On gaining the deck I found a huge sea had fallen into the waist,
filling the main-deck knee-deep with water. The weather was looking wild
enough to windward.
The ship was plunging into a mountainous sea, with nothing on her except
the three narrow bands of lower topsails and forestaysail. She was
heeling over to the gale until her lee deckstrake was level with the
sea, while the deep roar of the wind, as it tore its way through the
rigging, told plainly of the pressure on the canvas.
The flying, swirling drift struck the face so hard that it was
impossible to look but for a moment to windward. I noticed Brown had
turned out and was sheltering himself as best he might while he clung to
the lee mizzen rigging. Captain Crojack was on deck, and O’Toole had
gone forward to call all hands. We had been hove to all the morning on
the port track, but, as the barometer fell steadily, the skipper saw, as
soon as the wind began to chop around to the eastward, that he was
nearing the centre of the cyclone. All hands were then called to wear
ship.
As the men took their places at the braces, the skipper gave the order
to put the wheel hard up, when the forestaysail, which had held during
all the morning, parted from the stay with a loud crack and was gone.
The heavy ship wore slowly under the three lower topsails, but finally
came up on the starboard tack, heading almost due north.
When she first headed the sea, a big fellow caught her a little forward
of the starboard beam and bore her down until her lee rail was well
under water. Then, with a sudden lurch, she righted, sending the flood
across the deck and filling the forward cabin and alleyways. The
main-deck was full of water, and under the extra load the clipper
settled almost to her deck amidships.
The ports in the bulwarks were nailed up and the water would not get
clear fast enough through the scuppers. The men were called aft on the
poop, while O’Toole and myself, armed with handspikes, started to break
out the bulwarks in the waist.
In a few moments we were joined by the third mate, who stood knee-deep
in the foam and strove lustily to force the heavy planks from the
vessel’s timbers.
While we worked I felt the ship take a heave to windward, and at the
same instant heard Crojack’s voice bawling out something.
I turned my head just in time to see a blue hill of water rise high
above the weather-rail.
Then, with a tremendous, smothering crash, it fell on deck and rolled
over us.
I had just time to grasp the main brace when my feet were swept from
under me and I felt myself beneath the surface.
Holding on with both hands, I tried to get my head out of the water, and
in a moment the ship righted, jerking me back on to the main-deck.
As soon as I could see anything, I looked for O’Toole and Brown. And
then, yes, and then I must confess how weak a strong man is, I looked
aft to see if a bright face was enjoying the excitement.
There, in the lee scuppers, lay the red-headed giant holding fast to the
topsail brace with one hand while the other was fast in the collar of
the third mate’s jacket.
O’Toole was up to his armpits in the swirl, but his freckled face and
red hair shone like a beacon in the surrounding waste of whiteness,
while his deep voice, half-choked with salt water, spluttered out a
string of oaths as he dragged Brown to his feet.
“Ef it’s swimmin’ ye’re afther, ’twill be hard to keep up with us,” he
roared into the third mate’s ear, “an’ it’s a divin’-bell ye’ll be
wantin’ if yer goin’ to help us here, so git on to th’ poop before
another sea washes ye clane out av yer skin.” So saying, he released the
young man and, grabbing his handspike that floated near, began to start
the planking with powerful blows.
The third mate seemed reluctant to leave, but, as his handspike had gone
overboard on that sea, there was nothing else for him to do. He climbed
on to the poop and held on to the lee rigging. In a few moments we stove
out the ports, and the vessel began to relieve herself of the load on
her main-deck. Then we climbed back on the poop and held on, watching
the lower topsails as they tugged and strained at the clews.
Captain Crojack stood near the wheel, and his seamed and lined face wore
an anxious look as he strove to pierce the cloud of flying drift and
spray which bore down on the staggering ship.
I remember watching him and the pretty face in the companionway
alternately. There was much of the sturdy sailor’s nature expressed in
the soft face of the young girl. And I have always found much to admire
in strong, sturdy characters.
Even, as is often the case, if the strong personality has a coarse
fibre, and lacks the soft and delicate traceries of sentiment of the
weaker, I have always felt that more reliance could be placed in the
former than in the latter, and under any circumstances.
Old Crojack’s strong, lined face and puckered eyes, as he stood there
trying to look to windward, was a study of resolute responsibility.
All of a sudden there was a loud crack, and the maintopsail seemed to
melt away from the yard-arm as if it were a sheet of ice under a tropic
sun. Then, almost instantly, the wind began to fall until in a few
moments a candle would have burned on deck.
“Clew down the mizzentopsail,” roared the skipper, as he sprang for the
halyards, and in a moment the watch were all struggling with that bit of
canvas and had it rolled snug on the yard in less time than it takes to
tell it.
“Keep her northeast b’ north,” he sung out again, as the ship, becoming
unmanageable, began switching and plunging into a high lumpy sea that
seemed to come from all points of the compass at once. All around us
hung low, thick banks of heavy, dark, and oily-looking clouds, their
lower edges almost resting on the heaving ocean. The air had become as
warm as if we had suddenly entered the tropics. In the dull, uncertain
light I thought I noticed something white on the water to the southward.
Then, above the thundering of the seas that fell on the ship’s deck, I
could hear a deepening murmur. It swelled into a deep roaring as the
hurricane, driving the tops of the seas before it until they were as
level as a plain of driven snow, bore down on our starboard quarter.
With a rush that made every shroud and backstay sing to the strain,
until the booming roar was deafening, it struck us and away we went
before it.
The foretopsail held long enough to get the ship’s head off before it;
then it parted from the clews and jackstay and disappeared like a giant
bird into the drift ahead.
It blew so hard that it almost lifted me from my feet as I crossed the
deck.
Captain Crojack fastened the cabin door and pulled the slide to the
companionway, for he knew that, running deep as we were, it would only
be a few minutes before the sea would begin to board us.
“By th’ sowl av Saint Patrick, we struck th’ cintre av it this time,
sure,” said O’Toole, who, with Brown and a couple of hands in my watch,
sheltered themselves behind the mizzen.
“It puts me in moind av th’ time we had on th’ _Eagle_ frigate whin we
struck into th’ cintre av one o’ thim circular storms ter th’ north’ard
av th’ Bermudas. There was a parrot on board owned by an Irishman in my
mess, and ivery time a sea would strike an’ board us th’ baste would
laugh outrajis. Th’ fellow was so scared av th’ oncanny cratur that he
thought it was Davy Jones himself. So he took him ter th’ spar-deck in
his cage an’ opens th’ door, an’ says, ‘Scat, ye baste!’ an’ th’ burd
was gone t’ leeward like a streak av green lightnin’.
“‘Now laugh, ye divil incarnate!’ he yelled, ’an’ thank yer stars me
conscience previnted me from wringing yer bloody neck!’
“Do yer know, ’pon me whurd, for a fact, the wind fell so that by dark
we were ready t’ loose th’ maint’gallantsail. The fellow that owned th’
burd was th’ first on th’ yard, an’ th’ first thing he saw there,
lookin’ down at him from th’ r’yal truck, was a big pair o’ green eyes.
Th’ next minute a wild, oncanny laugh broke out from th’ heavens above
to th’ earth beneath.
“He gave one yell an’ let go, an’, if it hadn’t been for th’ belly av
th’ mainsail being tight as a board, he would have broke his neck. As it
was, he slid right down on to th’ main-deck an’ landed on his feet, but
he wouldn’t go aloft again till they’d caught th’ burd.
“Now, both ye, Mr. Brown and yersilf, are friendly with th’ ladies, an’
I’m thinking if ye could loose that cockatoo av th’ older one’s, there
would be nothin’ but good come from it. Hold hard!” and suiting the
action to the yell, he sprang on to the saddle of the spanker boom. The
rest of us grabbed whatever came within reach, for we saw a great hill
of water high above the stern, and we knew its combing crest would go
over us.
The men at the wheel jumped around forward of it, as, with a thundering
crash, the mass of green water rolled over the poop.
It tore the bitt-coverings to match-wood and crashed through the cabin
door. A glimpse of struggling arms in the smother of foam that went over
the port side told the fate of one of the quartermasters.
“All hands save ship!” roared old Crojack, as soon as the flood had
passed over. “Good God! Mr. Gore, she won’t stand another like that;
she’s half up in the wind now,” and we sprang to the wheel to keep her
from broaching to.
“Lay aft, bullies!” I bawled, and, followed by O’Toole, Brown, and a
dozen sailors, I made my way as rapidly as possible to the lazarette to
procure a tarpaulin.
We carried it into the mizzen rigging and, by dint of hard work, managed
to lash it up and down the ratlines just as another sea boarded us and
half-filled the cabin.
Shrieks issued from below, but there was no time to see what was the
matter. Captain Crojack was almost drowned at the wheel, but he and the
sailor left there held on. The man was the heavy-set German whose
shoulders had felt the weight of my rope’s-end. When I saw how bravely
the fellow held the racing ship up to her course, I was almost sorry
that I had been so hasty.
As soon as we had the tarpaulin in the mizzen, and the bare yards braced
for the starboard tack, the wheel was put down and the clipper rolled up
in the trough of the sea. She managed to head up, however, although she
took a comber into her waist that stove two men, who were at the braces,
so heavily against the t’gallant-rail, that one died by the time he was
taken forward, and the other had two ribs broken and was crippled for
weeks afterward.
Luckily the wind began to haul to the westward, and we found that on the
starboard tack, with nothing but the tarpaulin in the mizzen, she would
head up within four points of the sea, while the hauling wind drove the
spray over her in clouds but two points forward of the weather beam.
Dripping wet and half-blinded with salt, I made my way aft to where the
skipper stood at the wheel. The cries continued to come up the smashed
companionway, and, as I drew near, Crojack motioned for me to go below
and see what was wrong.
I scrambled down into the cabin, and almost immediately found Mrs.
Waters in my arms.
She was hysterical with fright, and begged me never to leave her.
She was a plump, good-looking woman, and I own that I felt a little
flattered at this show of absolute confidence. I took her to the weather
side of the cabin, clear of the water, and strove to quiet her, and in a
short time she was silent. I then thought that it was about time that I
should go on deck and attend to my duties.
As soon as I started to leave, she became nervous again and grasped me
tightly.
“You’ll never leave me here alone, Mr. Gore; you’ll never leave me?” she
cried.
“No,” said I, mechanically, “I’ll never leave you,” and the words were
no sooner out of my mouth than I was aware of a stateroom door being
open and a half-smiling, half-frightened face regarding us intently.
“Mr. Gore!” bawled Captain Crojack down the companionway.
“Ay, ay, sir!” I answered, and, freeing myself, I made my way on deck.
The skipper eyed me curiously.
“Better see about getting a new maintopsail ready for bending, and get
the foresail close reefed,” he said, with some energy. And I immediately
went forward.
During the dog-watch that evening we bent new fore and main lower
topsails and were soon riding comfortably enough. After supper we kept
away and drove off to the eastward, with the wind astern and enough
canvas on the ship to keep her clear of the running hill behind us.
The carpenter was sent aft to mend the cabin door and clear away the
wreck in the after cabin.
So much water had poured down the companionway that many movable things
were washed clear into the forward cabin. Among these I noticed a book
which I thought I recognized, by its peculiar cover, as my private
log-book. I remember wondering how it could have floated out of my room,
but I picked it up and laid it carefully in my bunk to dry.
When I took my watch below, I opened it to see if it was damaged by the
water, and was astonished to find neat entries made in it by an
unmistakably feminine hand.
On the first page were a few terse lines, thus: “April 16th, left New
York. Am a little seasick. Am much amused at the antics of the ogling
first officer. His name is Gore, an abbreviation of gorilla. He
certainly looks like one,” etc.
I was a little cut at this. I am not handsome, and that made it hurt all
the more.
I closed the book and looked out my door into the forward cabin. It was
empty. Noiselessly I stole to the door in the bulkhead and looked into
the after cabin. It was empty also, and from the sounds that came from
the skipper’s room it appeared that he and the passengers were absorbed
in conversation over our recent danger. Here was my chance. I went
softly to Mrs. Waters’s door and turned the latch. It opened and I saw
that all was dark within, so I quickly deposited the book into what I
supposed was the empty bunk and turned to flee. Instantly I felt my hair
seized from behind and a piercing shriek rent the air close to my ear. I
struggled frantically to escape, and had just gained the centre of the
cabin when Crojack’s door flew open and he and his niece rushed out into
the room.
The two staterooms were directly opposite and opened into the main
cabin, so it was evident that he had heard the shriek and had sprung to
the rescue.
He was upon me in an instant, and I believe would certainly have killed
me before I could have said a word of explanation, had it been in his
power to do so.
As it was, I gripped him around the body, holding his arms to his sides
and strove to explain matters.
Mrs. Waters tugged lustily at my hair and screamed at the top of her
voice, while her daughter looked on in consternation.
In a few moments the good lady let go my hair and very properly fainted.
Then I soon had Crojack listening to reason.
When matters were straightened out a little, I went back to my bunk and
lay there all the rest of my watch below, cursing my ill luck.
I said, in the beginning, that I was broad-minded, and I’ve always
believed that, if there is an all-good and all-powerful Creator, there
can be no wrong deduced from any action. He could and would prevent it.
Therefore, from this logical standpoint, there can be no wrong, for
every one must believe in an all-good and all-powerful Creator.
From a social or religious standpoint the matter is quite different. A
person can do much wrong from this standpoint.
This is not entirely a new line of reasoning, perhaps, but I’ve since
come to the conclusion that it might have appeared so to Crojack and his
niece at that time. Both of those looked upon that absurd affair from an
illogical standpoint. Which goes to show how much wrong can be done a
man by being more religious than logical. Why do good women always
suspect wrong of good men? Bah!