The night being so fine, and with so little wind, Captain Staunton took the tiller himself, and ordered the rest of the watch to lie down again; there was nothing to do, he said, and if he required their assistance he would call them. Accordingly, in a very short time, he was the only waking individual in the launch, the others were only too glad of the opportunity to forget, as far as possible, their miseries in sleep.
It is, of course, scarcely necessary to say that the skipper, as he sat there keeping his lonely watch, fixed his gaze, with scarcely a moment’s intermission, on that part of the horizon where the mysterious object had been seen. He allowed a full hour to pass, and then drawing out the glass, applied it to his eye, sweeping the horizon carefully from dead ahead round to windward. He had not to seek far, for when the tube of the telescope pointed to within about three points of the starboard bow a small dark blot swept into the field of view. Yes, there it was, quite unmistakably this time, and a single moment’s observation of it satisfied the anxious watcher that he saw before him the royals and topgallant-sails of a vessel apparently of no very great size.
The fact that the stranger’s topgallant-sails had risen above the horizon within the hour since he had last looked at her was conclusive proof to his mind that the craft was standing toward them; that, in fact, they were approaching each other, though at a very low rate of speed, in consequence of the exceedingly light air of wind that was blowing. Fully satisfied upon this point he at once put the boat’s helm down, and she came slowly and heavily about, the captain easily working the sheets himself.
By four bells Captain Staunton was able to discern with the naked eye the shadowy patch of darkness which the stranger’s canvas made on the dusky line of the horizon, and when he called Mr Bowles at eight bells, or four o’clock in the morning, the patch had become darker, larger, and more clearly defined, and it lay about one point before the weather beam of the launch. The telescope was once more called into requisition, and it now showed not only the royals and topgallant-sails, but also the topsails of the stranger fairly above the horizon.
“Thank God for that welcome sight!” exclaimed the chief mate, laying down the telescope and reverently lifting his hat from his head. He remained silent a minute or two, and then raising his eyes, allowed his glance to travel all round the horizon and overhead until he had swept the entire expanse of the star-spangled heavens. Then, with a sigh of intense relief, he said—
“We’re all right, I do verily believe, sir. There’s the craft, plain as mud in a wine-glass, bearing right down upon us, or very nearly so. We’ve only to stand on as we’re going and we shall cross her track. There’s very little wind, it’s true, but the trifle that there is is drawing us together; we’re nearing each other every minute, and there’s no sign of any change of weather, unless it may happen to be that the present light air will die away altogether with sunrise. I fancy I know what you’re thinking of sir; you’re half inclined to say, ‘Out oars, and let’s get alongside her as soon as possible.’ And that’s just what I should say if there was any sign of a breeze springing up, but there ain’t; she can’t run away from us, and therefore what I say is this: the launch is a heavy boat, and we’re all hands of us as weak as cats; she’s about six miles off now, and it would knock us all up to pull even that short distance, whereas if we go on as we are we shall drop alongside without any trouble by eight bells, or maybe a trifle earlier; and if the wind should die away altogether, it’ll be time enough then to see what we can do with the oars.”
“That’s exactly the way I have been arguing with myself ever since you called me, Bowles,” returned the skipper. “It is true that we are all suffering horribly from thirst, and in that way every moment is of value to us; but on the other hand, everybody except our two selves is now asleep and oblivious, for the time being, of their sufferings: let them sleep on, say I; the toil of tugging at heavy oars, and the excitement of knowing that a sail is at hand would only increase tenfold their sufferings, without helping us forward a very great deal; so I think, with you, that we had better let things remain as they are for another hour or two; we can rouse all hands at any moment, should it seem desirable to do so. Now, if you will take the tiller, I will just stretch myself out on the planks here, close at hand; I could not sleep now if the whole world were offered me to do so.”
Saying which, the skipper suited the action to the word; he and the mate continuing their chat, but carefully pitching their voices in so low a tone that the ladies, close at hand, should not be disturbed in their slumbers.
By and by the sky began to pale in the eastern quarter; the stars quietly twinkled out, one by one; a bright rosy flush appeared, and then up rolled the glorious sun above the horizon.
The wind, light all night, had been imperceptibly dying away; and when the sun rose his bright beams flashed upon a sea whose surface was smooth as oil. The launch lost way altogether, and refused any longer to answer her helm.
As for the stranger, there she was, just hull-down; her snowy canvas gleaming in the brilliant morning sunshine, and so clearly defined that every rippling fold in the sails was distinctly visible as they flapped against the mast to the lazy roll of the vessel over the long sleepy swell.
“Now,” said Captain Staunton, “we’ll rouse the steward, make him prepare and serve out a first-rate breakfast to all hands; and then ‘Hey! for a pull to the ship.’”
This was accordingly done. The breakfast was prepared, no great matter of a meal was it after all, though the last scrap of provisions and the last drop of water went in its composition; and when it was ready the cramped and hungry voyagers were roused with the good news that a sail was in sight, and the meal placed before them.
Frugal as it was, it was a sumptuous banquet compared with their late fare; and the poor famished creatures devoured it ravenously, feeling, when it was finished, that they could have disposed of thrice as much. Perhaps it was just as well that there was no more; in their condition a moderately full meal even would have proved injurious to them if administered without great caution; but while there was not sufficient to provoke hurtful results there was just enough to put new life into them, and to temporarily endow them with vigour and strength enough for an hour or two’s toil at the oars.
The meal over, the oars were eagerly manned; and the men dividing themselves into two gangs, and working in short spells of a quarter of an hour each, the launch was headed straight for the stranger, which having now lost steerage-way had swung broadside-on, and showed herself to be a small brig.
“I tell you what it is, Bowles,” said the captain as he sat at the tiller steering during one of his spells of rest from the oars, “we are a great deal further to the westward than I imagined we were. We must be not very far from the outlying islands of that vast archipelago which spreads itself over so many hundreds of leagues of the South Pacific. That fellow is no whaler; look at his canvas, no smoke stains from the try-works there: he is a sandal-wood trader, or is after bêche-de-mer. I am very glad it is so; it will be much more pleasant for the ladies; and if she is a Yankee, as a good many of these little traders are, the skipper will probably be glad enough to earn a few dollars by running us all across to the mainland.”
“To my mind,” remarked Bowles, “the craft looks rather too trim and neat aloft for a trader. And look at the hoist of her topsails; don’t you think there is a man-o’-war-ish appearance about the cut and set of them sails, sir?”
“She certainly does look rather taunt in her spars for a merchantman,” returned Captain Staunton. “We shall soon see what she really is, however; for she will be hull-up in another five minutes; and in another half-hour we shall be on board her. Ah! they have made us out; there go her colours. Take the glass, and see what you can make of them, Bowles.”
The chief mate took the telescope and levelled it at the brig, taking a long and steady look at her.
“A ten-gun brig, by the look of her,” he presently remarked, with the telescope still
at his eye. “Anyhow, her bulwarks are pierced; and I can see the muzzles of five bull-dogs grinning through her starboard port-holes. That’s the stars and stripes hanging at her peak, as far as I can make out; but it’s drooping so dead that I can see nothing but a mingling of red and white, with a small patch of blue next the halliard-block. She’s a pretty-looking little thing enough, and her skipper’s a thorough seaman, whoever he is. Ay, she’s a man-o’-war sure enough—Up go the courses and down comes the jib, all at once, man-o’-war fashion. And there’s clue up royals and t’gallan’s’ls—to prevent ’em from beating themselves to pieces against the spars and rigging, that is, for all the canvas she could set wouldn’t give her steerage-way, much less cause her to run away from us. She hasn’t a pennant aloft, though—wonder how that is? And the hands on board seem to be a rum-looking lot of chaps as ever I set eyes on; no more like man-o’-war’s men than we are—not a single jersey or man-o’-war collar among ’em; nor nothing like a uniform aft there. I s’pose they’re economical, and want to save their regular rig for harbor service.”
“Well, thank God for His mercy in directing us to her,” exclaimed the skipper fervently, as he lifted his cap from his head. “Our troubles are all over now, ladies,” he continued, turning to the women, who were now eagerly watching the brig. “The craft is small; but she is plenty big enough to carry us all to Valparaiso; and, once there, I think we shall have very little difficulty in getting a passage home.”
Half an hour more of toilsome tugging at the oars, and the heavy launch ranged up alongside the brig.
“Look out for a rope,” shouted one of the crew, as he sprang upon the rail with a coil of line in his hand.
“Heave,” shouted Bob.
The rope was dexterously thrown and caught; the heavy oars were laid in; and as the boat touched the brig’s side a man dressed in a suit of white nankeen, his head sheltered by a broad-brimmed Panama hat, and his rather handsome sun-browned face half hidden by a thick black beard and moustache, sauntered to the gangway from the position he had occupied abaft the main-rigging, and leaning over the bulwarks remarked—
“Morning, straangers. I guess you found it hot work pullin’ down to us in that heavy boat. Looks to me as though you had had rayther bad times lately.”
“Yes,” answered the skipper. “We were burned out of our ship—the Galatea of London. We have been in the boat a fortnight today; and for the last five days—until this morning, when we consumed the last of our provisions—some of us have never tasted water.”
“Waal, stranger, that’s bad news to tell. But I calculate we can soon put you all right. Here,” he continued, addressing himself to the men who were peering curiously over the bulwarks at the occupants of the boat, “jump down, some of you, and help ’em up over the side.”
There was a hearty laugh at this order, to the intense surprise of our adventurers; but the skipper of the brig was evidently a man who was not to be trifled with; with two strides he was among the jeering crowd of men with a revolver in each hand.
“Now, git,” he exclaimed, levelling the pistols; and the men waited for no second bidding. In an instant some half a dozen of them sprang into the boat; the brig’s gangway was opened, and the boat’s crew were somewhat sullenly assisted up the side of the brig and on to her deck.
The black-bearded man met them as they came up the side, and held out his hand to Captain Staunton.
“Morning, straanger,” he repeated. “I’m powerful glad to see you all.”
“Thank you,” returned the skipper. “I can assure you we are all at least equally glad to see you, and to find ourselves once more with a deck beneath our feet. What ship is this, may I ask, and by what name shall we call the gentleman who has given us so kind a reception?”
“The brig’s called the Albatross; and my name is Johnson—at your service.”
“You are an American cruiser, I presume?” continued Captain Staunton, looking first at the beautifully kept decks, and then more doubtfully at the gang of desperadoes who crowded round.
“Sorter,” briefly replied the man who had called himself Johnson; and the reply seemed for some reason to mightily tickle his crew, most of whom burst into a hearty guffaw.
Captain Staunton glanced round upon them with such stern surprise that the fellows fell back a pace or two; and the skipper of the brig, first darting a furious glance upon his followers, led the way aft to the cabin, saying—
“I sorter waited breakfast when I made out through the glass that you were a shipwrecked crew, calculatin’ that prob’ly you’d be glad to find yourselves in front of a good square meal. Your crew will have to make themselves at home in the fo’ks’le; and if my lads don’t treat ’em properly, why they must just knock ’em down. My people are a trifle orkard to deal with at first, but I guess they’ll all pull together first-rate arter a while.”
CHAPTER TEN
Captain Johnson Explains Himself.
The cabin of the Albatross was a much larger apartment than one would have expected to find in a craft of her size. It was about twenty feet long and eighteen feet broad, occupying the entire width of the ship; the state-rooms—of which there were two only—being outside the cabin, at the foot of the companion staircase. The apartment was well lighted and very airy, light and air being admitted not only through the skylight, but also through the stern-ports and dead-lights fitted into the sides of the ship. The fittings were extremely rich, though somewhat out of harmony with each other, conveying to Captain Staunton’s educated eye the idea that they had been collected at odd times from a number of other ships. The rudder-case, for example, was inclosed in a piece of elaborate carved and gilded work representing the trunk and branches of a palm-tree; but it had apparently been found too large, and the sections had accordingly been cut down to make them fit, the result being that the carving did not match at the junctions. The trunk of the tree had also been cut off rather clumsily at the base and fitted badly to the cabin floor, while the branches had been cut through in places where the beams crossed the ceiling, and had been nailed on again in such a way as to make them look as though they had grown through the beams. Then again the cushions to the lockers were of different sizes, colours, and materials, some being of velvet and others of horsehair, and every one of them from one to three sizes too large. The sides of the cabin were divided into panels by carved and gilded pilasters, which exhibited in a very marked degree the same incongruity, the eight pilasters in the cabin exhibiting no less than three different patterns. Some half a dozen pictures, one or two of which were really valuable paintings, were securely hung in the panels; and the stern-windows were fitted with handsome lace curtains, much too large for the position which they occupied. Two very handsome swinging lamps, of different designs, were suspended from the beams; a tell-tale compass and a ship’s barometer occupied respectively the fore and after ends of the skylight; and the bulkhead which formed the fore end of the cabin was fitted above the sideboard with racks in which reposed six repeating rifles; the panels which were unoccupied by pictures being filled in with trophies of stars and other fanciful devices formed with pistols, daggers, and cutlasses.
Such was the apartment to which our adventurers found themselves welcomed; but if the truth must be told, their eyes—notwithstanding their recent meal on board the launch—were chiefly attracted to the cabin table whereon was spread—on a not over clean table-cloth—an abundant display of plate and a substantial yet appetising meal to which their host urged them to do full justice, himself setting a good example.
For a short time, and while host and guests were taking the keen edge off their appetites, very little was said. At length, however, Captain Johnson looked up, and addressing Captain Staunton, said—
“Waal, stranger, as I said before, I’m real glad to see you all; yours are the first friendly faces I’ve looked upon for many a long day; but I guess I’m considerable troubled what to do with you all. You see our accommodation is sorter limited.
There’s plenty of room for your men in the fo’ks’le; but here’s no less than ten of you, reckonin’ the piccaninny—bless her dear purty little face! I wish she’d give me a kiss. Four years ago I left just such another on the wharf at New York, kissin’ her hand to me and wavin’ me good-bye as we cast off our moorin’s, and I guess I’ll never see her sweet face ag’in.”
At her mother’s suggestion, little May slid down off the locker on which she was perched, and, somewhat reluctantly, went to the man’s chair and held up her little mouth for a kiss.
Johnson at once bent down, and taking her on his knee, gazed long and eagerly into the bright young face uplifted to his own in childish curiosity. Then he kissed her eagerly three or four times, stroked her curly head tenderly with his great brown hand, and finally burst out—
“See here, my purty little dearie—If e’er a one of them great rough men on deck there says a bad word to you, or dares to as much as look unkind at you, you tell me, and curse me if—I beg your pardon, strangers, I guess I didn’t know just then what I was talking about. Run along, little ’un, and get your breakfast.”
The child at once slid down from his knee, and with some little haste returned to her former place by her mother’s side, Johnson’s gaze following her abstractedly.
“You were speaking about the inconvenience to which our appearance seems likely to put you,” at length suggested Captain Staunton.
“I guess not, stranger,” he retorted, pulling himself together as it were with a jerk. “I was simply p’inting out that our accommodation for passengers is kinder limited; and I’m puzzled to know where I can stow you all away. The inconvenience ’ll be yourn, stranger, not mine. There’s reasons, you see, why I should keep possession of my own cabin; and there’s reasons, too, why the mate should keep possession of his’n. I reckon the best plan ’ll be to clear away a place for you down in the after-hold, where you must try and make yourselves as comfortable as you can for the few days you’ll be on board. And as for you ladies, I’d sorter advise you to stay below all you can. If you must go on deck at all let it be at night-time, when there ain’t so much chance of your bein’ seen.”
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 303