THE WATER-SPOUT--THE ONLY TRAGEDY ON BOARD THE QUEER FISH.
When we were about half-way to Honolulu--the chief island of the
Sandwich group--we had the monotony of our voyage broken by an adventure
with those dangerous phenomena of the ocean water-spouts. Early in the
morning, Dicky Drake, who was at the mast-head, descried a vessel to the
northeastward, and we immediately steered for her. We had come within a
mile or so, and easily made her out to be a brigantine--of what nation
we could not determine when the lookout again sung out:
"Water spouts on the larboard bow!"
We could see nothing of the kind at first, but the captain brought his
glasses to bear, and reported that the lookout was correct.
Presently every one could see them from the deck. They appeared far
away, like vast water-trees, growing from the sea to the sky, and
expanding there in funnel shape; but as they appeared to be going away
from us, we kept on our course, in order to overtake the brigantine.
The best definition of a water-spout represents it as a remarkable
natural phenomenon, usually observed over the sea, but sometimes over
the land. "It usually consists of a dense, black cloud, depending from
the sky in a conical form toward the earth. Sometimes it unites with a
corresponding portion, ascending from below, thus forming a continuous
column from the surface of the earth (or sea) to the cloud."
The genuine--destructive--water-spout, that of the sea, consists of
cloud thus partially depended from the sky, while the column which
ascends to meet it is of the ocean brine. An immense quantity of
water--probably many millions or billions of tons--is thus elevated to
an enormous hight above the surface--following the course of the cloud,
as it is driven by the wind, and falling, when deprived of the
cloud-suction above, with a force sufficient to crush to splinters the
combined navies of the world.
We had about lessened the interval between us and the stranger craft to
one-half, when we saw her suddenly 'bout ship and tack toward us with
all possible speed. This singular-conduct upon her part was soon
explained by our perceiving that the wind had changed, and that the
water spouts--of which there appeared to lie about a dozen--were bearing
down upon us, with a rapidity which was terrible.
We 'bout ship with all possible speed, and tacked away from the danger
with every stitch of canvas that we could cram. But our speed was as a
snail's pace compared to the awful swiftness of the scudding
water-spouts. In less than five minutes after we tacked, we were
completely surrounded by the terrible columns of smooth, up-lifted
brine, and we came almost to a standstill. It was a very terrible thing,
for, as the water-spouts reached our position, the gale died away, and
we, together with the strange brigantine, were left immediately in their
midst, until it appeared that we were about to be forever entombed in a
magnificent temple of pillared brine. For it was next to impossible to
steer clear of them, without bringing one of them upon our heads, by the
wind of our motion. They leaned to the eastward--still feeling the
influence of the gale that had just died away.
If we had been either altogether to the larboard or starboard of them,
we might have let them all down to their proper level by a few
cannon-shots, but, surrounded as we were, our predicament was most
distressing.
The water-spouts kept wheeling about us, slowly and silently. They were
vast, smooth, glassy columns of brine, reaching to the heavens, some of
them four or five feet in diameter in the most slender part.
At length, however, a broad opening was created to the southward and we,
throwing out our sweeps, made for it with the good will of men whose
lives are suspended upon the muscles of the arm. We reached it and were
soon out of danger of the _forest_ (so to speak) of water-spouts; but
several more were to be seen far to the southward, and we swung around
our swivel to send a shot in the midst of the multitude from which we
had just escaped.
Now here was a predicament, for the brigantine was unprovided with
sweeps, and, as there was not a breath of wind--a dead calm--was
compelled to remain where she was. In vain we signaled her to put out
her boats and attempt to tow out; she paid no attention to us whatever.
Through the telescope we could see her crew kneeling and praying upon
the deck. Her officers had evidently lost their presence of mind, and
piped all hands to prayers when work with a will might have saved her.
And now, to our anguish, a slight breath of air came from the northward.
It would freshen to a gale in ten minutes. We would again have the
watery labyrinth around us, with little hope of escape. What were we to
do? If we fired our guns we would envelope the unfortunate brigantine in
certain destruction; if we neglected to fire them we would, just as
certainly, involve the destruction of our own ship. It was one of those
hard questions of fatality where self-preservation is the only solution.
So, with a heavy heart, doubtless, the captain gave the order and our
Long Tom sent a shower of grape-shot and six-pounders among the
labyrinth of water-columns. The effect was grand and terrible.
Simultaneously with the report of the swivel the tops of the
water-spouts were seen to tremble, then to sway to and fro, and then,
down they came with the most terrific noise I ever heard in my life.
"Try up the main-to'gallants! All hands aloft! Steady, there, at the
helm! Port! hard a-port!" bawled our captain through his trumpet, and
his orders were just obeyed in time to allow us to breast the enormous
billows occasioned by the falling water-spouts, while we were all
drenched to the skin by the spray of their splash, although the one
which had stood nearest to us was fully half a mile away.
As for the stranger--the brigantine--she was never seen again. We never
saw a floating splinter of that ill-fated ship, whereby to tell the port
whence she came or whither she was bound.
* * * * *
I come now to the most painful episode that was connected with the
cruise of our almost uniformly merry privateer, the Queer Fish. I have
had little of the painful--much of the glad and rollicking--to treat of
thus far, and would gladly spin my yarn to its termination as merrily as
I began. But truth directs me to a different course.
Besides, as this event which I am about to describe is about the only
one of a sorrowful character directly connected with the Queer Fish, it
may serve to throw the other features of my yarn into a more distinctly
cheerful light. Nevertheless, be that as it may, the truth must, like
murder, out at last, and here it is.
Little Willie Warner, our pet, the cabin-boy, had never totally
recovered from the effects of the accident we have narrated as having
befallen him. The climate was exceedingly bad as we approached the
latitude of the Sandwich Islands--much rain, followed by days of the
most intense tropic heat--and little Willie, probably from the cerebral
contusion he had formerly received, contracted a brain fever, which soon
brought him very low.
Roddy Prinn, as in the former instance, was permitted to devote all his
time to the duties of a nurse, and all of us did what we could. But, on
the morning of the fourth day of the fever, good Doctor Benedict
sorrowfully informed the captain that the days and hours of little
Willie Warner were numbered, and that the number was brief indeed.
We had noticed, from the commencement of this illness, that same
appearance of mysterious information, between the captain and the
doctor, which had before been indicated to us. And now, at this solemn
moment of the announcement of the approaching end of the sufferer, this
mystery was still more apparent.
The prognostication of the doctor proved only too true. Willie Warner
breathed his last before the set of sun.
Deeply grieved as was every one on the ship at this deplorable event,
there was one whose grief dwarfed all others in the magnitude of its
agony. This was Roddy Prinn. The poor fellow went almost insane. Above
all, he besought the captain to preserve the body of his little chum,
until our approach to the islands would enable us to accord a Christian
burial on land to the remains. But, as we were yet within a hundred and
fifty miles of our destination, compliance with this request was
rendered impossible.
Poor Roddy then waxed violent, but was only confined in the gun-room.
For, in keeping with the gentle treatment which Willie Warner had always
received from the captain, he (Roddy) was treated with an unaccountable
leniency. The poor fellow's mind was, undoubtedly, somewhat deranged
through his grief.
The day after the death of Willie Warner, the body of the little
cabin-boy was consigned to the deep.
It was a sad and impressive ceremony.
All the crew stood around, with their heads uncovered, preserving a deep
silence, while the funeral Service was read in measured tones by Doctor
Benedict. Then, with a heavy plunge, the shotted sack struck the blue
waters, and the form of him we had loved so much was lost to us forever.
On the same day, an excitement was created on shipboard by intelligence
that Roddy Prinn had attempted suicide, while in his confinement, he had
opened a vein in his arms, and was discovered by Doctor Benedict just in
time to be saved. As it was, he was almost exhausted through loss of
blood, and was not able to be about for some days afterward. He next
threw himself into the sea, out of the ports of the gun-room, but was
rescued by Snollygoster. Roddy then seemed to give up self-destruction
as a bad job, acted very reasonably, and was allowed to return to his
duty.
A few nights after this last attempt, it was my watch upon deck, and,
observing that Roddy was more melancholy than usual, I resolved to keep
a sharp eye upon him.
The night was one of surpassing beauty. I think I never saw so many
stars as studded the glorious vault upon that night; and, presently, the
moon, the broad, lucid, tropic moon rose above the ocean's edge, with a
luster by which you could have read small print with no difficulty. In
spite of myself, my attention was directed to the beauty of the heavens,
and was only called thence by the noise of a loud splash in the water,
over the starboard bow.
Instantly divining that Roddy had made another attempt at suicide, I
sung out, "Man overboard!" and ran to the bow.
We were completely becalmed, and, as the water was devoid of even a
ripple, I could see far down into the sea. And, looking down, I was not
long in discovering the figure of the unfortunate young man. Just then
the captain, first mate and Doctor Benedict came to the bows, and looked
over.
Snollygoster had also heard the splash, had also rightly conjectured the
cause, and was tearing off his coat and shoes, preparatory for a plunge
to the rescue.
One remarkable thing in the appearance of the figure below the water was
that it neither sunk any deeper, nor rose up, but appeared silently
suspended, face downward, at a distance of several fathoms below the
surface. We were at a loss to account for this singular phenomenon.
Suddenly Snollygoster went overboard with a sharp dive. The water was
shaken so much by the plunge that we, for a moment, lost sight of
everything below the surface. But the disturbance quickly faded out of
the glassy brine, and we could see both the silent form of the drowner
and the active figure of the would-be rescuer.
We saw Snolly keep under the water by great effort and skill, and
frequently touch the body to draw it to the surface, but it as often
resisted his efforts, floated about uneasily when disturbed, and then
settled down into quiescence, as before--with the head down, silently
suspended in the blue crystal of the sea. After repeated efforts, all of
which were unavailing, the heroic negro was compelled to come up to the
surface for breath.
"Try it once more--that is, if possible!" cried Doctor Benedict and down
again went the indefatigable rescuer.
We, this time, saw him tug with all his force at the suspended form of
Roddy Prinn. This time he was more successful; for suddenly, as if
relieved of some heavy weight, the body became wonderfully buoyant, and
swiftly rose to the surface of its own accord, whence, with the
assistance of Snollygoster and a line from the Queer Fish, it was
brought on deck. But all restoratives were of no avail. The suicide was
a _fait accompli_ at last, and Roddy Prinn was no more.
"What caused the body to come up so suddenly, Snolly?" asked Doctor
Benedict.
"Bekase, Massa Ben'dick, I shook out de t'irty-pound shot which it held
in de hands," was the reply.
It was true.
In order to be successful in drowning himself, the suicide, before
leaping over the taffrail into the sea, had firmly clutched in his two
hands a thirty-pound cannon-ball. This had kept him silently suspended
below the surface, until at last, the cannon-ball being shaken from its
hold by the rude grasp of the negro, the body had risen to the surface.
Whatever may be said of this singular suicide, it must be acknowledged
that Roddy displayed considerable resolution in carrying out his
intention.
Next day the body of this unfortunate young man was also consigned to
the deep. And then the mystery, which we had noticed to exist between
the captain and the doctor, leaked out, and became the property of all.
It became known that Willie Warner was not a man, but a woman, and that
Roddy Prinn was her husband.
They had shipped on board the Queer Fish at the Boston docks, and it was
only upon the occasion of the first sickness of the pseudo-cabin-boy
that her sex was revealed to the physician, and, through him, to the
captain.
The reasons which induced the lady to assume the disguise of a sailor
may have been known to the captain or doctor, but they never transpired
among the crew.
In consequence of this we had many preposterous rumors afloat--strange
stories wherein cruel parents, inexorable step-mothers, crimes committed
on land, and other wild theories as to the history of the lovers, whose
lives were so mysterious, and whose deaths were so melancholy and
strange.
But, however wild the stories may have been, and however far from the
real history of the lovers, we held their memory dear and sacred. And
while we remembered with gentle kindness the gentle disposition of Roddy
Prinn, our recollections of our pretty little cabin-boy, Willie Warner,
were mixed up with purity and sweetness.