Kitabı oku: «The Perils and Adventures of Harry Skipwith by Land and Sea», sayfa 6
Chapter Nine
I determine to return to New Orleans – A drunken Captain – Sam Snag, the Mulatto Mate – A Hurricane and Wreck – A Night of Horrors
I had seen enough of life in the outskirts of Texas to satisfy me for the present, and as I had gone there, not from choice, but because it was the country I could most easily reach when it was necessary to run away from New Orleans, I felt that I could beat a retreat without loss of self-respect. Therefore, accompanied by Peter and Ready, I returned by the way I had come, without any adventure worthy of note, to Galveston.
I found a vessel, the Weathercock, Captain Parsons, sailing immediately for New Orleans, and, in an unfortunate moment, as it proved, took my passage in her. I supposed that after the lapse of so many months I should no longer be recognised in New Orleans, and having purposed to push up the Mississippi to its sources, I did not like to be baulked, and so determined to chance it. Ready was evidently pleased at finding himself again on salt water, but poor Peter was very uncomfortable.
“I hope we shan’t fall in with them black fellows as cut all our throats afore,” he remarked, as he gazed on the fast-receding land. “I do wish, sir, you’d tramp it back overland to Old England.”
Peter’s knowledge of geography was very limited, and I thought it scarcely worth while to explain to him that he proposed an impossibility.
“It would be a long tramp, even if there were a bridge; but as there is no bridge just now, nor likely to be for some time, we must e’en go back as we came,” said I. “But as we’ve a good many more places to see first, I cannot promise you a sight of the white cliffs of Old England for some long time to come, Peter. However, if you are afraid to go on, I will either find you employment in America, or put you on board the first homeward-bound ship we fall in with.”
Peter looked up at me with a half-reproachful glance as he answered —
“No, no, sir. You wouldn’t wish me to go and take service with any strangers in these foreign parts; and in the old country there’s no home for me now – all those who made it home are gone. No, no, sir, you’d not wish me to leave you.”
“Certainly not, my lad; but I thought that you might be afraid of going on,” I remarked.
“Afraid when I am with you, sir!” he exclaimed, in a tone which showed how much his feelings were hurt at the supposition. “No, no, sir; I’ll stick by you through thick and thin, now and ever, till you turn me away.”
I was sure that Peter felt what he said, and setting as I do a high value on a faithful friend, however humble he may be, I assured him that he need be under no apprehension that I should part with him without his consent.
This tranquillised him, and he seemed at once to become reconciled to his life on the heaving wave.
I soon discovered that the Weathercock was far from deserving the character which her agents gave her of a fine clipper sea-boat, and that Captain Parsons was a different sort of person to what he had been described. He was not drunk when he came on board, but he very soon got so; and if he turned out sober in the morning, he took care very quickly to reduce himself to a condition of utter indifference to all sublunary affairs. As may be supposed, therefore, he did not make a very direct course for his destination.
While the weather remained fine, this did not so much signify, as a day or two more at sea was of little consequence to me, and I knew that we could not well miss the yellow water at the mouth of the Mississippi; but should it come on to blow – no impossible contingency – we should, I saw, be placed in a very unpleasant predicament. Still there was no help for it; the skipper would not have put back had I asked him, but very likely, in a drunken fit, might have blown my brains out, or pitched Peter overboard.
The mate was likely to prove a more formidable opponent. He was a huge Mulatto, with a villainous expression of countenance. From my first stepping on board, he seemed to have taken a dislike to me. It might have been because he saw that I was a man not likely to stand nonsense. He dared not show it to me, however; but whenever he had an opportunity, I saw that he gave Peter a cuff and Ready a kick, which, as may be supposed, secured the latter as an enemy, though poor Peter was too kind-hearted to indulge in ill-feeling towards any human being. Sam Snag, the fellow was called, and he tyrannised over the crew, who dared not disobey his least command, and even the captain held him in awe, and disliked him; but they were necessary to each other. Sam Snag, though a good seaman, knew nothing of navigation, and therefore could not get the command of a vessel, and so he had to ship as mate, and preferred serving with a man like Parsons, whom he could govern, rather than with one who would govern him.
Why the mate had allowed the captain to get as drunk as he was puzzled me. I could not help suspecting that he had some sinister object in view.
Three days had passed since we left Galveston, and the only notable fact with regard to our navigation was, that, though we had lost sight of the land, we had made very little progress. There lay the vessel on the glassy shining sea, her sails flapping idly, but with now and then loud reports, against the masts. The captain was perfectly contented, and rather amiably-disposed towards me; for, as he sat in his little hot, stifling cabin – the atmosphere of which could not have been much under a hundred degrees – he sent his boy to ask me to come and liquor with him, and began to be very abusive when I declined the honour.
“That sneaking, white-haired, milksop of a Britisher – what business has he to refuse my civilities, I should like to know? It’s his natural pride, I guess, but I’ll pull it down a peg or two before I’ve done with him, I guess,” I heard him muttering as I sat reading on deck near the skylight under the shade of the mainsail.
He continued to drink and growl on, and as he got more and more drunk, he confused me with Snag, and abused both of us. From the language he occasionally used, and one or two expressions he let fall, I suspected that the unhappy man had fallen from a higher position in society to that which he now occupied. Now he quoted a line of Latin or Greek, and now he spoke in some Oriental language, Hindostanee or Arabic, I fancied, and swore in it fiercely, and then gave way to fits of idiotic laughter. Yes, I was certain that man had ranked as a gentleman, and now in appearance and manners he was the veriest brute under the sun.
“That’s what drink has done for him,” I said to myself: “or crime, and then drink to drown conscience; or probably drink produced the crime, and then, instead of repentance, came the more drink, that he might try and forget the crime. I am not in a pleasant position with the companionship of a set of ruffians. However, I have been in many a scrape before, and have got out of them. I hope that I may get out of this as well as I have done out of others.”
As the day grew on, however, I became more anxious. The heat increased until it became almost unnatural and utterly insupportable, and the sky assumed a lurid, brazen hue, which struck me as indicative of an approaching hurricane, or a gale of some sort. I observed the seamen casting anxious glances every now and then at the horizon, but no move was made among them to do anything; the mate was below asleep, and the master was too drunk by this time to know whether the sky was copper-colour, black, or blue, or to care what might become of the ship and all on board.
At last, having thought over all the descriptions I had read of hurricanes, I myself began to grow uneasy, and resolved to summon the mate, though I knew that I ran the risk of a quarrel in consequence. I put my head down the companion-hatch, and called out his name two or three times. The stifling air which came up from below made me unwilling to descend. The mate did not reply. He must be sleeping very soundly, I thought, or else he does not choose to answer. Peter, finding he did not appear, without my leave sprang down below, saying, as he did so, “I’ll rouse him up a bit, sir.”
“I say, mate – Mister Snag – wake up, will you? Wake up, Mister Snag,” I heard him sing out.
There was no reply for a minute, and then came a cry of pain and terror, and poor Peter reappeared faster than he had gone down, with an expression of alarm on his countenance, followed by the mate, who had a thick colt in his hand, with which he was accustomed to belabour any of the crew who offended him.
“For what you make all dat row?” he exclaimed fiercely, turning to me with a threatening gesture.
“To wake you up, and remind you of your duty,” I answered, in as calm a tone as I could command. “Look out there; what do you say to that sky?”
The mate gave a hurried glance round the horizon. He did not answer me, but he shouted —
“Aloft, all of ye! Furl the topsails. Let fly topgallants sheets. Here, you – Britisher, go to the helm, and do as I bid you. You, white boy, stand by those ropes.”
There was no time for further orders. The men flew aloft. They knew what ought to be done; but before they could do it the hurricane burst us. With desperate energy they attempted to gather in the furiously flapping canvas. As Snag directed I turned round the spokes of the wheel, and as the ship’s head was providentially pointing in the direction towards which the hurricane blew, away she flew before it, like a bird just escaping from the nets of the fowler. Had this not been the case, she would probably have instantly been thrown on her beam-ends. I had to exert all my strength to turn the wheel. I kept my eye on Snag, for not a word could I hear, as he rushed from rope to rope, hauling away with Peter on some, and letting go others.
The sails flapped and struggled with claps like thunder, as the blast caught them, till the vexed canvas tore itself out of the bolt-ropes. The masts bent and trembled, the yards strained and cracked. I looked up for a moment; I knew that the poor fellows aloft were in instant peril of their lives. They clung desperately to the yielding yards – clung for their lives – for the rent sails lashed furiously round them, and they scarcely dared to loose their hold for an instant to move in towards the masts. Most of them had lost their hats or caps, their hair was streaming out, their eyeballs starting from their heads.
A wild shriek reached my ears, even through the terrific din of the tempest. I caught a glimpse of the outer man on the fore-topsail-yard as the leech of the sail, torn to ribbons, coiled itself like some huge serpent round him, and tore him from his hold. In vain he tried to regain his hold, in vain to extricate himself – no human power could avail him. Helplessly he stretched out his arms; the fierce wind unloosened the coil of canvas, and, though grasping at a rope which eluded his hand, he was flung into the seething waters through which the brig was rushing onwards. For one instant I caught a sight of his countenance, as, still desperately struggling for life, he dropped astern, while the vessel flew by him. The mate saw what had happened, but took not the slightest notice. I thought Peter would have jumped overboard in his eagerness to try and save the man. He threw a rope, but it was utterly useless. Even had the poor wretch caught it, it would have been torn out of his hands. When Peter was certain that the man was hopelessly lost, I saw him wring his hands in sorrow, and he was evidently giving utterance to his feelings in words, though what he said of course I could not hear.
Even the gale did not bring the wretched master to his senses, but I fancied that I could hear him singing, or rather howling away in his drunken madness, keeping up a wild concert with the creaking of the bulkheads, the rattling of the blocks, the whistling of the wind through the rigging, and the loud roar of the rising seas, as they dashed against the sides of the vessel. The mate, to do him justice, was the only man of the whole crew who remained calm and collected. How he might have behaved aloft I do not know; still I think he would have been the same. He soon saw that it was impossible for the men to furl the canvas – or, rather, that there was no canvas left for them to furl. He made a signal to them to come down off the yards. It was not given too soon. Some obeyed, and slid down on deck, but before the last two on the main topsail-yard were off it, the main-top mast, which had already been bending ready to crack, gave way and went over the side, carrying the rigging, and the yard, and the two men on it, overboard. They were not shaken off, but still they clung with all the energy of despair to the spar. It was but for a moment. There were several loud cracks, some ropes gave way, the bolts which secured the shrouds to the side were drawn, and the whole mass of rigging, parting from the side, floated astern. In vain the men shrieked for help; in vain they held out their hands to us imploringly; no help could be given them, their fate might presently be ours.
The next minute the fore-topmasts went over the side, and the fore-yard came down with a crash on deck, carrying away the bulwarks, and crushing a man who had just descended from aloft, and thought he was in safety. There he lay writhing under it, and unable to extricate himself. I would have hurried to his assistance, but I dared not leave the helm, and Snag and the other men were so engaged in clearing the rest of the wreck, that they could make no attempt to lift up the yard so as to release him. It was dreadful to watch the poor fellow, as, with the movement of the ship, the heavy yard rolled on his broken limbs, inflicting the most excruciating torture. He shrieked out in his agony, entreating his companions either to release him or to put an end to his sufferings with a crowbar – so Peter told me, for his voice was borne far away from me on the wings of the hurricane. Peter, as soon as he saw what had occurred, in spite of the gestures of the mate ordering him to remain where he was, hurried forward. Still his whole strength could not, of course, move the spar; but getting hold of a handspike, he was able to prevent it from rolling over the man as often as before. Every moment the sea was rising, and as the vessel pitched more and more, the difficulty of keeping the yard off the man became greater.
At last the wreck, by means of axes and knives was cleared, and the mate had no longer on excuse for neglecting the seaman who lay under the yard. With careless indifference he directed the other men how to lift the spar so as to drag out the sufferer.
“He’s of no further use,” he exclaimed (so Peter told me) when he saw the injury the man had received. “May as well heave him overboard at once. We can’t mend broken legs here.”
“Oh, no; no, don’t now!” shrieked the poor wretch, who was probably not aware of the extent to which he was hurt. “I shall soon be well. I’ll work; I’ll work. Oh spare me! – spare! I am not fit to die! I’ll get well and work. Will nobody save me? I can’t die; I mustn’t die!”
“That’s what many more say, but it’s of no use,” growled out the mate.
Peter told me that on hearing this he could not help saying:
“Well, if you throw that poor fellow overboard while he’s got life in him, you may as well throw me and my master; for as sure as ever we get into port, we’ll go and tell the magistrate of you.”
The mate, with a look of surprise, gave a scornful laugh, but allowed Peter to draw the wounded man on one side, while he and the crew secured the spar, and passed life-lines forward where the bulwarks had been carried away.
I witnessed all that was taking place from my post aft, and as the mate saw that I could steer the vessel properly, he did not think fit to relieve me. I shouted to him over and over again to send a hand to the helm, but he either did not, or would not, hear me. As to where I was steering I had little conception. All I knew was that I was keeping the ship’s head away from the wind, for I had not thought of looking at the compass at first, and a block had fallen from aloft and broken in the binnacle.
The mate, I knew, was as ignorant as I was, and should the master not recover his senses, I suspected that we should have some difficulty in finding our way to New Orleans. There was a vast deal still to be done in getting the ship as much to rights as circumstances would allow, and, to do the mate justice, he worked himself, and made all under him work also.
On the ship flew under the bare stumps of the masts – they, I expected, would go next, as there were no shrouds to support them. The tortured, foaming waters rose higher and higher as the hurricane increased in strength and had longer time to affect them; and the higher the seas rose, the more the ship laboured, and the more difficult it was to steer, till my arms ached with the exertion, and I felt that if not relieved I must leave my post.
I shouted – I beckoned – to Snag, but though I was certain he saw me, he took no notice of my signs. At last Peter found his way to me, not without difficulty, and I sent him forward to summon one of the crew. The mate guessed his errand, and received him with a kick, and an order to tell me to remain where I was and make myself useful. Life is sweet, and we cling to it as long as we can; or otherwise, under the belief that the ship was hurrying to destruction, I should have thrown myself on deck, and let her broach to, which would probably at once have brought about the catastrophe. I was directing Peter to go back and help the poor wounded man, to drag him aft, if possible, and to get him down below, when there was a cry from forward. A huge sea came rolling up alongside, and (whether or not from my bad steering, I do not know) it broke on board, and, sweeping across the fore part of the deck, carried in its grasp all it reached. Two of the crew could be seen for an instant battling with the foaming seas, as if there was a possibility of their regaining the ship.
When once more the deck was free of water, the poor wounded man had disappeared. “He was surely taken in mercy, for his sufferings would otherwise have been fearful,” I said to myself. I was now glad to get Peter’s assistance, which he willingly gave; while honest Ready lay at my feet, looking up every now and then into my face, and saying in his own peculiar language, “Master, I wish that I could help you; but I couldn’t, I know – not if I was to try ever so much.” But Ready could be of use, even on board ship. Another huge sea came up, and this time, striking the quarters, it deluged the whole after-part of the vessel. I clung to the wheel, but Peter, less prepared, lost his hold of the wheel, and was carried away. Ready, instantly comprehending his danger, dashed after him, and seizing on the leg of his trousers as he lay thrown on his back, with the certainty of either being washed overboard or drowned in the lee-scuppers, dragged him up out of the water, and held him tight, till at length the mate, if not for my sake, for that of the ship, came aft to the wheel, and I was able to go to the rescue of my faithful follower.
Snag, though unconcerned for the loss of our companions, could not conceal from himself the danger we were in, and the probability that before long their fate would overtake him. He was as fierce and sulky-looking as before; but he said nothing, and I made no mark calculated to provoke his anger. The crew had done all that was possible for the safety of the ship, and the remnant now gathered under the after-bulwarks, awaiting what was next to happen.
The hatches had been put on, or they might possibly have gone below and turned into their berths – there to await their fate, as I have known seamen do. Night was coming on; but even that could scarcely add to the horrors of our position, except that perhaps darkness might render steering more difficult. As the mate stood alone at the helm in the gloom of evening, his hair, which was long, streaming in the wind, his neck bare, his dark countenance expressive of fierce and bad passions, his tall figure, the upper part of which was scarcely hid by the shirt – the only garment he wore besides his loose trousers – I thought that I had never seen a more perfect impersonification of some evil spirit. I scarcely, even now, like to recall the horrors of that night: the last sight on which my eyes rested was that demon-looking man steering the shattered vessel – amid the howling of the winds, the roaring of the seas – as it appeared, to inevitable destruction. Peter, Ready, and I crouched together under the bulwarks, holding on by lines secured to ring-bolts in the deck, and drenched by the seas which were constantly breaking over us. The darkness increased till it was impossible to see across the deck; nor could I even distinguish those nearest to me. The roaring waters continued sounding in my ears: frequently I felt myself under them as they broke over the ship; again I felt as if I could not possibly hold on longer, but with desperation I clutched the rope as the seas washed by, and had to be thankful that I had for the moment escaped the death which threatened me. Peter’s shout, close to my ear, of “All right, sir,” assured me that he and Ready had also escaped; for both were hanging on to the same rope, the latter holding it by his teeth with might and main, evidently as sensible as we were of the perilous position in which we were placed.
Hour after hour passed by, and no change occurred in the dreary monotony of that night of horror. I think that I must have dropped asleep for an instant, strange as that may seem; for a feeling of indifference as to what might happen had stolen over me, and unconsciousness of the present, when I was startled by the cry of “She’s sprung a leak! – she’s sinking! We are lost – we are lost!”
The voice of the mate was heard, even above the hurricane. “Lost! Who says we’re lost?” he shouted. “We shall not be lost if you’ll work like men. All hands to the pumps!”
The dismasted vessel flew on as rapidly as before through the foaming, tossing seas. The crew laboured at the pumps, the mate swearing furiously at them, when, as at times, they stopped to rest. Then again they pumped away till one of them cried out, in a tone of obstinate despair:
“The leak is gaining on us; we can pump no more.” Again the mate swore, and threatened them with death if they did not persist.
Suddenly, while the mate and the crew together were shouting and swearing at each other, there came a fearful crash; the ship trembled in every timber; another and another crash followed; the roaring sea washed over the vessel; now she lifted, and then down she came with yet more fearful force than before, and every plank and timber seemed rent asunder.
