Читать книгу Dorymates: A Tale of the Fishing Banks - Munroe Kirk - Страница 6

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The jeweller’s accusation was so unexpected and startling to Breeze that he flushed hotly, and for a moment found no words to answer it. Then he demanded, indignantly,

“How dare you say such a thing? Give me back my property instantly, or I shall be the one to call in the police!”

“Certainly, my young friend, certainly, when you produce the proof that it is yours,” replied the man, dropping the trinket into a drawer, of which he turned the lock.

There was no element of decision lacking in Breeze’s character; he was quick to act in emergencies, and without another word he stepped to the door. A small boy was passing.

“Sonny,” said Breeze, “run quick and bring a policeman. If he is here within five minutes I will give you five cents.”

The boy, keenly alive to a situation that promised so much excitement as this, started off on a run. Breeze remained standing where he could survey the whole interior of the store, and could especially keep an eye on the drawer in which lay his property.

The men inside watched him closely. They had seen him despatch the boy on some errand, but had not overheard what he said, and did not know what it was. Now the one who had opened the ball approached him and said,

“Why don’t you go for your proofs? You had better hurry, as we shall close up soon, and then we could not look at them until to-morrow.”

“I have sent for them,” answered Breeze, simply.

“Oh,” said the man, somewhat disconcerted. “Well, of course, if they come in time, and are satisfactory, you shall have your charm back, and an apology into the bargain.”

“Here comes one of them now,” replied Breeze, as he handed a five-cent piece to a breathless small boy, who came running up just in front of a big policeman.

"THAT GENTLEMAN THERE REFUSES TO RETURN A GOLD BALL AND CHAIN THAT I HANDED HIM FOR EXAMINATION."

To this officer Breeze said, “That gentleman there,” pointing to the dark-skinned jeweller, “refuses to return a gold ball and chain that I handed him for examination. He says he thinks I stole them, and he has locked them up in a drawer. I think I can bring one of the best-known men in New York to vouch for my honesty; but it may be some time before I can find him. Now, I want to know if you will take this trinket, as the gentleman calls it, and keep it for me until I return?”

“Why not just as well leave it where it is?” interrupted the jeweller, eagerly. “It will be perfectly safe here, as this officer knows.”

“No,” said Breeze, “that will not do. You must give it to the officer at once, or else I shall go to the police-station, and enter a complaint against you for stealing.”

The partners whispered together for a minute. Evidently the bold stand taken by the lad, and his prompt action, had made a decided impression upon them.

Before they could reach a decision as to what they should do, the officer spoke up and said,

“The young man is right. If there is any stolen property in the question, the proper place for it is in the station-house. So, if you will just hand over this article, whatever it is, I will take it there.”

There was no appeal from this decision. The locket was reluctantly given up to the officer, who took both it and Breeze to the station-house near by. Here the sergeant in charge listened attentively to all that he had to say, as well as to the story Breeze had to tell.

“Go with him,” he said, finally, to the officer, “down to the schooner, and see what sort of a character his captain gives him. Then bring him back here.”

With this he placed the golden ball and chain in a drawer of his own desk, and again turned to his writing.

Breeze and the officer found Captain Coffin talking to the gentleman to whom he had sold his cargo of fish that morning. He happened to be not only a prominent business man, but an active local politician, and was the very person whom Breeze had in his mind when he had offered to bring a well-known citizen to establish his character.

Begging their pardon for the interruption, Breeze told his story to Captain Coffin, and the politician also listened to it.

When the story was finished, the latter, turning to the captain, said, “Can you vouch for this lad’s honesty, skipper?”

“Certainly I can, as I would for my own,” was the answer. “I have known him from his babyhood, and, moreover, I have often heard this golden ball spoken of by his adopted father, though I have never seen it.”

“Then,” said the other, “supposing we step up to the police-station, and have it returned to him. It is one of the most curious cases I ever heard of, and I am interested to see that the boy comes out of it all right.”

Within ten minutes the sergeant had been satisfied that Breeze was the rightful owner of the locket, had returned it to him, and he had again clasped its chain about his neck. He was very happy in thus regaining possession of it, and very thankful to those who had so promptly assisted him. When Captain Coffin proposed that they should now go to the jeweller’s shop and get him to again open the ball, Breeze begged him not to think of such a thing. “I don’t want that man ever to get it into his possession,” he said, “and I don’t believe he’d open it for us anyway, now.”

“I guess the boy is about right,” remarked the politician, thoughtfully. “That fellow has evidently some strong reason for wishing to obtain the trinket, and if he got hold of it again he might change it for another that looked just like it, and we never be the wiser.”

This was just what Breeze had thought of when he had refused to leave the jeweller’s shop and go in search of proofs of his ownership of the locket, and he was greatly pleased at this evidence that he had acted wisely.

That night the Curlew sailed out of New York Bay, and was once more headed to the southward in search of the early mackerel. The following day was clear and bright, but very cold for that season of the year. There were only a few clouds to be seen; but the sky was coppery in color, and the wind, which was still off-shore, was fitful and baffling. At supper-time, about an hour before sunset, the man at the wheel, who happened to be one of those who ate at the first table, said,

“Here, McCloud, you belong to second mess; take the wheel while I eat supper, will you?”

“Certainly I will,” answered Breeze, cheerfully. “What’s the course?”

“South by west, half west, an open sea, a favoring wind, and no odds asked or given,” was the laughing response, as the man hurried forward.

Captain Coffin was impatient to get back among the mackerel, and so the schooner was running under all the sail she could carry, including a jib-topsail and a huge main-staysail.

Somewhat to his surprise, Breeze now found himself the sole occupant of the deck. The skipper and half the crew were eating their supper in the forecastle, while the others were in the cabin, sleeping, reading, and keeping warm. On account of the cold, they had drawn the slide over the companion-way.

It was the first time the young sailor had been left in sole charge of the vessel, and he realized the responsibility of his position. Still, owing to his father’s teachings and careful training, he felt quite competent to manage her, so long as no especial danger threatened. He also comforted himself with the thought that there was not the slightest chance of anything happening in the short time before he should be relieved.

While thus thinking, and at the same time keeping a sharp watch of the sails, the compass, and the dog-vane that, fluttering from the mainmast-head, denoted the direction of the wind, he was startled by a curious humming sound in the air above him. It was a weird, uncanny sound, unlike anything he had ever before heard, and it filled him with a strange fear. He was just about to call the men in the cabin, when suddenly there came a roar and a shriek above his head. Then the little circular tornado, directly in whose track the unfortunate Curlew happened to be, struck her such a terrible blow that she was powerless to resist it. In an instant she was knocked down and thrown on her beam ends. The white sails, that had soared aloft so gracefully, and offered so tempting a mark for the spinning whirlwind, now lay flat in the water, heavily soaking and holding the schooner down.

Breeze had spun the wheel with all his might, and thrown the helm hard down, in the hope of bringing her up into the wind; but the blow had been too sudden and too heavy. The rudder no longer controlled her, and she lay as helpless as though waterlogged, held down by that terrible dragging weight of top-hamper.

As she went over, one man had struggled up from the forecastle and been instantly buried in the sea beneath the heavy canvas of the foresail. Breeze knew that the reason no more came was that a torrent of water was rushing with resistless force through the narrow opening. Beneath him he could hear the smothered cries and struggles of the prisoners in the cabin. In a few minutes more the vessel would sink, and all within her would be miserably drowned. Their only hope was in him. What could he do? What could he do?

Standing on the weather side of the wheel when the schooner was struck, he had saved himself from going overboard by clinging to it. Now he scrambled to the upper side of the house, and holding on to the weather-rail, began to hack desperately at the lanyards of the main rigging with his sheath-knife. If only the masts would break off and relieve the vessel of that awful weight of soaked canvas, she might right herself.

One after another the lanyards snap like strained harpstrings. There! the rigging has gone and the mast cracks. Now for the fore rigging! How he reached it the boy never knew; in fact he afterwards had very little recollection of what he did amid the terrible excitement of those two minutes; but he did reach and cut it.

Then there came a rending of wood as the tough masts broke off. Then slowly, very slowly, the vessel righted herself, and once more rode on an even keel, though half full of water, and as sad a looking wreck as ever floated.

As she righted, the after companion-way was burst open by the mighty effort of those beneath the slide, and they rushed out gasping for breath and with glaring eyes. They had been very nearly suffocated by steam and gas generated by the water pouring down the funnel on the glowing coals in the cabin stove.

From the forecastle also emerged, one by one, the half-drowned figures of those who had been imprisoned in it. But for the prompt action of the brave boy on deck, they would never have left its flooded recesses. One of their number was missing, and he was the man whose place at the wheel Breeze had taken, and who had forced his way out as the vessel capsized, only to be drowned beneath the canvas of the foresail. He would be sincerely mourned later, but there was no time to think of him now. The others were still in too imminent peril of losing their own lives.

As the stricken craft rolled like a log in the sea-way, she pounded heavily against the masts and spars, which, still attached to her by the lee rigging and head-stays, floated close alongside. The danger that her planking might thus be crushed in was so great that, in spite of his own wretched condition, Captain Coffin saw it the moment he gained the deck. Calling upon the others to follow his example, he drew his knife and began to cut away the tangle of cordage that bound the vessel to this new enemy.

When it was finally cleared, the seine-boat, which was still dragging astern, was pulled up, and half the crew went in it to tow the mass of spars and canvas clear of the schooner, and save such of the sails as they could. The rest began to labor at the pumps, and to rig a jury-mast on which they might spread such sail as would carry her into port. The main-mast had snapped off so close to the deck as to leave nothing to which they might fasten a jury-spar; but of the foremast a stump some six feet high remained, and with this they hoped to accomplish their purpose.

While the skipper, Breeze, and two others were thus engaged, those at the pumps suddenly called out that the water was gaining on them, and that the vessel was about to founder.

It was only too true; the stanch little schooner had evidently made her last voyage, and would never again sail into Gloucester harbor. In fact, the water was gaining so rapidly that it was within a foot or two of her deck, and there was no time to lose in leaving her. Those in the seine-boat were fortunately within easy hail, and dropping their work, they quickly had it alongside.

There was no need of seeking an explanation of the rapid inflow of water. It was only too plain that gaping seams had been opened by the great strain of her masts and sails while the schooner lay on her beam ends. It was more than probable, also, that butts had been started here and there by the jagged ends of the heavy spars as they lay in the water pounding and grinding against her sides.

Nothing could be saved. There was barely time for all hands to tumble into the seine-boat and pull it to a safe distance from the fast-sinking vessel. Then they lay on their oars and watched her. She seemed like some live thing, aware of the fate about to overtake her, and struggling pitifully against it. The swash of the water in her cabin sounded like sobs, and the faces of the men who watched her, usually so bright and merry, were as sad as though they watched at the bedside of a dying friend.

The sun was setting red and angry in a mass of black clouds that came rolling up out of the west as she took the final plunge, and diving bows first, disappeared forever, leaving her crew silent, motionless, and awe-stricken at the catastrophe that had thus overtaken them.

The skipper was the first to break the silence, and in a tone of forced cheerfulness he said, “Well, boys, the old Curlew has gone where all good crafts go, sooner or later, and we must be thankful she hasn’t taken us along with her. I honestly believe we should all have shared her fate, and that of poor Rod Mason, if it had not been for this brave lad and the quick wit that taught him to do exactly the right thing at the right moment. I have not the slightest doubt that we owe our lives to Breeze McCloud, and right here I want to thank him, and to pay my respects to the memory of the brave man who brought him up to act as a true sailor should in such an emergency.”

These were grateful words to poor Breeze, who was feeling the loss of his shipmate, and of the schooner, more keenly than any of his companions, and fearing that perhaps they would blame him for what had happened. He had given Captain Coffin a hurried account of the disaster, and of how he had cut away the masts; but the skipper had found no time then to say what he thought of the course the boy had pursued.

Now, one by one, the men reached forward to shake hands with him, and had it not been for the thought of the drowned man, he would, in spite of their miserable situation, have felt as light-hearted as though already in port.

There were neither water nor provisions in the boat, they had no mast, sail, nor compass. Most of them were wet through, and already chilled to the bone by the cold wind, which was rising, and promised to freshen into a gale before midnight. Breeze was the only one who was dry and had his oil-skins on, and but for his hunger he would have been comparatively comfortable.

They stopped near the floating wreckage of spars and sails long enough to obtain the schooner’s main-topsail, and the foregaff which they hoped to rig up as a mast in the boat. They also cut away a small lot of the lighter cordage. Then they headed their craft to the westward, and started to pull for the distant land. The skipper said they were not more than fifty miles from the coast, and if the sea did not get too rough, they ought to make it by noon of the next day.

They were divided into two watches, and while half of them rowed, the rest huddled together as close as possible in the bottom of the boat for warmth.

It was nearly midnight, the wind was blowing a gale dead against them, and they seemed to be making no progress whatever. Breeze, unable to sleep, was sitting up gazing out into the blackness behind them. Suddenly, as the boat rose on the crest of a great wave, he sprang to his feet and cried, “A light! I see a light!”