"Well, Mr Rodd, sir," said Captain Chubb, as he and the lad stood
watching the regular dip of oars in the brig's two boats as they glided
back over the tranquil sea to where their vessel lay motionless in the
calm. "Well, Mr Rodd, sir, don't you wish you'd been born a
Frenchman?"
"No," cried the boy sharply. "I am thankful I was born English."
"And so you ought to be, my lad. Of all the crackbrained, sentimental,
outrageous chaps I ever met there's none of them comes up to a
Frenchman."
"Oh, you are too bad, Captain Chubb."
"Too bad, eh? Why, aren't they always kicking up a dust and making
revolutions, cutting off their kings' and queens' heads, and then going
to war with all the world, with their Napoleons and Bonapartes and all
the rest of them? Call themselves men!"
"Why, you are as bad as uncle," cried Rodd merrily. "You and he ought
to be always the best of friends. But, if you speak fairly you must own
that they are very gallant men."
"Gallant men!" cried the skipper scornfully. "I don't call them men. I
call them monkeys! Men! Butchers, as cut off the head of their
beautiful Queen Mary What-you-may-call-it, and then after shedding blood
like that, sending no end of poor women who never did them a bit of harm
to that guillotine. I'd be ashamed of myself, Mr Rodd, to take their
part."
"Oh, nonsense!" cried Rodd warmly. "I say that the Count and his son
have proved themselves to be very brave fellows. Why, you owned as much
yourself about the way in which they escaped with the brig."
"Oh, that was right enough," grumbled the skipper.
"I am not going to deny," continued Rodd, "that there are plenty of
horrible wretches amongst the French. And that Revolution was awful;
but haven't we plenty of bad men amongst the English?"
The skipper chuckled.
"Well, yes, we have had some pretty tidy ones, if you come to read your
histories. But I don't know so much about those chaps being brave. It
was a very clever bit of seamanship, mind you, that taking the brig out
in the teeth of the storm with hardly room to tack. I am not a bad
pilot in my way when I like to try, but I will be honest over it; I
daren't have tried that job. It was a very clean thing. But look here,
my lad. It's no use for you to try and crack that up, because him who
did it must have been as mad as a hatter, and between ourselves, that's
what I think that Count is."
"Oh, fudge, captain!" cried Rodd. "No more mad than you or I."
"Well, I can answer for myself, my lad," said the skipper, with a
chuckle, "but that's more than I'd do for you, for you do some precious
outrageous things sometimes."
"I?" cried Rodd.
"Yes, you, my lad."
"What a shame!" cried Rodd indignantly. "I defy you to prove that I
have done anything that you could call mad. Now tell me something.
What have you ever known me do that wasn't sensible?"
"Oh, that's soon done," cried the skipper. "Didn't you go and gammon
the soldiers when they were after the escaped French prisoners? Don't
you call that a mad act? Fighting against the laws of your country like
that!"
"Ah, well, I suppose I oughtn't to have helped them, captain; but I
couldn't help it."
"No, sir, and that's what the Frenchmen would say. Now, what in the
world is that chap after, with his mission, as he calls it? What does
he mean by coming rampaging out south with a hole in the bottom of his
brig and the pumps going straight on to keep the water down? Would any
one but a lunatic go risking his crew and his vessel like that?"
"Well, it does seem rather wild," replied Rodd thoughtfully.
"Wild? Well, that's only your way of saying he's stick, stark, staring
mad. And here he's been out weeks and weeks, knowing as he says that
his brig was sinking, when he could have put in at Gib, or the Azores,
or Las Palmas, or brought up in one of the West Coast rivers, where he
could run up on the tidal mud, careened his vessel, and set his ship's
carpenter to work to clap patches upon her bottom outside and in. Don't
you call that mad?"
"No. He might have had reasons for not doing so."
"Ah, that's right, sir; argufy. You young scholarly chaps who have been
to big schools and got your heads chock-full of Latin and Greek, you are
beggars to argufy--chopping logic, I suppose you calls it--and I give
in. You could easily beat me at that; just as easily as I could turn
you round my little finger at navigation. But I'll have one more go at
you; I says that there French Count is mad."
"And I say he is not," said Rodd, "only a brave, eccentric nobleman who
may have a good many more reasons for what he does than we know."
"All right, youngster. I give you my side. Now that's yours. Now,
just answer me this. Warn't it the crack-brainedest bit of
ask-you-to-go-and-borrow-a-new-strait-waistcoat-to-put-me-in sort of
a job for him to bring his two boat-loads of men, like a
black-flag-and-cross-boned Paul Jones sort of a pirate, aboard our
schooner in the dark, thinking he's going to take possession of it to
use instead of his own brig, when if he'd had any gumption he might have
managed to patch her up, and--Here, I say, I can't go on talking like
this before breakfast, my lad. I must have my bowl of coffee and a bit
of salt pork and biscuit before I say another word."
"Oh, very well," cried Rodd merrily. "I see we shan't agree; and we
don't want to quarrel, do we, captain?"
"Quarrel? Not us, my lad! It takes two to do that, and we knows one
another too well."
"Then look here," cried Rodd, "you are taking it very coolly and talking
about breakfast; aren't you going to order the boat out and go aboard
the brig at once?"
"I aren't a-going to do anything till I have had my breakfast," said the
captain. "They've spoilt my morning snooze, but I aren't going to let
them spoil my morning meal, nor my lads' neither."
"But it's urgent," cried Rodd. "Suppose while you are thinking of
eating and drinking the brig goes down?"
"Yah! She won't go down. If she's floated for weeks like that she'll
keep her nose above water while I swallow two bowls of coffee. I can't
work without something to keep me going. Let them pump for another
half-hour, and then we'll go."
"We!" said Rodd sharply. "That means me too?"
"Oh, ah, if you like to come; only we shall have to keep a sharp
look-out."
"What, for fear it should sink under us?"
"Nay, I didn't mean that, my lad. I mean, you see, we are dealing with
a lunatic."
"Captain!" cried Rodd indignantly.
"Ay, but we are, and there's no knowing what sort of games fellows like
that will be up to. I mean to give the mate strict orders to load all
three guns, and if he sees the Count coming off again with his two boats
full of men to take possession while he's got us tight, to sink them
without mercy. Ah, here's the stooard, welcome, as you might say, as
the flowers in spring. Come along, my lad, and let's lay in stores."
In spite of his words and deliberate way of proceeding, Captain Chubb
had made his arrangements so that within half-an-hour of going down to
breakfast he had the schooner's boat lowered down with Joe Cross, five
men, and the carpenter, who had already handed into the boat what he
called his bag of tricks, the said tricks being composed of an adze,
saws, chisels, augers, and nails, and very shortly afterwards the oars
were dipping, and with Uncle Paul and Rodd in the stern-sheets they were
gliding over the glittering sea and rapidly shortening the distance
between them and the beautiful brig, which won a string of encomiums
from the skipper as they drew near.
"Yes, she is a beauty," he said. "It would be a pity to let her go
down. Look at her lines, and the way she's rigged. If I wanted to sail
a brig I wouldn't wish for a better; but then, you see, I don't. She's
a bit low in the water, though, and no mistake. Well, we shall see; we
shall see."
The Count and his son were eagerly awaiting their coming, and welcomed
them warmly as they mounted the side, while, casting off his show of
indifference, the skipper cast an admiring glance round the deck of the
brig, and then gruffly exclaimed--
"Now then, sir, I want your bo'sun. But look here, can he parley
English?"
"No," said the Count, "but my son and I will interpret everything you
wish to hear."
"I don't know as I want to hear anything, sir," growled the skipper. "I
want to see for myself, and after that mebbe I shall want to give a few
orders, which I will ask you to have carried out."
"Yes; everything you wish shall be done directly."
"Umph!" grunted the skipper, looking round. "Pump rigged, and two men
trying to keep the water under. Ought to be four."
"Yes, of course," cried the Count, and he turned to give an order; but
Captain Chubb clapped his hand upon his arm.
"Hold hard," he said. "They'll do for a bit. Now then, I want to go
below and sound the well."
The Count and his son led the way below, the French crew standing aloof
and displaying the discipline of a man-of-war, no man leaving his place
while the skipper made all the investigations he required, and then came
up on deck with his mahogany face more deeply lined with wrinkles than
before.
"Well, captain," said Uncle Paul, while Rodd, who had kept close to his
young friend of the Dartmoor stream, eagerly listened for what their
expert had to say.
"Well, sir," he said, at last, as he took out a little seal-skin bag and
deliberately helped himself to a little ready-cut scrap of pigtail
tobacco, "your craft's in a bad way, and if something isn't done pretty
smart she'll be down at the bottom before long."
"Yes, yes," cried the Count impatiently, "but we have tried everything,
and it is impossible to get at the leak."
"Hah! Tried everything, have you, sir?"
"Yes, yes," cried the Count. "Some of my brave fellows have been
half-drowned in diving, trying to plug from inside, using yards to force
bags of oakum into the holes."
"Yes," said the skipper. "The ball went right through, I suppose?"
"Yes, yes," cried the Count, and Rodd noted that he was having hard work
to master his impatience and annoyance at the skipper's annoyingly
deliberate treatment of their urgent needs.
"So I suppose," said the skipper coolly, "but mebbe you haven't done
quite all; leastwise I should like to try my little plan, and if it
don't answer, why, you won't be any worse off than you are now; and when
I give it up as a bad job, why, you will have to take to your boats and
we shall have to find room for you aboard the schooner. Now then,
please, you will just order two more men at that pump, and four more
ready to take their places so as to keep on pumping hard."
"Yes, yes," cried the Count eagerly. "What next?"
"Order up what spare sails you've got from the store-room, and a few
coils of new line."
The Count gave his orders quickly, and his men went off to carry them
out.
"Good," said the skipper coolly. "That's smart."
"What next?" cried the Count.
"Well, sir, as quickly as I can, I want to do something to lighten the
ship."
"No; I must protest!" cried the Count excitedly. "You are going to
throw the guns overboard?"
"Humph!" grunted the captain. "Who said so? I didn't. Nay, that'd be
a pity. I wouldn't do that till the very last."
"Ah!" sighed the Count, as if deeply relieved.
"Well, the next thing is, sir, just you leave me and my men alone and
let yours look on till I want their help."
The Count was silent, and all looked on whilst in obedience to the
skipper's orders the English sailors, led by the carpenter, set busily
to work, seized upon the new spare sails that were brought up on deck,
and cast loose the coils of fresh hemp line that were placed ready.
Then with the skipper putting in a word here and there, resulting in the
lines being attached to the corners of the largest square-sail, these
latter were seized by a couple of the men, who dragged the sail forward
as the brig glided very gently along, for it was nearly calm, and then
passing the new sail deftly beneath the bowsprit, two of the men
climbing out and seeming to cling with their feet to the bobstay until
little by little they had got the edge right beneath the stay. Then
while their mates at the corners helped at the lines, they passed down
the sail right into the sea till they had lowered it to its full extent
and they could do no more, save once or twice when they hung down from
the stay and gave the canvas, which was slowly growing saturated, a
thrust or two with the foot where it seemed disposed to hitch against
the brig's keel.
And now the skipper took his post upon the bowsprit and gave his orders
by word or sign to the men who governed the movement of the great square
of canvas by means of the lines attached to the corners, the two at the
fore corners of the sail getting outside the bulwarks, barefooted, to
walk along the streak, and hauling just as much as was necessary to drag
the sail right beneath the keel, their two messmates preparing to
follow, and under the captain's guidance keeping all square and exact in
the effort to get the keel to act as the dividing line to mark the
oblong into two exact portions.
It was very slow work, for the canvas was stiff and moved unwillingly
downward beneath the keel; but after a time it began to yield to the
steady drag of the ropes upon the two fore corners, and, once started,
progress began to be faster. For, so to speak, the brig began to help,
sailing as it were gently more and more over the canvas, till at the end
of about half-an-hour it was in the position at which the skipper had
aimed, having while below in the hold pretty well marked down the
position of the two holes made by the shot from the fort. These were
about amidships, some few feet, as far as he could make out, on either
side of the keel, one naturally being much higher than the other in the
diagonal course taken by the heavy ball.
At last he called to his men to halt, and took off his cap, to stand
thinking, the position now being that the sail was drawn right under the
brig, and the sailors at the four corners were holding on tight to
prevent the vessel from sailing clear.
So far not a word had been uttered by the Frenchmen, all of whom had
stood clear or mounted the rigging or deck-house, so as to give the
Englishmen ample room; but now in the silence Rodd advanced to the
skipper eagerly, to say--
"Are you sure you have got the canvas well over the holes?"
Captain Chubb made no reply, but stood with his cap in his left hand
gazing aft, and then he moved his right arm two or three times, as if
forming an imaginary line through the brig's hull.
"Did you hear me, captain?" said Rodd eagerly. "Are you sure you have
got the sail over the holes?"
"No," granted the skipper. "Are you?"
"No; but I thought--"
"Yes, my lad; so did I. You thought we ought to get the sail in the
right place."
"Yes," said Rodd.
"Well, then, now, my lad, I should be much obliged to you if you'd tell
me which is exactly the right place."
Rodd looked at him in despair.
"Thank you, my lad," said the skipper dryly. "I am much obliged. But
all right, Mr Rodd; you can't tell, and I can't tell. We know that the
ball that came from the fort must have gone downwards a bit, so that it
went out from lower than where it went in; but there's no knowing
whether she was hit from starboard or from larboard, and that's where
I'm bothered. But never say die. I think we will make this bit of
canvas fast now, for I'm pretty sure of one thing; it will be a plaister
for one hole if it isn't for the other."
"But look here, captain," cried Rodd.
"What now?"
"Won't the water run under the canvas just the same as it did before?"
"No, my lad, it won't; and I'll tell you the reason why when we have
done. Of course you know I am not going to stop all the water from
coming in below, but if I can get it checked a bit so that they can keep
it down easy with one man at the pump instead of two, she won't go to
the bottom just yet, and they will have time enough to get into port to
set the carpenter at work."
"Then you won't let our carpenter try to stop the holes?"
"No, my lad. You see, he never learned to be a fish, so that he could
work under water; and though he's a bit of a crab in his way, I don't
think he could manage it for all that. Now I'm ready to go on. Come,
my lads, put your backs into it and haul them sheets tight. Here,
master, let two of your men go to each corner and help my lads. All
together as hard as they can!" shouted the skipper, and the Count
quickly translated his order.
"That's right! Haul away, my lads!" shouted the skipper. "That new
canvas won't give. Harder! Harder! Now then, one more--all you
know!--Make fast!"
"Excellent! Superb!" cried the Count, as the men ceased from making
fast the ropes, which were brought over the bulwarks and passed round
the belaying pins. "Do you think that will stop the leak?"
"Maybe yes, sir; maybe no. If it don't do it we will put another
plaister on, and another, and another. You have got plenty of spare
sails and rope, and when we have used all yours I dare say we can find
some more in the schooner. Now then, set your men going at that pump,
and rig up another as quick as you can."
One pump began to clank heavily at once, and a short time after another
was at work, and the clear bright water began to sparkle out of the
scuppers, while, moved as it were by the same spirit, the French crew
burst into a shrill involuntary cheer.
"How can I ever thank you, captain?" cried the Count, while his son
snatched at Rodd's hand.
"Ah, I haven't done yet, sir," said the skipper coolly. "This is only a
try."
"Oh, it's grand," cried the French lad, clinging to Rodd's arm. "You
have saved our ship."
"Don't you holloa till you are out of the wood, young fellow," said the
skipper, as he heard the words. "Now, Mr Rodd, sir, what was it you
wanted to know?"
"Why the water will not still rim in underneath the canvas."
"Only because of this, my lad. Aren't they pumping the water out now as
fast as ever they can?"
"Yes," cried Rodd; "but more will run in."
"Yes, my lad, and as it runs in won't the weight of the water outside
push the canvas closer and closer in round the leak?"
"Yes, of course," cried Rodd. "I didn't think of that. And as there
gets less inside it will seem to suck the canvas closer to."
"Quite right, my lad. That's about the way it works; and now we have
got to wait for about an hour before we can know whether we have got
both holes covered, or only one."
"Wait for an hour?" cried Rodd.
"Well, perhaps, before we are sure; but I dare say I shall be going down
and sounding the well a time or two before that."
But long before the hour had elapsed the skipper found that though the
water in the brig had subsided to a certain extent, one of the holes
must be still uncovered, and he began at once to repeat his proceedings,
coming to the conclusion that one of the bullet-holes was beyond the
reach of the canvas. This time, after all was drawn tight,
half-an-hour's pumping proved that his surmises were correct, and the
skipper smiled with satisfaction as the Count and his men cheered them
in delight on finding after a good deal of pumping that there was a very
perceptible diminution of the water in the hold.
"It is superb, and so simple," cried the Count to Uncle Paul; "but I
feel humbled, sir. Why could not our French sailors have been able to
do this?"
"Well," said Uncle Paul good-humouredly, "the only reason I can give is
that they were not English."
"That's it, sir," said the skipper. "You have hit the right nail on the
head. But look here, Mr Count--I don't know your name."
"Des Saix," said the Count, smiling.
"Look here, sir; this is nothing to make a fuss about. It will keep you
afloat while the weather's fine, but just come a rough time, those sails
will be ripped off as easily as pocket-handkerchiefs. Besides, they
will hinder your sailing no end."
"Ah, that is bad," said the Count, changing countenance.
"Oh no, not it. There's worse disasters than that at sea."
"But will it not be possible for the carpenters to stop the leaks?"
"No, sir; not unless you do what I say."
"Ah! What is that?"
"Run your craft up one of the rivers to where you can careen on the mad,
and then a few hours between tides will be enough to put everything
straight."
"Is there no other way?" asked the Count.
"Only downwards, sir," cried the skipper; and the French lad glanced
questioningly at Rodd, who shook his head.
"No," said the boy, almost in a whisper. "I don't think there is any
other way. He is quite right."
After another hour's pumping, the skipper gave out his intention of
going back to the schooner; but the Count would not hear of it. He
begged and implored Uncle Paul to give him their company at the
breakfast he was having prepared, and after a little hesitation the
doctor gave way, and suggested to the skipper that they should leave
their departure till late in the afternoon, when a far better opinion
could be given of the state of the brig.
"What do you say, squire?" said the skipper, looking at Rodd.
"Oh yes, let's stay!" And his impulsive young French friend grasped him
by the wrist.
"Very well, gentlemen, I have only one thing to say, for I don't suppose
the schooner will sail away and leave us behind. Let them call it
dinner, and I'll stop. I aren't been in the habit of eating my
breakfast at two o'clock in the day."