IN WHICH THE WAVECREST SETS SAIL AGAIN
Nobody gave any further thought to the whale. My own eyes were set upon
that yawning wound in the hull of the old Scarboro. After the shock of
the collision the bark righted slowly, and when she did so the sea
rushed into the hole in a most awful fashion.
We rowed rapidly toward the bark and made fast to the hoisting tackle.
We had a sling let down for the second mate, who was still unconscious.
Before we got him on the deck and got aboard ourselves, Captain Rogers
had all hands remaining aboard at work to stop the dreadful leak.
Had all six of the boats been out at this time I fully believe the
Scarboro would have gone to the bottom. Or, if there had been any sea to
speak of, she would have gone down inside of two hours.
But being right on the job, as you might say, Captain Hi lost few
seconds in the work of seeking to save the bark--and, incidentally, all
hands. He did not even take the time to see how badly his nephew was
hurt just then. As our crew came over the rail he set them to work, too.
"Take poor Ben below and let cookee do what he can for him," he bawled
to me. "I want you to deck here, Webb."
There was a light breeze, and he had some canvas put on her and got the
old bark hove over so that the hole the whale had smashed (it was right
at the water-line) was where it could be got at. Of course, it was
impossible at first to do anything from inside. There were two men on
the pumps and they kept steadily at work, now I tell you.
Mr. Rudd, the carpenter, was not aboard; but Captain Webb did all that
could be done at the moment. He put slings under the arms of two men and
let them down the canted side of the craft, on either side of the great
gap. Then canvas was let down--three thicknesses of heavy, new
cloth--and this was laid over the hole after the splinters were cut
away, and tacked to the hull, cleats being used to hold it in place all
the way around.
Meanwhile the tar-buckets had been heated up, and those fellows gave the
canvas and the hull all about it a good coating of tar. We ran several
miles on this tack, and until the job was completed. Then, when the men
and the tar-buckets were inboard again, the Scarboro was put over on the
other tack and we beat back toward the whaleboats.
I can't say that no water came in; but we could keep the water down by
working steadily at the pumps; and before night we had the other boats
aboard, and three whales--including the old bull that had done the
damage--strung together nearby. We could do nothing toward cutting up
and trying-out the whales until the bark was safe.
A sharp blow just then would have fixed us, and that's a fact. Mr. Rudd
and his helpers went below and broke out enough cargo to get at the hole
stove in her side. Meanwhile we had to keep the pump brakes moving and
the water that flowed from the pipes and out at the hawser-holes was as
clear as the sea itself. The old bark had settled a good bit, and we
were by no means out of danger.
Here we were, by the Captain's reckoning, all of four hundred miles
southwest of Cape St. Antonio, which is south of the huge mouth of the
de la Plata. To set sail for the principal port of Argentina--or any
other port--would not suit Captain Hiram Rogers a little bit. Nor am I
at all sure that, crippled as she was, the bark could have got to land.
Mr. Rudd would be some days repairing the damage done by the fighting
whale. And meanwhile, what was going to become of poor Ben Gibson?
For our cheerful, boyish second mate was badly hurt. Consider: the whale
had actually shut his jaws on Ben, and that one crunch should, by good
rights, have finished the young fellow.
But he was reserved for a better fate, it seemed. When the captain
overhauled his nephew, he found that he had sustained, beside the scalp
wound from which he bled so much, a broken arm, a lacerated leg above
the knee, and several broken ribs. These ribs and possible internal
injuries are what feazed Captain Hi. He was no mean "catch as catch can"
surgeon; most whaling captains have had to tackle serious medical and
surgical difficulties in their careers.
Ben, however, was the skipper's own flesh and blood--his sister's child.
He couldn't face that sister (she was a widow) if he brought Ben back to
New Bedford a cripple for life. And the whale had certainly smashed him
up badly.
"Clint Webb," he said to me, in a most serious tone, when he had made
his examination of the poor fellow, "we are in a bad hole. It'll take a
week o' fair weather for the carpenter to make us all tight again--and
we ain't even sure of the weather. Then, there's the three whales
alongside. We can't throw them away. The crew would have cause to
complain. But this boy ought to have doctor's care."
I agreed with him, but had nothing to offer.
"I couldn't sail for the Plate now," he ruminated, "if I wanted to.
Repairs of the ship must come before repairs of the boy. Webb! it's a
good season, and the winds are fair. Would you make an attempt to get
Ben to Buenos Ayres in that sloop of yours?"
"In a minute!" I declared, quickly, for the suggestion went hand in hand
with the desire I had been milling in my mind for days.
"I'll mark you a chart. You can't miss of it. Anyhow, you'll hit land if
you keep on going. There are fine hospitals at Buenos Ayres. I'd feel
more as though I'd done my duty by Ben if I got him there. I'll find you
a man to go along. Two of you can work that sloop prettily."
"Aye, aye, sir," I agreed.
He bustled away and brought back old Tom Anderly. I couldn't have
wished for anybody else. In a quarter of an hour we had agreed on
everything. Tom and Ben were to stick around Buenos Ayres until they
heard from Captain Rogers, or the Scarboro put in for them. Of course, I
would be free once I got to land, unless I wanted to stick the voyage
out and claim my lay at the end. However, I was to have one hundred
dollars in gold from the captain, and the sloop, whichever way I
decided.
Captain Rogers had set Ben's arm and dressed his other wounds. Ben was
conscious, but in great pain from the broken ribs. He knew what we were
going to attempt, and he was willing to trust himself to old Tom and me.
And the next morning, as soon as it was light, the Wavecrest was slung
over the side, her mast stepped, and the riggers got to work on her. By
noon she was provisioned and everything was ready for our cruise.
Ben Gibson was let down into the cockpit of the Wavecrest on a
mattress and was got comfortably into the cabin without any trouble.
There was a steady breeze, but the sea was calm. The crew bade us
godspeed and the skipper wrung my hand hard; but only said:
"Do the best you can for him, Webb. I'm trustin' to you and Tom to pull
the lad through."
We got the canvas up and sheered off from the Scarboro's side. We could
hear the muffled hammering of the carpenter and his mates inside her
wounded hull. They were fighting to keep the old hooker above the seas.
As we drifted away from the whaling bark I was not at all sure that we
should ever see her above the seas again.
Our canvas filled and the sloop got a bone in her teeth and walked away
with it just as prettily as ever she had sailed in Bolderhead Harbor.
"She's a beauty boat, lad," growled old Tom Anderly. "And she's taking
us out o' range o' them carcasses--Whew! they sartainly do begin to
stink. I don't begredge the boys their job of cutting them whales up
when they git at it."
We left the gulls and the sharks behind, with the bark and the rotting
whales, and soon they were all far away--mere specks upon the horizon.