Barney Blake, the Boy Privateer; or, The Cruise of the Queer Fish

by Herrick Johnstone

  CHAPTER XII.

  THE WATER-SPOUT--THE ONLY TRAGEDY ON BOARD THE QUEER FISH.

  When we were about half-way to Honolulu--the chief island of theSandwich group--we had the monotony of our voyage broken by an adventurewith those dangerous phenomena of the ocean water-spouts. Early in themorning, Dicky Drake, who was at the mast-head, descried a vessel to thenortheastward, and we immediately steered for her. We had come within amile or so, and easily made her out to be a brigantine--of what nationwe could not determine when the lookout again sung out:

  "Water spouts on the larboard bow!"

  We could see nothing of the kind at first, but the captain brought hisglasses to bear, and reported that the lookout was correct.

  Presently every one could see them from the deck. They appeared faraway, like vast water-trees, growing from the sea to the sky, andexpanding there in funnel shape; but as they appeared to be going awayfrom us, we kept on our course, in order to overtake the brigantine.

  The best definition of a water-spout represents it as a remarkablenatural phenomenon, usually observed over the sea, but sometimes overthe land. "It usually consists of a dense, black cloud, depending fromthe sky in a conical form toward the earth. Sometimes it unites with acorresponding portion, ascending from below, thus forming a continuouscolumn from the surface of the earth (or sea) to the cloud."

  The genuine--destructive--water-spout, that of the sea, consists ofcloud thus partially depended from the sky, while the column whichascends to meet it is of the ocean brine. An immense quantity ofwater--probably many millions or billions of tons--is thus elevated toan enormous hight above the surface--following the course of the cloud,as it is driven by the wind, and falling, when deprived of thecloud-suction above, with a force sufficient to crush to splinters thecombined navies of the world.

  We had about lessened the interval between us and the stranger craft toone-half, when we saw her suddenly 'bout ship and tack toward us withall possible speed. This singular-conduct upon her part was soonexplained by our perceiving that the wind had changed, and that thewater spouts--of which there appeared to lie about a dozen--were bearingdown upon us, with a rapidity which was terrible.

  We 'bout ship with all possible speed, and tacked away from the dangerwith every stitch of canvas that we could cram. But our speed was as asnail's pace compared to the awful swiftness of the scuddingwater-spouts. In less than five minutes after we tacked, we werecompletely surrounded by the terrible columns of smooth, up-liftedbrine, and we came almost to a standstill. It was a very terrible thing,for, as the water-spouts reached our position, the gale died away, andwe, together with the strange brigantine, were left immediately in theirmidst, until it appeared that we were about to be forever entombed in amagnificent temple of pillared brine. For it was next to impossible tosteer clear of them, without bringing one of them upon our heads, by thewind of our motion. They leaned to the eastward--still feeling theinfluence of the gale that had just died away.

  If we had been either altogether to the larboard or starboard of them,we might have let them all down to their proper level by a fewcannon-shots, but, surrounded as we were, our predicament was mostdistressing.

  The water-spouts kept wheeling about us, slowly and silently. They werevast, smooth, glassy columns of brine, reaching to the heavens, some ofthem four or five feet in diameter in the most slender part.

  At length, however, a broad opening was created to the southward and we,throwing out our sweeps, made for it with the good will of men whoselives are suspended upon the muscles of the arm. We reached it and weresoon out of danger of the _forest_ (so to speak) of water-spouts; butseveral more were to be seen far to the southward, and we swung aroundour swivel to send a shot in the midst of the multitude from which wehad just escaped.

  Now here was a predicament, for the brigantine was unprovided withsweeps, and, as there was not a breath of wind--a dead calm--wascompelled to remain where she was. In vain we signaled her to put outher boats and attempt to tow out; she paid no attention to us whatever.Through the telescope we could see her crew kneeling and praying uponthe deck. Her officers had evidently lost their presence of mind, andpiped all hands to prayers when work with a will might have saved her.

  And now, to our anguish, a slight breath of air came from the northward.It would freshen to a gale in ten minutes. We would again have thewatery labyrinth around us, with little hope of escape. What were we todo? If we fired our guns we would envelope the unfortunate brigantine incertain destruction; if we neglected to fire them we would, just ascertainly, involve the destruction of our own ship. It was one of thosehard questions of fatality where self-preservation is the only solution.

  So, with a heavy heart, doubtless, the captain gave the order and ourLong Tom sent a shower of grape-shot and six-pounders among thelabyrinth of water-columns. The effect was grand and terrible.

  Simultaneously with the report of the swivel the tops of thewater-spouts were seen to tremble, then to sway to and fro, and then,down they came with the most terrific noise I ever heard in my life.

  "Try up the main-to'gallants! All hands aloft! Steady, there, at thehelm! Port! hard a-port!" bawled our captain through his trumpet, andhis orders were just obeyed in time to allow us to breast the enormousbillows occasioned by the falling water-spouts, while we were alldrenched to the skin by the spray of their splash, although the onewhich had stood nearest to us was fully half a mile away.

  As for the stranger--the brigantine--she was never seen again. We neversaw a floating splinter of that ill-fated ship, whereby to tell the portwhence she came or whither she was bound.

  * * * * *

  I come now to the most painful episode that was connected with thecruise of our almost uniformly merry privateer, the Queer Fish. I havehad little of the painful--much of the glad and rollicking--to treat ofthus far, and would gladly spin my yarn to its termination as merrily asI began. But truth directs me to a different course.

  Besides, as this event which I am about to describe is about the onlyone of a sorrowful character directly connected with the Queer Fish, itmay serve to throw the other features of my yarn into a more distinctlycheerful light. Nevertheless, be that as it may, the truth must, likemurder, out at last, and here it is.

  Little Willie Warner, our pet, the cabin-boy, had never totallyrecovered from the effects of the accident we have narrated as havingbefallen him. The climate was exceedingly bad as we approached thelatitude of the Sandwich Islands--much rain, followed by days of themost intense tropic heat--and little Willie, probably from the cerebralcontusion he had formerly received, contracted a brain fever, which soonbrought him very low.

  Roddy Prinn, as in the former instance, was permitted to devote all histime to the duties of a nurse, and all of us did what we could. But, onthe morning of the fourth day of the fever, good Doctor Benedictsorrowfully informed the captain that the days and hours of littleWillie Warner were numbered, and that the number was brief indeed.

  We had noticed, from the commencement of this illness, that sameappearance of mysterious information, between the captain and thedoctor, which had before been indicated to us. And now, at this solemnmoment of the announcement of the approaching end of the sufferer, thismystery was still more apparent.

  The prognostication of the doctor proved only too true. Willie Warnerbreathed his last before the set of sun.

  Deeply grieved as was every one on the ship at this deplorable event,there was one whose grief dwarfed all others in the magnitude of itsagony. This was Roddy Prinn. The poor fellow went almost insane. Aboveall, he besought the captain to preserve the body of his little chum,until our approach to the islands would enable us to accord a Christianburial on land to the remains. But, as we were yet within a hundred andfifty miles of our destination, compliance with this request wasrendered impossible.

  Poor Roddy then waxed violent, but was only confined in the gun-room.For, in keeping with the gentle treatment which Willie Warner had always
received from the captain, he (Roddy) was treated with an unaccountableleniency. The poor fellow's mind was, undoubtedly, somewhat derangedthrough his grief.

  The day after the death of Willie Warner, the body of the littlecabin-boy was consigned to the deep.

  It was a sad and impressive ceremony.

  All the crew stood around, with their heads uncovered, preserving a deepsilence, while the funeral Service was read in measured tones by DoctorBenedict. Then, with a heavy plunge, the shotted sack struck the bluewaters, and the form of him we had loved so much was lost to us forever.

  On the same day, an excitement was created on shipboard by intelligencethat Roddy Prinn had attempted suicide, while in his confinement, he hadopened a vein in his arms, and was discovered by Doctor Benedict just intime to be saved. As it was, he was almost exhausted through loss ofblood, and was not able to be about for some days afterward. He nextthrew himself into the sea, out of the ports of the gun-room, but wasrescued by Snollygoster. Roddy then seemed to give up self-destructionas a bad job, acted very reasonably, and was allowed to return to hisduty.

  A few nights after this last attempt, it was my watch upon deck, and,observing that Roddy was more melancholy than usual, I resolved to keepa sharp eye upon him.

  The night was one of surpassing beauty. I think I never saw so manystars as studded the glorious vault upon that night; and, presently, themoon, the broad, lucid, tropic moon rose above the ocean's edge, with aluster by which you could have read small print with no difficulty. Inspite of myself, my attention was directed to the beauty of the heavens,and was only called thence by the noise of a loud splash in the water,over the starboard bow.

  Instantly divining that Roddy had made another attempt at suicide, Isung out, "Man overboard!" and ran to the bow.

  We were completely becalmed, and, as the water was devoid of even aripple, I could see far down into the sea. And, looking down, I was notlong in discovering the figure of the unfortunate young man. Just thenthe captain, first mate and Doctor Benedict came to the bows, and lookedover.

  Snollygoster had also heard the splash, had also rightly conjectured thecause, and was tearing off his coat and shoes, preparatory for a plungeto the rescue.

  One remarkable thing in the appearance of the figure below the water wasthat it neither sunk any deeper, nor rose up, but appeared silentlysuspended, face downward, at a distance of several fathoms below thesurface. We were at a loss to account for this singular phenomenon.

  Suddenly Snollygoster went overboard with a sharp dive. The water wasshaken so much by the plunge that we, for a moment, lost sight ofeverything below the surface. But the disturbance quickly faded out ofthe glassy brine, and we could see both the silent form of the drownerand the active figure of the would-be rescuer.

  We saw Snolly keep under the water by great effort and skill, andfrequently touch the body to draw it to the surface, but it as oftenresisted his efforts, floated about uneasily when disturbed, and thensettled down into quiescence, as before--with the head down, silentlysuspended in the blue crystal of the sea. After repeated efforts, all ofwhich were unavailing, the heroic negro was compelled to come up to thesurface for breath.

  "Try it once more--that is, if possible!" cried Doctor Benedict and downagain went the indefatigable rescuer.

  We, this time, saw him tug with all his force at the suspended form ofRoddy Prinn. This time he was more successful; for suddenly, as ifrelieved of some heavy weight, the body became wonderfully buoyant, andswiftly rose to the surface of its own accord, whence, with theassistance of Snollygoster and a line from the Queer Fish, it wasbrought on deck. But all restoratives were of no avail. The suicide wasa _fait accompli_ at last, and Roddy Prinn was no more.

  "What caused the body to come up so suddenly, Snolly?" asked DoctorBenedict.

  "Bekase, Massa Ben'dick, I shook out de t'irty-pound shot which it heldin de hands," was the reply.

  It was true.

  In order to be successful in drowning himself, the suicide, beforeleaping over the taffrail into the sea, had firmly clutched in his twohands a thirty-pound cannon-ball. This had kept him silently suspendedbelow the surface, until at last, the cannon-ball being shaken from itshold by the rude grasp of the negro, the body had risen to the surface.

  Whatever may be said of this singular suicide, it must be acknowledgedthat Roddy displayed considerable resolution in carrying out hisintention.

  Next day the body of this unfortunate young man was also consigned tothe deep. And then the mystery, which we had noticed to exist betweenthe captain and the doctor, leaked out, and became the property of all.

  It became known that Willie Warner was not a man, but a woman, and thatRoddy Prinn was her husband.

  They had shipped on board the Queer Fish at the Boston docks, and it wasonly upon the occasion of the first sickness of the pseudo-cabin-boythat her sex was revealed to the physician, and, through him, to thecaptain.

  The reasons which induced the lady to assume the disguise of a sailormay have been known to the captain or doctor, but they never transpiredamong the crew.

  In consequence of this we had many preposterous rumors afloat--strangestories wherein cruel parents, inexorable step-mothers, crimes committedon land, and other wild theories as to the history of the lovers, whoselives were so mysterious, and whose deaths were so melancholy andstrange.

  But, however wild the stories may have been, and however far from thereal history of the lovers, we held their memory dear and sacred. Andwhile we remembered with gentle kindness the gentle disposition of RoddyPrinn, our recollections of our pretty little cabin-boy, Willie Warner,were mixed up with purity and sweetness.