by G. A. Henty
“What do you think of it?” Harry asked the interpreter.
“I do not like it,” the Malay replied. “I think that there will be a great hurricane. I have seen many changes of the monsoon, but never one that looked so threatening as this.”
“It does look bad,” Harry said, “though, as I have never been at sea before, at the change of the monsoon, I am no judge at all; but it certainly looks as if we were in for a bad gale. At any rate, we shall be safer, here, than we were in that hut in the mountains.”
The Malay made no reply, for some time. Then he said:
“Yes, sahib, but there was something to do, there. Directly we got in, you began to prepare for an escape. It was not certain that we should succeed. They might have come in and killed us, before you were ready but, as we were busy, we had not much time to think of the danger.
“Here we can do nothing.”
“No. But, as you see, everything has already been done. You and I have not been working, but the sailors have been busy in taking off sail, and getting down all the upper spars. We are ready for the worst, now; just as we were when we had opened the passage for our escape, and we felt fairly confident—although we might meet with many dangers, we had a good chance of getting safely away.”
“There are the danger signals, Lindsay,” the captain said, as a pale light suddenly shone out above.
Looking up, Harry saw a ball of fire on the main-mast head. Presently, this seemed to roll down the mast, till it reached the top-sail yard; then it broke into two, and these rolled out until they remained stationary, one at each end of the yard. Harry had never seen this phenomenon before.
“What is it?” he asked Fairclough, in an awed voice.
“They are often seen, before the outburst of a severe tempest. Of course, they look like balls of phosphorus; but in reality they are electric, and are a sign that the whole atmosphere is charged with electricity. Sailors have all sorts of superstitions about them but, of course, excepting that they are signs of the condition of the air, they are perfectly harmless.”
He raised his voice.
“Don’t stand near the foot of the masts, lads; keep well away from them. There is nothing to be afraid of, in those lights; but if we happened to be struck by lightning and it ran down the mast, some of you might be knocked over.
“I don’t know why,” he continued, to Harry, “the first flash of lightning at the beginning of a storm is always the most dangerous. I can’t account for it, in any way, but there is no question as to the fact. I always feel relieved when the first clap of thunder is over; for I know, then, that we are comparatively safe from danger, in that way.”
Gradually the stars disappeared.
“Mr. Hardy,” the captain said to the lieutenant, who was standing near, “will you go down to my cabin, and see how the glass stands?”
Harry did not hear the answer, when Hardy returned, but Fairclough said to him:
“It has gone down another quarter of an inch since I looked at it, half an hour ago; and it was as low, then, as I have ever seen it.
“Mr. Hardy, you had better send the men aloft, and furl the main top-sail, altogether; and run down the fore stay-sail. We can get it up again, as soon as the first burst is over. Put four men at the wheel.”
There was still no breath of wind stirring. The stay sail was run down, but the men hung back from ascending the shrouds of the main mast.
“They are afraid of those lights,” Fairclough said, “but I do not think there is the slightest danger from them.”
“I will go up, myself, sir,” Hardy said; and he ran up the starboard shrouds while, at the same moment, one of the midshipmen led the way on the port side. The sailors at once followed their officers.
The latter had nearly reached the yard, when the two balls of fire began to roll along it, joined in the centre, and then slowly ascended the topmast. The fireballs paused there for half a minute, and then vanished.
“Now, Eden,” the lieutenant said, “let us get the work done, at once, before that fellow makes his appearance again.”
The men followed them out on the yard, and worked in desperate haste, with occasional glances up at the mast head. In a couple of minutes the sail was firmly secured in its gaskets, and all made their way below.
“Thank goodness, here it comes, at last,” Fairclough said; “the suspense is more trying than the gale itself.”
A low murmur was heard, and a faint pale light was soon visible to the south.
“Get ready to hold on, all!” he shouted to the men.
The sound momentarily increased in volume, and the distant light brightened until a long line of white foam was clearly discernible. It approached with extraordinary speed. There was a sudden puff of air. It lasted but a few seconds, and then died away.
“Hold on!” the captain again shouted.
Half a minute later, with a tremendous roar, the wind struck the brig. Knowing which way it would come, Fairclough had, half an hour before, lowered a boat and brought the vessel’s head round, so that it pointed north. The boat had then been hoisted up.
In the interval of waiting, the ship’s head had slightly drifted round, again, and the wind struck her on the quarter. So great was the pressure that she heeled far over, burying her bows so deeply that it seemed as if she were going to dive, head foremost. The water swept over the bulwarks in torrents, and extended almost up to the foot of the foremast. Then, very slowly, as she gathered way, the bow lifted and, in a minute, she was scudding fast before the gale; gathering speed, every moment, from the pressure of the wind upon her masts and hull, and from the fragment of sail shown forward. At present there were no waves, the surface of the water seeming pressed almost flat by the weight of the wind.
Then there was a deafening crash, and a blaze of light. The fore-top mast was riven in fragments, but none of these fell on the deck, the wind carrying them far ahead.
“You had better make your way forward, Mr. Hardy,” Fairclough shouted, into the lieutenant’s ear, “and see if anyone is hurt.”
Fortunately the precaution which had been taken, of ordering the men away from the mast, had prevented any loss of life; but several of the men were temporarily blinded. Three or four had been struck to the deck, by the passage of the electric fluid close to them; but these presently regained their feet. Hardy returned, and reported to the captain.
“You had better send the carpenter down, to see that there is no fire below.”
In a minute the man ran up, with the news that he believed the foot of the mast was on fire. Mr. Hardy went to a group of men.
“Get some buckets, my lads,” he said quietly, “and make your way down to the hold. I will go with you. As was to be expected, the lightning has fired the foot of the mast; but there is no cause for alarm. As we have discovered it so soon, we shall not be long in getting it under.”
The men at once filled the fire buckets and, led by Mr. Hardy, went below. As soon as the hatchway leading to the hold was lifted, a volume of smoke poured up.
“Wait a minute, till it has cleared off a little,” the lieutenant said; and then, to the midshipman who had accompanied him:
“Go to the captain, and tell him that there is more smoke than I like, and ask him to come below. Tell him I think the pumps had better be rigged, and the hose passed down.”
Fairclough, who was accompanied by Harry, joined him just as he was about to descend the ladder.
“I will go down with you, Mr. Hardy,” he said.
“Mr. Eden, will you go up and send down all hands, except those at the wheel? Set a strong gang to rig the pumps, and pass the hose down.”
He and the lieutenant then made their way along the hold. The smoke was very thick, and it was only by stooping low that they could get along. They could see, however, a glow of light ahead.
“We can do nothing with this,” the captain said, “beyond trying to keep it from spreading, until we have shifted all these stores. The gang with buc
kets had better come down, empty them on the pile, and then set to work to clear the stuff away, as quickly as possible.”
The men, who came along gradually and with difficulty, began to remove the barrels, coils of rope, and spare sails stowed there. Several of them were overpowered by the smoke, and had to be carried up again; and others came down and took their places.
In three or four minutes the hose was passed down, and the clank of the pumps could be heard. Mr. Hardy took the nozzle and while the men, now a strong party, worked at the stores, directed a stream of water upon the flames.
For a time, the efforts seemed to make no impression, and the steam added to the difficulty of working. Another gang of men were set to work, forward of the mast and, after half an hour’s labour, the stores were so far removed that the hose could be brought to play upon the burning mass at the foot of the mast.
The lieutenant had been relieved by Harry, and he by the two midshipmen, in succession. Changes were frequent and, in another quarter of an hour, it was evident that the flames were well under control. The men engaged below relieved those at the pumps and, in an hour from the first outbreak, all danger was over, though pumping was kept up for some time longer.
The captain made frequent visits to the deck. The vessel was still running before the wind, and the sea had got up. The motion of the ship was becoming more and more violent but, as there was nothing to be done, the men below were not disturbed at their work, and this was continued until smoke no longer ascended.
CHAPTER 14
The Great Andaman
Leaving a party below, to clear away the burnt barrels and debris, and to extinguish any fire that might still smoulder among them, the rest returned on deck. Terrible as was the storm, it was a relief, to all, to cling to the rail and breathe the fresh air, after the stifling atmosphere of the hold.
The scene, however, was a terrible one. Lightning was flashing overhead incessantly, although the thunder was only occasionally heard, above the howl of the storm. The sea was broken and irregular, leaping in masses over the bulwarks, and sweeping the decks. The force of the wind continually tore the heads off the waves, and carried the spray along in blinding showers.
“We are very near the eye of the hurricane,” Captain Fairclough shouted, in Lindsay’s ear. “The men at the wheel tell me she has been twice round the compass, already; but this broken sea would, alone, tell that. We must get a little sail on the main mast, and try to edge out of it.”
A small stay sail was got out and hoisted, and the helm was put down a little. Though still running at but a slight angle before the wind, the pressure was now sufficient to lay her down to her gunwale. The crew gathered under shelter of the weather bulwark, holding on by belaying pins and stanchions.
Night had now set in, but it made little difference; for the darkness had, before, been intense, save for the white crests of the tossing waves. Sheets of foam blew across the deck and, sometimes, a heavy fall of water toppled down on the crew. A pannikin of hot soup had been served out to the men, and this would be the last hot refreshment they would obtain, before the gale broke; for the hatchways were all battened down, and it was impossible to keep the fire alight.
“The best thing you can do is to turn in, Lindsay,” Fairclough said, after the former had finished his soup—a task of no slight difficulty, under the circumstances. “You can do no good by remaining up.”
“How long is it likely to last?”
“Probably for two or three days, possibly longer.”
“I will take your advice,” Harry said. “I shall be glad to get these wet clothes off.”
For a time, he was sorry that he had lain down, for the motion was so violent that he could, with difficulty, keep himself in his berth. Being, however, completely worn out by the buffeting of the gale, the efforts required to hold on, the excitement of the fire and storm, it was not long before he dropped off to sleep; and he did not wake up until a ray of dim light showed that the morning was breaking. The motion of the ship was unabated and after, with great difficulty, getting into his clothes, he went up on deck.
Except that the clouds were somewhat more broken, there was no change. Dark masses of vapour flew overhead, torn and ragged. The wild tumble of waves rose and fell, without order or regularity. Forward, the bulwark on both bows had been carried away, and the deck was swept clear of every movable object.
One watch was below, the men of the other were for the most part gathered aft, and lashed to belaying pins. Fairclough was standing near the wheel. With some difficulty, Harry made his way to him.
“Not much change since last night,” he said. “I feel quite ashamed of myself, for having been sleeping in my berth while you have all been exposed to this gale.”
“There has not been much to do,” the commander said. “In fact, there is nothing to be done, except to keep her as much as we dare from running straight before the wind. We have not had much success that way for, as you see, the tumble of water shows that we are still but a short distance from the centre of the gale. I sent the starboard watch below at four bells and, in a few minutes, we shall be relieved. Hardy wanted to stay with me, but I would not have it.
“The cook has managed, somehow, to boil some water, and served a pannikin of coffee to all hands, just before the watch turned in; and he has sent word that he will have some more ready, by the time they come up again.”
He looked at his watch, and called out, “four bells.”
One of the men made his way to the bell, with alacrity. The watch below did not come up, for a few minutes, as they waited to drink their coffee. As soon as they appeared, the men on deck went below.
“All the better for your sleep, Mr. Hardy?” Fairclough asked, as the other joined him.
“Very much better, sir. I think the cook ought to have a medal. The cup of coffee before we turned in, and that we have just drunk, have made new men of us.”
“You will call me, instantly, if there is any change, Mr. Hardy.
“Mr. Eden, you had better come with us. The coffee will be ready, in my cabin.”
There was no possibility of sitting at the table. But, sitting down on the floor to leeward, and holding a mug in one hand and a biscuit in the other, they managed, with some difficulty, to dispose of the meal. Then Fairclough, putting on some dry clothes, threw himself on his bunk. The midshipman retired to his own cabin, and Harry went on deck.
“How are we heading, Mr. Hardy?” he shouted, when he joined the lieutenant.
“At the present moment, we are running nearly due east but, as we have been round the compass, several times, since the gale struck us, there is no means of saying, with anything like certainty, where our position is. But I was talking it over with the captain, before I went down, and we both agreed that, as the centre of the hurricane is undoubtedly moving to the northeast, we must have gone a good many miles in that direction.
“Of course, there is no means of determining how far till we can get a glimpse of the sun; but there is no doubt that, if the gale continues, we shall soon be in a very perilous position, for we must be driving towards the Andamans. We may have the luck to pass north of them, or to go between them.
“We tried, last night, to get up a little more sail; but she would not stand it, and we were obliged to take it off again. So we can do nothing but hope for the best.”
Two hours later, Fairclough came out again.
“I am afraid that you have not been to sleep,” Harry said.
“No. I am all the better for the rest, but sleep was out of the question.
“How is she heading now, Mr. Hardy?”
“Northeast, sir.”
Fairclough took his telescope from the rack in the companion and, slinging it over his shoulder, mounted the ratlines to the top.
“Have you made out anything?” he asked the sailor stationed there.
“I have thought, once or twice, sir, that I saw land ahead; but I could not say for certain. It is so thick that
it is only when the clouds open a bit that one has a chance.”
Although he had taken his glass with him, Fairclough did not attempt to use it, at present; but stood gazing fixedly ahead. A quarter of an hour later there was a sudden rift in the clouds, and a low shore was visible, some five or six miles ahead; and a dark mass, much farther off, rising into the cloud. Fairclough instantly unslung the telescope, and adjusted it. A minute afterwards the clouds closed in again and, telling the man to keep a sharp lookout, he descended to the deck.
“We must set the main top-sail on her again, close reefed, of course. We are running straight for land and, unless I am much mistaken, it is the great Andaman. There is a lofty hill, some distance back from the shore. I only caught a glimpse of its lower part, but none of the small islands have any hill to speak of. The shore is about six miles off and, as the peak lies about the centre of the island, and as this is a hundred and forty miles long, we are some seventy miles from the northern point.
“You know what that means. However, we must do all that we can, to keep her off.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” Hardy said, turning without another word, and then gave orders to the men to set the top sail.
This was done, and the ship’s course was laid parallel to the shore. The wind was now nearly northwest, and she lay down until the water was several planks up her deck. The crew were all lashed to windward, clustering where they would be most out of danger, should the mast go.
Fairclough stood for a minute, looking at the shivering mast, and the shrouds stretched like iron bars.
“We must get the guns overboard, Mr. Hardy; she will never stand this,” and indeed the waves, striking her broadside, were falling in a cascade over her.
Calling four of the men, Hardy made his way down into the lee scuppers, where the water was nearly up to their waists; opened the portholes and slacked the lashings, when the four guns disappeared overboard. It required much greater pains to get down the guns from the port side, as tackle had to be attached to each, so that they could be lowered carefully, one by one, across the deck; but all worked heartily, and these also were launched overboard.