in?”
“Ay, ay. Where were you bound?”
“To Belfast.”
“All right! We are bound up the Penobscot. Shall I take you off?”
“No--thank you. We are all right.”
“Stand by to catch a line!” continued Neil.--“Now, Berry, run across
her bow, and stop her when our stern is up with her bowsprit.”
The gong in the engine-room sounded, and the steamer went ahead slowly,
rolling heavily in the sea.
“Ring one bell!” shouted the captain.
“One bell,” replied Berry, in the pilot-house; and the boat stopped.
Neil had coiled up a heave-line, which he tossed on the forecastle
of the sloop, where it was caught and secured to her cable-rope. Ben
helped the captain haul it in, and it was made fast to a heavy iron
ring below the rail of the steamer.
“All ready! Go ahead!” shouted the spokesman on board the sloop.
“Ring one bell,” added Neil.--“Start her very slowly, Gerald,” to the
engineer, at the door of whose room he stopped.
In the heavy sea there was some danger of swamping the “tow” if the
work was not properly done. The hawser tightened and strained; and, as
the steamer went ahead, a large wave rolled over the bow of the sloop.
“Stop her Gerald!” said the captain, still standing at the door of the
engine-room.--“On board the sloop!”
“The steamer!” replied some one from the yacht.
“Give her more hawser! Slack off!”
“Ay, ay!”
“Make fast; about double the length you had before.”
“All right! Go ahead!”
“Start her slowly, Gerald,” said the captain.
With a longer line the sloop towed better, but she rolled badly in the
trough of the sea.
“Ring the speed-bell, Berry,” said the captain, when he had observed
the tow for a time.
The Ocean-Born went ahead at full speed; but the sloop seemed to work
very well, rolling no worse than before.
[Illustration: TOWING THE SEA FOAM. Page 45.]
“Where are the heroines, captain?” asked Ben.
“In the cabin of the sloop. They have closed up the companion-way to
keep the sea out,” answered Neil.
“But aren’t we going to transfer them to the stormy hatchway of the
Ocean-Born?”
“I think not.”
“Don’t we rescue them, and all that sort of thing?”
“That is just what we are doing.”
“But don’t we rig out the foreto’ thingumbob and h’ist in the
main-royal what-you-call-it? In other words don’t we get out the mizzen
starboard life-boat, and wrench those fair beings from the embrace of
the heaving billows?”
“No we don’t,” laughed the captain. “We tow the sloop into Belfast:
that’s all we do at present.”
“Those waves are wet,” added Ben, shaking his head.
“Rather moist; and for that reason I should advise those ladies, if I
were permitted to speak to them, to keep out of them, and out of the
way of them.”
“There isn’t any romance in towing that dismasted hulk over the
stormy sea. Can’t you give me an opportunity to do a big thing, and
place the fair strangers under everlasting obligations to me?”
“Can’t accommodate you just now; but you may crawl on that tow-line
to the sloop, and then, if you can persuade one of the ladies to jump
overboard, you may go in after her.”
“But that’s dangerous.”
“Slightly.”
“Can’t we get out the mizzento’-quarter-boat, and bring them on board?”
“I think they will not care to get into a boat while it is jumping
about. Let them alone, Ben, and we will drag them into smooth water
before dark.”
“But we don’t know who or what they are. Have you the name of the
sloop?”
“I have not; but I can afford to wait.”
“You are knocking all the romance out of the thing.”
“There is none in it to knock out. The people on board of the sloop are
a party who went out to sail; the mast of the yacht went by the board,
and they could not get back to the place they started from. That’s the
whole of it.”
“But didn’t the fellow say he wanted to go to Belfast?”
“You are right, Ben, for once. Let us be patient, and we shall know all
about the matter in a few hours.”
“It is terrible to be within ten fathoms of two ladies, without knowing
whether they are pretty or not,” added Ben, with a very long face. “I
should like to show them what a glorious deck-hand can do in the way of
making himself agreeable.”
“You shall have the chance before dark.”
Ben went to sleep in the forward cabin, and for three hours more the
Ocean-Born tugged away at the tow astern of her, her speed considerably
diminished by the added work required of her engine. At four o’clock
Captain Brandon relieved the mate at the wheel. For the last two hours,
at this time, Manhegin Light had been in plain sight. The island on
which it is located is of considerable size, and rather high. At five
the steamer came up with it. On the shelf in front of the captain,
“Blunt’s Coast Pilot” lay open at page 242. Neil had read up the
matter relating to the island, and he decided to go to the southward of
it. He ran the yacht near enough to the shore to throw a biscuit upon
it; and here the water was as smooth as far up the river. Gradually
slowing down, he stopped the boat, so that the sloop should not run
into her.
“Hullo, Ben! Bear a hand here!” shouted the captain.
“What’s broken?” demanded Ben, springing to his feet.
“Your slumbers. We will lower a boat, and board the sloop now,” replied
Neil.
One of the quarter-boats, which were swung in on the davits, high
enough to allow any one to pass under them, was dropped into the water.
Ben and the captain pulled to the sloop.