Making myself fast to weather, I tried to look as brave as the rest, but every time the decks went tumbling my nerves went taut as a fiddle string.
Finally I groaned:
“What’s goin’ to stop her from tumblin’ right clean over?”
At this, Joe, the deck-hand, laughed hugely.
“Stop her!” he grinned. “Why, bless us, if ye’d seen the keel that was put on her in the beginning, and then if ye’d seen the ballast that was cemented down along her bottom, ye’d ken that she’s safe as a church. She may go over, but seein’ what’s under her, she’s got to come back.”
For a time they had me lashed to one of the after bitts, but as the gale bucking into the current was kicking up a monstrous tide-way sea, Father finally ordered Joe to help me down to the cabin, where I found my Mother stretched out on a bunk, much the worse for seasickness. As I was not troubled with that malady, I set myself to a light lunch.
About an hour later, with the weather prospects wilder than ever, Joe came down for a bite. Whilst he drank from a pot of cold tea, he regaled us with gossip on what had transpired on deck. Evidently Father and Black
Dan had had an altercation over the problem of reefing down.
Father had ordered a double reef in the mainsail, and Joe had started to obey, when Black Dan interrupted:
“No, let her go.”
At this, according to Joe, Father inquired:
“Who’s master o’ this craft, anyway?”
“Don’t give a rap who’s master, I’m tendin’ sheets,” Black Dan replied, “and it ain’t my type to slack away till I have to.”
When Joe had finished, Mother wailed: “That’s what I feared. All comes from the foolishness o’ takin’ two captains to sea in the same vessel, each one has to have a different opinion.”
Just to cheer us up a little while he munched away at a hardtack biscuit, Joe recounted how Cap’n Dan Campbell had an unsavory reputation as the worst skipper to lose hands sailing out of Gloucester.
“Yes, he’s a regular man-killer. I knows myself of at least seven good men he’s lost at sea, and God only knows how many more he’s sent to Davy Jones.”
More than one harrowing tale followed to serve to heighten our alarm.
After Joe had gone on deck again, I could only go over to my poor Mother and, holding tightly to her hand, listen with increasing dread to the jumping and groaning of our over-driven vessel.
We were a frightened, high-strung pair as we lay there unsleeping, unresting, starting up at every new or fancied alarm. Remembering the things that Joe had told us, a clammy fear sat upon us. In the midst of our dread, we heard a voice shriek out:
“My God, the main sheet’s gone adrift !”
This was followed by a thunderous slatting of the boom, which crashed back and forth with a report like gun-fire. There was a scream which we could not explain, and then, from the easing motion, and the sudden stillness, we knew that the boom had again been secured.
I ran to get out on deck and see what had happened, but to my horror found that the companion slide had been bolted from without Try as I might, my strength of twelve years was not sufficient to crash it open.
In a panic, Mother rushed up beside me, weeping frantically, and did her utmost to break back the bolt, but without avail.
We called again and again, but no voice answered.
Utterly spent, with hands bruised and bleeding from our fruitless efforts, we at last crouched there behind the companion slide and listened. There was a rush of footsteps, a sound as of someone tussling on the quarter, and then a voice rang out :
“Over the side wi’ a dory there, quick.”
Hearing this last nerved us into a supreme effort and we finally managed to crash the slide, and burst out on to the deck, just in time to see Black Dan and Joe in a dory, putting off as though in search of someone.
“What is it?” I shouted after them at the top of my lungs.
As they topped a cresting sea, Joe caught sight of me hanging on in terror by the companion-way and called back:
“Yer Father was knocked over by the boom. We’ll get him, you keep below.”
In the next instant, their tiny craft was swallowed up, and there, with my Mother clutching to me, I stood gazing out upon the melancholy, lifting waste.
Out there somewhere in that gray immensity, my Father was adrift!
I wanted to scream out, to protest against the tragedy that impended, but something from the age-long schooling of our race held me there in silence.
For some moments we watched with the resignation of those who know the sea. Then, with the distance between ourselves and the dory alarmingly increasing, I turned from sorrow to think of ourselves.
With a sudden overwhelming dismay, it was brought home to me that the worst had happened—the wheel, which had been lashed hard down to keep us hove to the wind, had broken adrift, and there was our vessel running off again before the wind.
In our helpless condition we tried to bring her about, but without avail.
The pair in the dory seemed to notice the predicament in the same moment, for we heard their far-off cry of alarm, and then, giving up all hope of saving my Father, they turned and set themselves with might and main to row back to the parent vessel.
As we watched them with bated breath, it became increasingly apparent that they could not make it. And so there we were, a lad of twelve and a grief-stricken woman, abandoned to a helpless vessel drifting in the grip of the storm.
CHAPTER III
At The Mercy Of Wind And Wave
I cannot well describe my sensation when I it was first borne in upon me that we were completely lost upon that vast unpitying deep.
I had been brought up to fear the sea—”the Old Friend and the Old Enemy” was what we called it in the Gaelic. Now I beheld its most awesome and threatening aspect. No one really knows the might of the sea until he is tossed helpless as a cork upon its heaving bosom. What were our wee and feeble hands pitted against this overwhelming monster?
Seeking an escape, we fled into the cabin, closing the slide tightly, as though we would thus prevent the giant threatenings without.
A lantern was dimly burning below; like two frightened lambs we retreated into the farthest corner of the cabin, where we sank down abjectly. In the first shock, we had clean forgotten each other; it seemed as though each of us was facing the whole thing alone.
Without, the night came on apace; the wild buffeting of the seas, the pounding of the vessel’s bows, her crazy helpless motions, all contributed to keep us in a state of unending panic.
Perhaps there would come a lull, and then some new cause of uneasiness would arise— water seeping through the skylight and splashing down upon us, the vessel now and again falling from the top of a sea with a motion as though all eternity was opening beneath; twice we were on our beam-ends.
Though I live to be a hundred, I shall never forget the exquisite agony which I endured in the waking nightmare of that cabin.
Finally, to give the finishing touch to our state of woe, the lantern, burning dimly, flickered and went out, and there we were in an abyss of darkness, plunging up and down, at mercy of the wild night and the wilder sea.
As the night wore on, the roaring of the wind accompanied by heavy thunder and pelting rain made it seem as though any moment might be our last. In agonized suspense, we waited for the vessel to founder, while against all expectation she still continued to ride the storm.
There, in the depth of misery, I must have dozed off, for everything seemed gradually to pass into a mystic haze, and soft oblivion came upon me.
I did not sleep long, and was soon awake again, with the first panic departed, but with an aching loneliness in my heart Like a babe I instinctively called out in the darkness. “I want
somebody’s arms around me.”
As though in answer to that cry, I felt my Mother snuggling up against me. Father often used to call her “a wee lassie,” but with her arms enfolding me at that moment, I became conscious of something bigger even than the wrath of the sea—mother love.
Nestling there, with a great sigh, I was like a bird that had come out of storm and stress into the shadow of a great rock.
I could see nothing, but in spite of darkness I knew that a pair of velvet soft eyes were shining down upon me. A dear hand began to stroke my head, whilst in my ear a calm voice whispered:
“There, there, Johnnie Angus, I had forgotten all about ye. But lie down, laddie, we’ve got each other, no matter what happens, and we know that God will take care of us.”
It seemed as though I were a mere babe again, and in her bewitching voice Mother began to sing to me the runes of the Western Isles, that she and Father had sung so often together at evening prayers, before they smoored the fire.
Lying there, listening to songs as instinctive as the fluttering of birds and the beating of hearts, I forgot the howling winds, the threatening waves, and the giant night that was all about us.
My Mother was reputed to be the sweetest singer in Cape Breton Island. As I listened that night to her penetrative notes, I learned something of the power of music to soothe the inner tumult.
When the panic was completely gone, we began to talk calmly of our situation. I was only twelve years old, but with the gray light of morning stealing into that cabin, it seemed to me as though an age had passed.
As the dawn increased, looking up into my Mother’s face, I saw that her eyes bore dark shadows; the spirit that had sung to me throughout the night was invincible. But now in the revealing light how pitifully weak was the body that sustained this brave true heart.
Came a sense of shame. There was I a big hulk of a boy with all my weight reclining on my little Mummie. I with strength looking to the frail one to sustain me.
From earliest days, Father had always inculcated in me the fine ideal of Highland chivalry toward woman. Just then my every action seemed like a repudiation of that training. My Father had been snatched away, and now it was for me to take his place.
With this consciousness borne in upon me, I rose from where I had pillowed my head upon her breast. So decisive was my movement that it startled her.
“What is it, Johnnie Angus? Are ye afraid again?”
“Nay, Mumsie,” I replied, “but it’s not for me to be leaning on you, any more.”
Misunderstanding me, a pained look came into her face.
“Why should ye say that, M’eudail?”
“Because Father said that we should always take care of you first. So you must lean on me, dearest; I’m going to take care of you and bring you back safe again.”
I spoke just like a man, but Mother attempted to make me snuggle down again, and then, not succeeding, in spite of efforts at control, she started to cry, and as I was a big strong boy, I simply took her into my arms, while I repeated in her ear:
“Don’t worry, Mumsie, I’m here, and I’ll take care of you,”
This only seemed to make her cry the more. But perhaps it was all to the good; for, in spite of herself, those tears flung her more completely upon me. In that moment, I, Johnnie Angus MacPhee, was no longer my Mother’s little boy; in the realization of a sudden bereavement, I had become her little man.
CHAPTER IV
Whitehead
I had talked stoutly enough to Mother down there in the cabin, but when I pushed back the slide and looked out, a sinking feeling possessed me.
Although the roaring wind of the previous night had moderated, a heavy sea was still running; everywhere were the deep-troughed, crested rollers that lie in the wake of a storm.
East, west, north, south, wherever the eye turned, naught but the mountain ridges of the deep, increasingly apparent as the horizon marched farther and farther into the fringe of dawn.
No peep of a sail, no puff of a steamer’s smoke, no slightest promise of land; we had been blown clean out to sea, and now were tossing aimlessly upon the open bosom of the wide Atlantic.
As Mother came up and stood beside me, she let out a cry of dismay at the sight that greeted her.
“Isn’t there a sign of the shore anywhere, Johnnie Angus?”
“No, but we’ll be sure to get picked up, though. The fishermen are always coming in and out of here.”
“But what will we do for food?”
“Plenty o’ hardtack, an’ water, not so bad.”
Talking casually to each other helped to revive our courage, and in a more self-reliant mood, I proceeded to move about the deck where everything was in a frightful mess.
But no matter what havoc had been wrought to the gear, the hull appeared to be as sound as ever. I had not played about schooners since infancy without learning a thing or two, and so we manned the pumps to find that our condition was tight as a drum, which was reassuring.
Gazing at the compass it was apparent that the runaway vessel was heading in a southerly direction, which meant that we were being blown farther and farther out to sea.
At Mother’s suggestion I lashed the wheel hard down, so that we would not leave the land too far astern. After this we were practically hove to.
With the sea getting up throughout the afternoon, our stout little craft was proving herself a splendid storm-bird. Father had often declared : “There ain’t anything stouter than this boat of ours sailin’ out o’ Judique. She was built in the fear o’ God.”
The long hours dragged slowly by, and then night was upon us again with the horror of a great darkness. Somehow it’s not the things you see, but the things you can’t see that constitute the terrors of the sea.
In order to make the vessel ease up a bit, there came to my mind a dodge that sailors had often told me of, and so to try out their advice, I cast off a couple of spare spars lashed together, and paid them out astern with about twenty-five fathoms of line. This innovation worked, and to my great satisfaction I saw that we rode more easily to this improvised sea anchor and lay several points off the wind.
After this we went below into the cabin where it was fairly comfortable, and Mother prepared a meal of biscuit and hot tea.
When I next took a look outside, the wind was shrieking and howling, while the fast moving clouds passing athwart the sky seemed to me like so many evil spirits abroad on the fear-, ful night. It was with deep misgiving that I closed the slide against the spray that stung like hail and came down again to turn in to my bunk.
Shortly my Mother was asleep. Perhaps I, too, dozed off for a few winks, but, disturbed by the increasing lift and kick of the seas, I arose and stole over to look at the barometer. Early in the evening it had stood at 30, having been fairly steady. Now with consternation I saw that it showed 29.1, at which I knew that
without doubt we were in for a real sneezer.
Ever since early morning I had been at it continually; I was dead beat. My heart sank as I read the meaning of that barometer and then gazed across at the bunk where Mother was sleeping.
On account of the prospects, I determined to keep a watch for the rest of the night, and so I put on a big oilskin slicker, preparatory to going out on deck to see if perhaps I might be able to pick up the flash of a coastwise light. When I once had my oilskins buttoned tight, there was a feeling of great warmth and coziness in the cabin, and I laid myself back on the settle, just for a moment, to give my aching muscles a little rest. That was the last I knew. Dead tired from the twenty-four hours exertions, I sank into a profound sleep, and knew nothing more until I was awakened by a shriek from my Mother.
Jumping up from the settle, where I was sprawled out, I was astounded to hear a terrific crash, as though the bottom of the sea had suddenly fallen o
ut.
My first thought was that one of the giant combers had smashed us in two. Rushing over to Mother, I clasped her hand, and we waited tremblingly : but as nothing more happened, I determined to go out on deck and look about.
“Oh, do be careful, Johnnie Angus.”
“I’m all right,” I answered reassuringly.
Opening the cabin slide I emerged cautiously while the great wind almost bent me double. Looking around in the gray uncertain light I could see nothing but flying spray, and foam, and surging sea.
Moving for’ard, on first inspection, things still seemed to be well with us.
“Be careful,” Mother called, as I ran to examine the foc’sle hatch. In the same instant I caught sight of a veritable mountain of water tumbling down upon us. With a jump, I landed in the fore rigging, and danced up higher than the sheer-pole, while the foaming sea boiled clear around my feet.
When this wave had subsided, I was delighted to see that the fore hatch was still secure. In spite of incredible strain, the old boat was still bearing up.
I was descending into the cabin again, more or less reassured, when there came a succession of sharp, quick bumps, and in the next instant, with a resounding crash, both masts were wrung clean out of her, and went toppling overside, where they were held by the lanyards, and remained sounding out a devil’s tattoo against our bulwarks, while the sharp bumping and pounding under our keel continued.
This time there could be no doubt about it.
“We’re on the rocks!” I shouted.
Without an instant’s pause, I clasped my Mother around the waist and hurried her back again on deck. Along the starboard side, close by, we could see huge granite bowlders, with monstrous seas breaking against them. Astern, on the port quarter, more rocks. Apparently we had jumped clean over an outer bar and landed fair in the midst of the hen and chickens.
In that moment, Mother’s heart seemed to fail her, and she shrank back, afraid to face the menace of that awful coast. Clinging tightly to me, she cried: “We’re lost 1 We’re lost! What shall we do?”
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