Kitabı oku: «In the Yellow Sea», sayfa 2

CHAPTER II
A TERRIBLE POSITION – A PROPHETIC VISION – SINKING!

When I had rubbed my eyes, and began to take in the surroundings, I felt drenched by the rain and sea. My hands were sticky, and cold and damp. My clothes clung to my limbs, which were stiff under me. My straw hat, with the ribbon of which I had been so proud – a yacht-club ribbon – was sopped, out of shape, and off-colour like my drenched face. The squall was still passing, but the thunder had ceased.

The sea was very lively, and the wind boisterous. We were running close-hauled and fast, dipping and slapping; the mainsail stretched stiffly over the boat, reefed still, and the jib was as taut as a board. Daddy, I thought, was steering splendidly in such a sea, but I at once perceived that the cliffs had sunk deep into the water behind us, and that the line of the horizon was continually broken with the rolling waves. A change, indeed, and in a few moments! A great change!

I sat up, feeling a peculiar sensation of dizziness, and a breathlessness, a desire to gasp for breath – a taste, moreover, of something unpleasant, almost sulphurous, but not of sulphur. Something had happened! I looked around me; astern I saw Tim gripping the sheet in one hand, the tiller in the other, and dragging at the sail, half in the boat, half out.

"What's the matter, Tim? Is the skipper asleep?"

I often called Murry the "skipper" for fun, as he called me his "young gentleman," meaning midshipman.

Tim made no reply. Perhaps my voice had not reached him, so I shouted at him —

"Tim, ahoy! Whither bound? What ship's this, anyhow?"

"The Dead-ship," replied the young sailor. "Come aft, if ye can, and bear a hand. I can't manage the sail and steer this way."

Feeling alarmed, I scrambled up, and in an instant I saw that some fearful accident had occurred. The mainsail was lying half in and half out of the boat, dipping and lashing the waves, and bringing the Osprey down by the quarter and stern, deeply. No wonder I felt drenched, no wonder the boat was uneasy; and Tim had need of all his nerve and skill to keep his course.

I clambered astern and hauled in the sail which had come down full, with the gaff, upon the stern-sheets, and nearly swamped us. I recollected the cry I had heard. What had happened?

My cheerfulness was quenched in a second. I was face to face with death for the first time! I could not credit it!

Yet I knew it I could see nothing but the sail, the blackened spar, the tangled ropes, the mainsheet still gripped in Tim's hand, held, too, I fancied, by another hand – the hand of his dead father!

This impression suddenly seized me, and the idea burned into my brain like a dart – a hot nerve-thrill. Murry had been struck by that fearful flash, and I must have been laid out senseless. The peculiar feeling and sensation caused by the "electric fluid" I still remember, and do not wish to experience them again.

I felt afraid as I seated myself silently and with carefulness beside Tim. I questioned him with a look; he replied with a nod. Neither of us made an attempt to speak. He kept the boat's head close to the wind as possible, but we drifted out farther and farther all the time. We had no grapnel, and had we shipped an anchor we had not line to hold the boat there. All Tim could do was to keep up until a fishing-smack or some other craft could assist us.

Meantime we hauled the sail in board, and then, having lashed the tiller, we managed to roll it up and get it away from the body, which lay in the small, sunk, stern-sheets, still half supported. Murry was dead! My heart thumped in my throat, and a horrible feeling of hysteria attacked me. I suddenly burst out crying, and then sniggered in shame amid sobs.

"That's how mother was took," said Tim at length. "Can't we carry him in to the cabin place, think ye?"

I nodded assent. With great difficulty we managed to place the fine old man upon the lockers; the rolling and jumping of the boat was excessive, and imparted a weird movement to the body of the sailor.

He lay perfectly uninjured to all appearance. There was a blue mark on his neck, and his jersey had been split. Those were the only signs of dissolution. Poor Murry! He was a fine hearty sailor, and I am sure all his mates missed him for many a day.

This terrible incident affected us both deeply. Tim said a few words only, but I could perceive that he was feeling deeply, though his training and habit did not tend to sentiment. My intention was to get back as quickly as possible, and I said so. Let us get home!

"Whatever course are you steering, Tim?" I asked. "We're making out, not home."

"We shall never get home unless by land – unless we run ashore," replied Tim grimly. "She's leakin' like old boots."

"Leaking! What do you mean?" I asked in alarm.

"I means leakin', that's plain enough, I think. She's takin' the sea in fine, and I dessay in a few hours we'll see her beached."

"Where?" I asked quickly. "You're keeping off shore now."

"Can't land under these cliffs, anyhow. We must bail and run soon. That's our only chance I take it, Mister Jule. 'Spose you looks and bails; there's a dipper there. See to the well. Come, we'll lash the tiller, and she'll lie up a while in the wind if the mainsel catches her astern."

"But surely we can get ashore well enough. There are several vessels yonder; let us run out and board one."

"And be swamped likely. No, sir; let's weather the point and then we may get in on the eddy a bit. See here, we're driftin' now; we can't signal, the weather's thick a'ready, and likely as not a fog will come up to-night. There's bad weather about now. So let's try for the leak anyhow, and fix it."

We made an investigation which occupied some little time. We found the vessel was leaking, not badly; and if we could set the mainsail we could sail fairly well. The wind was unfortunately rising fast, and the day had completely changed.

I was surprised to find that time had passed so rapidly; it was three o'clock already. We were some miles out then, and still drifting out.

We determined to repair the gaff as a preliminary, so Tim set to work, and I assisted him as much as I could. That was not much, however, and all the time the day declined, the sea rose, the wind increased, and the Osprey jumped so that our efforts were not quickly successful.

"I say, Tim, can't we rig up the sail on the stump, and let her drive? We shall surely run against something bound homewards, or to London, or somewhere, and get ashore."

"I'm thinkin' we must chance it! The drift is dashing up too thick, and I'm feelin' like tea-time. Tell ye the truth, Mister Jule, I ain't the spirit for this. Think o' father there! How can we go back with that story? I'm gettin' 'down' over it."

"Oh, I say, Tim, none of that, please! Cheer up! we mustn't say die, you know. We have had a bad time, I know that, but we can't alter the facts. It's Providence, you know."

"Ye didn't say that this mornin' when you was savage about your eyesight," retorted Tim. "There was no 'Providence' in that. It was bad words and hanging people then."

"I was savage then, I know, and sick of things. But 'there's worse things happen at sea,' remember; and this is the worst I ever knew. Besides, it's a matter of self-defence and preservation, Tim. So let her drive; we'll be picked up certain. Let's do our best!"

"Very well, sir; you're master! Only, just see the weather! If we gets out yonder we'll never get back!"

"And if we lie here dipping and leaking we shall get nowhere! We can't hoist the sail, can we? No; well, then, loose the jib-sheet and drive out, there's plenty of steamers in the offing. I don't want to go home in such a hurry, and if it was not for" —

I stopped suddenly, my eyes had rested upon the outline of the poor old skipper's form, covered with the tarpaulin, amidships.

"Beg your pardon, Tim; do as you think best. I'll say no more. Let us lay to as you say, and try it."

There was a pause for a few moments. The spin-drift drenched us anew.

"Mister Jule," said he, – Jule being, of course, short for Julius, – "I think I understand ye. But, sir, you're the 'boss,' and arter all, the old dad – he can't hurt. He's 'done his bit,' and done it well! We'm alive-like, and we mustn't give in, must us? No, sir; we'll trim the boat, and run into the sea-way, and take what the Lord sends us. What d'ye say?"

"Done with you, Tim! Here's my hand on it. We'll sink or swim together. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir; that's hearty! I rather thinks it's sink more than swim. What you says I dessay's right; we may sink, and lay-to that way. Let's drive!"

"Ay, indeed! I am inclined to make a run for it, and do something."

Before I had finished speaking this ultimatum Tim had loosed the jib-sheet, and I shifted the helm a bit. The wind was lashing us then across Channel; the afternoon was glooming, the sun had disappeared to our starboard beam, and the sea became higher as the tide turned and carried us away from the "dirty cliffs."

"We shall smile at our fears to-morrow," I said, in an effort to be cheerful which my heart did not respond to.

Tim Murry made no reply, and we still ran seaward silently. Then I suddenly became dreamy – listless. I did not realise the circumstances, the sea seemed rocking me to sleep. Tim approached and looked at me, took the tiller from me, and I fell into a calm dream of home. I remember it well even now. The whole dream was for me a reality. My stepfather was looking at me, while I appeared to be on board a large ship like a man-of-war. Guns were mounted fore and aft, a number of men were running about, there was some great excitement. Yet I was not on the large vessel long; I was on a steamship next. The large man-of-war attacked us, I could not say how, and the ship I was in sank with a roar of steam and whistling and —

"Rouse up, sir, look alive! Steamer close aboard of us. She's whistling; she's seen us. I waved to her. Now we must leave this sinking boat."

I started up. The evening had fallen. The Osprey was half full of water. I had been dreaming of sinking – the reality was very near.

"Let us shout," I cried. "Say we're sinking, Tim."

"That's no lie, Mister Jule. The steamer sees us right enough. Will she be in time?"

"What a time she takes," I muttered. "Somehow I can't believe it all. Is it really true, Tim?"

"Rather!" replied Tim. "There's the boat launched! Don't you believe the water's up to your boots now? Look at it!"

I suppose I was still half asleep. I gazed at the swishing sea, and had no fear.

"All right, I can swim! You said we wouldn't, Tim!"

"You're nearer sinkin'," he answered. "Dad will never see the home again, arter all. Well, well, it's the Lord's will, that it is."

It was a sad and painful ending to a boating excursion. But at least we were saved, and going home. How delightful it would be to see mother again, to tell her all my adventures, to confess my temper, and to try to do all she had told me to please Mr. Bentham. Yes, I made up my mind to behave well, and give up the sea – if I must.

"Step in youngster," said someone.

My reverie had been suddenly cut short. I looked up, the steamer's boat was alongside.

"Just in the nick," remarked the officer. "How did you lads get into this pickle o' fish? Lucky we sighted you."

"Yes," I responded in a sleepy voice. "Is Tim there?"

"Aye, I'm here," he said.

"And your father's – body?" I asked. "Bring him out, please."

"What?" exclaimed the steersman. "A body – a dead body! Not for us. Push off, lads."

"You won't take it?" I cried. "Won't you bring it ashore?"

"No time to go ashore, youngster! There, you see, just in time! See! – she's sinking!"

I looked. The Osprey began to lurch and dip as the men pulled away. I stared in dread suspense, half dead, I fancied. Then we increased our distance. The Osprey lifted and fell, appeared again, disappeared; rose again, and just when one expected to see it once more the sea hid it and bore it out of sight for ever.

I think I shouted; I know I leaped up in haste, but a firm hand was placed upon my collar, and I sank back unconscious of all around me save the darkness of sea and sky. My senses left me!

So Murry had gained a sailor's grave. "There in the lone, lone sea – in a spot unmarked but holy," he lies at rest until the last call for "all hands" is piped.

CHAPTER III
THE STEAMER FÊNG-SHUI, FOR CHINA – CAPTAIN
GOLDHEUGH – DISCIPLINE AND A ROPE'S END!

When I again recovered consciousness I found myself in a comfortable berth, in what appeared an airy cabin on the deck of a vessel. The distant churning noise which attracted my rather wandering attention, and the shaking of the furniture, told me that I was on board a screw steamer. From the cabin windows I perceived a dim light upon the sea. The steamer rolled and plunged and shook herself with great energy, and at times the lamp hung, apparently, quite sideways across the room. As I continued to gaze rather listlessly about me, my eyes fastened themselves upon two words, of which I could make no sense nor meaning. These were painted upon a locker in golden characters, above some peculiar characters, and read —

FÊNG-SHUI

What was Fêng-Shui? I had never heard of it. I puzzled over it. Was it a name, a motto, or a spell of some kind? It seemed to my still obscured brain "neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring," and the painted characters beneath the words looked even funnier than those upon a tea-chest. FÊNG-SHUI!

The letters burned into my brain; they kept recurring in a kind of sing-song refrain, and finally adapted themselves to the "Tit-Willow" song in the Mikado. Fêng-Shui, Fêng-Shui, Fêng-Shui! As I lay staring at the locker my mind turned the song anew —

 
A poor little sailor-boy lay in a berth,
    Fêng-Shui, Fêng-Shui, Fêng-Shui!
And never could tell what was meant on this earth
  By Shui, Fêng-Shui, Fêng-Shui!
 

And so on, ad infinitum, till my senses reeled again. At length, being almost desperate, I rose, and was in the act of quitting the horrible cabin, when a man in uniform – merchant service – came in.

"Hallo!" he exclaimed, "what are you up to? Sleep-walking? Get back directly, d'ye hear? Smart now!"

He aimed a blow at my back, and literally ran me into the swinging cot which I had just vacated.

"Are ye mad?" he inquired, with a touch of the brogue of northern Ireland – a most amusing accent to my mind – which gave a comic turn to his most serious remarks.

I made no reply immediately, only by staring.

"Ah! the boy's off his head! D'ye hear me? Are ye deaf and mad?"

"No," I replied; "neither, I think."

"Ye think! Ye're not sure! Then bedad I think ye're mad. What made ye jump out o' bed, then, like a lunatic?"

"I was wondering where I was, and thinking of those queer letters. I am better now. I was confused when I woke up."

"Oh, that's better! Sure it was a miracle ye woke at all; we all thought ye dead as Kerry mutton. What's ailing ye?"

"Nothing, except those queer letters."

"What! The ship's name, is it? That's nothing but Fêng-Shui, and it's written in Chinese besides."

"Oh, thank you, I see. I couldn't make it out. What does it mean?"

"Wind and Weather, and a lot more, in China. Ye'll see in time. Be easy now, I tell ye."

"In time! What do you mean?" I asked, starting up.

"What I say. In time! By and by, – when ye get there."

"Get where? To China?"

"That's it," replied my new acquaintance. "Ye've hit it plumb."

"But I am not going to China!"

"Aren't ye, bedad! Well, we'll agree to differ on that."

"What rot!" I exclaimed rudely. "Surely you're going to London?"

"Not till I get back, round the East. Then, maybe I will."

"Do you mean to say that this vessel is bound to China?"

"I do; and ye're bound to go with it."

"Then I won't! I want to go home to Beachmouth. Can't you put me ashore anywhere? – I don't care where it is."

"Can ye swim?" he asked, looking at me with a funny wink.

"I can, of course. Well?"

"Then ye must swim home. We're away in the Channel, and France is on the port-beam, if ye know what that is."

"Of course I do. Do you think me an idiot?"

"I did – a while ago. If ye're not a fool ye'll stay where ye are. Of course, ye're a bit mad now, but by the mornin' ye'll be well. Lie quiet now, and I'll send ye some food."

"No, thank you, I am not hungry. I am thirsty and chilly, though. Why can't I go home?"

"Because, unless I stop to put ye aboard some ship, ye can't. I can't stop now till daylight, anyway; and then we shall be about in the Bay. By that time I expect ye'll want to stay where ye are. Lie quiet now, I'll send the steward to ye with a lemon drink. Maybe in the morning ye'll feel better. Anyhow, ye must remain here – for the present, and keep yer claws in, like Tim Connor's cat."

"Are you the captain?" I asked, with some deference.

"So they tell me," was the quaint reply, as he left the cabin.

The captain of the Wind and Weather! Perhaps I had been too "cheeky." What would he do to me, I wondered. He seemed a nice man. Then I began to wonder what had become of Tim. He had not been given a cabin. Why had the captain taken such care of me? he had never heard of me, I was sure.

While thus groping in my mind for assistance and ideas, the steward appeared with a warm drink, which smelt of lemon juice, and some spirit – I think whisky. I had never tasted spirits, and declined the draught then.

"If you don't drink it the doc will come and fix you," said the steward. "Better this than him. He's a 'nailer' at nastiness. Take my advice, drink this, and you'll sleep like a top."

"On one leg, do you mean?" I asked, taking the glass and smiling.

"Anyhow, after that. There, you've some sense in you, I see. You came up pretty limp from the boat. Now lie down, and sleep till mornin', I'll come and see after you."

"I say, steward, wait a second. What's the captain's name?"

"Goldheugh – Martin Goldheugh – and a first-rate captain, too, I can tell you. But you must do as you're bid, mind; no skulking. Now shut your eyes and keep quiet. Good-night."

I murmured something. The drink I had imbibed was mounting to my head; I felt warm and comfortable. Then I began to count the distant throbs of the engine, and just as I had reached three hundred and sixty-two I – woke.

It was broad daylight. I rubbed my eyes in surprise. Daylight! Had I slept (like Scrooge in the "Christmas Carol") through a whole night in a few minutes. It could not be daylight, surely? I had only counted three hundred and odd beats of the engine at supper-time, and already morning had come. My first glance fell upon "Wind and Weather" – the Fêng-Shui sign; and then my heart beat fast. I flushed hotly. What would my parents think? what would they do?

I confess I was miserable and greatly upset. I was at sea, and for the first time very unhappy. My thoughts rushed to my mother, then to my indulgent stepfather, and I compared them with other fellows' parents who were so strict and stiff and severe. Neither my own father nor mother, not even Mr. Bentham, had been really severe with me. Most of my troubles had been caused by my own wilfulness and obstinacy; and, I then confessed, my disobedience! Yes, they had advised and guided me, while I, in my conceit, fancied I knew best, and consequently came to grief at last. Punishments came at times, and I rebelled, got punished again, and sulked. I perceived then that my parents had been just, and I regretted now that I had been so rude, and had parted from my mother so brusquely and unkindly.

My melancholy reflections were disturbed by the entrance of the steward. I was pleased to see him.

"Good-morning," he said. "Sleep well?"

"Splendidly! Where are we, steward?"

"Off Ushant. We shall get a tossing presently."

"What do you call this?" I asked, as the waves came rushing past the bulwarks. I could see great mountains rising and sinking outside, and white foam dashing up. The air was cool too, and raw.

"That's nothing at all; wait a while. The wind's rising fast, and we'll have a fine sea presently. Are you getting up?"

"What's the time, please? I feel better now."

"It's seven bells in the morning watch – half-past seven, you know."

"Yes, I know that," I replied. "Can I have breakfast?"

"Of course; whatever you like – in reason."

"Where will you reach port and land me?"

"I can't say; maybe at Gib – or Malta. We're in the Bay now. It's all the Bay between Ushant and Cape Finisterre."

"It's awful rough, I think I had better lie still," I said.

"As you like. The swell comes in here from the west, you see. But it isn't any rougher than the Atlantic between Ireland and America."

"I suppose you have sailed all around England, and also abroad?"

"Yes, I've been in a few places in my time. I was a schoolmaster once."

"You – a schoolmaster!" I exclaimed, sitting up with a jerk.

"Yes. Then I left the business, and went to sea as a purser's mate in the American trade. I saw a bit, and learned more geography than I could teach. I suppose you know all the celebrated sea places?"

"Oh yes; Trafalgar, and all those, of course."

"And Dungeness, Beachy Head, Harfleur, and Ushant close here, on the great first of June. I could tell boys all about them better now. Ay, ay; but let's not think of them. You want breakfast – all right."

He disappeared, and in a few minutes another man entered with a tray of good things, including marmalade and jam, toast, and hot rolls. What a splendid breakfast I made. I almost forgot my home then. But the reaction came, and I felt miserable once more.

At half-past eight – I mean one bell in the forenoon watch – I said I would get up. I received some assistance from the steward, who had dried my clothes, but they had shrunk sadly. I made inquiries for Tim.

"He's forward all right, – you mean the fisherman, don't you?"

"Yes, Tim Murry. I should like to see him."

"You can see him on the forecastle, if you like. You can walk forward when you've found your legs. Gently does it."

I was greatly amused by being advised to take care. Why, I had been out in vessels in very rough seas often! The idea of the steamer being so bad was ridiculous. So I stepped out on deck, and was just about to gaze around when I was thrown forcibly against the port (lee) bulwarks, and the breath knocked out of my body.

Wildly I grasped at the shrouds and halyards within reach. I gasped, turned blue and pale, and felt as if I was dying.

"Hold up!" cried the steward, who had come out behind me. "Don't try to kill yourself, young fellow! You're too venturesome. Here, let me lead you to the companion, and sit there by the steps."

He assisted me to the companion stair, and placed me in safety by the entrance to the little saloon.

The captain was on the bridge close by, over the chart-house. The ship was flush-decked, broken only by the commander's cabin, the charthouse, and the skylights, masts, and funnel. Forward was the men's berth and hatch. I could only observe these points when the captain hailed me.

"Hallo, my lad, are ye practisin' for the slack-wire? Would ye like a sling for yer legs?"

I blushed because the mate and steward laughed. The sailor at the wheel grinned silently.

"All right, captain," I replied, "I'll have a sling, please. Hoist away!"

The mate – I thought him the mate – on the deck laughed again, but in a different key. The captain spoke to him in a low tone. The officer came aft and beckoned to me to approach the bulwarks.

I staggered up as bidden, and in a moment he had secured me with a rope to a belaying pin amidships, beneath the bridge. The rope hurt me, and pressed hard upon my waist in front.

"Let me go," I cried, struggling to reach the deck, from which I was just lifted by the rope; "I can't breathe."

"You can shout, anyhow," replied the mate. "You'll find your level presently. Then you'll walk circumspectly."

"Can you spell it?" I sneered. I was annoyed then by the laughter.

"I T," was the answer. "And you'll spell 'rope's end' if you're impudent, my lad. So put that in your pipe!"

"I don't smoke," I retorted. "Let me go, please."

"Presently. Keep quiet, as the captain says. You'll be glad presently. How do you feel now, eh?".

"None the better for seeing you," I said rudely. "Let me go!"

"No, no; you must feel better first. You see this rope's end, you'll feel it presently. Just a little pleasant warming. See?"

He then suddenly laid the rope across my shoulders sharply, and on my back a few times.

"That will keep you," he concluded, stepping forward and leaving me to my reflections. "Now you know the ropes," he cried jeeringly.

I was angry, and made up my mind to fight the mate when I got released. The captain did not interfere at all, though he saw all that had occurred. However, I suspected he would have said something had he disapproved. I was very savage, though not really hurt – except in my inmost feelings. I wriggled, and kicked, and yelled aloud, but no one took any notice of me whatever. At length I subsided, – I felt rather sick and faint.

"Cut him down," said the captain to one of the hands; "he's had enough. He'll lie quiet now."

The man at once untied the knot which I could not reach; I fell on deck, and felt terribly ill.

"Come along o' me," said the sailor. "Just stand here to leeward! You'll be all spry in a few minutes now. Hold up, matey! Why, you're a greenhorn, and no mistake! Shave my cat's whiskers, but you are!"

I felt too unwell to dispute the question. I considered that I had been most unkindly treated; that the captain and crew, including the mate most particularly, had been almost brutal! I longed to quit the ship and to return home. Even Granding and Smith's, I believed, would be more pleasant than the steamer. I began to hate the sea, the waves, the voyage! Was this the beautiful Ocean on which I had sailed so joyfully so often? What a mercy it was that I had been plucked in eyesight!

My eyes were open now, long before the usual nine days. I could see things in a different light. No doubt the Royal Navy was different from this "tramp" steamer, but it was all the same feeling at sea! Oh, my head! my head!