We had got our decks caulked, our rigging set up, and other repairs
finished, when, one forenoon, O'Carroll, who had at length ventured on
shore, returned in a great hurry with the information that there was
much bustle on board the _Mignonne_, and that her people were evidently
hurrying to the utmost to get ready for sea. Had Captain Hassall
followed his own inclinations, he would have given the piratical
Frenchman the opportunity of trying his strength with the _Barbara_; but
as that would have been decidedly objected to by Garrard, Janrin and
Company, we, with the whaler and her prize, and another English vessel,
cleared out as secretly as we could, and, with a fair breeze, put to
sea. We had to lay to for the other vessels, and after they had joined
us Captain Brown hailed us, to say that the look-out from his
main-topgallant mast-head had seen a large ship coming out of the
harbour under all sail, and that he thought it possible she might be the
_Mignonne_. As, however, a mist had soon afterwards arisen, she was
concealed from sight. We promised, however, to stand to the northward
with Captain Brown during the night, and in the morning, should no enemy
be in sight, let him and his consorts proceed on their voyage homewards,
while we kept on our course for the Cape of Good Hope. Nothing could
have given our people greater satisfaction than to have found the
Frenchman close to us at daybreak. I spent most of the night in writing
letters home, to send by the whaler. When morning dawned, not a sail,
except our own little squadron, was to be seen. We kept company till
noon, and then, with mutual good wishes, stood away on our respective
courses. We hoped that the _Mignonne_ would follow the _Barbara_ rather
than our friends, should she really have sailed in chase of any of us.
The possibility of our being pursued created much excitement on board.
At early dawn, till the evening threw its mantle over the ocean, we had
volunteers at the mastheads looking out for a strange sail. At the end
of four or five days all expectation of again meeting with the
_Mignonne_ ceased, somewhat to the disappointment of most of the crew,
who were wonderfully full of fight. Having beaten the Frenchman once,
they were very sure that they could beat him again. We had other good
reasons for having our eyes about us--first, to avoid in time any foe
too big to tackle; and then, as we had the right to capture any Spanish
vessels we might fall in with, to keep a look-out for them. However,
the ocean is very broad, and though we chased several vessels, they all
proved to be Portuguese. After sighting the little rocky and then
uninhabited island of Tristan da Cunha, we made the Cape of Good Hope,
and, entering Table Bay, dropped our anchor off Capetown.
The colony had lately been recaptured from the Dutch by Sir David Baird
and Sir Home Popham, with a well-appointed force of 5,000 men. The two
armies met on the plain at the foot of Table Mountain; but scarcely had
the action been commenced by General Ferguson, at the head of the
Highland brigade, than the wise Hollanders, considering that the English
were likely to prove as good masters as the French, retreated, and soon
after offered to capitulate, which they were allowed to do with all the
honours of war. The Dutch, French, and English were now living on very
friendly terms with each other. The Cape colony, with its clean,
well-laid-out English capital, its Table Mountain and Table Cloth, its
vineyards, its industrious and sturdy Boers, its Hottentot slaves, and
its warlike Kaffirs, is too well-known to require a description. I did
a good deal of trading--a matter of private interest to Garrard, Janrin
and Company, so I will not speak of it. The ship was put to rights, we
enjoyed ourselves very much on shore, and were once more at sea. Strong
easterly winds drove us again into the Atlantic, and when we had
succeeded in beating back to the latitude of Capetown, the weather,
instead of improving, looked more threatening than ever. I had heard of
the peculiar swell off the Cape, but I had formed no conception of the
immense undulations I now beheld. They came rolling on slow and
majestically, solid-looking, like mountains of malachite, heaving up our
stout ship as if she were a mere chip of deal cast on the face of the
ocean. We were alone on the waste of waters, no other objects in sight
besides these huge green masses, which, as the clouds gathered, were
every instant becoming of a darker and more leaden hue.
"We shall get a breeze soon, and I hope that it will be from the right
quarter for us," I remarked to Benjie Stubbs, the second mate, who had
charge of the deck.
"We shall have a breeze, and more than we want, Pusser," (intended for
Purser, a name Benjie always persisted in giving me), he answered,
glancing round the horizon. "You've not seen anything like this before,
eh? A man must come to sea to know what's what. There are strange
sights on the ocean."
"So I have always heard," I remarked.
"Yes, you'd have said so if you had been on deck last night in the
middle watch," he observed, in a low tone.
"How so? what happened?" I asked.
"Why, just this," he answered. "There was not more wind than there is
now, and the sky was clear, with a slice of a moon shining brightly,
when, just as I was looking along its wake, what did I see but a
full-rigged, old-fashioned ship, under all sail, bearing down towards us
at a tremendous rate. When she got within a couple of hundred fathoms
of us she hove-to and lowered a boat. I guessed well enough what she
was, so, running forward, I cast loose one of the guns and pointed at
the boat. They aboard the stranger knew what I was after; the boat was
hoisted in again, and away she went right in the teeth of the wind."
"Did you see this last night?" I asked, looking the mate in the face.
"I should like to speak to some of the men who saw it at the same time."
"I don't say all saw it. You may ask those who did, and you won't get a
different story from what I've told you," he replied.
"And what think you was the ship you saw?" I asked.
"The _Flying Dutchman_, of course, and no manner of doubt about the
matter," he answered promptly. [Note 1.] "If you had been on the
look-out you would have seen him as clearly as I did. Remember, Pusser,
if you ever fall in with him, don't let him come aboard, that's all.
He'll send you to the bottom as surely as if a red-hot shot was to be
dropped into the hold."
"Who is this _Flying Dutchman_?" I asked, wishing to humour Benjie by
pretending to believe his story.
"Why, as to that, there are two opinions," he answered, as if he was
speaking of authenticated facts. "Some say that he was an honest
trader, that he was bound in for Table Bay, when he was ordered off by
the authorities, and that, putting to sea, he was lost; others say that
he was a piratical gentleman, and that on one occasion, when short of
provisions, being driven off the land by contrary winds, he swore a
great oath that he would beat about till the day of doom, but that get
in he would. He and all his crew died of starvation, but the oath has
been kept; and when gales are threatening, or mischief of any kind
brewing, he is to be met with, trying in vain to accomplish his vow."
I smiled at Benjie's account, whereat he pretended to look very
indignant, as if I had doubted his veracity. I afterwards made
inquiries among the seamen. Two or three asserted that they had
witnessed an extraordinary sight during the night, but they all differed
considerably in their accounts. It may be supposed that they were
trying to practise on the credulity of a greenhorn. My belief is that
they really fancied that they had seen what they described.
The clouds grew thicker and thicker till they got as black as ink. The
sea became of a dark leaden hue, and the swell increased in height, so
that when we sank down into the intermediate valley, we could not see
from the deck beyond the watery heights on either side of us.
"Ah, the skipper is right; we shall have it before long, hot and
furious."
This remark, made by Benjie Stubbs, followed the captain's order to send
down all our lighter spars, and to make everything secure on deck, as
well as below. The ship was scarcely made snug before the tempest broke
on us. The high, smooth rollers were now torn and wrenched asunder as
it were, their summits wreathed with masses of foam, which curled over
as they advanced against the wind, and breaking into fragments, blew off
in masses of snowy whiteness to leeward. I scarcely thought that a
fabric formed by human hands could have sustained the rude shocks we
encountered till the ship was got on her course, and we were able to
scud before the gale. Often the sea rose up like a dead wall, and
seemed as if it must fall over our deck and send us to the bottom. The
scene was trying in the daytime, but still more so when darkness covered
the face of the deep, and it needed confidence in the qualities of our
ship, and yet greater in God's protecting power, not to feel overcome
with dread. There was a grandeur in the spectacle which kept me on
deck, and it was not till after the steward had frequently summoned me
to supper that I could tear myself from it. Curious was the change to
the well-lighted, handsome cabin, with the supper things securely placed
between fiddles and puddings [Note 1.] on the swing table. The first
mate had charge of the deck. Stubbs was busily employed fortifying his
nerves. "You now know, Pusser, what a gale off the Cape is," he
observed, looking up with his mouth half full of beef and biscuit.
"Yes, indeed," said I. "Fine weather, too, for your friend the
_Dutchman_ to be cruising."
"Ay, and likely enough we shall see him, too," he answered. "It was
just such a night as this, some five years back, that we fell in with
him off here; and our consort, as sound a ship as ever left the Thames,
with all hands, was lost. It's my belief that he put a boat aboard her
by one of his tricks." I saw Captain Hassall and Irby exchange glances.
Stubbs was getting on his favourite subject.
"Well, now, I've doubled this Cape a dozen times or more, and have never
yet once set eyes on this Dutch friend of yours, Benjie," exclaimed
O'Carroll. "Mind you call me if we sight his craft; I should like to
`ya, ya' a little with him, and just ask him where he comes from, and
what he's about, and maybe if I put the question in a civil way I'll get
a civil answer." By-the-bye, Captain Hassall and I had been so well
pleased with O'Carroll, and so satisfied as to his thorough knowledge of
the regions we were about to visit and the language of the people, that
we had retained him on board as supernumerary mate.
"Don't you go and speak to him now, if you value the safety of the ship,
or our lives," exclaimed Stubbs, in a tone of alarm. "You don't know
what trick he'll play you if you do. Let such gentry alone, say I."
We all laughed at the second mate's earnestness, though I cannot say
that all the rest of those present disbelieved in the existence of the
condemned _Dutchman_. The state of the atmosphere, the strange, wild,
awful look of the ocean, prepared our minds for the appearance of
anything supernatural. The captain told me that I looked ill and tired
from having been on deck so many hours, and insisted on my turning in,
which I at length unwillingly did.
In spite of the upheaving motion of the ship, and the peculiar sensation
as she rushed down the watery declivity into the deep valley between the
seas, I fell asleep. The creaking of the bulkheads, the whistling of
the wind in the rigging, the roaring of the seas, and their constant
dash against the sides, were never out of my ears, and oftentimes I
fancied that I was on deck witnessing the tumult of the ocean--now that
the _Flying Dutchman_ was in sight, now that our own good ship was
sinking down overwhelmed by the raging seas.
"Mr Stubbs wants you on deck, sir; she's in sight, sir, he says, she's
in sight," I heard a voice say, while I felt my elbow shaken. The
speaker was Jerry Nott, our cabin-boy. I slipped on my clothes,
scarcely knowing what I was about.
"What o'clock is it?" I asked. "Gone two bells in the morning watch,"
he answered. I sprang on deck. The dawn had broke. The wind blew as
hard as ever. The sky and sea were of a leaden grey hue, the only spots
of white were the foaming crests of the seas and our closely-reefed
foretop sails. "There, there! Do you see her now?" asked Stubbs,
pointing ahead. As we rose to the top of a giant sea I could just
discover in the far distance, dimly seen amid the driving spray, the
masts of a ship, with more canvas set than I should have supposed would
have been shown to such a gale. While I was looking I saw another ship
not far beyond the first. We were clearly nearing them.
"What do you think of that?" asked Stubbs.
"That there are two ships making very bad weather of it, Mr Stubbs,"
answered the captain, who at that moment had come on deck. He took a
look through his glass.
"She is a large ship--a line-of-battle ship, I suspect," he observed.
"Looks like one," said Stubbs. "She'll look like something else
by-and-by."
The rest of the officers had now joined us except Mr Randolph, who had
the middle watch. We were all watching the strangers together. Now, as
we sank down into the hollow, the masses of spray which blew off from
the huge sea uprising between us and them, hid them from our sight.
Some differed with the captain as to the size of the largest ship. One
or two thought that she was an Indiaman. However, she was still so
distant, and in the grey dawn so misty-looking and indistinct, that it
was difficult to decide the question. The captain himself was not
certain. "However, we shall soon be able to settle the matter," he
observed, as the _Barbara_, now on the summit of a mountain billow, was
about to glide down the steep incline. Down, down, we went--it seemed
that we should never be able to climb the opposite height. We were all
looking out for the strangers, expecting to settle the disputed point.
"Where are they?" burst from the lips of all of us. "Where, where?" We
looked, we rubbed our eyes--no sail was in sight. "I knew it would be
so," said Stubbs, in a tone in which I perceived a thrill of horror.
O'Carroll asserted that he had caught sight of the masts of a ship as if
sinking beneath the waves.
"Very likely," observed Stubbs, "that was of the ship he was sending to
the bottom,--the other was the _Dutchman_, and you don't see her now."
"No, no, they were craft carrying human beings, and they have foundered
without a chance of one man out of the many hundreds on board being
saved!" exclaimed the captain.
Stubbs shook his head as if he doubted it. We careered on towards the
spot where the ships had gone down, for that real ships had been there
no doubt could be entertained. A strict look-out was kept for anything
that might still be floating to prove that we had not been deceived by
some phantom forms. Those on the look-out forward reported an object
ahead. "A boat! a boat!" shouted one of them. "No boat could live in
such a sea," observed the captain. He was right. As we approached, we
saw a grating, to which a human being was clinging. It was, when first
seen, on the starboard bow, and it was, alas! evident that we should
leave him at too great a distance even to heave a rope to which he might
clutch. By his dress he appeared to be a seaman. He must have observed
our approach; but he knew well enough that we could make no attempt to
save him. He gazed at us steadily as we glided by--his countenance
seemed calm--he uttered no cry--still he clung to his frail raft. He
could not make up his mind to yield to death. It was truly a painful
sight. We anxiously watched him till we left the raft to which he still
clung far astern. No other person was seen, but other objects were
seen--floating spars, planks, gratings--to prove that we were near a
spot where a tall ship had gone down. "It is better so," observed the
captain; "unless the sea had cast them on our deck we could not have
saved one of them." We rushed on up and down the watery heights, Stubbs
as firmly convinced as ever that the _Flying Dutchman_ had produced the
fearful catastrophe we had witnessed. On we went--the gale in no way
abating. I watched the mountain seas till I grew weary of looking at
them; still I learned to feel perfectly secure--a sensation I was at
first very far from experiencing. Yet much, if not everything, depended
on the soundness of our spars and rigging: a flaw in the wood or rope
might be the cause of our destruction. I went below at meal-time, but I
hurried again on deck, fascinated by the scene, though I would gladly
have shut it out from my sight. At length, towards night, literally
wearied with the exertion of keeping my feet and watching those giant
seas, I went below and turned in. I slept, but the huge white-crested
waves were still rolling before me, and big ships were foundering, and
phantom vessels were sailing in the wind's eye, and I heard the
bulkheads creaking, the wind whistling, and the waves roaring, as loudly
as if I was awake; only I often assigned a wrong sign to the uproar.
Hour after hour this continued, when, as I had at last gone off more
soundly, a crash echoed in my ears, followed by shrieks and cries. It
did not, however, awake me. It seemed a part of the strange dreams in
which I was indulging. I thought that the ship had struck on a rock,
that I escaped to the shore, had climbed up a lofty cliff, on the summit
of which I found a wood fire surrounded by savages. They dragged me to
it--I had the most fearful forebodings of what they were about to do.
Then I heard the cry, "Fire! fire!" That was a reality--the smell of
fire was in my nostrils--I started up--I was alone in the cabin. The
ship was plunging about in an awful manner. I hurried on my clothes and
rushed on deck. Daylight had broke. The ship lately so trim seemed a
perfect wreck. The foremast had been carried away, shivered to the
deck, and hung over the bows, from which part of the crew were
endeavouring to clear it. The main and mizen-topmasts had likewise been
carried away. Smoke was coming up the fore hatchway, down which the
rest of the people were pouring buckets of water. I went forward to
render assistance. The foremast had been struck by lightning, and the
electric fluid, after shattering it, had descended into the hold and set
the ship on fire. We worked with the desperation of despair. Should
the fire once gain the mastery, no human power could save us. The sea
was running as high as ever; it was with difficulty that the ship could
be kept before it. I exchanged but a few words with my companions; a
bucket was put into my hands, and I at once saw what I had to do. The
smoke after a time had decreased, for as yet no flames had burst forth.
"Now, lads, follow me," cried Randolph, the first officer, leaping below
with his bucket and an axe in his hand. Irby and four men sprang after
him. With his axe the mate cut a way to get at the heart of the fire.
We handed down buckets to his companions, who kept emptying them round
where he was working. The smoke was still stifling. Those below could
scarcely be seen as they worked amidst it. The bulkhead was cut
through. The seat of the mischief was discovered. Flames were bursting
forth, but wet blankets were thrown on them. The buckets were passed
rapidly down. The smoke was decreasing. "Hurrah, lads! we shall have
it under!" cried the first mate, in an encouraging tone. We breathed
more freely. The fire was subdued. The peril had indeed been great.
We had now to clear the wreck of the mast, which threatened to stave in
the bows. "The gale is breaking," cried the captain, after looking
round the horizon; "cheer up, my lads, and we shall do well!"
Encouraged by the captain the men laboured on, though from the violent
working of the ship it was not without great difficulty and danger that
the mass of spars, ropes, and canvas could be hauled on board or cast
adrift. As a landsman my assistance was not of much value, though I
stood by clinging to the bulwarks, to lend a hand in case I should be
required. While glancing to windward, as I did every now and then, in
hopes of seeing signs of the abatement of the gale, I caught sight of
what seemed the wing of an albatross, skimming the summit of a tossing
sea. I looked again and again. There it still was as at first. I
pointed it out to the captain. "A sail running down towards us," he
observed; "it is to be hoped that she is a friend, for we are in a sorry
plight to meet with a foe." The captain's remark made me feel not a
little anxious as to the character of the approaching stranger. After a
time it became evident that the wind was really falling. The wreck of
the mast was at last cleared away, but a calm sea would be required
before we could attempt to get up a jury-mast. We had watched the
approach of the stranger: she was steering directly for us. As she drew
nearer I saw O'Carroll examining her narrowly through the glass. "Here
comes the _Flying Dutchman_ again," I observed to Stubbs.
"Not at all certain that she isn't," he answered, quite in a serious
tone.
"No, she's not that, but she's ten times worse," exclaimed O'Carroll;
"she is the _Mignonne_, as I am a seaman, and will be bothering us
pretty considerably, depend on that."
We heartily hoped that he was mistaken, but certainly she was very like
the craft we had seen at Saint Salvador. She passed us as near as the
heavy sea still running would allow her to do without danger to herself.
A man was standing in the mizen rigging. I caught sight of his face
through my telescope. I thought that I distinguished a look of
satisfaction in his countenance as he gazed at us. "That's La Roche; I
know the villain!" cried O'Carroll; "I thought from what I heard that he
was bound out here. He'll work us ill, depend on that." We now wished
that the sea had continued to run as high as it had hitherto been doing,
when it would have been impossible for the privateer to have boarded us.
It was now, however, rapidly going down, though as yet it was too rough
to allow her to attempt to run alongside. It was possible that she
might pass us. No! After running on a short distance her yards were
braced sharp up, and she stood back, with the evident intention of
attacking our helpless craft.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. Contrivances to prevent articles falling off a table at sea.
Note 2. We never hear of the _Flying Dutchman_ now-a-days. The fact is
that he had the monopoly of sailing or going along rather in the teeth
of the wind. Now steamers have cut him out, and he is fain to hide his
diminished head.