Читать книгу Dikes and Ditches; Or, Young America in Holland and Belgium - A Story of Travel and Adventure - Oliver 1822-1897 Optic - Страница 10

CHAPTER II.

A SQUALL IN THE GERMAN OCEAN.

“Mr. Cleats!” said Professor Hamblin, in the most sternly solemn and impressive manner, as he rushed up to the adult boatswain of the Josephine.

“Here, sir!” responded the old salt, touching his cap as politely as though the learned gentleman had been an admiral.

“I want a boat, sir,” continued the professor, fiercely.

“Your honor must apply to the captain,” answered Cleats, touching his cap again.

“I have applied to him, and he has refused me. I desire you to take a boat, and row me to the ship. The carpenter can assist you.”

“Bless your honor’s heart, I can’t go without the captain’s orders,” added Cleats, opening his eyes as wide as though he had been invited to head a mutiny.

“I will protect you from any harm, Mr. Cleats. I will represent the matter to Mr. Lowington.”

“I never do anything, your honor, without orders from the captain. It would be mutiny for me to do so, and I should be hung at the fore yard-arm.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Cleats! Will you listen to reason?”

“Sartain, your honor. I always listen to reason; but there isn’t any reason in leaving the ship without the captain’s orders.”

“But the captain says I may have the boat; and I only want a couple of men to row it.”

“I will pull the boat with the greatest pleasure, sir, if the captain orders me to do so; or the first lieutenant, for that matter, sir. I always obey orders, sir, if it sinks the ship.”

“I have a complaint to make against the captain for disobedience of my orders, and he will not permit me to go on board of the ship to prefer the charge.”

“Whew!” whistled the boatswain, as long and loud as though the sound had been made with his own shrill pipe. “A complaint against the captain! I beg your honor’s pardon, but that can’t be. Nobody can have a complaint against the captain.”

“I do not wish to argue the matter with you. Will you do what I ask, or not?”

“I beg your honor’s pardon, but I will not,” replied Cleats, who seemed to have no doubt in regard to his own course, whatever rupture there might be among the powers above him.

“That’s enough,” growled Mr. Hamblin, turning on his heel.

“There’s a big squall coming, your honor,” added Cleats, loud enough for the professor to hear him. “The boat wouldn’t live a minute in it.”

“I am not afraid of the squall,” replied the learned gentleman, pausing. “Will you row the boat?”

“No, sir; I would rather not,” answered Cleats, shaking his head.

At this moment a heavy roaring, rushing sound came over the sea from the direction of the land. The water was covered with a dense white mist. The sound increased in volume till it vied with the booming thunder, and the surface of the sea was lashed into a snowy foam by the coming tempest.

“Down with the jib and mainsail!” shouted Captain Kendall, sharply.

“Stand by the mainsail halyards!” said Terrill, through his speaking trumpet. “Man the jib halyards and downhaul!”

“All ready, sir,” replied the second lieutenant, forward; for all hands were still at their stations, in anticipation of the emergency.

“All ready, sir,” added the fourth lieutenant, whose place was on the quarter-deck.

“Let go the mainsail halyards!” added the first lieutenant; and the order was repeated by the fourth lieutenant. “Down with it, lively!”

The heavy sail, assisted by twenty pairs of willing and eager hands, rattled down in an instant, and was speedily secured.

“Let go the jib halyards! Haul down!” said the second lieutenant, on the forecastle, when the order to take in the jib reached him.

The hands “walked away” with the downhaul, and the jib was on the bowsprit in an instant.

“Lay out and stow the jib!” added the officer. “Mind your eye there! The squall is upon us!”

The roar of the squall—heard at first miles away—swept along over the ocean, carrying a tempest of foam and spray before it, and came down upon the Josephine. Though she carried no sail, the force of the wind was enough to heel her down, while the spray leaped over her decks in the furious blast. The scene was grand and sublime. The thunders roared; the lightnings seemed to hiss in their fury, as they darted through the moist atmosphere; and the wind, hardly less than a hurricane, howled in unison with the booming thunderbolts.

At first, on the long swells of the ocean, which a moment before had been as smooth and glassy as a mirror, thousands of little white-capped waves gathered, throwing up volumes of fine spray, which was borne away by the tempest; so that the air was laden with moisture. Though the squall came heavy in the beginning, it did not attain its full power for several minutes. The effect even of the onslaught of the tempest was tremendous, and officers and crew clung to the rigging and the wood-work of the vessel, fearful that the savage blast would take them bodily from their feet, and bear them away into the angry ocean.

“Down with the helm!” roared Captain Kendall to the quartermaster, who, with four of the strongest seamen, had been stationed at the wheel.

The action of the fierce wind upon the vessel’s side was powerful enough to give her steerage-way without any sail, and her head came up to the gale, so that she took the blast on her port bow. Thus far, the effect upon the ocean did not correspond with the violence of the tempest; for even the severest blow does not immediately create a heavy sea. But, if the tempest continued even for a few minutes, this result was sure to follow. There is no especial peril in a squall, if the seaman has had time to take in sail, unless in a heavy sea; but it does not take long for a hurricane, in the open ocean, to stir up the water to its maddest fury.

Professor Hamblin was walking up and down in the waist,—a very pretty type of the squall itself,—when the initial stroke of the tempest came upon the Josephine. His “stove-pipe” hat, as non-nautical as anything could be, which he persisted in wearing, was tipped from his head, and borne over the rail into the sea. This accident did not improve his temper, and he was on the point of asking the captain to send a boat to pick up his lost tile, when the full force of the squall began to be expended upon the vessel. He found himself unable to stand up; and he reeled to the mainmast, where Professor Stoute was already moored to the fife-rail.

“Wouldn’t you like the boat now, Mr. Hamblin?” chuckled the jolly professor, hardly able to speak without having his words blown down his throat.

“I’ve lost my hat,” growled the learned gentleman, almost choked with ill-nature within, and the ill-wind without.

“Ask the captain to send a boat for it,” laughed Mr. Stoute. “There he stands! Upon my word, he is a wonder to me! He handles the vessel like an old admiral who has been imbedded in salt for forty years!”

“Any boy could do it!” snarled the irate professor.

“It is fortunate that Captain Kendall went on deck when he did,” added Mr. Stoute. “We should all have gone to the bottom if they hadn’t taken in sail in season.”

“You distress yourself with mighty bugbears,” sneered Mr. Hamblin. “I am very sorry to see you encouraging insubordination among your pupils, and—”

And a blast more savage than any which had before struck the vessel ended the professor’s speech; for, while it drenched him with salt water, it gave him all he wanted to do to hold on for his life. He worked himself round under the lee of the mainmast, and held on with both hands at the fife-rail, his breath blown down into his lungs by the wind.

The squall was not one of those which come and go in a few moments; and, in a short time, the sea had been lashed into a boiling, roaring, foam-capped maelstrom. The Josephine rolled and pitched most fearfully. Below there was a fierce crashing of everything movable, while the winds howled a savage storm-song through the swaying rigging. By the captain’s order, the crew had, with great difficulty, extended several life-lines across the deck, for the safety of those who were compelled to move about in executing the various manœuvres which the emergency required.

The angry professor began to cool off under the severe regimen of the tempest. He was drenched to the skin by the spray, and it required the utmost activity on his part to enable him to keep his hold upon the fife-rail. Now the vessel rolled, and pitched him upon his moorings; and then rolled again, jerking him, at arm’s length, away from them, his muscles cracking under the pressure. Professor Stoute, determined to be on the safe side, had passed the end of the lee topgallant brace around his body, and secured himself to one of the belaying pins. Nothing ever disturbed his equanimity, and though he was doubtless fully impressed by the sublimity of the storm, he was just as jolly and good-natured as ever.

The captain and the executive officer were holding on at one of the life-lines on the quarter-deck. Paul looked as noble and commanding as though he had been a foot taller, with a full beard grown upon his face. He appeared to be master of the situation, and Professor Stoute regarded him with an admiration strongly in contrast with the disgust of his fellow-teacher. The competent captain of the ship is always little less than a miracle of a man to his passengers, especially in a storm, when he is confident and self-reliant. They feel that everything—their very lives, and the lives of those they love—are dependent upon him, and they look up to him as to an oracle of skill and wisdom.

“It’s coming heavier and heavier,” said Terrill, as the Josephine gave a fearful lurch.

“Ay, ay! It’s nothing less than a hurricane,” replied Paul.

“It’s the biggest squall I ever was in,” added Terrill, blowing the salt water out of his mouth, after a pint of spray had slapped him in the face.

“It is kicking up an awful sea.”

“That’s so.”

“Keep your helm hard down, Blair!” shouted Paul to the quartermaster in charge of the wheel.

“She don’t mind it now, sir!” yelled the quartermaster, at the top of his lungs.

“She’s falling off, Mr. Terrill,” added Paul.

“I see she is, sir.”

“We must keep her head up to it, or our decks will be washed. Hard down, Blair!”

“She don’t mind it, sir!”

“Set the close-reefed foresail, Mr. Terrill,” said the captain. “But be careful of the hands.”

Terrill, with the trumpet in his hand, sprang from the life-line to the fife-rail, so as to be nearer to the hands who were to execute the captain’s order. The unpleasant plight of Mr. Hamblin attracted his attention, in spite of the pressure of the emergency. His gyrations, as he bobbed about under the uneasy motions of the vessel, gave him a ludicrous appearance, which even the positive expression of suffering on his face did not essentially mitigate. He had evidently come to a realizing sense of the perils of the sea, and was a pitiful sight to behold.

“Man the foresail outhaul!” shouted Terrill, through his trumpet. “Mr. Martyn!”

“Here, sir!” replied the second lieutenant; but his voice sounded like a whisper in the roar of the hurricane.

“Double the hands on the outhaul!” added Terrill. “Stand by the brails!”

“All ready, forward, sir!” reported Martyn.

“Stand by the fore-sheets!—Mr. Cleats!” continued the executive officer.

“Here, sir!” said the old sailor, who, with the carpenter, was holding on at the weather-rail.

“Will you and Mr. Gage assist at the sheet?”

“Ay, ay, sir! This is heavy work. I hope she’ll carry that foresail.”

“She must carry it, or carry it away,” added Terrill. “We are falling off badly.”

“So we are; it ought to be done,” answered the boatswain, as he began to overhaul the sheets.

It was with the greatest difficulty that any one could stand up on deck. The billows were momentarily increasing, and the Josephine had fallen off into the trough of the sea, and rolled helplessly in the surging waves, so that her fore yard appeared almost to dip in the brine. The outhaul was run out on the deck, and manned by all the hands that could get hold of it. The lee sheet was extended in like manner, and the whole after guard, besides the two adult forward officers, were called to walk away with it.

“O, dear!” groaned Mr. Hamblin, after the vessel had given an unusually heavy lee lurch, the jerk of which had nearly knocked the breath out of his body.

“What’s the matter, your honor?” demanded Cleats, who always pitied a landlubber in a gale.

“Do you think there’s any danger, Mr. Cleats?” gasped the professor.

“Danger! Bless your honor’s heart! there’s never any danger in a good ship, well manned,” replied the veteran tar, as he knocked a kink out of the sheet. “Look at the captain! When he gets scared, you may.”

“It is really terrible!” puffed the learned professor.

“Wouldn’t your honor like the boat now?” growled the boatswain, with a hearty chuckle.

“All ready at the sheets, sir!” screamed Robinson, the fourth lieutenant, who had charge of the waist at quarters.

“Hold on, Mr. Terrill!” shouted the captain, as the Josephine rolled on her lee side till the water bubbled up in her scuppers. “Wait till I give you the word!”

Paul was waiting for a favorable moment, when the blast should lull a little, to set the reefed foresail.

“You must get out of the way, gentlemen!” said Terrill, roaring out the words through his trumpet. “The sheet blocks will knock you over!”

Mr. Stoute unmoored himself, and made a dive at the life-line, where the captain was holding on; but, being rather clumsy in his obesity, he missed his aim, and was thrown into the scuppers. Mr. Cleats went to his assistance, and picked him up while he lay upon his back, with his legs and arms thrown up like a turtle trying to turn over. Mr. Hamblin was not encouraged by this experiment of his associate.

“Why don’t you go below, sir?” shouted Terrill, placing his trumpet close to the professor’s head.

“I can’t move,” replied he.

“Mr. Gage will help you,” added the lieutenant.

The carpenter assisted Mr. Hamblin to the companion-way, while the boatswain had succeeded in rolling Mr. Stoute up to the same point. The doors were opened, and the head steward helped them down the ladder.

“All ready!” shouted Captain Kendall, when the favorable moment came for setting the foresail.

“Let go the brails!” bellowed the executive officer. “Haul out!”

The ready seaman promptly obeyed the order, at the instant when the vessel, having rolled over as far as her centre of gravity would permit her to go in the trough of the sea, was poised as it were on a balance, waiting for the recoil of the wave that was to throw her down on the weather roll. The close-reefed foresail flew out from the brails, and began to thresh tremendously in the fierce blast.

“Slack the weather vang!” continued Terrill to the hands who had been stationed at this rope. “Walk away with the sheet!”

It required a tremendous pull to haul home the sheet of the foresail, banging furiously in the tempest; but there was force enough to accomplish it, though not till the vessel had made her weather roll, which lifted half the line of seamen from their feet. The close-reefed foresail was trimmed so as to lay the schooner to with her head up to the sea. The billows were increasing in volume so fearfully that it was no longer prudent to permit the vessel to roll in the trough of the sea, where she was in danger of being overwhelmed by the combing waves.

“Mind your helm, Blair!” called the first lieutenant, springing aft to the wheel. “Port a little! Don’t let the sail be taken aback!”

The head of the Josephine came up handsomely to the sea, and it was thus proved that the double-reefed foresail was just the sail for such an emergency. It was only to be demonstrated whether the sail would be blown out of the bolt-ropes or not. If it had been an old one, such would probably have been its fate; but being nearly new, and of the best material, it stood the strain to the end.

“Mind your eye, Blair!” roared Terrill. “Starboard!”

“Starboard, sir!” replied the quartermaster.

“Touch her up when it comes so heavy,” added the lieutenant.

The vessel had fallen off, and took the wind so far on the beam that she buried her scuppers deep in the waves. The order to “touch her up,” or luff her up into the wind, so as partially to spill the sail, was given to ease off the tremendous pressure. The Josephine minded her helm, and luffed so that she righted herself.

“Steady, Blair!” called the lieutenant. “Port! Not too much, or you’ll broach her to!”

“Sail ho!” suddenly shouted several of the seamen in the forward part of the vessel.

“Where away?”

“Right over the lee bow! She has capsized!”

Paul and Terrill ran to the rail, and discovered a small vessel, lying over on her beam ends.

“That’s a Dutch galiot!” exclaimed Cleats, who promptly recognized the craft. “That’s a trick they have of turning bottom upwards.”

“Port!” shouted Terrill, who did not take his eye off the foresail of the Josephine for more than an instant at a time.

The attention of the quartermaster and the helmsman had been attracted by the announcement of the wreck, and they had permitted the Josephine to luff up until the foresail began to shake. The atmosphere was so thick that the galiot was seen but for an instant, and it then disappeared in the dense mists. Captain Kendall trembled with emotion when he saw the disabled vessel; but it was impossible to do anything for her until the hurricane subsided.

Fortunately the worst of it had already passed, and a few moments later it ceased almost as suddenly as it commenced. The rain began to fall in torrents, while a fresh breeze and a tremendous sea were all that remained of the hurricane—for such it was, rather than an ordinary squall.

“Set the jib and mainsail, Mr. Terrill,” said Captain Kendall. “We must endeavor to find that wreck.”

These sails were accordingly hoisted, the Josephine came about, and stood off in the direction towards which the galiot was supposed to have drifted. The Young America had not been seen since the squall came up; but Paul conjectured that she had run away before it. He was deeply interested in the fate of those on board of the wreck, and trusted he should be able to render them some assistance, if all on board of her had not already perished.

The rain poured down furiously; but it did not dampen the enthusiasm of the young officers and crew, though they were already drenched to the skin. The reefed foresail was taken in, for it was found that the jib and mainsail were all the schooner needed. She stood on for an hour or more, without obtaining a sight of the wreck, though every eye on board was strained to catch the first glimpse of it.

“We must have passed her,” said the captain.

“It is so thick we can’t see her, even if we should go within half a mile of her.”

“Come about, and stand a little more to the southward!” added Captain Kendall. “Let the fog-horns be blown. We may get a signal of some kind from them.”

“I am afraid they were lost overboard; and that there is no one left to make a signal,” answered Terrill, sadly.

The vessel was put about, and headed as indicated by the captain. The fog-horns were blown at intervals, and every one on board listened eagerly for a reply. These efforts were not unavailing, for a response was obtained after the Josephine had run half an hour on her present course. A hoarse shout was heard on the weather beam, which was unmistakably a cry of distress.

“Steady as she is!” said Paul to the executive officer, as soon as the sounds were reported to him, and the direction from which they came.

“Are you not going about, Captain Kendall?” asked Terrill, with a look of anxiety on his dripping face.

“Certainly; but if we go about here, we should fall to leeward of the wreck,” replied Paul.

The Josephine stood on for a few moments longer, and then tacked.

“Blow the horns, and keep a sharp lookout forward,” added the captain, who was quite as anxious as any other person on board; but he kept apparently cool, in deference to the dignity of his high office.

“I see her!” shouted Wheeler, the boatswain, who had gone out on the flying jib-boom.

“Where away is she?” demanded Martyn, from the forecastle.

“Well on the lee bow, sir.”

“Are we headed for her?”

“Ay, ay, sir! We shall go clear of her to windward.”

“Wreck on the lee bow, sir,” reported the second lieutenant to Terrill, who in turn reported to the captain.

“Clear away the first cutter, Mr. Terrill,” said Paul.

“All the first cutters, ahoy!” shouted the boatswain’s mate.

“Mr. Pelham will have charge of the boat,” added Captain Kendall, who had great confidence in the zeal and ability of this officer.

“The wreck! The wreck!” shouted all hands, as the disabled galiot came into view.

On the rail of the vessel, whose starboard half was completely submerged in the water, were two men, making violent gestures, and shouting to the crew of the Josephine. Not a word they said could be understood, but it was easy enough for Yankees to guess the meaning of their words. The schooner was thrown up into the wind, the jib lowered, and she lay to under the mainsail. Pelham and the crew of the first cutter took their places in the boat, and were lowered into the stormy sea. The falls were cast off the instant she struck the water; the coxswain gave his orders rapidly, and the cutter went off, rising and falling on the huge waves like a feather.

The distance was short; but even this was a hard pull in such a violent sea. Pelham was cool and steady, and his self-possession encouraged the crew to their best efforts. The boat ran up under the lee of the wreck, and made fast to one of the masts. As soon as it was secured, both of the men on the rail began to jabber in an unintelligible language.

“Parlez-vous français?” shouted Pelham, who had some knowledge of the polite language.

But the men made no response; and it was evident that no long speeches need be made on the present occasion. Pelham made signs to them to come down into the boat, which they did. They were not satisfied, but continued to talk in their own language, and to point earnestly to the after part of the wreck. One of them repeated a word so many times, that the officer of the boat was enabled at last to separate it from the confused jumble of sentences.

“Vrow?” said he.

The man nodded earnestly, and pointed with redoubled vigor to the after part of the galiot.

Vrow means wife; and Pelham concluded that the skipper’s lady was in the cabin, but whether dead or alive he did not know.