Читать книгу The Wreck of the Nancy Bell; Or, Cast Away on Kerguelen Land - John C. Hutcheson - Страница 6

“How’s her head?” exclaimed Captain Dinks, the moment his genial, rosy, weather-beaten face appeared looming above the top-rail of the companion way that led up to the poop from the saloon below, the bright mellow light of the morning sun reflecting from his deep-tanned visage as if from a mirror, and making it as radiant almost as the orb of day.

“West-sou’-west, sorr,” came the answer, ere the questioner could set foot on the deck, in accents short, sharp, prompt, and decisive, albeit with a strong Milesian flavour, from the chief mate. He was the officer of the watch, and was standing alongside the man at the wheel on the weather-side of the ship, with a telescope under his arm and a keen look of attention in his merry, twinkling grey eyes.

“Ha-hum!” muttered the captain to himself reflectively. “I wish the wind would shift over more to the nor’ard, and we’d then be able to shape a better course; we’re going far too much to the west to please me! I suppose,” he added in a louder tone, addressing the mate again, “she isn’t making any great way yet since daylight, McCarthy, eh?”

“No, sorr, leastways, Captain Dinks,” replied that worthy, a genuine thorough-going Irishman, “from the crown of his head to the sole of his fut,” as he would have said himself, and with a shaggy head of hair and beard as red as that of the wildest Celt in Connemara, besides being blessed with a “brogue” as pronounced as his turned-up nose—on which one might have hung a tea-kettle on an emergency, in the hope that its surroundings would supply the requisite fire and fuel for boiling purposes. “No, sorr, no way at all at all, sure! Not more’n five knots, cap’en honey, by the same token, the last time we hove the log at six bells, bad cess to it!”

“Everything drawing, too, slow and aloft!” said the captain, with just a shade of discontent in his cheery voice, as he took in with a quick, sailor-like glance the position of the ship and every detail of the swelling pyramids of canvas that towered up on each mast from deck to sky—the yards braced round sharp, almost fore and aft, the huge square sails flattened like boards, the tremulous fluttering of the flying jib, and occasional gybing of the spanker, showing how close up to the wind the vessel was being steered. “You couldn’t luff her a bit more, McCarthy, could you?” he added, after another glance at the compass and a murmured “steady!” to the steersman.

“Not a ha’porth, sorr,” replied the mate sorrowfully, as if it went to his heart to make the announcement. “I had the watch up only jist a minit ago; an’ if you’ll belave me, Cap’en Dinks, we’ve braced up the yards to the last inch the sheets will run, bad cess to thim!”

“Well, well, I suppose we’ll have to put up with it; though it’s rather disheartening to have this sou’-wester right in one’s teeth before we have cleared the Chops of the Channel, after all our good luck in having so fair a wind down with us from the Nore!”

The captain still spoke somewhat disconsolately; but, his temperament was of too bright and elastic a nature to allow him long to look merely on the dark side of things. Soon, he saw something to be cheerful over, in spite of the adverse influence of Aeolus; and this was, as it appeared to him, the wonderful progress the ship was making, although sailing, close-hauled as she was, with the wind right before the beam.

“Now, isn’t she a beauty, though, McCarthy,” he said presently, with a sort of triumphant ring in his speech, after gazing for a few moments in silence over the taffrail astern at the long foaming wake the vessel was leaving behind her, spread out like a glittering silver fan across the illimitable expanse of greenish-tinged water. “Isn’t she a beauty to behave as she does under the circumstances! There are not many ships laden like her that would make five knots out of a foul wind, as she is now doing, eh?”

“That there ain’t, sorr,” promptly returned the other with hearty emphasis, only too glad to have the opportunity of agreeing with his skipper. “An’ jist you wait, sorr, till we get into the nor’-east trades; an’ by the powers we’ll say the crathur walk away from us, like one of thim race-horses on the Skibbereen coorse whin you’re a standin’ still and a watchin’ thim right foreninst you.”

“Aye, that we will, McCarthy,” chimed in Captain Dinks, now all good humour again, chuckling with anticipated pleasure and rubbing his hands together gleefully. “I wouldn’t wish for a better ship under me in fair wind or foul than the Nancy Bell. Bless her old timbers, she’s staunch and sound from truck to keelson, and the smartest clipper that ever sailed out of the London Docks—when she has anything like decent weather!”

“That she is, sorr, plaze the pigs!” chorused the Irishman to this paean of praise, which might have run on to an interminable length if it had not been just then interrupted by the mate’s suddenly raising his gilt-banded cap in nautical salute to a new-comer, who now appeared on the scene.

Captain Dinks, at once “cutting short” any further rhapsodical encomiums he may have contemplated anent the merits of the Nancy Bell, turned round.

“Ah, good morning, Mr. Meldrum,” said he in cordial tones, raising his cap politely like his chief officer. “You are early on deck: an old sailor, I presume!”

“Good morning, Captain Dinks,” smilingly replied the gentleman addressed, one of the few saloon passengers who patronised the cuddy of the New Zealand clipper on her present voyage. He had only just that moment come up from below, tempted to turn out by the genial brightness of the lovely June morning; and, as he emerged from the companion hatchway, he bent his steps along the poop towards the binnacle, by which the captain and his aide-de-camp were standing. “Yes,” he continued, in answer to the former’s question, “I have had a voyage or two in my time, and one is accustomed to keep early hours at sea.”

“Begorrah, ye’re right, sorr!” ejaculated the Irish mate, with an empressment that showed his earnestness. “An’ a dale too airly for some ov us sometimes. Sure, an’ a sailor’s loife is a dog’s loife entirely!”

“Shut up, you old humbug!” said the captain with a laugh, turning to the passenger; “Why, to hear him you would think McCarthy to be one of those lazy lubbers who are never content unless they are caulking below, snoozing their wits away whilst the sun is scorching their eyes out; whereas, he’s the most active and energetic seaman I ever met with in all my experience at sea, man and boy, for the last thirty years. Look you, Mr. Meldrum, he never waits to be roused out by any chance when it’s his watch on deck; while, should the weather be at all nasty, you really can’t get him to go below and turn in—it is ‘spell ho’ with him with a vengeance, night and day alike!”

“Don’t you belave his blarney, sorr,” put in the mate eagerly, bursting into a roar of merriment, although blushing purple with delight the while at the skipper’s compliment. “Why, sorr, whin I go to slape sometimes, the divil himself couldn’t wake me!”

“Ah!” rejoined Captain Dinks, “that may be when you’re ashore, Tim, but I know what you are when you’re aboard ship and duty calls! I don’t forget, old man, how, under Providence,” and this the captain added reverently, taking off his cap and looking up to heaven as he spoke, “you saved the Nancy Bell on our last voyage home—no, Tim, I don’t forget!”

“Aye, aye, Cap’en Dinks,” replied the other, not to be beaten, “true for you, sorr; but, where was yoursilf the whilst, I’d like to know, and what could I have done without your hilp sure, wid all your blatheration?”

“Nonsense, Tim,” returned the captain, giving the mate a slap on the back which must have taken his breath away for the moment, as it made him reel again, and then holding out his hand, which the other grasped with a vice-like grip, in a paw that resembled more in size and shape a leg of mutton than anything else—“Tip us your fist, my hearty, and let us say no more about it!”

It would have done anyone’s heart good to see the way in which these two brave men—sailors both every inch of them—then looked each other straight in the eyes, a smile of satisfaction illumining their faces, as if each had reason to be proud of the other, their hands locked in a friendly clasp that was true to the death!

As for Mr. Meldrum, the passenger, who was a delighted observer of the good feeling existing between the captain and second in command of the vessel in which, like Caesar, he had “embarked himself and all his fortunes,” and was now journeying across the surface of the deep—a good feeling that was fairly indicative of everything going well on the voyage—he was so carried away by the spirit of the moment that he felt inclined to ask that the general hand-shaking might be “passed round for the good of the crowd.” What is more, he immediately put his “happy thought” into execution; whereupon, much fist-squeezing ensued between the trio, the steersman looking on with a grin of complacency at the fraternal exhibition, and gripping the spokes of the wheel more firmly, as it were, out of a sort of fellow-sympathy, as he kept the ship “full and by!”

“Tim McCarthy and I are old shipmates,” said Captain Dinks presently, as if apologising for the little ebullition of sentiment that had just taken place, “and we’ve seen some rough times together.”

“Pray don’t mention it,” said Mr. Meldrum; “your friendly feelings do you both honour! But, how are we getting on, captain,” he added, to change the subject, “the ship seems to be slipping along through the water?”

“Pretty well, but not so well as I could wish. We’ve got an obstinate head-wind against us, and cannot quite lay on our proper course; so I don’t think we’ll be able to log much of a run when we take the sun at noon. The wind looks like shifting now, however, so the next twenty-four hours may tell a different tale.”

As the captain spoke, the sails flapped ominously against the masts; and, in obedience to a motion of the mate’s hand, the steersman had to let the vessel’s head fall off a little more to the westward, in order to fill the canvas again and make it draw.

“I think, cap’en, we’d better thry her on the other tack,” said the Irishman after a pause. “The wind’s headin’ us sure!”

“All right, McCarthy,” answered the captain, “go forwards and call the watch, and we’ll see about getting her about.”

Handing the captain the telescope, which he had retained until now under his left arm, apparently regarding it as the badge of his authority as officer of the watch—an authority which he now relinquished to his chief—the mate was down the poop ladder and on the deck below in “a brace of shakes;” and, in another moment, his voice was heard in stentorian tones ringing through the ship fore and aft. “Hands ’bout ship!”

The cry was like the wave of an enchanter’s wand in the realms of Fairy-land; for, where all had been previously quiet and easy-going, with only the helmsman apparently doing anything on board so far as the vessel’s progress was concerned, there was now a scene of bustle, noise, and motion—men darting forwards to flatten the headsails and aft to ease off the boom sheets, and others to their allotted stations, waiting for the well-known orders from the captain, who stood in the centre of the poop, with the passenger beside him, looking on with a critical eye at the way in which the manoeuvre should be executed.

“All ready forward?” shouted the captain, as soon as he saw the crew at their several posts.

“Aye, aye, sorr,” replied Mr. McCarthy.

“Ready, aye ready,” repeated the captain—it was a sort of catch-word of warning to prepare the men for the next word of command, like the “ ’Tention!” of the drill sergeant to his squad of recruits—and he then waved his hand to the man at the wheel to put up the helm.

“Helm’s a lee!” was the next cry; and, instantly, the jib and foresail began to shiver and shake as the ship’s bows came up to the wind, and the square sails flattened against the masts, while the boom of the mizzen swung to and fro until the vessel should get out of stays and pay off on the port tack.

“Raise tacks and sheets!” came in rotation, and the topgallant-bowlines were let go, ready for the next move.

“Mainsail haul!”—and the ponderous mainyard was swung round, bringing with it the maintopsail and topgallant yards with all their acreage of canvas: the foreyards followed suit, when the captain shouted, “Haul of all;”—and, after the final order, “Brace sharp!” the Nancy Bell might have been seen heading a sou’-south-east course in lieu of her former direction to the westwards, and gaining more southing by the change.

The mate had just returned to the poop, after seeing the watch trim the forward sails and curl down the slack of the ropes, while Captain Dinks was wondering why the steward had not yet summoned them down to breakfast, considering that it was past eight bells. He was just indeed asking Mr. Meldrum whether he felt hungry or not, when suddenly a great commotion was heard down the companion hatch, as of voices in altercation, a crash of crockery following in rapid sequence.

“I’d like to know what that stupid lubber is up to now,” ejaculated the captain. “He’s an ignorant ass, and as slow as a mute at a funeral. I’m sorry I had to ship him; but I had no alternative, for my old steward was taken suddenly ill, and I had to put up with this substitute whom he sent me just as we were leaving Plymouth.”

“Perhaps,” began the passenger, as if he were about to offer some good-natured excuse for the man’s awkwardness, but his observations were drowned by a louder clatter below than ever; and, ere the captain could descend to ascertain the cause, the new steward rushed up the companion ladder, with his eyes half-starting from his head, his hair standing on end, and his face pale with terror.

“Howly Moses!” exclaimed the mate. “Be aisy, can’t ye. What’s the matter wid ye, you spalpeen, to be rooshin’ on deck like a bull in a china shop? Spake, you blissid omahdawn, or I’ll shake the loife out of ye!”

And the Irishman, putting his brawny hands on the terrified man’s shoulders, appeared about to carry out his threat, when the unfortunate wight stuttered out in stammering accents, “Lor-ord, sir, do-oo-oo come below. The–eer’s a ghost in the cabin; an-an-and he wants to m–m–murder me!” the man looking the while as if he was going to faint.

“A ghost in the cabin?” said the passenger, laughing; “and in daylight to? Why, Captain Dinks, he must be a sort of rara avis—not in terris, however, in this instance.”

“A ghost in the cabin?” repeated the captain, in a serious tone of voice, with a frown on his forehead that somewhat disturbed the usual good-humoured expression of his countenance; “we must see about this. I don’t allow any ghosts aboard my ship!”

And, with these words he dived down the companion, followed closely by the mate and passenger; the panic-stricken steward contenting himself with remaining at the top of the hatchway at a safe distance from the object that had alarmed him, although he could not help peering down below and listening with bated breath as to what might ensue in the cabin—heedless of the entreaties of the man at the wheel, in whom curiosity had overpowered the sense of duty for the nonce and made to speak in defiance of discipline, to “tell him all about it!”