Читать книгу The Wreck of the Nancy Bell; Or, Cast Away on Kerguelen Land - John C. Hutcheson - Страница 12

While all this turmoil and confusion was going on above on deck—with the ship labouring and straining through the heavy seas that raced after her as she ran before the wind, one every now and then outstripping its fellows and breaking over her quarter or stern-rail with a force that made her quiver from end to end, and “stagger like a drunken man,” as the Psalmist has so aptly described it, the thud of the heavy waves playing a sort of deep bass accompaniment to the shrieking treble of the wind as it whistled and wailed through the shrouds and cordage, and the ragged remnants of the torn topsail flapping against the yard, with the sound of a stock-driver’s whip, in a series of short, sharp reports—those below in the cuddy were far from having a pleasant time of it; for, they were almost in the dark, the captain having caused the companion-hatch to be battened down, and a heavy tarpaulin thrown across the skylight to prevent the tons of water that came over the poop at intervals from flooding the saloon as the waves swept forward in a cascade of foam.

This was just after Mr. Zachariah Lathrope, the American passenger, had so well illustrated Virgil’s line, facilus descensus averni, in coming down the stairway by the run, on the top of a “comber;” and, although the steward had lit one of the swinging lamps over the cuddy table, it only served, with its feeble flickering light, to “make the darkness visible” and render the scene more sombre.

The Nancy Bell was a wooden ship, clipper built and designed for the passenger trade; but, being only of some nine hundred tons or so burthen, she had not that wealth of accommodation below that some of the first-class liners running to Australia and New Zealand possess, especially in these days of high-pressure steamers and auxiliary screws, which make the passage in half the time that the old-fashioned sailing vessels used to occupy.

She was, however, as well fitted up as her size permitted; and, as her list of passengers was by no means filled, there was plenty of space for those who now had possession of the main saloon, most of whom have been already introduced to notice. If she had had, indeed, as proportionate an amount of cargo as she had passengers it might have been all the better for her seaworthiness. Instead of this, however, she was, by far, too deep in the water, having a lot of deadweight amid-ships, in the shape of agricultural implements and other hardware, which she was taking out to Otago, that seriously interfered with her buoyancy, making her dip to the waves instead of rising over them, and depriving her of that spring and elasticity which a good ship should always have.

Now, she was groaning and creaking at every timber, as if in the last throes of mortal agony; and the manner in which she rolled when she got into the trough of the sea, between the intervals of the following billows, would have dispelled any idea one might have possessed as to her proper angle of stability, and made the observer feel inclined to treat it as “a vanishing point.”

Added to this, she pitched every now and then as if she were going to dive into the depths of the ocean; and, when she rose again in recovering herself, it seemed as if she were going down bodily by the stern, the surge of the sea along the line of ports in the cabin bearing out the illusion as it swelled up above her freeboard.

With the glass and crockeryware in the steward’s cabin rattling, as if in an earthquake, and trunks and portmanteaus banging from side to side of the saloon, or floating up and down in the water that had accumulated from the heavy sea that had washed down the companion when Mr. Zachariah Lathrope so gracefully made his rapid descent below, the place was a picture of discomfort and disorder such as a painter would have been powerless to depict and words would utterly fail to describe.

Kate and Florry Meldrum had retired to their berths, having experienced a slight suspicion of squeamishness which the unwonted movements of the vessel had brought about. They thought in such case that “discretion was the better part of valour,” especially as they felt no alarm as to the safety of the ship, having perfect confidence that their father would look after them if there was any danger; but Mrs. Major Negus, on the contrary, was firmly convinced that the Nancy Bell was going to the bottom. She sat in the captain’s seat at the head of the cuddy table, tightly clutching on to the sides to preserve her equilibrium at each roll of the ship, loudly bewailing her untimely fate; and between the paroxysms of her grief she found time now and again to scold her son Maurice, who was enjoying himself most delightfully amongst the floating baggage, narrowly escaping destruction every moment from the wreck of the débris on the cabin floor, as it banged to and fro with the swish of the water and the roll of the ship.

During one of the lulls in the series of squalls that swept over the vessel in rapid sequence, Mr. McCarthy came below by the direction of the captain—who, of course, could not leave the deck—to see how the passengers were getting on, as well as to have the dead-lights put up in the state-rooms, in case of the stern-ports being battered in by the waves; for these had now swollen to an enormous size, and seemed veritably mountains high, rising up far above the cross-jack yard sometimes.

“And how are we getting on now, Mrs. Meejor?” said he, good-humouredly addressing the lady at the head of the table, as he made his way to the aftermost end of the saloon, followed by a couple of sailors, who had accompanied him to aid him in his task of barricading the ports.

“Sir,” replied she, endeavouring to speak with as much dignity as her insecure position and her qualmishness would allow, “I am surprised at your asking me such a question and displaying levity when I feel as if I am dying, and we are all going down to the bottom—stee-ured!”

“Yes, mum,” said that worthy from the pantry door, to which he was holding on, surveying the scene of desolation before him with the air of a connoisseur.

“Bring a basin, please—oh, my!”

“Yes, mum; coming, mum.”

“Maurice!”

“Yes, ma.”

“Get up out of that mess there, and come to me at once!”

“What, ma?”

“Come to me here, im-mediately!”

“Sha’n’t!”

“I’ll—oh, Lord; oh, dear! Steward, send the stewardess to me, and help me into my cabin. I’m dying, I know I am! Oh, gracious goodness, why did I ever come to sea?”

“Faix, the ould lady has had to give in,” said the mate to one of the sailors with him. “I thought she wouldn’t hould out much longer!” whereat, of course, there was a general laugh from the men.

“The Major”—as everybody on board spoke of the lady, almost after a day’s acquaintance with her peculiarities and haughty airs—was just then endeavouring to rise from the captain’s chair, when the vessel, after a deeper pitch forward than usual, settled down suddenly by the stern, accompanying the movement by a lurch to starboard that carried away the lashings of the chair; and, in an instant she and the steward and stewardess, along with Master Negus, were rolling to leeward on the floor amongst the dunnage, the whole quartette sputtering and splashing in the sea-water, and vainly endeavouring for some time to rise, for the “Major,” first clutching one and then the other as they were scrambling to their legs, hampered their efforts without improving her own position in the least.

At last, by the aid of Mr. McCarthy and the sailors, the good lady was pulled up on to her feet and assisted into her cabin, where lying back in her berth, she loudly inveighed against the conduct of everyone, particularly selecting the Captain, in her outpour of indignation, for putting to sea when he must have known, as she held, that a storm was coming on; he had only done it, she was certain, in order to annoy her and put her life in peril!

In the midst of her diatribe—which was listened to by no one, for the mate and sailors had returned on deck after completing the job that had brought them down in thorough ship-shape fashion, and the steward and stewardess, now that they had got my lady to her bunk, were trying to make matters more comfortable in the saloon—Mrs. Major Negus suddenly bethought herself of her young hopeful, of whose existence she had been awhile oblivious while attending to her own woes.

“Maurice!” cried she, in accents whose shrillness rose above the roar of the waves and the groaning of the ship’s timbers, “Maurice, come here at once, sir, I order you!”

But, lo and behold! no Maurice made his, appearance; nor did he respond to his mother’s heart-rending appeal. The young scamp had sneaked up the companion, unperceived by the mate, and was now on deck in high glee at his freedom from maternal thraldom, watching the battle of the elements and the struggle of the ship against the supremacy of the wind and waves, that were vying with each other to overwhelm her.

The boy stood on the lee side of the poop, and was looking over the side at the wreck of the fore-topgallant mast, which was still attached to the ship by the stay and braces of the yard, the men not yet having time to cut it adrift—all hands being busy in doing what was possible to save the main-topgallant mast, that had begun to show signs of giving way.

Nobody knew he was there, or that he was on deck at all, till Mr. Meldrum happened suddenly to cast his eye in his direction, when he at once motioned him to come away.

But, “the imp” took no notice of the warning, and Mr. Meldrum was hesitating whether he should leave his station by the binnacle, where he had been doing yeoman’s service in aiding the helmsman ever since the first squall burst over the ship, when a heavy wave came over the quarter to windward, and, dashing violently against the port bulwarks, carried a large portion away into the sea; and, along with the broken timber-work, away went young Master Negus!

Mr. Meldrum hesitated no longer as to crossing the deck; but another was sooner at the scene of action.

Frank Harness, the “third mate,” as he was euphemistically called—a dashing young fellow of nineteen, and just completing his sea-time as midshipman before passing the Trinity House examination for his certificate in seamanship—who had been aloft bearing a hand in making the mizzen-topsail snug, the leech of the sail having blown out through the violence of the gale, was just on his way down the rigging again to see where he could be of use elsewhere, when he noticed the boy’s peril as quickly as the passenger; and, with one bound, he alighted on the deck.

In a rapid eye-glance he took in the situation.

Raised on the top of a curling wave, the fragments of the broken bulwarks and stanchions had got entangled with the wreck of the fore-topgallant mast, some twenty yards or so to leeward of the ship; and, clinging to the mass, Frank could see the boy holding on with a grip of desperation and terror, drenched with his ducking and the surf that washed over him, and with his mouth wide open as if yelling for assistance—although never a sound reached those on board for the roar of a giant could not have been heard against the wind.

Taking a turn of the signal halliards round his wrist, Frank Harness at once leaped into the sea and struck out gallantly for the boy; those on the poop cheering him as he cleaved through the foaming billows and quickly neared the wreckage, forgetful for a moment of their own immediate peril in the exciting scene before them, and waiting anxiously for their turn to assist the rescuer and the rescued on board again.

In the meantime, Mrs. Major Negus—alarmed at the disappearance of her young hopeful from below, neither the steward or stewardess being able to give any account of him after searching the cabins in vain—had managed to scramble up the companion-way, nerved to desperation by the divine power of a mother’s love; and by some means or other she contrived to slide back the hatch and step out on to the poop-deck, where, holding on by the rail, she eagerly looked to the right and left in quest of Maurice.

Seeing the group on the lee-side gazing steadfastly at the scene in the water, she staggered towards them, clutching hold of the tarpaulin over the skylight to steady herself.

“My boy! my boy!” she exclaimed frantically. “Where is he? Oh, he’s lost,” she added with a piercing scream—“fiends, monsters, are you going to let him drown before your eyes?”—and she made an effort as if to plunge overboard to where she could see the curly head of her darling rising just above the waves.

“Hold!” cried Captain Dinks kindly, grasping her arm firmly and drawing her back. “He’s being saved, and we’ll have him on board again in a minute. There, don’t you see, some one has plunged in after him and is just gripping him; we’ll have them up together as soon as he has made fast!”

“Bless him, the brave fellow!” exclaimed the poor lady, whose peculiarities and bad temper were now forgotten by all in sympathy with her natural alarm and anxiety, for she spoke in a voice broken with sobs and tears. “Who is he? I’ll fall down on my knees and thank him for saving my boy!”

“Frank Harness,” said the captain; “but I’m sure the gallant fellow will not want any thanks for doing a brave action! Look alive forward there!” he called out to the men in the waist, “and ease off those topgallant braces a bit and let the wreck drift alongside. So—easy there—belay! Another minute, and we’ll have them.”

Frank had reached the wreckage while Maurice’s mother had been speaking, and without an instant’s delay had looped the end of the signal halliards round the boy’s waist as he held on himself to the end of the topgallant yard, to which the lee braces were attached. A quick motion of his arm had then apprised Captain Dinks what to do, and in another minute or two the wreckage had been floated in under the ship’s quarter, and a dozen hands were helping the brave lad and the boy whom he had rescued up the side - Maurice, indeed, being hauled up by the bight of the signal halliards first.

His mother almost went into hysterics when he was restored to her, as if from the very gates of death; but her joy did not allow her to forget to thank his rescuer, which she did far more enthusiastically than Frank liked, with all the men looking on!

The gale continued raging with unabated force all that evening; but towards midnight it lulled sufficiently for some sail to be set on the ship, which was then kept more on her proper course.