Kitabı oku: «The Duke's Sweetheart: A Romance», sayfa 9

CHAPTER XV.
AN INVISIBLE FOE

The wind increased. It now became obvious that the captain's predictions would be verified, and that it would blow a whole gale before morning. It was midnight, and gradually Captain Drew had been taking off canvas. The sea had begun to rise. The yacht was now close-reefed, but it had not been necessary to turn up the whole crew. The wind had come on so gradually that the watch had been able to make the necessary reductions. Captain Drew was a considerate man, and never gave any unnecessary hardship to his men.

In the dim light of a moonless June night the sea looked dreary and forlorn. Although the wind was high, and round the rigging and the spars it seemed secret and furtive, it appeared to cling closely to the water, to leave the hollows between the waves stealthily, and to leave them only when goaded forward by something behind. Then it leaped the crests of the waves swiftly, and flung itself in the hollows once more.

The water looked cold and pallid. From the heavy swash at the bows, to the almost human murmur of the back-water under the counter, there ran all along the side a gamut of depressing sounds, into which every now and then ran the swirl of spray, mounting from the bow and falling with a groan on the deck, to run aft in whispered hisses, until it found its way to scupper-holes, whence it fell with a weary drone into the sea to leeward.

Captain Drew was not, for a sailor, a very superstitious man. But in the atmosphere of this night there was something which daunted him. The mere fact that a flaw should have been found in a vital part of the yacht, and that this flaw had never been discovered until it was, under existing circumstances, past effectual cure, was depressing. But then again there was the sustaining fact that this yacht, which he had sailed for years, was now practically his own property. He was now, in effect, five to six thousand pounds a richer man than when that day had broken.

How was he to regard that rudder-head? As a friend or an enemy? If it had not been for the defect in the rudder, the Duke would, in all probability, not have thought of getting rid of the Seabird; and if he had not thought of getting rid of her, it would never have occurred to him to give her to his captain. If the rudder-head held until they got back to Silver Bay, it would undoubtedly be the best friend, after the Duke, he had ever had in all his life. But if the rudder-head gave, what then? No one could tell. They might be driven ashore and all lost, or they might be able to live through the gale, and be picked up by some steamer or sailing-vessel, which would stand by them until a tug or some other kind of succour could reach them. Of course, if the rudder gave, they could do something with a few spars towed behind them, but not much. It was better to keep on hoping the rudder-head would hold.

It was now more than four hours since the Duke and the Marquis had gone below, and these four hours had settled one thing. There was no longer any chance of their putting in anywhere. Silver Bay was now the nearest harbour. The watch had been changed, and a second new hand was now at the wheel.

"Does she answer well, Jefferson?" asked the captain.

"As well as ever, sir," answered the man at the wheel.

By this time every man aboard knew what had happened, and the means which had been taken to meet the emergency.

The captain had slung the lantern on a belaying-pin on the weather side, abreast the companion. He unslung the lantern, and once more went aft and turned the bull's eye full on the rudder head.

He could notice no alteration. The iron looked taut, the wedges looked unchanged, the helmsman found the wheel worked as well as ever. And yet all this time there was creeping up at an infinitesimal rate, from the inner side of the rudder-iron, that which would be sufficient to dash all Captain Drew's hopes to the ground.

As he gazed at the rudder he thought:

"If the Duke does give her to me when we get into the bay, I'll let her swing there at anchor until I get a new rudder into her. She shall have the best rudder they can make for her at Izleworth. It will cost fifteen-ay, maybe twenty-pounds. It ought not to cost more than twenty pounds. But cost what it may, she shall have the best. Whatever the ship-carpenter asks he shall have. I will not cheapen him a penny. If he says five-and-twenty pounds, he shall have five-and-twenty pounds. You must not look a gift horse in the mouth, and I won't haggle over a few pounds to make the craft I sailed so long, and that now is going to bring me a fortune, shipshape and seaworthy. She doesn't want anything else. We never knew anything she wanted that she didn't get. Not likely, with such an owner as the Duke, God bless him!

"Ay, it's a fortune, and a large fortune, too, for a man like me. The most I ever had any reason to hope for was a few hundreds in the will of the Duke; and here now it has come to thousands all at once, and with the Duke alive and friendly to me yet, and promising me a new ship, and giving me the old one."

He bent forward and felt round the rudder-head carefully, tenderly, as though it were sensitive. Then he rose, hung up the lantern on the belaying-pin, and resumed his walk. His thoughts went on:

"I will run no risk with her. A plank or beam or stanchion may get dozed any time. It is likely everything else in the Seabird is as sound as a bell. But this matter of the rudder-head is a warning. I'll never take her to sea again at my own risk. I'll sell her in the bay, and will take good care I have the money in my pocket before she goes to sea again. How do I know but that the mainmast may be gone, or the sternpost? No, no. It won't do to throw away a chance like this. Not twice in a lifetime does a man in my position meet with a chance like this. It will not do to throw away a chance like this."

He filled and lit another pipe, and continued his walk.

It was now grey dawn, and the wind continued still to increase. Captain Drew was in no way uneasy about the wind or the sea. She was equal to it all, and much more, if the rudder-head only held. Although the wind had now double the force it had when he ordered in the flying-jib and ordered down the gaff-topsails, so skilfully had sail been reduced, and so free from anything like squall had been the gale, that she had never been more than a plank or two under to leeward. Water was now coming over the weather-side in bucketfals; and now and then the schooner plunged her nose under a big sea, and washed her decks fore and aft.

It was a dismal daybreak. The sky was all overcast with low-flying grey clouds, the sea a tangled maze of irregular billows. As day advanced there was no encouraging element in the scene. No land, no vessel, was in sight. All looked void and purposeless. The water and the air were given up to the tempest, and the schooner seemed an impertinence the presence of which air and water resented with deadly hatred.

Still, dreary as the dawn. Captain Drew preferred it to the night. He kept the deck. He was resolved to carry out his determination of not going below until the Seabird was safely at anchor in Silver Bay. It was now between two and three, and, if all went well, and all had been going well, he might, in reason, hope to be in smooth water in less than a dozen hours.

Every half hour, as morning grew into day, he paused and examined that rudder-head. It held admirably to all appearances. He could discover no sign of any weakness, of any working, of any giving out. He rubbed his hands once more in satisfaction. He now felt assured the rudder would last until they had reached security. Of course there was no great strain on the steering-gear. It was not as if they had been tacking up a narrow river, where they had to come about every few minutes. A couple of spokes to port now, a couple of spokes to starboard at another moment, sufficed to keep her on her course. He should not have to put any strain on the tiller until they ported to enter the bay; that was, of course, provided they did not encounter very much worse weather or the danger of a collision. As soon as he saw anything he would be able to tell better how they were, but he calculated that they would fetch Silver Bay on this reach without changing the course a point; and he ought to know if anyone did, for it was not the first nor the fiftieth northeast wind he had run away on in this same yacht Seabird.

When he was getting that new rudder made, there was one thing he would be certain not to have like the old one: there should be no sacrifice of strength to appearance. If there were to be interior angles, there should be exterior angles also.

All this while the silent invisible foe was slowly, but surely, working its way upwards.

At eight o'clock the Marquis came on deck, and was informed of the way in which the night had gone over, and that Captain Drew hoped to let go anchor in Silver Bay at about two o'clock that afternoon, if the wind kept steadily as it now was, and the sea did not get very much worse. The Duke did not come on deck. He feared to face the bitter air.

As the day grew the wind and sea rose considerably, until the gale became a storm, and the Seabird had not a single dry inch of deck. The rudder held bravely, although it now had to contend against hardships which the captain had not foreseen for it a couple of hours ago.

At noon they made out land under the port-bow; and by what Captain Drew could see he knew he was right in his calculation, and that the yacht would, on her present course, sail almost into the bay.

For miles and miles there was no other place of refuge but that bay. In such a storm it was a serious thing to have such a lee-shore, for at this part of the coast the land tends north-west, making a lee-shore for a north-east wind. Captain Drew would have felt no anxiety if no accident had happened; but in the face of a damaged rudder on a lee-shore such as this, and in such a storm, he felt very uneasy. If anything went at the rudder there would be no hope for the yacht, and little or none for any man aboard her.

The schooner was now able to show only a storm-jib and close-reefed scandalised mainsail to the storm.

At half-past one the foe, which had been so long invisible, came into sight, the Seabird being then about three miles to the south-west of the entrance to Silver Bay.

At a quarter to two the carpenter, who had been ordered to watch the rudder-head, saw the foe, which had so long been working in darkness, and reported to the captain. The carpenter said to the captain:

"In the starboard side of the rudder-cap iron-"

"Yes."

"There's a crack."

"Good God! a crack? If that goes, we are all lost!"

"I think it's going fast, sir."

While the carpenter was telling this terrible news to the captain, on shore Cheyne was standing among a knot of fishermen watching the approaching yacht.

CHAPTER XVI.
ON THE ROCKS

Gradually the group on the ledge of land hard by the cottages increased as the yacht drew nearer. A few women joined the men, and the talk about the yacht and its owner became general. Cheyne stood a little apart, within hearing, to leeward. The yacht was still half a league from the shore, heading for the bay.

"She has got as much as she wants now," said one of the men.

"Ay, and a trifle more."

"As fine a sea-boat as ever swam!"

"Ay, ay; but this is near as big a gale as ever blew."

"Oh! There's her keel from the bow to the foremast!"

"And there it is from the rudder to the main chains!"

"She'll pick up her moorings in a quarter of an hour."

"And I don't think anyone aboard will be sorry when she's in smooth water."

"Especially the Duke. For my part, I don't like even looking on, and I'd like it still less, but I know she's fit for it, and only plays with it. Fancy how an old collier would behave in a gale like that! It's very well the sea is no worse, or it might poop her."

"Poop her with that way on! You are a freshwater sailor, you are!"

"But suppose she made a stem board?"

"Or flew over the moon!"

"But if she carried away her mainsail she'd pay off, and then she might be pooped."

"If the sky fell, we'd catch larks. Get along with you, for a mud-pilot!"

"I daresay they're all on deck."

"Every soul of them. Why, who could stay below in a gale like that? Everything in her is jumping about like dice in a dice-box."

"They haven't a plate or a cup or a saucer left whole, I'll warrant."

"What odds about the cups and saucers, so long as the Duke-God bless him! – is safe."

"And the men."

"And the men too-and the men too!"

By this time the Seabird was within a few cables' length of the southern or cliff side of Silver Bay. She was now keeping a little more to windward than she absolutely wanted, and, according to a landsman's eye, it might seem Captain Drew meant to run his ship ashore about the middle of the reef. But when you have your vessel well in hand, and know all about her, being a little to windward of where you want to fetch is like having a fine unencumbered estate and a large balance at your banker's, after paying the last penny you can be called upon for.

"Time for him to port now," said one of the men on shore.

"Nice of a mud-pilot like you to teach Captain Drew how to bring the Seabird into Silver Bay! Why, if you were an admiral you'd teach the ships how to graze on the side of mountains, and the marines how to furl a t'gallant sail, you would!"

"Port!" cried Captain Drew. He was standing by the weather-bulwark, abreast of the companion. "Hard a port!" he added.

"Port!" cried Pritchard, who was again at the wheel, as being the best helmsman aboard. The wheel flew round. "Hard a port it is!" called out Pritchard mechanically. The wheel had gone round, and it ought to have ported the helm; but he knew very well it had not. It had spun round as though nothing had been attached to it. When the first few spokes had been put down, the wheel had suddenly run away in the direction he had been forcing it. He looked instantly behind him, sprang forward to where the captain stood, and whispered in a choked hoarse voice:

"She won't answer, sir. The cap-iron's gone!"

"All hands aft! Cut away mainsail!" sang out the captain.

One man sprang into the main-rigging, and went up upon the lee side hand-over-hand; one man sprang on the peak of the gaff, and scrambled up; two men got out on the boom; and in less than three minutes the mainsail had been cut adrift, and was rolled far away down to leeward.

"Your Grace," said the captain, "the rudder-head iron is gone, and I have ordered them to cut away the mainsail."

"Good God!" exclaimed the Duke, who had heard the order, and guessed that something had gone terribly wrong with the rudder head; "then we are lost!"

"She may pay off enough to fetch in," said the captain.

"She will not," said the Duke.

"She will not," thought the captain; but he held his peace.

By this time the men on shore had become aware something was wrong. They had seen the men spring aft, and cut away the mainsail. They had seen the man at the wheel leave it, and they had not seen him or any other man return to his place. From the fact of cutting away the mainsail, and leaving the wheel untended, they came to the conclusion some accident had befallen the steering-gear. For awhile there was nothing but startled looks and violent exclamations, which to Cheyne conveyed no clear idea beyond the fact that some kind of danger assailed the schooner.

The first word of definite import which Cheyne caught was spoken by a powerful-looking man of forty. He said:

"She'll never pay off fast enough! She'll be on the rocks in five minutes!"

This announcement was received by a low moan, which told too plainly that there was no gainsaying the words of the speaker.

Upon hearing these words, Cheyne moved up more closely to the group.

"Where will she come ashore?" he asked.

"On the reef, man!" answered a fisherman hotly; for no man who knows of such things likes to talk at such times.

Cheyne moved back to his old position, and fixed his eyes upon the doomed schooner.

The men and women assembled on the ledge of ground on the northern side of Silver Bay knew too well there was no lifeboat or rocket apparatus within fifteen miles, yet still there was no good in giving way to despair. The yacht was unmistakably going ashore in a few minutes on those rocks. There was little or no hope she could hold together there for anything like the time it would take to send word from Silverview to Bankleigh by horse, and from Bankleigh to the lifeboat station by telegraph, and then have the boat or apparatus round. Yet no chance, however slight, ought to be neglected; and accordingly, before another minute had elapsed, the swiftest man of the group was on his way at the top of his speed to the Castle, to give the alarm, and order the immediate despatch of the fleetest horse in the Duke's stables to Bankleigh.

Once more Cheyne drew near the group of men and women, and listened.

"What can be done when she strikes?" asked one of the women of one of the men.

"Nothing that we know of."

"Couldn't a boat go off to her?" asked the woman.

"No boat ever built could live in those breakers except a lifeboat."

"Could not a line be got to her?"

"How are you to get a line to her? We have no rocket or cannon here. There is no chance for them but to swim."

"Swim!" cried the woman, in terror. "How could anyone swim in that sea, and where would anyone swim to?"

"Hush!" said the man impressively, and for a minute all were mute.

The schooner plunged onward through the foam, for she was already in the white outwash from the shore and threw it madly from her bows. She was showing nothing to the wind but a storm-jib; and although she was paying off, she was paying off too slowly to give any grounds for hope. She had her anchors still, no doubt; but to let go her anchors under her nose in such a sea and with such a way on would be the wildest act of madness. They would drag her nose under or tear the bows out of her, capsize her the moment she broached to and came athwart the sea. Better the rocks than the anchors.

And those rocks looked terrible; huge spikes and feline teeth, over which mounted and broke the irregular billows, white with the sullen back-wash of former waves. When the wallowing billows flung themselves mercilessly upon the rocks, the white spray toiled slowly upward, like hopeless signals of distress.

The ill-fated yacht was now within a cable's length of destruction. There was nothing to be done but to hold on, await the end, and take advantage of everything in favour of one's life.

The men were all clinging to the fore-rigging at the weather-side. The two mates, the captain, the Marquis, and the Duke clung to the after-rigging on the same side. Absolutely nothing could be done. If there had been more time they might have tried the effect of more head-sail on her.

At length one huge wave seized her, flung her aloft, and threw her, as a giant might cast a mighty javelin, upon the rocks. There was a tremendous shock, a mighty crunching sound, an explosion like a cannon when the deck burst up in the waist, the scream of torn metal, the groan of yielding planks and timbers, the loud plunging swash of the water-all in a conflict of broken torrents hidden under a pall of blinding spray that rose over the wreck like smoke over the victim of a sacrifice.

"Her back is broken!" said one of the men on shore standing close to where Cheyne was.

When those on shore could see more clearly, they agreed that the vessel was of course a total wreck, but that the hopes of saving those on board were much better than they had any reason to hope for.

She had, it was true, broken her back; and as she had struck the rock about amidships, and her fore part was firmly wedged in between two rocks, and her after part hung over the ledge of rocks on which she lay, it was most likely the after half would very soon fall off. But it might be fairly counted that the fore part would last some time. The foremast still stood, but the jib had been blown away. No fisherman on the shore thought for a moment the fore part of the Seabird could possibly hold out until the arrival of the lifeboat; but five minutes ago the chances were the schooner would be in staves in ten minutes. Now half of her might be reckoned on to last an hour or two, and in an hour or two-well, there was less certainty of all of them being drowned than if she went to pieces in five minutes.

The two mates, the captain, the Marquis, and the Duke had all gone forward and secured themselves to the weather fore-rigging.

Before many minutes had elapsed, the yacht broke in two, the after part settling down in deep water.