IN SEARCH.
In the year of this story Old Leisure was still going to sea. He
flourished as pleasantly upon the ocean as amidst the hens and
dunghills, the milkmaids and dairies, of the Poyser farmyard. He brought
his main-topsail to the mast without reluctance when there was anything
to be seen or talked to; he went on board the stranger, and dined with
him; invited the stranger in return; then leisurely proceeded. There was
no prompt despatch, to speak of, no urgency. The wind was the prevailing
condition of the immense distances which the wooden keel traversed. Old
Leisure kept his eye to windward, and hauled out his bowlines; but it
was a time of ambling, of dozing, and of whistling for winds until too
much came.
Only in such a time as this now dealt with could we conceive a large,
full-rigged ship, homeward bound from India, full of impatient hearts,
hove-to, with a derelict schooner within easy hail, and the commander
taking plenty of time to reason about her with a gentleman who was
infinitely concerned in her unexpected, astounding apparition and
log-book narrative.
'The thought of Miss Vanderholt being at the mercy of a crew of mutinous
ruffians is unbearable!' exclaimed Captain Parry. 'What is to be done?
Advise me, in the name of God, captain! You know--you know--I have told
you she was to be my wife. You are an old sailor. For God's sake,
counsel me!'
'If I could be sure that they had made off in their boat, and were still
afloat in her,' answered the captain, 'I should know how to advise you.
But if they have been received on board a ship, then I don't see what
can be done. For in what direction may that ship be heading? Enough if
your young lady should be safe, sir. Supposing her to be on board a
ship, I have no doubt of your hearing good news of her, in course of
time, after your arrival in England.'
He opened the cabin-door, and called to one of the stewards.
'My compliments to the chief officer, and ask him to come to me.'
Mr. Mulready quickly presented himself.
'We have some notion,' said Captain Barrington, addressing his mate,
whilst he laid his hand upon the log of the _Mowbray_, 'that the crew of
the schooner may have left her in their boat, taking the young lady with
them. Send a couple of hands--don't trouble the young gentlemen,' said
he, with a supercilious smile, vanishing almost as it appeared upon his
firm lips, 'but a couple of sharp hands to the royal mastheads. Give one
of them this glass.' He handed Mr. Mulready a binocular. 'Let the other
take the ship's telescope aloft. I want the sea carefully swept. Make
them understand that they must creep in their search to the very verge,
for how far off is a boat visible? But they might sight the gleam of her
lugsail.'
Mr. Mulready took the glasses, and went swiftly out.
Captain Parry stood at the open window, listening to what was passing,
straining his sight also with consuming passions of dread, blind desire,
helpless wrath, at the star-blue line of the sea that swept the
brilliance of the heavens within little more than a league. The captain
of the ship went to a locker, and took out a chart of the Atlantic. He
spread it, and called to Captain Parry.
The officer turned, and eagerly stepped to the chart. He saw zigzag
prickings or lines upon the white sheet, as though somebody had been
trying to represent flashes of lightning. Each line terminated in a
little dotted circle. These were the 'runs.' But, then, these were also
the Doldrums, and the motive power of that ship, the _Alfred_, lay in
the breeze that, in the Doldrums, blows in the delicate catspaw that
scarcely has power to run a shiver into the glazed breast.
'This was our situation at noon yesterday,' said the commander, putting
his finger upon the northernmost little circle. 'There is no land for
leagues, as you may observe.'
'What are those rocks?' observed Captain Parry, peering.
'St. Paul's Island--a horrible hornet's nest of black fangs, entirely
out of the boat's reach. I am not sure that I ever heard of a boat
effecting a landing. Anyone cast ashore there must perish. There is
nothing to eat or drink. It is the desolation of hell!' added the
commander, with a note of religious fervour in his speech; 'and a
dreadful surf like a nightmare of storm raves day and night round those
rocks.'
'What is to be done?' said Captain Parry, lifting himself erect from the
chart. 'If they are in a boat they cannot be far distant. They have not
long left the schooner, but every stroke of the oar carries them further
away, and renders the search more hopeless.'
'The search?' exclaimed the commander, in a note of inquiry and
surprise.
'I don't mean in this ship, of course,' said the officer, speaking with
agitation and very quickly. 'A clipper schooner lies close at hand. If
you will lend me a navigator and a few hands, we will sweep the sea,
taking this mark,' he continued, putting his finger upon the chart, 'as
our base, and hunting with masthead look-outs, and fierce fires burning
by night, in circles whose circumference or diameter I should leave to
the judgment of the mate in charge.'
The commander began to slowly pace his cabin. Once he paused, and gazed
with a face of earnest gravity at the sea that came brimming to the
counter in a sheet of winding lines, the light swathes of the tropic
calm, the oily gleam, the trouble of some stream of current twinkling in
diamonds.
Captain Parry eyed him with anxiety. He dreaded a discussion that might
kill the hope that had suddenly been born in him. A tap on the door
caused the commander to start.
Mr. Mulready entered.
'The masthead men have been working hard with their glasses, sir, and
report nothing in sight.'
'How is the schooner?'
'Forlorn, but safe, sir.'
'Take a boat and go aboard, and make a further thorough examination of
her, and overhaul her stores--all as smartly as may be, sir. This
gentleman has an idea, and I don't know but that it might prove
practicable,' said the commander. And, as Mr. Mulready left the cabin,
the captain of the ship turned to Parry, and asked him to follow him on
deck.
On the commander emerging, the third mate approached and touched his
cap, and exclaimed:
'When I said there was no living thing aboard that schooner, sir, I
should have reported a small coop full of cocks and hens, all alive, and
very hungry and thirsty. I fed them with some rice I found in the
galley, and poured a quantity of water into their trough.'
He saluted, and marched off.
'In the face of Miss Vanderholt's last entry,' said the captain to
Parry, 'we don't want live cocks and hens to tell us that that vessel
has been recently abandoned.'
She lay softly lifting upon the light swell, a beautiful, helpless
fabric. The shudders which ran through her canvas were like the
distress of something living. She had slewed somewhat, bringing her
jibbooms to bear upon the ship. In the blind, hopeless way of abandoned
craft, she was posture-making for help.
The excitement aboard the _Alfred_ was very great indeed. The
mastheading of the men, the pictures of their little bodies high in the
heavens, sweeping the deep with binocular and telescope, had immensely
stimulated the passions of curiosity and wonder.
What did the captain expect the sailors to see upon that vast girdle of
brine, that rolled flawless to the glorious stroke of the sun? It was
known that the young lady who had been on board the schooner was
betrothed to Captain Parry. Could romance be carried beyond this? The
ladies fluttered in talk, the gentlemen growled.
'I'm keeping a diary,' said a major, with great, dyed, well-curled
whiskers, to the surgeon of the ship, 'of this voyage home, as I did of
the voyage out, and I shall probably publish it, sir. But this incident
will not be credited. Sages in their day have believed in ghosts, and
laughed to scorn a report of earthquakes.'
'I do not see why this incident should not be believed,' said the
doctor.
'It is too probable--for the sea, sir. If you want a sea-fact to be
accepted, state that which a sailor will know to be impossible.'
'Parry looks as haggard as if he had been up for a week of nights,' said
the doctor.
Many eyes were fixed upon him as he stood beside the master of the ship,
viewing the schooner and talking. The ship forward was a gem of an ocean
piece, with the smoke of her galley-chimney going straight up, the
sailors--it was their breakfast-time--lounging in the cool of the shade
of the jibs, with hook-pots and biscuits, and pipes of tobacco: and the
great foresail, white as milk, floated motionless from its long yard.
Some soldiers in white clothes were seated upon the booms, in the wake
of the draught which would stir from that vast square of sail when the
weak swell of the sea put a faint pulse of life into it. The sky was
sublimely lofty, with the light-blue brilliance of the tropic zone; not
a cloud to depress it to the sight, and all the air was gone.
Captain Barrington and Captain Parry stood together at the mizzen
shrouds, looking at the schooner, conversing, and waiting for the return
of the mate. The passengers very respectfully gave them a wide berth.
'No,' says Captain Barrington presently; 'I shall have no objection,
sir. I am to be influenced by humanity in this business. My owners
cannot and will not object,' he added, as if thinking aloud. 'We shall
be saving a valuable yacht. Mr. Blundell is a very efficient young
officer, quite experienced enough to take charge, and he will receive
certain instructions from me, sir, for we must define the area of sea to
be searched, and the time to be taken.'
He looked at the schooner thoughtfully.
'She is under two hundred tons,' said he. 'Mr. Blundell and four men and
a boy should suffice; I can spare no more.'
'I am no sailor, but I can pull and haul,' said Captain Parry. 'I can
do a man's bit. What time would you limit us to?'
'I should wish to be a little elastic. There's no wind here to depend
upon,' answered the commander. 'I will see Mr. Blundell in my cabin
after breakfast, and explain my ideas.'
Presently the breakfast-bell rang. The captain and the passengers went
below. Captain Parry asked that a biscuit and a cup of tea should be
brought to him on deck. He gazed round upon the spacious sea, and the
tranquillity of it soothed and calmed his inward, hidden, fuming
impatience.
He knew that the stagnation that held the _Alfred_ motionless would keep
the boat so, unless the men rowed, which was not very conceivable, for
sailors do not commonly row when the distance they have to traverse runs
into hundreds of miles. If they had been taken aboard a ship, she, too,
must be lying becalmed.
Yet one black dread ever haunted Captain Parry's fancies. He was going
to seek the boat. Had Miss Vanderholt accompanied the men? Would they
carry with them a living witness to their piracy and murders? Had not
she been murdered before the schooner was abandoned?
It was ten o'clock when the mate returned from the _Mowbray_. All this
while the sea remained satin-smooth. The sun, soaring high, burnt
fiercely; the paint bubbled in blisters, the pitch ran in soft-soap, and
the whole light of the schooner's canvas poured under her in quivering
sheets of quicksilver.
Mr. Mulready was dark with dirt and sweat, and looked like a man who has
passed a week in stowing a ship's hold. Captain Parry stood in the
gangway to receive him, and the mate's immediate inquiry was for the
commander. He was closeted with Mr. Blundell.
'What news can you give me?' said the military officer, grasping the
dry-minded mate by the arm, and looking beseechingly into his face.
'There's just plenty of stores and fresh water,' answered Mr. Mulready,
'enough to last a small crew six months. Her after-hold is rich in the
eating line. There are about two dozen cocks and hens.'
'I don't mean _that_!' exclaimed Parry wildly. 'Did you find no hint of
the fate of the young lady?'
'My answer must be,' answered the mate, with a certain formal,
sympathetic gravity, 'that nothing is alive on yonder vessel saving a
few cocks and hens.'
The captain made his appearance, followed by Mr. Blundell.
'I have arranged with the third officer,' said he, walking straight up
to Captain Parry and the mate, 'that he shall take charge of the yacht
and search for the boat. There can be no hurry whilst this clock-calm
lasts. Still, I dare say you'll be glad to go on board.'
'I'm mad to go on board!' answered Captain Parry.
'Get your luggage together, then, sir. Mr. Blundell will provide the
schooner with a couple of pistols out of the arms' chest, and the
necessary ammunition. If you fall in with the boat, remember they are
eight seamen, rendered desperate by murder. You will be but seven. The
possibility is faint, the chance is the smallest,' the captain muttered
in a dying voice.
'I thank you for your foresight,' said Parry; and he went hastily to his
cabin to pack up.
The mate told Captain Barrington that there were plenty of rockets and
portfires aboard the schooner. A fireball by night might bring the boat
to the yacht. He then produced a piece of paper, and gave the commander
an idea of the quantity of stores in the little vessel.
'They'll want nothing from us, then,' said Captain Barrington. 'However,
since the mutiny appears to have been owing to the rottenness of the
food, sling a couple of casks of our beef into the boat.'
It was eleven o'clock when all was ready for Captain Parry to go on
board the _Mowbray_. Four men and a boy had volunteered as a crew, and
when the boat was freighted she lay deep alongside with seamen's chests,
luggage, casks of beef, and human beings. The passengers made a tender
farewell of this singular, most romantic leave-taking in mid-ocean.
They pressed forward to shake Captain Parry by the hand. Some hoped that
the blessing of God would attend his search. More than one lady raised a
handkerchief to her eyes. As the boat shoved off, a hearty cheer broke
from the whole length of the vessel. The boat reached the side of the
_Mowbray_, and all that was to be received on board was hoisted up.
Captain Parry breathed deep, and wore a wildness in his looks, whilst he
stood for a few minutes gazing round about him. Of course, he remembered
the little ship perfectly well--the delightful cruise he had taken in
her, with Violet and her father, a little while before he returned to
India. He looked, and began to realize the brutal scene as the girl had
sketched it in that last entry. It was hard to think of his immensely
wealthy friend Mr. Vanderholt meeting a mean, base end at the hands of a
brutal Ratcliffe sailor. What had they done with Violet? The little ship
seemed to smell of human blood. The airy graces of her heights, the
beauty of all that was choice and finished betwixt her rails, seemed to
have departed. Wherever murder stalks, the spirit of horror, attended
by the ghost of neglect and decay, follows. They break the windows of
the house. They command the spiders to build. The dirty little building
in which the body was found is going to pieces. The alley up which the
body was dragged is of a sickly green, with a growth of unwholesome
grass.
It was so with this yacht--this beautiful fabric, the _Mowbray_. The
wizardry of murder had changed her to the sight of Parry. He cursed her
with all his heart as the cause of the destruction of his sweetheart and
Mr. Vanderholt, and, wondering what the devil had brought her so far
from home, whether it might be possible that father and daughter had
been sailing to India to meet him, that they might return together in
the same vessel, he put his hand upon the fire-hot companion-hood, and
descended the ladder.
He searched, as the two mates had searched, and, of course, found more
than they. He beheld in a cabin memorials of his sweetheart--her
dresses, her hats, a veil, and a pair of gloves lay in her cot. One
glove was still bulked with the impress of her hand, as though she had
but just now drawn it off in a hurry, and cast it down. He peered
narrowly. The cabin was a charming little boudoir. He witnessed no
suggestions of violence; nothing appeared to have been disturbed. He
sought for marks of blood, then thought to himself, 'If she is murdered,
they did not kill her with a knife--they drowned her.'
He stayed for half an hour in this cabin, then entered the adjoining
berth, which had been Mr. Vanderholt's. He found nothing to help him
here. The old gentleman had been eccentric. He had believed he loved the
life of the forecastle,--God help him!--and he had illustrated his idle
imagination of fondness by causing his berth to be rendered as
uncomfortable as possible.
Parry was disturbed in his investigations of this berth by a bustle in
the cabin. He looked out, and saw a couple of sailors coming down with
his luggage.
'Tumble those traps in here,' said he. 'Are we moving?'
'It is a fact, sir,' said one of the men, who was a Swede. 'A little
gentle vindt has begun to blow, and der _Alfred_ is going home.'
'Home? I do not quite understand,' exclaimed Captain Parry.
He said no more, however, to the men, and went on deck to look about
him.
An air of heaven, blowing out of the boundless blue, with not a cloud in
the sky to show you where it came from, was wrinkling the wide waters
into a thrilling azure, and under the sun the glory was blinding.
They had trimmed sail on the schooner--a trifling matter; a hand was at
the helm; Mr. Blundell stood beside him, looking into the little
binnacle. On the bow was the _Alfred_, with her foretop-sail full, every
cloth stirless, so soft was the cradling of that sea. Her yards were
braced forwards, and she seemed to lean; she floated upright in silent
majesty, nevertheless, her trucks plumb with the zenith, and, as she
gained way, her short scope of wake sparkled like a shoal of herrings
under her counter.
Mr. Blundell was a stout, hearty young sailor, about two-and-twenty
years of age. He had that sort of face which is often met at sea under
both flags--perfectly hairless, fleshy, permanently tinctured by the
roasting fires and the drying-in gales and frosts of ocean-travel. He
was looking at the compass of the schooner when Captain Parry
approached. Perhaps he sought for a hint or two in gear that did not
lead like a ship's, and canvas that was not shaped for square-yards. At
a motion from Captain Parry, he drew away from the helmsman.
'I am at a loss,' said the captain, looking at the ship under the
shelter of his hand. 'Is the _Alfred_ going home?'
'Certainly, sir,' answered Mr. Blundell. 'We've dipped our farewell.
We're now on our own hook.'
'Then, I mistook. I supposed when Captain Barrington talked of limiting
us to time that he intended we should return to him here,' said Captain
Parry.
The young mate smiled.
'His notion in limiting us to time,' said he, 'was that we should not
run the quest into a hopeless job. There should be a limit.'
'Of course, a reasonable limit,' said Parry. 'What is it?'
'It has been left to my judgment, sir; and I am willing to be governed
by you.'
'Thanks, Blundell!'
Captain Parry, pronouncing this sentence with warmth and emotion,
stepped to the binnacle and looked at the card.
'You are holding the schooner north-west,' said he. 'You have a reason?'
'We must head her on one course or another,' answered Blundell. 'I
propose, with your leave, to carry out Captain Barrington's ideas. He
has sketched me a circular course. I'll compass it off on the chart
below presently, and you shall form your own opinion. Loose the square
canvas, my lads!' he sang out, abruptly breaking from Captain Parry.
The captain lent a hand to pull and haul; he dragged to the music of the
salt-throats at the sheets and halliards. The breeze freshened in a
steady gushing. The ocean was a miracle of laughing light. Already you
heard the snore of foam at the cutwater, and the stealthy hiss of its
passage aft.
The _Alfred_ was growing small and square in the blue distance. She was
feeling the breeze now, and her pale and shapely shadow leaned as she
headed, with an occasional dim flash from her wet, black side, into the
far northern recess.
Captain Parry went below, and returned on deck with the binocular which
he had observed in Mr. Vanderholt's cabin. The main rigging of the
_Mowbray_ was rattled down to the height of the lower masthead. The
captain got into the shrouds, and made his way to the crosstrees.
Higher, being no sailor, he durst not crawl. With one hand he grasped a
topmast shroud that was sweating tar; with the other he lifted the
glasses, and searched the sea till his eyes swelled and throbbed in
their sockets. When he descended he said to the mate:
'I have wondered why the men should have left the schooner afloat. Don't
they usually scuttle vessels in affairs of this sort?'
'I heard the captain and the second officer talk this matter over,' said
Mr. Blundell. 'The second mate thought that the villains knew what they
were about when they left the schooner floating. She would be met with,
and boarded. They'd find nothing to give them an idea of what had
happened. So she'd be carried away to a port as a mystery, and that
would be giving the men a better chance than had they scuttled her.'
'Why?'
'Always one of the men who've been concerned in bloody businesses of
this sort finds his way to a hospital. He lies alongside another man and
gabbles. The second mate seemed to think that if one of the men of this
yacht turned up at a hospital and gabbled, less would be made of what he
said if the schooner had been towed into port as a mystery than had she
been sunk. For my part,' added Mr. Blundell, 'I believe they left her
afloat because they couldn't find the heart to sink her. She is a
beauty,' he murmured; and he whistled as he looked aloft and around.
'I take the second mate's view,' said Captain Parry.
He now made the tour of the schooner. He went forward and looked into
the men's deck-house, then dropped into the little forecastle and peered
round him. When he regained the deck, he saw a seaman climbing the
fore-rigging, with a binocular glass slung over his shoulder. He watched
him till the man had reached the royal yard, over which he threw his
leg, with his back against the sun-bright mast. The seaman began to
sweep the sea slowly and critically.
'Good God!' thought Captain Parry, with a sudden heart-leap, 'if the
boat is afloat, or has not been picked up, we ought to fall in with
her.'
The noise of the breeze was in his ears, a glad sense of motion came to
him from the quick salt seething alongside. His heart leapt up; but in a
minute all was dark again within him, with the horrible dread that
Violet had been murdered by the men before they quitted the schooner.
The large, comfortable long-boat had been lifted out of its chocks, and
was gone. Captain Parry noticed, however, that two good boats hung in
the davits on either hand. He was impatient to learn the directions
given by Captain Barrington, but Mr. Blundell was busy with the little
ship's affairs just then. He had to appoint a cook, and see to the
dinner; he had to arrange for a masthead look-out that should be brief
under that broiling eye of day. They were few, and it taxed his genius
as a sailor to make the most of them.
At last he found some time to spare. A sailor was left to trudge a
look-out; one at the helm made two, one on the royal yard made three.
The cook was the fourth, and the 'boy' was left to stand-by. Captain
Parry followed the mate into the cabin, and, whilst Blundell went into
his berth for the chart of the Atlantic, the captain stood looking about
him and thinking. She had sat there, or there, he thought, at table. It
was so recent, the very fragrance of her might be found in the
atmosphere. How often had her feet trodden those steps? He saw her, in
imagination, reading; she pored upon some volume, under that golden
globe, with her hair illuminated; he thought of her agony of heart when
she rushed on deck at the sound of firearms, and saw her father, the
captain, and mate lying dead, and knew that she was alone with a crew of
murderers.
'This is how Captain Barrington hopes we'll work it, sir,' said
Blundell, coming out of Captain Glew's berth, and putting a chart upon
the table.
He also produced a pair of compasses and a nautical instrument for
measuring distances. He pulled a paper, covered with calculations, from
his pocket, and placed it by his side.
'This will be it, I think, sir,' said Blundell, sticking a leg of the
compass into the chart; 'where the point of this leg is we were when we
parted company with the _Alfred_. We allow the boat a start of
thirty-six hours, remembering always that our weather will have been
hers.'
'Quite so!' exclaimed Captain Parry, devouring every word.
'I am now heading,' continued the mate, with a glance at the paper, 'to
arrive at this point.' Here he put the pencil end of the compasses upon
the chart. 'When we arrive there, our navigation will be this.'
He now, with great care, and constant references to the paper of
figures, together with a frequent use of the nautical instruments for
measuring distances, described a number of circles. These circles lay
one within another, and when completed they might be likened to a
cone-shaped spring, or to a corkscrew looked at vertically.
'You will perceive, Captain Parry,' said the mate, 'that the distance
between each circle is the same. How far can a man see from the
schooner's royal yard? Well, Captain Barrington would not allow that he
should be able to see so small an object as a boat, even with a good
telescope, at a greater distance than thirteen miles. Thirteen miles to
port and thirteen to starboard. Each circle, therefore, is twenty-six
miles wide.'
'If the boat is afloat,' exclaimed Captain Parry, viewing the discs with
admiration full of hope, 'she must positively be within one of these
circles?'
'Unless she has taken a breeze and blown clear, or means to come running
into the inner whilst we're steering our dead best for the outer
circles.'
'What chance do we stand?'
'Frankly, sir, the smallest chance that ever was found at sea,'
answered the young mate, rolling up his chart.
'The horrible consideration with me,' said Captain Parry, 'is that the
young lady may not be in the boat.'
Mr. Blundell looked slowly round the cabin, but made no answer.
'What do you think?' exclaimed Parry. 'If we fall in with the boat shall
we find Miss Vanderholt in her?'
The mate mused, toyed a bit with the chart, rolling and unrolling it,
then said:
'From what I overheard the mate say about the entry the young lady made
in the log-book, I should argue that the men had been using her civilly
from the time of the mutiny. That's in her favour, sir.'
Parry eyed him intently. All the shrewdness in Blundell's brain was
working in his face, sharpening his gaze and pinching lips and nose into
a lifted look of eagerness whilst he talked.
'There seems to have been no trouble aboard this vessel,' he continued,
'until the mutiny took place. That should signify that the men, taking
them all round, were steady as sailors go. No doubt they'd got something
in the Nova Scotia way in their captain. He appears to have been one of
those captains who, after draining the blood out of men's veins, runs
gunpowder in, then applies the fuse. Everybody's aghast at the bloody
business, but it's one man's doing.'
'You believe that they would not use violence towards Miss Vanderholt?'
'Until I knew, I could never persuade myself that they'd make away with
her. They are men. I dare say they were demons whilst they fought, and
thought of the cause of their fighting. I'll not believe that, as
English seamen, they'd kill the poor lady.'
'She's a living witness against them.'
'They'll have heaped oath upon oath upon her, sir. Likely as not they'll
put her aboard something passing, themselves going away and waiting for
the next ship.'
'God grant it!' exclaimed Captain Parry. 'It's the first bit of hope
that's come to me since we fell in with the schooner.'