THE BARQUE HAS ILL LUCK
I now come to that part of the narrative which deals with the
turning-point of our luck on this cruise.
Since Renshaw’s leaving left much of the influence to be desired out of
the enterprise, Mr. Curtis began to feel anxious about his
responsibility in the matter. It is true the gentleman was an outcast
from his own people, but he was a nobleman, for all that, and the
governor of New Providence would be much influenced by him. It might be
necessary to have a friend at hand in case something unpleasant turned
up, especially as the laws governing slaves were becoming more and more
strict.
The bos’n was suspected in having aided Tim to escape from the barque.
At any rate, he was responsible for him. He was an American also, and
often when the seaman would come upon the poop, Curtis would find some
harsh word to say to him. Afterward he would complain to Howard so
bitterly at the bos’n’s insolence that the old captain began to
experience some of the landsman’s bad temper.
The discipline of the ship had been good, save for the incidents of the
run on the beach. Now the real cruise had begun and there was no more
chance for desertion, the strictest laws of a war-ship were easy in
comparison to those enforced.
This put much work upon Richards, and began to make unnecessary friction
between him and the men. Between the hard feeling caused by Curtis aft,
and the steady grumbling of such men as Martin and some of his followers
forward, the bos’n began to have an unpleasant time of it, and a most
desperate affray was averted on several occasions only by his steadiness
and coolness of temper.
One day the bos’n was called to attend to some repairs on the
wheel-ropes.
Mr. Curtis saw him, and either inadvertently or deliberately jostled him
as he came along the poop. Hawkson saw the affair, and hastened to avert
trouble, but was too late. Curtis very foolishly kicked the bos’n
savagely and swore at him before all the men of the watch on deck.
Richards, true to his creed, lashed out most vigorously, and knocked the
landsman half-way across the deck before Hawkson caught him. It was only
Hawkson’s steadiness of purpose that prevented a general mix-up on
board, for Curtis insisted upon the sailor being flogged. Richards swore
he would kill the man who laid hands on him, and, as he had several
friends forward, including myself, who would have stood by him, and as
he had the chief officer aft, there was a deal of trouble before
anything like order prevailed. When the outfly was patched up by Yankee
Dan and Sir John, who saw the danger of such affairs, there was no
longer anything like smoothness again. The bos’n never attempted to give
an order, and went about his duties with a set smile, which I tried to
fathom on several occasions and received a cold silence for my pains.
Then I knew trouble was coming, and prepared for it, caring little,
however, just when and in what shape it would appear.
For a day or two we dragged slowly over the blue water. The royals would
pull a bit in the light air, but our wake was not a long one.
On the third day, I was cleaning the forward gun to windward, gazing
over the beautiful calm water. To the southward the deepening blue of
the sky seemed to show in peculiar contrast to the ocean, and, while I
gazed over the vast distance, the water streaked and darkened under the
light draughts. The royals came to the masts every now and then, when
the breeze died almost entirely, and flapped gently, coming full again
as the barque swung herself to windward on the swell.
Miss Allen was on the poop with Mr. Curtis, and that saturnine young
man, Hicks, was standing aft gazing at them with an expression far from
pleasant upon his handsome face.
I became aware of a low, vibrant, wailing murmur coming out of the
sunlit void to the south’ard. It was like the cry I had heard before and
had had such an effect upon poor Tim.
Yankee Dan’s daughter evidently heard it, for she straightened up and
listened, gazing steadily to windward. As the cry rose and fell, dying
away as the breeze increased, it thrilled me through and through.
“What’s the matter?” asked Henry, who had come up and noticed my intense
look.
“Don’t you hear it?” I asked.
“S’pose Hi do; it’s nothin’. Have ye cooled off?”
It was the first time he had spoken directly to me since the affair with
the hounds, and I took it for an overture of friendship.
“If you squeeze my hand, I’ll brain you,” I said, and held it out. He
took it, smiling.
“What made ye bolt, anyways?” he asked. “Hi could git ye anywheres on
that island. Hi had to pay fer that dog ye killed, too.”
He seated himself beside me, as it was nearly eight bells, and we talked
a few minutes, he describing the amusement caused by the two hounds
loosed into the room of Thunderbo’s dance-hall.
“’Twas a fine sight, Heywood, to see that bloodhound grab the conch by
the heel. If Hi hadn’t stopped there to laugh it out, Hi wud ha’ bust
wide open. There he was hanging out the window, with Jones a-pullin’ one
way an’ the dog the other, while the Doctor whanged him over the
buttocks as they stretched ’im over the sill.”
I felt little like laughing, although the scene of confusion must have
been amusing to an uninterested spectator. Had he taken us sooner, the
other affair would not have followed.
“I cud ’a’ taken ye, but Hi had to laugh at that conch,” explained
Henry. “What d’yer s’pose makes my fingers so big, anyways?”
“Poking them in other people’s business,” said I.
“An’ that’s a fact,” he answered. “Poking them in other people’s
business. Man, I was chief garroter in Havana onct, an’ I ’as strangled
more men than there is in this ship. Hi ’av’ been a detective an’ a
executioner both. That’s how I know how to handle dogs. Save ye,
Heywood, d’ye suppose Hawkson would ’a’ let you fellows loose ashore ef
he didn’t know Hi’d bring ye back all standin’, as the sayin’ is?”
Henry had never appeared prepossessing to me, and now his statement as
to his vocation did little to draw him nearer. On the contrary, he
noticed my look of disgust and wonder, as I scanned his huge fingers.
“Never mind,” he said, with a grin, “’tain’t likely they’ll be used on
you, though Hi closed ’em onct on the old man’s neck when he was taken
fer cuttin’ out them Spanish wood-hunters in the Isle o’ Pines. They let
him go just in time. Now they use a screw, for there ain’t been a man
there since as c’u’d do the trick wid his fingers,--an’ old Howard
insisted that Hi must stick to him for a lucky boy.”
While he talked, I noticed the barque gave a sudden heave of much
greater inclination than usual. She seemed to take a new motion, as
though a swell from the westward had rolled up against the trade swell.
I looked over the side, and noticed a long heave to the sea setting at a
sharp angle to the slight rise and fall we had been riding. Henry saw it
also, and gazed to the south’ard.
Far away on the horizon a dim haziness seemed forming in the otherwise
cloudless sky. I looked aft in time to see Howard come up the companion
and gaze around the horizon. Then he said something to Hawkson, who had
also appeared, and the old mate came to the break of the poop.
“Take in them royals,” he called to the watch on deck, and the men, who
were expecting to hear eight bells struck and dinner announced, had a
job. Henry sprang up and went aft.
“T’gallants’ls,” said Hawkson, laconically.
I pulled on the gun-cover, and had already gotten it fast when the order
came to clew up the mainsail. Then, as I had to go aloft with the rest,
I joined Bill and Ernest in the weather main-rigging.
“Fallin’ glass,” said Bill. “I youst heard the mate tell Henry. Ole
Richards looks worried. Didn’t think he’d take that interest, hey?”
We rolled the sail up in short order, keeping an eye on the poop, where
Howard was now squinting away at the sun with his sextant.
“Eight bells,” came his hoarse croak, and a Norwegian struck them off
loudly.
“Roll up the spanker an’ foresail,” came the order, and, instead of
getting dinner, the watch turned out with the rest, and all hands were
kept busy. Then came the topsails, and finally we reefed the fore and
main topsails, the barque rolling log-wise in a very uneasy roll that
came quickly from the south’ard.
It was one bell before we were allowed on deck, and then, all tired and
hot, we scattered for cool places to eat the deferred meal.
Hardly had we finished than a cool, clammy mist spread itself over the
ocean, and a good breeze began blowing from the north’ard. The sun
appeared like a copper ball, and as it dimmed the breeze increased. The
swell now began running with a tremendous heave from the southwest, and
the barque rolled her channels under. All hands were kept on deck.
The black Doctor had just gathered the last of the forecastle truck into
the galley, where the little Dane, Johnson, was allowed to clean them
up, when we heard a deep moaning to the south’ard. The bank of the mist
seemed to grow thicker. Then, with a slow rising, droning roar, the
hurricane struck the barque and laid her over on her side until her lee
dead-eyes were a foot below the sea.
How Miss Allen and Curtis climbed down off the poop, I could never
guess. The deep notes of the wind rushing through the rigging drowned
all sound save the cries of Hawkson and Gull, who, hanging on to the
poop-rail, bawled for the men to man the braces and get the ship hove
to.
It struck us full upon the quarter, and nothing had carried away,
although the straining strips of canvas aloft seemed marvellously strong
to withstand that furious outfly. The sea was as white as a coral bank,
looking as though covered with a finely drifting snow, as the wind swept
the top of the ocean level and drove the foam before it.
We were under the shortest canvas, and were trying to get her on the
wind before the sea made, as it was sure to make, in a few minutes.
As we tailed on to the topsail-brace, I caught a glimpse of Richards and
Yankee Dan rolling the wheel over, although the deck was as steep as the
ship’s sides. Slowly the old barque righted herself, as she headed up
within four points of it, scooping her main-deck full of water, some of
which found its way below, as the main-hatch had not been battened or
caulked, and the flood rolled over it waist-deep. Had we been taken
aback, the topmasts would surely have gone overboard in that blast, for
it was impossible to realize its tremendous power.
I could hear the captain’s hoarse croak from near the mizzen, sounding
faintly in the roar about us, and I caught the look of Big Jones’s face
as he raised it over the rail and brought it back streaming with the
flying drift and gasping for breath. Then we belayed the line, and
started to get all yards sharp on the starboard tack.
It was desperate work, but it was finished at last, and, by the time we
had a chance to breathe and look about us, the barque was riding into
such a sea as seldom runs in the western ocean, her topsails hanging in
short ribbons from the jack-stays, and a gale thundering through her
rigging that bid fair to drive her under by the sheer weight of the wind
in it.
There was no steady blow. Sometimes the roar aloft would die down for a
few minutes, and it would seem as if the weight of it had passed. Then
would come a squall, snoring and roaring, rising up into a wild chaos of
sound that was almost deafening, and the barque would be laid upon her
side for several minutes as it tore past.
Jorg, with the pluck and perseverance of his race, worked desperately at
the hatches to get them battened down firmly. Henry and I managed to get
a large timber over the canvas cover, and, lashing one end fast to the
ring-bolt on one side, we hove down with it until we could get Richards,
Bill, Jones, and the rest to pass a lashing, heaving the lever over as
tight as our combined weight could make it go. I saw Hawkson waving his
hand, and crawled to him along the pin-rail.
“Go aft to the wheel,” he roared in my ear, and I climbed the poop.