Читать книгу Red Lion and Blue Star - John Arthur Barry - Страница 5

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"It's the darkest night I ever remember seeing in my whole life," remarked Mr. Hopkins, the mate of the Mary Johnson.

"Same here," replied Captain Bolger; "it feels that thick, one could almost take a knife and cut chunks off it and throw 'em about."

The Mary had rounded Cape Horn, and was making good progress northabout, when, all of a sudden, she had, at eight bells that night, run into a wind-less patch of blackness the calmness and intensity of which were such as none on board remembered experiencing.

So thick was the darkness that captain and mate, standing almost touching, were utterly invisible to each other. Nor could any part of the ship be discerned, as she lay motionless without creak of truss or parrel or slightest lift of sail. Even the rudder was still, and the wheel-chains gave never a rattle. The only point of light came from the binnacle, a yellow blot that itself seemed choked by the woolly blackness surrounding it.

Presently, a man getting a drink at the scuttle-butt let the tin dipper rattle, and the noise made men jump and stare aloft, thinking that a yard had carried away.

"Phew!" exclaimed Bolger, "dashed if it don't smell black! An' you can feel it in your throat, can't you, Hopkins?"

"Aye, sir," replied the latter, his voice sounding muffled and dull, "this beats my time. It's onnatural, to my way of thinking. A regular phenomener, that's what it is."

"Umph,'' grunted the other, crustily, "that's what whippersnapper-double-barrel 'ud call it, no doubt, if he were here. An' he'd put a name to it as long as his ship's. Well, I s'pose," he continued, and you could almost hear the grin of the old chap, "that he's flyin' along somewhere in the Nor'-east Trades afore this."

He had scarcely spoken when from away abeam came a noise sounding like the bark of a dog.

"Eh?" said Bolger.

"Seal!" said Hopkins.

"Your grandmother!" said the skipper. "What 'ud one be doing in twenty degrees south? It's a dog. There he is again. It's a ship run into this stinkin' patch o' black fog an' pitch"

Indistinct and dull though the sounds were, there presently seemed little doubt that they really proceeded from a dog.

"Skipper's bow-wow on the Terpsic-curry" hazarded the mate. "That big black-an'-white brute that collared the bo'sun the night we had the rumpus—"

"Aye, aye, like enough," interrupted Bolger, impatiently. "Anyhow, it's a long way off by the sound. If double-barrel's in here, all his dashed science won't get him out of it any faster than us."

"Isn't that a light, or the reflection of one?" asked the mate, sharply. "Why, it's aboard of us! Con—," but he had time for no more, when, with a dull, grating, rumbling sound, accompanied by one of snapping and crackling aloft, a great mass snugged up, as it were, alongside the Mary Johnson and remained there, whilst arose from many throats a wild chorus of shouts, threats, and curses, mingled with the furious barking of a dog.

"What on earth is it?" roared Bolger, dancing frantically along his poop, and peering with useless eyes, now aloft, now outboard, at the faint splash of yellow light alone visible. "Ship ahoy!" he hailed. "What the blazes are you doin' runnin' into me like that?"

"Ahoy, ahoy!" retorted a muffled voice, as more dull yellow blotches became visible through the black mist. "Isn't the sea wide enough for you, but that you must come blundering into people in such a fashion? Who the deuce are you?"

"Mary Johnson, of London, homeward bound from Sydney. Get your boats over and pull yourself out of our road afore you do more mischief. What sort of confounded sogers are you, anyhow? Clear off, now! What's your name?"

"Don't be in such a hurry," was what the reply sounded like. "Get your own boats out if you want to," followed by something suspiciously resembling laughter from the stranger.

"Terpsic-curry, or I'm a dago!" exclaimed Mr. Hopkins, as the carpenter came aft and reported a tight ship. "Chips," he continued, "serve out all the tomahawks you can find." Then, turning to the captain, he continued, "I think, sir, we'd better send some hands aloft to cut away. We're evidently fast up there."

"Do as you like," replied Bolger, wrathfully. "But they'll only chop their fingers off! Why, man," he exclaimed, in furious tones, "we might ha' well been born blind, like puppies an' kittens, for all the use our eyesight is to us!"

However, the mate had his way; and presently in the blackness could be heard voices and the noise of chopping as the men lay out on the yards and cut at intertwisted stays, lifts, and braces. Also it soon became evident that the other ship had its crew similarly employed. And in a while it seemed from the sounds of shouting and swearing up there in the smother that at several points, the two parties had met.

The hulls, after the first impact, had separated, some dozen or so of feet now lying between them. But their yards and rigging being still foul, gave them a heavy list towards each other. Lights there were in plenty, but so feebly did they show through the thick, woolly darkness, dank now with heavy dew, that they were quite useless.

Still, there was no doubt whatever that the vessel was the Terpsichore, thus strangely hugging her rival in mid-ocean and midnight. And it was passing curious to hear the hailing of the hands for'ard from respective forecastleheads and yards.

"Is that bricky-headed Shetlander aboard?"

"Aye, an' he'll be punchin' your heid if he got a chance agen, same as he done afore."

"Where's that farmer with the game leg?"

"'Ere, an' ready to use it on your ugly karkuss, whoever you is."

"Let's 'ear from the Irish soger as I give the father ov a thrashin' to that Saturday night on the quay. Or 'as 'e lost 'is voice through fright?"

"Arrah thin, me foine bhoy, if Oi had yez aboard here its singing an entoirely different kind av a song ye'd be—so ut wud."

Aft, old Bolger hurled defiance with a rough tongue and a vocabulary that never failed. But there was no response from the Terpsichore's poop. Which contemptuous silence made him more furious than ever.

And although no verbal answer was returned to his taunts and invective, that somebody appreciated them was evident; for, presently, he was hit in the face by a lump of canvas, dipped in tar, and rolled and tied into ball-shape.

At this, rushing to his cabin, he seized a gun, but luckily was unable to find any ammunition for it; so was fain to cool down and let the steward get the tar (which was of the variety known as "coal," and therefore burnt savagely) off his face. Meanwhile, the night wore on, black, breathless, damp. And inasmuch as nothing is ever perfectly motionless at sea, the ships drifted with their hulls still held apart by interlocking spars and gear. Finding the men aloft could neither see nor feel to do anything but further mischief, they had been recalled, and both vessels waited impatiently for dawn—if another one there was to be. For, as to this last matter, amongst the men was some doubt, none of them having ever in their using of the sea experienced anything like it.

But at last the darkness lifted, leaving, however, a thick fog behind it. At sunrise that also rose, disclosing an extraordinary spectacle, at least to a seafarer's eye.

Almost exactly abreast, the ships leaned over to each other with a considerable list, whilst all their top-hamper was intertwisted and commingled. The Mary Johnson had been lying with her yards braced well up on to the port tack, when the Terpsichore had floated so gently down and hugged her with her own yards nearly square. The result was almost indescribable. The Terpsichore's upper fore and main topgallant yards had jammed in the corresponding rigging of the Mary; whilst the latter's lower topsail yardarm was driven through the Terpsichore's topmast rigging, and so on, and so on. All the lower yards were free.

It was exactly as if the two ships had been a couple of angry fighting women, and had seized each other by the hair, whilst keeping their bodies clear of each other. But so gently had the thing been done that, bar a few backstays, brace-pennants, and lifts carried away, no damage of much importance had taken place. Certainly, the least draught of air, a cat's-paw almost, just to fill the light sails, would result in ruin instant and wide-spread to both ships, all of whose topgallant and royal masts would go—if not some of the greater spars into the bargain.

Seeing this, there was little need to issue orders; and already men were pushing, pulling, and, in unavoidable cases, cutting, lanyards and seizings until, at last, and after a work of no little difficulty and danger, the clearing was effected, and with trailing gear each vessel, released, sprang back to an even keel again.

And whilst busy at repairs—rigging preventer backstays, splicing, fitting, and setting-up—the Homeric war of tongues between the crews commenced afresh.

Wayland-Ferrars was walking his poop whilst Bolger stumped the Mary's, pausing every now and then to roar out what he thought of the Terpsichore, her officers, crew, and owners. But of these compliments the other skipper took no notice, only anxiously looking up at the sky or overside at the water. The former, however, was cloudless, the latter like paint. And the ships were evidently coming together again. Never perhaps had there been a situation quite like it, even at sea, the home of curious happenings.

It would have been simple enough to have got a couple of boats over and towed the ships a fair distance apart. But, apparently, neither of their captains cared about being the first to start. Instead, fenders were placed in position and yards braced sharp up on opposite tacks, so as to do as little mischief as possible.

Bolger had hoisted the Red Lion, the other his Blue Star, and both house-flags hung from their halliards like dead fish in the stirless air.

Presently, having exhausted all the sea taunts he could think of, one of the Mary Johnson's men picked up a piece of coal from a bucket the cook was carrying, and threw it at a group on the Terpsichore's forecastle-head. It hit a man, drawing blood; and with a roar of anger a storm of missiles were sent hurling aboard the Mary. Now, it is not easy to procure things throwable on board of a ship, but the captain of the Terpsichore had before leaving, as it happened, laid in a big stock of Sydney sandstone to scour his decks with; and this, being presently broken up, made splendid ammunition. Volleys of these sharp-edged fragments were now poured on the men of the Mary Johnson, who could only retort expensively with lumps of coal, hanks, or such odd bits of scrap-iron as they might lay hands on.

Nor, as perhaps might have been expected, did Captain Wayland-Ferrars interfere. Although neither allowing himself nor his officers to reply to the abuse lavished on them by Bolger, Hopkins, and the other of the Mary Johnson's afterguard, he was actually very angry. Thus, when he saw his men possessed an immeasurable advantage over their opponents, he tacitly permitted them to go ahead. Which they did; for presently finding that the Mary Johnson's bulwarks afforded her crew too much shelter, they took ammunition into their tops and cross-trees, and thence pelted with effect.

As for Bolger, he simply foamed with impotent rage. Had there been firearms to be used, he undoubtedly would have used them. But there was neither powder nor shot to be found.

A lump of sandstone hit him on the shins, another bit broke in pieces against his shoulders. Every moment missiles struck the poop—the binnacle was badly dented, and some of the glass in the skylights cracked. Cursing bitterly, he picked up pieces and hurled them at his enemy standing on the Terpsichore's poop, calm and unconcerned, smoking, with his hands in his pockets. But the rain of stones grew so fierce that he had at length to seek shelter in the companion along with Hopkins, only emerging now and again to heave an empty bottle at the foe. Superiority in numbers on this occasion availed his crew nothing. And the Terpsichores were simply wild with delight, not only at the fun and excitement of the thing, but the chance that offered of paying off some old Sydney scores.

The Mary Johnson's cook ran aft to protest. There was none too much coal in the fore-peak. A ton already must have been hurled on board the other ship. Supplies must be stopped, or there would be no more cooking done. Nor could the missiles of the enemy be used with any effect by their recipients, as, generally, the sandstone thrown from such a height smashed to atoms.

And presently the Terpsichore's topmen and those in her cross-trees had the Mary Johnson's decks fairly cleared, so sharp and true were their volleys.

"Haul down that rag!" roared the boatswain of the Terpsichore, standing on the rail and pointing to the house-flag, "or we'll come aboard and haul it down for ye!"

At which insult Bolger rushed from his shelter, and with a deftly thrown lemonade bottle—the last of a few dozen that the after guard had been using—very neatly knocked the boatswain off his perch. And all the time the ships had drawn closer until almost in the same position as the night before.

The Mary Johnson's deck was deserted, and looked like a coal and sandstone quarry. Her galley funnel was bent and twisted, and all the glass bulls'-eyes of her deckhouses on one side were starred and fractured, whilst her paint and brass-work was scratched and bruised. If a man only showed his head now it was a signal for a shower of well-aimed stones; so everyone kept under shelter. Suddenly a man jumped on to her main yardarm from the Terpsichore's—braced round to meet it—and, unperceived, ran along the spar and into the Mary Johnson's top. From here, reaching out, he cut the signal halliards, and hauling down the house-flag, tied it round his waist and regained his own ship, saluted by a burst of cheering that puzzled the others mightily.

Hardly had the Red Lion been hoisted at the Terpsichore's main skysail-pole under the Blue Star, when a faint air came blowing little ripples along the water. The light sails flapped and filled and fell, then rose and filled again. Growing stronger, the wind next caught the topsails and enabled the Terpsichore to make a stern-board, taking away a couple of the Mary Johnson's backstays as she went.

Cheer upon cheer arose as she cleared the Mary, whose men were now on deck gazing stupidly and unbelievingly at their house-flag standing out stiff to the breeze under that of their enemy.

Bolger nearly had a fit when he fully realized what had happened, raving about the littered decks like a madman, whilst Wayland-Ferrars waved him an ironical salute, and his men sent a last volley rattling about his ears.