THE CYCLONE
Although all hands had dispersed and half of them were free to seek
their berths, they could none of them go below. A great awe, not
to say fear, was upon them, for none of them save the skipper and
some of the officers had ever witnessed the upheaval of the sea and
down-pressing of the heavens which were now imminent, and the coming
thereof exercised a fearful fascination upon them. They huddled in
groups, only whispering an occasional word, and waited for they knew
not what. Yet all had a feeling that it must be the Trump of Doom. As
yet the wind had not attained any great force, but the motion of the
ship was exceedingly uneasy, for the ocean is so responsive to the
power of the wind that long before a gale which is somewhere raging has
reached a ship, she will often be most violently tossed by big waves
coming sweeping towards her, and this without any barometrical warning
that can be noticed. Nay, it sometimes happens that after several hours
of anxious waiting for the expected gale, with almost every stitch in
the ship close furled, the restless sea will again quiet down, the
filminess will disappear from the sky, and serene weather will once
more prevail: the gale has either blown itself out or has by a very
well understood meteorological event been diverted from its original
course into a totally new one.
None of these things, however, was known to or noticed by the crew of
the _Xiphias_. They felt the pall above descending lower and lower
until they could imagine its inky folds resting upon the mastheads;
they heard the wailing and moaning of the wind, rising to an occasional
wild shriek, as if impatient to begin the elemental strife; they
experienced the peculiar sensation inseparable from the environment
of an atmosphere surcharged with electricity; and they were obliged
to hold on to keep themselves from being thrown off their feet by the
unnatural, unexpected lurches of the puzzled ship. But it is fair to
them to say that through all their apprehensions for the next few hours
they felt most for their half-dozen shipmates in that frail boat, far
away in the awful darkness, doomed to face the fiercest conflict of
wind and wave known to seafarers, all unsheltered even by a little
deck. Then came a new terror. The accumulation of electric fluid all
around them, having become greater than the atmosphere could hold,
commenced to discharge itself in blinding streaks of vari-coloured
flame, which quiveringly ran about the blackness overhead and almost
seemed to light up the black heaps of water rising and falling without
order all around them. Every yard-arm, masthead, davit-head--in fact,
every point, even to their own heads--gleamed palely with latent
electricity, and strange sensations as of pricking roughened all the
surfaces of their bodies. Some became numbed with fear, others wished
they could be so.
And then--it was almost a relief--with a roar as of ten thousand lions
mad with hunger, the full hurricane burst upon them. Where it struck
them none knew, or what the ship did when she felt it; for whether
she was beneath the sea or above no one could tell. The awful blast
ripped off the surface of the sea, and spread it through the air so
that sight, speech, almost breath became impossible. But they all
noticed that, although the ship beneath their feet seemed as if she
was being hurled through space, she was now quite steady; the drunken
uncertain motion she had previously been suffering from had altogether
ceased, for under that pressure of wind no sea could lift its head. I
said there was almost a sense of relief, and this is really true, for
now it did not appear possible that matters could become worse. Men’s
minds refused to entertain the possibility of any increase in the force
of the wind, and all felt dimly that any change now must be for the
better--that the hurricane was doing its worst.
The skipper, aft by the useless wheel, with the two mates near him,
endured like the rest. Having done all that was humanly possible, and
commended himself and his charge to his Father, he had now but to set
his teeth, bend his head, and bear in patience, awaiting without a
tremor the manifestation of God’s will concerning him. There was a
certain indefinite satisfaction in having his two mates near him--the
same feeling that the other members of the crew had in being huddled
together like sheep on the edge of a cliff when the gale howls
furiously landward and sweeps the downs like the breath of a destroying
angel. In fact, neither Captain Hampden nor his officers took the
trouble to think now. They just let their mental powers lie dormant,
having used them at the right time to the best advantage, and being
quite ready to exercise them again when any good could thereby be done.
And now, what of those brave men so perilously cut off from their
ship, left to themselves in the midst of such potentialities of
destruction that camping out unsheltered and unarmed in the heart of
an Indian jungle would have been safety itself by comparison? For a
time, while the whale kept his unswerving and unfaltering rush into
the blackness ahead, Mr. Pease’s energies and thought seemed solely
concentrated upon the means of compassing the death of his gigantic
steed--any ideas concerning his own danger or that of his crew did not
seem to find admission to his mind. After satisfying himself that the
whale was holding a straight course he called upon all hands to put
forth a supreme effort to get up near enough to the monster, and make
some feasible attempt at fatally wounding him. And they, seizing the
tow-line and straining every sinew to the work, found that they could
actually gain upon him a little, although the sprays coming over the
bows threatened every now and then to swamp them. But gradually they
found their task becoming easier, and although the thickening gloom
chilled their hearts they encouraged one another with shouts of ‘There
she feels it,’ ‘Hand over hand, hearties,’ ‘Walk her up to him!’ ‘He’s
our whale,’ &c. And suddenly the mate yelled at the utmost strain of
his lungs, ‘Lay off--lay her off, Walter; lay off, fur God’s sake!’
Nobly Walter responded; the light craft sprang off sideways under the
pressure of the great steer oar and Walter’s straining muscles, and
the whale’s huge flukes, brandished high in air, came down with a
crash like thunder, and smote the water just a yard or two abaft the
after oar. But that blow cost the whale his life. For the boat shot
up alongside of him, and in towards his side withal, and at the same
moment Mr. Pease, taking deliberate aim, sent a bomb-lance point blank
into the great body. Almost before the muffled report from within told
that the destructive weapon had exploded, a hand-lance had followed it,
and slid up to its pole within the vast black mass.
Either of those terrible wounds had been sufficient to kill, and
the two combined had the effect of bringing the whale to a sudden
stop, when, with a long expiration, like the escaping steam from a
water-loaded syren, he gasped out his life and was still, save for
the easy motion communicated to his huge carcass by the waves. So
sudden was his death that the usual tremendous convulsion which takes
place when these leviathans die was totally absent. As soon as it was
evident that he _was_ dead, Mr. Pease, rising to the height of his
responsibilities, and realising how short a time was left during which
anything might be done, caused two more harpoons to be driven into the
whale’s side near the first two, but bridled to the main line. Then
allowing about fifty fathoms drift he cut the tow-line, and veering
away to the tail succeeded with very great difficulty in getting a hole
cut through its thickest part, and the end of the towline rove through
it. That accomplished, the boat was hauled back again to a position
midway between the whale’s tail and its head, the lines made well fast,
and the men told to make themselves as comfortable as circumstances
permitted by crouching low in the bottom of the boat, and arranging the
sail so as to keep off just a little of the spindrift that was already
beginning to fill the air.
It was now quite dark, although but little after noon; the sea was in
that curiously undecided state before-mentioned, and the mate knew very
well that at any moment the full power of the hurricane might burst
upon them. Yet, strange as it may seem to landsmen or even ordinary
sailors, he had by no means lost hope, neither had Walter. Both of
them knew from long experience, and not theoretically, how splendid
a breakwater is made by a dead whale. Both of them had time and time
again owed their lives to the shelter afforded by one in the midst of
such stupendous seas as are encountered in the Southern Ocean, where
unhindered the lone sea sweeps round the globe, and consequently both
felt that even in the present apparently hopeless circumstances they
might yet be found living when the hurricane had passed and left the
ocean bestrewn with the wreckage of many a score of noble ships. I
think it is not generally known on land how magical (there is really no
other word to describe it) is the power exercised by oil upon the sea.
A little oil spilt upon the water during the prevalence of the roughest
gale makes a tiny oasis of smoothness, around which the most gigantic
waves rear their furious crests in vain in the endeavour to encroach
upon it. ‘Oil upon the troubled waters’ has long been a paraphrase for
the gentle work of the peacemaker, but it is much more than that--it
is a scientific expression of fact; and since shipmasters (being, as
I am never weary of pointing out, the most conservative of men) have
taken to using oil, as it should be used, for the purpose of stilling
the angry waves, the number of shipping disasters that have been
averted is past all counting. It is safe to say that if, wherever any
breakwater, pier, or similar structure is exposed to the fury of stormy
seas, a large perforated pipe were to be laid on the sea-bed a few
yards seaward of the foundations and surrounding them, through which
in time of storm oil might be pumped at high pressure, we should never
have any of those costly works destroyed by the impact of the waves at
all; for they (the structures) would be surrounded by a ring fence of
smoothness beyond which, no matter how fierce their anger, the great
waves could never pass.
Now, a whale is a natural reservoir of oil, and, whether alive or dead,
he always has around him an area of calm induced by the exudations from
his skin. Therefore, when we read of ‘whales taking refuge in sheltered
bays from the fury of gales,’ we may be held blameless for curling
the lip of derision, and wondering what manner of fools they are who
perpetrate such twaddle for the deluding of their readers. Also a whale
when it is dead does by some mysterious volition point its head, not
in the wind’s eye, or directly to the quarter from whence the wind
comes, but about eight points, or forty-five degrees, therefrom, and,
stranger still, does invariably drift _towards_ the wind, and not,
like a ship, away from it. Various explanations have been proffered to
account for this really wonderful movement of the whale’s great carcass
after death, but none of them, I think, is feasible save this: that
the whale’s tail, being a huge limber piece of gristle of exquisite
propulsive shape, is so actuated by the wash of the waves past the
great body that its motions, like those of an oar turned in a groove
at the stern of a boat, are sufficient to keep the body to which it
is attached working to windward. Not, be it noted, against a current,
which moves the whole mass of water, but against the wind through the
water and incidentally against the sea, which is quite a different
matter.
Perhaps an apology is necessary for so long a digression, when the fate
of Mr. Pease and his brave men is trembling in the balance, but there
are so many utterly impossible and unexplainable things to be read in
stories now, written to account for the escape of the hero, that I
have felt compelled to take up a little more space than usual in which
to explain the entire reasonableness and possibility of escape from
their dire peril which actuated and hardened Mr. Pease and his crew.
A whisper had run from end to end of the boat full of hope, and Rube
in the middle had accepted it with heartfelt joy, not for his own sake
(for this extraordinary man never thought about himself at all), but
for the sake of his shipmates. And then all settled down to wait and
watch. High over them, with a most terrific noise, a blaze of unearthly
light, and a peculiarly chilling sensation, burst the hurricane.
Really, terrible though it was, they were immensely surprised that it
was not worse. They did not, could not realise how that great bank of
flesh, already floating much higher than ever it did with life in it,
was protecting them, not merely from the impact of the sea, but from
the swamping effect of the spindrift, the sea face carried airwards by
the wind. As this came flying along it met the body of the whale, and
shot upwards, just passing over the frail cockleshell riding in the
little smooth to leeward. All heaven’s artillery opened out, the roar
of the wind, the rumble of the thunder, the hiss of the lightning; but
cowering low down in their tiny craft rocking easily in the quiet water
under the lee of the whale, those six men lived. And as the hours wore
on they forgot to be afraid; nay, they even slept, or hazily speculated
upon what they should do when, the storm having passed, they might, and
probably would, find themselves alone on that wide, wide sea, foodless
and waterless. And so the hours succeeded each other, day insensibly
passed into night, leathery tongues vainly roamed round parched mouths
seeking moisture and finding none, and still hope lived.
How long they had thus patiently borne the burden of a peril of
which no landsman can have aught but the feeblest adumbration of an
idea, none of them knew, for none of them had a watch, and even had
there been one there was no light. The darkness was of that Egyptian
character that one experiences in a coal mine, and the blazing rivers
of lightning which occasionally coursed over their heads only added to
their blindness. But presently, as at some celestial word of command,
the elemental tumult ceased, the wind fell to a dead calm, and a
strange motion, totally unlike the steady heave and roll of the former
hours, took its place. Overhead the cloud-pall thinned and a star or
two appeared. Their eyes, grown accustomed to the velvety blackness,
saw that they were the centre of a charmed circle, all around which,
at so short a distance that they seemed to be at the bottom of a
whirlpool, enormous masses of water rose and fell in disorderly heaps.
It was an appalling sight, and the mate, with thoughtful wisdom,
distracted their attention from it by advising them to take advantage
of the temporary lull to get a drink and eat a biscuit. Each whaleboat
carries a wooden vessel like a large bucket, holding about four gallons
of fresh water. It is headed up like a cask, but has a wooden spigot
attached by a short lanyard, and this, withdrawn, suffers the water to
escape in a thin stream into a piggin which is held beneath it. There
is also a long narrow keg kept under the little deck over the stern of
the boat, also headed up tightly but easy to open by those who know
how, in which are a number of biscuits, a lantern, and some candles and
matches. This was now produced, and a biscuit each handed round, which,
with a drink of water, had a wonderful effect in raising everybody’s
spirits.
Mr. Pease then said, ‘M’ lads, I don’ s’pose ’at ever in the history
of seafarin’ a boat’s crew has bin known t’ hang out a hurrican in the
open sea same ’s we’ve done, fur which we’ve gut t’ thank ole Johnny
Squarehead here as th’ means sent by Almighty God fur our safety.
B’lieve me, boys, we’re through th’ wust of it. We sh’ll hev almost
as much wind as before, but not fur near as long, an’ yew know how
safe a harbour the whale gives us. I needn’t ask ye t’ thank God: I
know yew’ve all done that, ’specially Rube thar. Say, Rube, sonny,
haow’re ye hittin’ it, eh?’ ‘Glorious, Mr. Pease, glorious. I wuz jest
thinkin’ as ye spoke, “though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow
of Death, I will fear no evil, Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.”’
‘Bully fer yew, Rube,’ said Mr. Pease. ‘They wuz a time when I sh’d
have miscalled yew ’r anybody else ’at talked like that fur a darned
hypocrite; but, thank God, I know better now. I’ve a-learnt how good a
_man_ a Christian kin be.’
He had hardly uttered the last words than with an awful howling sound
the wind burst out upon them from the opposite direction, bringing with
it such a cloud of spray that for a few minutes they fought gaspingly
for breath, and groped blindly to bale the boat. They hardly knew while
those few fateful minutes lasted whether they were sinking or not, but
their faithful defender, in death returning good for evil, gradually
took up his relative position to the wind as before, and although they
could not see they could feel that they were again on the sheltered
side of the great carcass. And, besides, it seemed to them as if it
afforded more protection than it had done before. They could not think
the wind had lessened--indeed, they believed it to blow harder than
ever--but certainly their boat rode easier; and with a relief not to
be expressed in words they saw that light was coming. Only one thing
gave them additional uneasiness: the increasing glare beneath them.
The lightning had almost entirely ceased, but, as if to compensate for
that cessation of the unearthly fires above, the waters beneath them
fairly glowed with green illumination in broad bands, which came and
went incessantly. They all knew that this meant the gathering of the
ravening deep-sea hosts, attracted thereto by the mighty banquet, and
entirely oblivious of the war of the winds above.
How, throughout those hours of terror, had it fared with the crew of
the _Xiphias_ remaining on board that staunch old ship? Peacefully
enough until the passing of the storm-centre. Then indeed they were
in evil case. For _they_ had no charmed circle, beyond which the waves
could not pass, to protect them. It was an omission only too frequently
made, and almost unpardonable in these ships. Had they but hung canvas
bags of oil from both bows and both quarters, through which the calming
liquid might have drained, they would have been spared much of the
labour, danger, and anxiety. But nothing of the kind had been arranged
for, and consequently when that fearful vortex sea broke upon them,
not only did their vessel’s decks fill with water in masses weighing
hundreds of tons, and smashing everything that was smashable, but the
working of the ship opened her seams so much that, in spite of the
risk of being exposed in the waist, it was absolutely necessary for
all hands to muster at the pumps. There, secured by ropes around their
bodies, and occasionally entirely overwhelmed by the towering masses
of water breaking on board, they toiled unmurmuringly. Again and again
they were hurled like a scattered bundle of chips in all directions;
the ropes with which they were secured threatened to cut them in
halves, making deep discoloured grooves in their flesh, and floating
wreckage beat and bruised them savagely in its dashing to and fro.
But they still stuck to their posts unflinchingly, officers and men
together putting forth all their powers, and hoping, ever hoping, even
when all hope seemed dead.
For the _Xiphias_ was, to all outward seeming, a wreck. Her bulwarks
were gone fore and aft; the massive brick erection of the try-works
had been swept so cleanly away that no trace of it remained; three
of the fine boats were gone, and only the ringbolts with which they
had been hoisted still dangled at the davit-heads. Several sails, in
spite of the care exercised in their securing, had wriggled adrift,
and the tigerish wind had snatched them from the yards as dry leaves
are stripped from the trees in autumn. But it is in times like these
that the Divine in man shines out, and Captain Hampden stood erect,
not counting his burden of years, nor his present load of care for his
crew, nor the heartache for the brave fellows long ago, he thought,
gone to their well-earned rest in the silence of the sea. His eyes
shone bright, his heart beat temperately, his voice rang steady, and
when, the short calm gone, the hurricane burst again upon them from
its opposite segment, all hands felt his noble influence, and braced
themselves to endure to the end.
Forty miles away Mr. Pease and his brave little crew still lived. Once
settled into their old position to leeward of the dead whale they felt,
such was the effect upon their minds of their recent experience, almost
safe from the tempest above and the assault of the sea. They noticed,
indeed, that the latter gradually became more furious, as if, enraged
beyond measure by its previous restraint, it was now determined to make
up for loss of opportunity, and destroy everything in its path alien to
its domain. But even that carried some comfort, for while feeling well
protected to leeward of the whale they cared little for waves however
high: the very fact of those waves rearing their heads so savagely told
them that the force of the hurricane must be waning; and, besides,
the thinning of the cloud-pall above, the absence of the lightning,
and an indescribable elevation of spirits, all had their part in the
growth of hope. Only, there remained the increasing menace beneath.
Occasionally a slight tap, smartly given, under the boat sent a shudder
through them as it reminded them how slight was the barrier which
intervened between them and the hungry jaws of that host of sharks.
Men, however, who had ridden out such a day and night of terror were
hardly likely now to become panic-stricken: they had come to regard
themselves as under the special protection of God. So, terrible as
their position undoubtedly was, it had not the same effect upon them as
it would have had if it had come upon them suddenly.
The hurricane passed away, going as usual through its various fining
phases as better weather came. By noon the sky was clear, the sea
deeply azure, the sun sending down new vigour into that hardly used
group of men. A great exaltation of spirit possessed them all, for it
is noticeable how, whenever the hurricane, cyclone, or typhoon has
passed, everything in nature seems bound to rejoice, not because it
has been allowed to live, but because of the cleansing, sweetening,
freshening up of the world.
The sharks swarmed in incredible numbers, the birds came in myriads,
the dead mass to windward began to emit a charnel-house fœtor, but all
the men were cheerful, and munched their half-biscuit determinedly, as
if to show that they meant to live up to the hopefulness engendered
by their atmospheric environment. Only the mate, in moments when
not engaged in cheering up his crew, looked grave. He felt the
responsibility for those trustful souls. And he could not help feeling
how remote was the possibility of their ship (or, indeed, any ship)
picking them up. He knew, too, how short a time would elapse before
they would be compelled to abandon their shelter--how few the hours
before it would become so foul that not a human being could live near
it. But he said nothing of this. Instead, he maintained his part,
with that strange mixture of gravity and cheerfulness puckering his
brow. He often caught Rube’s earnest eyes fixed upon him as if in deep
questioning, but he evaded them. ‘Time enough,’ he thought, ‘for the
revelation that must surely come.’
The night passed in perfect peace. The burning stars mirrored
themselves in the glassy bosom of the deep, the new moon peeped shyly
forth, a glittering silver sickle with a clearly seen though dull
disc filling up the round. Gently as an infant on its mother’s breast
the boat rose and fell to the softly undulating swell. All except Mr.
Pease seemed asleep, but continually sleepers half-raised themselves
with indistinct expressions of disgust as the foulness of the air half
awakened them. ‘To-morrow,’ thought the mate, ‘we must cut adrift flesh
and blood can stand this no longer.’ So with the dawn (and what a
lovely dawn it was!--like the first in its brightness), the lines were
cut, and with a few strokes of the oars the boat was propelled beyond
that area of stench, the whale having now swollen to the semblance of a
ship bottom up or some huge oblong bladder floating high upon the sea
surface. When all hands had eaten the few crumbs of food remaining, and
had moistened their aching throats with a little swallow of water, Mr.
Pease said, ‘Boys, we’ve been through a lot, but perhaps we’ve got th’
worst ahead. Never mind. We’re all men here, we know that, an’ whatever
happens we’ll remain men. We’ll die if we must die, or live if we’re
let live, like men made in the image of God.’
And the six of them solemnly said, ‘Amen.’