“Jes’ you listen to ‘em!”
The boys all listened.
As they listened, there arose a confused medley of sounds, which seemed
to come from the hold of the ship--sounds of pounding, thumping, and
grinding, mingled with groanings, gurglings, sobs, choking sighs,
squeals, scrapings, rumblings, tumblings, shiverings, and many others of
an indefinable character. To these the boys all listened in silence,
and for a time there came a solemn feeling of awe over every one of that
little band of listeners.
“D-d-d-dem’s um!” said Solomon, with a shudder. “D-d-d-dem’s d-d-de
g-g-g-ghosts, d-d-d-dem’s d-d-de hobble-bobble-gobblums!”
“Nonsense!” said Bart. “Don’t talk that trash just now. This may be
something serious.”
“The cargo seems moving,” said Bruce. “The leak may be a large one.”
“I dare say she’s got a bad strain,” said Phil.
“It’s very likely,” said Arthur, solemnly, “that she won’t last very
long.”
“That’s my own idea,” said Tom. “Come, boys, we may as well look the
worst in the face. It’s my opinion that she’s breaking up.”
“Well, we’ve got the captain’s gig,” said Pat, “an can take to that, so
we can. We’ve got lots of provisions.”
“But we’ve no oars,” said Bart.
“Well, we can rig up a bit of a sail, so we can, out of thim ould
tarpowlines.”
“After all, though,” said Bruce, “she may not be breaking up. I’ve
heard somewhere that in a water-logged ship the water makes the most
extraordinary noises ever heard whenever there is the slightest motion;
so these may, after all, be nothing more than the usual noises.”
“And besides, what is this sea!” said Bart; “it can’t do anything; it’s
nothing. In fact, the more I think of it, the more sure I feel that
this ship can’t break up, unless she strikes a rock. I remember what sea
captains have told me--that a timber ship may float and drift about for
fifty years, and hold together without any trouble, unless it should
strike a rock or be driven ashore. So now that I think of it, I don’t
believe there’s the slightest danger.”
“But, if that is so, why did the captain of the Petrel desert her? He
must have known this, if it is so.”
This was Tom’s objection, who was not quite inclined to receive Bart’s
assertion.
“Well, I dare say he hadn’t been in the timber trade,” said Bart. “This
was something new for him, and he thought she would go to pieces. That’s
what he wrote in the message that he put in the bottle.”
This conversation had not been lost on Solomon, whose fears, prompted by
superstition, gradually faded away, and finally died out. The true cause
of the terrific noises being thus asserted and accepted by the boys,
there was no difficulty on Solomon’s part about adopting it. Accordingly
he soon regained his ordinary equanimity, and began to potter about the
forecastle, arranging some dishes and pans.
The descent of Solomon from the supernatural to the commonplace had a
good effect upon the boys, who, seeing that he had suddenly lost all his
fears, thought it time to throw aside their own anxieties.
“Well,” said Phil, “I don’t see the use of staying in this dismal
forecastle any longer, when there is a comfortable cabin aft; so I’m
going back to my berth.”
“Sure an it’s meself,” cried Pat, “that was jist goin to say that same.”
“I think it’s about the best thing we can do, boys,” said Bruce.
“There’s no danger just yet, evidently, and so there’s no reason why
we should lose our night’s rest. Let’s sleep while we can, say I, and I
dare say the Antelope’ll be along some time to-morrow.”
Upon this proposal the boys acted forthwith, and soon they were all not
only back again in their berths, but slumbering profoundly. Solomon also
turned in “forard,” and finished his night’s sleep, which, however, was
frequently interrupted by excursions and reconnoitrings which he made
for the purpose of seeing how the weather was.
On the following morning they all awaked early, and hurried upon deck.
This was the third day since the Antelope had left, and by evening
the three days would be completed which they allowed for her probable
absence. There was not one of them who did not go up on deck that
morning with the expectation of seeing her somewhere in the distance.
But on looking around, they saw no sail of any kind. It was with a
feeling of disappointment that they recognized this fact, for, though
thus far they had not encountered any danger, they had, at least, become
aware of the fact that an increase of wind might make their situation
very dangerous indeed.
The wind also had grown stronger, and sang through the rigging in a way
that was anything but music to their ears. The sky was overcast with
rolling clouds. In another vessel they would have called it a fine day,
and a fresh breeze, but to them it became equivalent to a storm. The
waves had risen to a height commensurate with the increase of the wind.
The rise and fall of the ship amounted to about six feet, and at every
other plunge her bows went entirely under water. The deck was now
completely flooded, and Solomon in traversing it was sometimes up to his
knees in the rushing torrent. The fire in the cook’s galley had been put
out, and he had been compelled to transfer his apparatus to the stove in
the cabin.
The quarter-deck astern prevented the sea from coming aboard in that
direction; and by the time the water that rolled over the bows had
reached the cabin doors, it had greatly subsided; yet still enough had
poured into the cabin to saturate it in every nook and corner. A pool
of water filled all the cabin and all the state-rooms to a depth of six
inches, and rolled about with the motion of the ship.
“Well, this isn’t certainly quite as comfortable as it might be,” said
Phil, with a blank look.
“At this rate,” said Tom, “if this, sort of thing keeps on, we’ll have
to launch the boat, and row to the cook’s galley.”
“It’s strange that the Antelope isn’t in sight!” said Arthur, shading
his eyes, and trying to force them to see.
“No use,” said Bart, who had been peering through the glass, and now
handed it to Arthur. “No use. There’s not only no Antelope, but no other
vessel; in fact, there’s not a sign of any sail of any kind whatever.”
At this Arthur, who had already exhausted all the capabilities of
the spy-glass, took it, and began sweeping the entire circuit of the
horizon.
“O, don’t trouble yourselves, boys,” said Bruce. “It isn’t quite time
yet for the Antelope to get here. We allowed her three days. They won’t
be up till evening. Besides, she’s just as likely to be four days; she’s
not over fast. For my part, I don’t intend to look for her to-day at
all. It’s quite possible that a vessel may heave in sight; but I don’t
believe it’ll be the Antelope. And if any vessel does turn up, we can
easily signalize, for I found all the signal-flags of the Petrel in the
closet next my state-room.”
That morning Solomon had to cook the breakfast in the cabin. The boys
all concluded to go about barefoot. The breakfast was cooked, and,
considering all the circumstances, was a great success; but the glory
of the cabin had departed, and it was hardly to be expected that a
breakfast could be thoroughly enjoyable at which one had to sit with
the water playing all about his feet and ankles. Still the boys made the
best of it, and did ample justice to the fare. Solomon still struggled
manfully against the difficulties of his position, and on this occasion
actually furnished them with hot rolls. These, with broiled ham, coffee,
tea, and other things, made a breakfast that was not to be despised.
After breakfast the boys were glad to leave the cabin, and seek the
quarter-deck, which arose like an island out of the water. They began to
look upon this quarter-deck as a place that was likely to become their
home. The sashes of the skylight were kept open and made use of, as
affording a readier means of passing in and out of the cabin. They began
to feel very seriously the restriction of space which had been caused
by the flowing waters, and the charms of the comfortable cabin had never
seemed so great as when they were deprived of them. Formerly they had
been able to lounge in and out, and, above all, to prolong the various
repasts, and thus pass away the time; but now breakfast, dinner, and
tea had to be hurried over as rapidly as possible, and there came the
prospect of final banishment from the cabin altogether.
The sea at midday was somewhat rougher; but Solomon heroically cooked
the dinner in the cabin, although the water was sometimes half way up to
his knees. Measures were now taken to keep the water out. The door was
shut and locked, and in the interstices they fastened oakum. Had
this been done at the first, the cabin might have been saved; but
unfortunately it had been neglected, and now that the water was
in, there was no way of getting it out. Still this was a decided
improvement, and there was comfort in the thought that it could not grow
any worse now, unless it became very bad indeed.
Dinner was served in the cabin, and the boys did justice to it, though
they showed no inclination to linger at the table any longer than was
absolutely necessary.
After dinner they sought the quarter-deck, where they spent the
afternoon. They had now begun to look for the coming of the Antelope
with great impatience, and their anxiety in this respect kept them in a
state of suspense which did not allow them to feel interest in any other
thing. To all of them the time seemed interminable. The spyglass was
passed around a hundred times, and each one on using it seemed reluctant
to give it up. But at every fresh survey of the horizon there was the
same result; and as hour after hour passed, they began to fear that
something might have happened to Captain Corbet.
So the time passed. All the afternoon the wind grew higher, and the
rolling of the vessel increased; still they took tea in the cabin; and
there arose the important question as to where they should sleep.
The opinions varied. Some of them, in view of the fact that the wind
was rather increasing than diminishing, were inclined to desert their
staterooms, and sleep on the quarter-deck, upon the skylight, under the
friendly shelter of the tarpaulin.
Tom advocated this most strongly.
“It’ll be just as comfortable,” said he, “and much less liable to
interruption. Here are our mattresses, all spread out, and roomy enough
for all of us. Here is the tarpaulin hanging over the boom, and making
a first-rate tent. Down in the cabin the water seems to be slowly
increasing, and we’ll be liable to be washed out of our berths before
morning.”
“Yes,” said Phil, who chimed in with Tom, “and what’s worse, if the sea
gets rougher, we’ll be certain to ship some seas astern before morning,
and in that case it’ll come pouring into the cabin through the
skylight.”
“Well, if it does,” said Bruce, “we should get as wet on the skylight as
in the cabin.”
“Yes,” said Arthur, “and we might be washed off into the sea.”
“Sure an we can lash ourselves to the mast, an sleep there,” said Pat.
“That’s what shipwrecked sailors always do.”
“O, there’s all the difference in the world,” said Tom. “If we are
above, we’ll be able to avoid any danger, but down below there we’ll
only be drowned like rats in a hole. For my part, if the sea is coming
in, I should like to be where I can have a chance to swim, at least.”
“O, come now, Tom,” said Bart, “you are putting it too strong
altogether. The wind hasn’t increased very much, and the change has been
very gradual. There’s no likelihood of any sudden change, you know. If
it gets much rougher, we’ll find it out soon enough, and we’ll be able
to get out of the cabin, I should think, before it gets filled with
water. If the ship begins to pitch like that, so as to ship heavy seas
astern, the first one that comes aboard will be enough to wake every
mother’s son of us. I believe in sticking to the cabin as long as we
can. Our berths are as comfortable as ever. The puddle of water about
the floor don’t really amount to much, after all. The door is so tight
now that very little more water can get in; and as to shipping seas over
the stern, I, for my part, don’t believe that there is any danger of
that just yet; not to-night, at any rate.”
“No,” said Bruce. “Just see. After all, there’s been no very great
change since morning. If we were aboard the Antelope, we’d think nothing
of this.”
“But unfortunately,” said Tom, “we’re not aboard the Antelope.”
“O, well,” said Bruce, cheerfully, “we needn’t bother ourselves. We’re
pretty certain to be aboard of her to-morrow, if we choose to go, for by
that time she’s sure to show herself. We allowed her three days, and the
time is up; but we ought to allow one day more in case of unlooked-for
delays. Perhaps Captain Corbet had to wait for the sails, getting them
mended, and all that sort of thing. I don’t think he’d wait more
than one day, at the farthest; so we may look for him tomorrow pretty
confidently. And in the mean time, I’m of Bart’s opinion, and think
that we’d better make ourselves comfortable as long as we can, and
sleep below until we are driven out. I don’t believe we’ll be driven out
to-night, at any rate; and if we are, we’ll have plenty of warning.”
The end of it was, that they all decided to sleep below. Solomon,
however, who had been present at the discussion, informed them that
he would sleep on deck, and keep one eye open. Some remonstrance was
offered, but in vain, and at length this arrangement was entered into.
Fortunately the night passed without any accident. Their sleep was
undisturbed. On waking in the morning, they found not much increase in
the water inside the cabin, but felt that the vessel was pitching about
more than ever, and creaking and groaning in every timber.
Hurrying out on deck, they looked eagerly around. Bruce was up first,
and seizing the spyglass, scanned the whole horizon in the most
searching manner. But not to the eyes of any one, nor to the searching
gaze of Bruce, appeared any sail whatever. Not one word was said. The
disappointment of all amounted almost to dismay for a moment, and their
feelings were too strong for utterance.
All around them the sea arose in foaming billows. Overhead the sky
was covered with clouds that drove onward impetuously. The wind howled
through the rigging; the ‘ship labored and plunged, shipping heavy
seas, and thrusting her bows far under the rolling waves. But the
quarter-deck, as yet, was spared, and rose above the seas like an
island, whereon they could rest.
This day passed like the previous one. They spent the whole time looking
for the Antelope. It was now the fourth day since her departure, and
her delay made all feel uneasy. The cabin was now too uncomfortable for
them, so that they decided to eat their meals on the quarter-deck; but
Solomon cooked their meals in the cabin stove, and struggled heroically
against fate in the effort to afford his young friends the best fare
that could be furnished. .
The day passed slowly.
No Antelope!
Night came.
This time there was no debate about a sleeping-place. No one thought
of going below, and they all stretched their weary frames on the
mattresses, which were laid on the skylight.