He was a strange little skipper, Captain Webster, and he asked us aft
with some civility, making sundry comments at the insolence of our
master, who had the impudence to question his right upon the high seas.
We were ushered below and not allowed to remain upon the deck in the hot
sun. I saw several men who wore arms, and noticed a gun-rack at the foot
of the stairway. But Webster was garrulous and took the trouble to
answer no questions. He showed Miss Waters over the cabin, taking her
through the forward room, where he had quite a lot of ferns and plants
ranged in pots upon a sort of dais. It interested the girl very much to
see a miniature greenhouse aboard a ship in mid-ocean, and she spent
some time examining the plants. Garnett followed me below and announced
that, if we would wait a little, we would have a side of short-ribs to
take back for our pains. They were just starting to work upon a couple
of hogs as we came aboard. The beer he appreciated very much indeed; as
for the papers, he could tell better after he had read them.
As it is always the custom to make presents of whatever vegetables,
meat, or other commodity prized by the sailor when deep-water ships are
becalmed in company, we showed our appreciation by waiting. I was
talking to Garnett and his mate, a tall lanky Scotchman, when a loud
noise from forward caused us to listen. There were hoarse cries, deep
groans, and above all a steady rush of trampling feet, which told of a
desperate struggle. I looked for my charge, Miss Waters, and saw her
coming through the cabin doorway, while Webster rushed for the deck. The
rest of us followed without delay, and, as we reached the open air, a
scene of strife met our gaze. They were after a hog of uncommon size,
and the animal was making the fight of his life.
Garnett seized a belaying-pin--his favourite weapon--and his mate
grabbed a bar. The next instant they were in the fracas.
Knowing Miss Waters was safe in the saloon, I made my way to the break
of the poop to see the scrimmage, and as I did so the animal came racing
down the deck.
The cook who had him in charge made the first pass, and ripped the skin
of the animal’s neck enough to madden him, and in ten seconds the beast
had broken away and was in full career on the lower deck. Men crowded
after him, flung themselves upon him, stabbed, fought, and struggled,
but the noble beast tore his way clear of all obstacles and dragged the
entire watch into the forward cabin, smashing through doors and
furniture until it looked as though a cyclone had ripped through the
ship. All attempts to seize his legs and trip him were in vain. One man,
clasping him boldly about the neck, was carried until scraped off
against a bulkhead like a barnacle on a pile. Two men, each holding to
his hind legs, were dragged the entire length of the ship amid the
cheers of their comrades, who in turn seized their own legs and
endeavoured to hold them back. At the turn of the cabin door a dozen
more men fell upon the animal and endeavoured by sheer weight to hold
him down. The captain coming down the poop steps to see the fracas was
struck by the moving mass of men and hog, and he disappeared beneath
them, to emerge a moment later covered with blood and glory. For ten
minutes the noble animal made his fight, dodging past hatchways, through
open doors, and with never less than five, and generally more than
fifteen, stout seamen in his wake. Cheered on by the cook and first
officer, and spurred to desperation by the curses of the thoroughly
indignant captain, the men fought until their clothing was in rags and
the perspiration poured from them. The modern game of football would
have made a poor showing on that ship’s deck, for, in spite of all
massed plays, the pig would gallantly emerge from the pile of rolling
seamen, and with a steady “Hough, hough,” raised in battle-cry, charge
again and again. For a long time the savage play was kept up until the
men looked as though they belonged to the boarding party of a hostile
ship. They finally conquered. For their hard-earned victory, the captain
rewarded them with the four feet of the hero, about enough meat upon
them to satisfy the ship’s cat.
In less than ten minutes afterward, we had a prime piece of pork in our
small boat, along with some apples Webster had managed to save, and we
were ready for the row back aboard the _Arrow_.
The little skipper of the _Countess of Warwick_ came to the side and
ushered Miss Waters over in a most gallant manner.
“It has given me great pleasure, madam, I might say even delight, to
have had the honour of your society upon my ship. You may tell your
insolent uncle that I forgive him his trespass upon me this voyage, for
this is the day of all days we should be thankful that we are in no
worse condition than that in which we find ourselves. I bid you
farewell. It is now time that I let some of my cargo out upon the deck
for an airing.”
We shoved off and started back, and in a few moments it seemed that the
decks of the _Warwick_ were crowded with men. I made no comment, for
there was little use of calling the girl’s attention to their garb. The
ship lay at some distance and the sun was very hot, so I let the men row
slowly.
Suddenly the sunshine seemed to grow dimmer. I looked around over the
calm ocean, and noticed what looked to be a sort of mist close aboard.
“Aye tank something is going to happen,” said the man rowing the bow
oar. “Look, sur, at the ship.”
Turning, I saw the light canvas coming in by the run. The noise of gear
sounded distinctly over the water. Then, suddenly, the mist seemed to
envelop the _Warwick_, and as it did so there fell upon my ears a
thundering thrashing of flying canvas, and I saw her heel heavily over
as she disappeared in the smudge.
“White squall,” I yelled, and swung the boat’s head around to face the
wind. “Hold her steady, head to it,” I cried, and at that moment a blast
of wind rushed over the sea, pushing up the foam ahead of it like a wall
of snow. We had just time to get the boat straightened out to meet it
when it struck us.
A storm of flying water swept over us, but the men, bending all their
weight to the oars, held the craft head to the wind, while with the
rudder I gave what help I could. The _Countess of Warwick_ had
completely disappeared, and the rush of the wind and sea about us
quickly blotted out everything save the ocean close alongside. It blew
like the blast from a gun, whirling, whistling over us. Then in less
than five minutes down came a deluge of water. The wind was over.
I felt a small hand grasp mine holding the tiller rope. Then I looked
into the face of the girl, and her eyes met mine.
Ten minutes later the sun broke out from behind the bank with unabated
vigour. The _Arrow_ lay a mile away with some of her lighter canvas
hanging from the yards.
“I wonder what uncle will say,” said Miss Waters.
“What he will say will be of small interest,” I answered. “It is more
important what he will do. However, let’s hope there was little damage
done and that he is still in good humour.”
“I see now why he didn’t think it any too safe,” she said.
“It was the finest squall I ever saw,” I answered, “and it has done more
to make me thankful than anything that has happened to me for some
years.”
“Perhaps you will enjoy the pork just as much,” she commented, but she
let her gaze fall to the bottom of the boat and said no more until we
were alongside.