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Pirate Island: A Story of the South Pacific

<h3>Chapter Six.</h3> <h4>Dismasted.</h4> As the hurricane swooped down upon the ship, Captain Staunton and Mr Bowles sprang with one accord aft to the helm. It was well that they did so; for when the vessel was thrown upon her beam-ends the wheel flew suddenly and violently round, taking unawares the unfortunate man who was stationed at it and hurling him far over the lee quarter into the sea, where he immediately sank, being probably disabled by a blow from the rapidly revolving spokes. The two officers saw in a moment that the poor fellow was irretrievably lost, so without wasting time in useless efforts to save him they devoted themselves forthwith to the task of preserving the ship. The wheel was put hard up, with the object of getting the craft before the wind; and then the two men stood anxiously watching and awaiting the result. Two or three minutes passed, and there still lay the ship prone on her side, with her lee topsail and lower yard-arms dipping in the water, she would not pay off. “Bowles,” said Captain Staunton, lashing the wheel as he spoke, “make your way forward; muster the carpenter and one or two of the most reliable men you have, and bring them aft with axes to cut away the mizen-mast; we must get her before it somehow; should it come any stronger she will ‘turn the turtle’ with us. Station your men; but do not cut until I hold up my hand.” Mr Bowles nodded his head; and then set out upon his difficult journey, climbing up to windward by the grating upon which the helmsman usually stood, and then working his way along the deck by grasping the bulwarks, which on the poop were only about a foot above the deck. On reaching the wake of the mizen-mast he was compelled to pause in order to help Rex Fortescue and Violet out of their dangerous position, a position of course altogether untenable now that the order had been given to cut away the mast. This, with Brook’s assistance, he with some difficulty accomplished, landing them safely alongside Blanche and Bob upon the companion. The slight delay thus incurred threatened to have the most disastrous consequences; for when the chief mate was once more free to proceed upon his errand he became aware that the ship’s inclination had sensibly increased, to such an extent indeed that he momentarily expected to feel her rolling bottom-up. Glancing aft once more, he caught the eye of Captain Staunton, who immediately raised his hand. This the mate took to mean an order to cut away the mast with all possible expedition; and whipping out his keen broad-bladed knife he thrust it into Brook’s hand, and tapping the lanyards of the mizen rigging roared in his ear the one word “Cut.” Then without pausing another instant he proceeded as rapidly as he could forward, much impeded by the continuous blinding shower of spindrift which swept across the vessel, and compelled to cling with all his strength to whatever he laid hold of in his progress, in order to escape being literally blown away. Meanwhile Brook, who now showed that he was made of far better stuff than anyone had hitherto suspected, began without a moment’s delay to vigorously attack the rigid and tightly strained lanyards of the weather mizen rigging, being speedily joined by Bob, who turned Blanche over to Rex Fortescue’s care the moment he saw that he could be of use. Steadily and rapidly they hacked and notched away at the hard rope, working literally for their lives, for it was now no longer possible to doubt that the Galatea was slowly but surely capsizing. The upturned side which supported them was becoming every moment more nearly horizontal, the lee yard-arms were steadily burying themselves deeper and deeper in the water, and it became apparent that unless relieved, another minute would see the ship bottom-up. Mr Bowles, meanwhile, was out of sight forward, hidden by the gloom and the cloud of spindrift. At last one of the lanyards was severed by the keen blade in Brook’s hand. The others attached to the same shroud immediately began to render through the deadeye, throwing an extra strain upon the lanyards of the other shrouds, one of which immediately parted under Bob’s knife; then twang, twang, twang, one after the other, they rapidly yielded, until, as the last lanyard parted, crash went the mizen-mast short off by the deck and away to leeward, carrying away the saloon skylight as it went. A perceptible shock was felt as the mast went over the side, and every one watched anxiously to see what the effect would be. The disappointment was extreme when it was seen that the relief was not sufficient to enable the ship to recover herself; she still lay down upon her side, and though she now no longer threatened momentarily to capsize, she neither righted nor paid off. The chief mate now reappeared upon the poop, having by this time mustered a gang of men, whom he had left clinging to the main-rigging, thinking it not unlikely the main-mast would also have to go. By the time he reached Captain Staunton’s side the mind of the latter was made up. “It is no good, Bowles,” he said; “she will do nothing; we must part with the main-mast also. Cut it away at once, and let us get her upon an even keel again if we can.” Mr Bowles hurried forward, and as soon as he became visible to the men clustered about the main-rigging he made a sign to them to cut. The axes gleamed in the darkened air, a few rapid strokes were struck upon the lanyards of the rigging, and the main-mast bowed, crashed off at about ten feet from the deck, and was carried by the wind clear of the lee rail into the sea. Another shock, almost as if the ship had struck something, accompanied the fall of the main-mast, and then, laboriously at first but finally with an almost sudden jerk, the Galatea swung upright, and, paying off at the same time, began to draw through the water, her speed increasing to some seven knots when she got fairly away before the wind, and was relieved of the wreckage towing alongside. The well was sounded, and to everybody’s intense relief some six inches only of water was found in the hold. The pumps were rigged, manned, and set to work, and the water was so speedily got rid of as to show that it had penetrated only through some portion of the upper works. The first mad fury of the hurricane was by this time over, but it still blew far too heavily to admit of any other course than running dead before it. The sea, which had hitherto been a level plane of fleecy white foam, now showed symptoms of rising, and the aspect of the sky was still such as to force upon the voyagers the conclusion that they were not yet by any means out of danger. What could be done, however, was done; and the entire crew were set to work, some to get up preventer back-stays and secure the fore-mast, and others to convert the spare spars into jury-masts. The passengers, meanwhile, had made their way down into the saloon directly the ship recovered herself, where they found Lance Evelin pale, dazed, and barely conscious, bleeding from a very ugly wound in the temple caused by his having fallen heavily against the brass-bound edge of one of the saloon stairs. Mrs Staunton was doing her best single-handed to staunch the blood and bind up the wound, with little May on her knees beside the patient, sobbing as though her tender child’s heart would break, for Lance had taken greatly to the sweet little creature, and, grave and quiet though he was in general, was always ready to romp with her or tell her the most marvellous tales. Mr Dale had retired to his cabin and shut himself in. The new arrivals very promptly afforded their assistance, and in a short time Lance was laid carefully in his berth, and packed there with flags, shawls, and other yielding materials in such a way as to prevent the increasing motion of the ship from causing him any avoidable discomfort. Dinner that day was a very comfortless meal. By the time that it was served the sea had risen so much as to render the “fiddles” necessary on the cabin table, and even with their aid it was difficult to prevent the viands from being scattered upon the floor. The ship, running before the wind, and with only the fore-mast to steady her, rolled like a hogshead, and the act of dining was therefore quite an acrobatic performance, demanding so much activity of eye and hand as to completely mar the enjoyment of the good things which, in spite of the weather, graced the board. The conversation at table turned naturally upon the disaster which had befallen the ship; the passengers being all curious to know how it would affect them. “I suppose it means another beastly detention,” grumbled Dale. “The ship can’t sail all the way to England with only one mast, can she, captain?” “Well, scarcely,” replied Captain Staunton. “The trip home might be made under jury-masts; but it would be a longer and more tedious voyage than any of us would care for, I fancy, and at all events I have no intention of attempting it. Our nearest port is Otago; but as we are pretty certain to get westerly winds again as soon as this breeze has piped itself out, and as the current would also be against us if we attempted to return to the westward, I shall endeavour to reach Valparaiso, where we may hope to restore the poor old barkie’s clipped wings.” “Umph! I thought so,” snarled Dale. “And how long shall we be detained at that wretched hole?” “It will depend on circumstances,” answered Captain Staunton, “but I think you may reckon on being a month there.” “A month!” ejaculated Dale, too much disgusted to say another word. “A month!” exclaimed Rex Fortescue, “Jolly! I shall explore the Andes and do a little shooting. I daresay Evelin will join me—or us rather—for I suppose you will go as well, won’t you, Brook?” “Oh yes, I’ll go, certainly; ’tain’t often as I has a holiday, so I may as well take one when I can get it. But what’s them Handles we’re to explore, Mr Fortescue? Mr Dale ’ll come with us too, I’m sure; he’s fond of sleeping in a tent, ain’t you, sir?” “Don’t be such a fool, Brook,” retorted that worthy. “If ever we get to Valparaiso, which I think is very doubtful, I shall go home overland.” “I am afraid that before you can do that, Mr Dale, you or someone else will have to bridge the Atlantic,” remarked Captain Staunton, as he leisurely sipped his wine. “I am extremely sorry for the untoward event which has interrupted our voyage, but it was one of those occurrences which no skill or foresight could have prevented, so I think the best thing you can do is to make as light of it as possible. Worse things than being dismasted have happened at sea before now, and I, for one, am sincerely thankful that we are still above water instead of beneath it, as seemed more than likely at one time.” So saying the skipper rose, and with a bow left the saloon for the deck. The sky still looked wild, but there were occasional momentary breaks in it, through which the lustrous stars of the southern heavens beamed gloriously down for an instant ere they were shut in again by the scurrying clouds; and the sea, which now ran high, afforded a magnificent spectacle as the huge billows raced after the ship, each with its foaming crest a cataract of liquid fire. And as the ship rolled, and the water washed impetuously across her decks, the dark planking gleamed with millions of tiny fairy-like stars, which waxed and waned with every oscillation of the vessel. The fore-mast had by this time been made secure, and, it being too dark to work any longer to advantage, the men were busy re-lashing the spars which had been cast adrift in the process of overhauling and selecting those most suitable for jury-masts. Mr Bowles, who had hurried up from the saloon after swallowing the merest apology for a dinner, had charge of the deck; and Captain Staunton joining him, the pair began to discuss the future with its plans and probabilities. Two days later saw the Galatea making her way to the northward and eastward under a very respectable jury barque-rig, which enabled her to show her fore-topmast stay-sail, reefed fore-sail, and double-reefed fore-topsail on the fore-mast; a main topsail with topgallant-sail over it on the spar which did duty for a main-mast; and a reefed mizen set upon the jib-boom, which had been rigged in, passed aft, and set on end, properly stayed, with its heel stepped down through the hole in the poop from which the mizen-mast had erstwhile sprung. The gale had blown itself out; the sea was rapidly going down; the wind had hauled round from the westward once more; and the ship was slipping along at the rate of some five knots an hour. The minor damages had all been made good, excepting that done to the saloon skylight by the fall of the mizen-mast, and upon this job the carpenter, who was an ambitious man in his own way and not altogether devoid of taste, was taxing his skill to the utmost in an effort to make the new skylight both a stronger and a more handsome piece of work than its predecessor. The barometer was slowly but steadily rising; and everything seemed to point in the direction of fine weather. Lucky was it for our voyagers that such was the case. The passengers had by this time got over their recent alarm, and were settling back into their old ways. Even the impatient and discontented Dale seemed to have got over to a great extent his annoyance at the delay which the loss of the masts involved; and, catching the contagion of the good spirits which animated the rest of the party, was actually betrayed into an effort or two to make himself agreeable that evening at the dinner-table. So amiable was this generally irritable individual that he positively listened with equanimity to the plans which Fortescue and Evelin—the latter with a broad patch of plaster across his brow—were discussing relative to a properly organised sporting excursion into the Cordilleras—or Andes, as they indifferently termed them, much to the perplexity of Brook—nor did he allow himself to show any signs of annoyance when the last-named individual sought to ruffle his (Dale’s) feathers, as he elegantly termed it, by urging him to join the expedition; on the contrary, to the secret but carefully concealed consternation of Rex and Lance, the prime movers in the matter, Mr Dale seemed more than half disposed to yield to Brook’s jesting entreaties that he would make one of the party. It almost seemed as though this intensely selfish and egotistical individual were at last becoming ashamed of his own behaviour and had resolved upon an attempt to improve it. Dinner over, the ladies retired to the poop to witness the sunset, Rex and Lance accompanying them; while Dale and Brook remained below, lingering over their wine. “Oh, how refreshing this cool evening breeze is, after the closeness and heat of the saloon!” exclaimed Violet as, leaning on Rex Fortescue’s arm, she gazed astern where the sun was just sinking out of sight beneath the purple horizon, leaving behind him a cloudless sky which glowed in his track with purest gold and rose tints, merging insensibly into a clear ultramarine, deepening in tone as the eye travelled up to the zenith and thence downward toward the eastern quarter where, almost before the upper rim of the sun’s golden disc had sunk out of sight, a great star beamed out from the velvety background, glowing with that soft mellow effulgence which seems peculiar to southern skies. “Yes,” responded Rex, “it is cool and decidedly pleasant. Do you not think it is almost too cool, however, to be braved without a shawl or wrap of some kind after being cooped up for an hour in that roasting saloon. I cannot think why it should have been so warm this evening; to my mind it was hotter even than when we were crossing the line on the outward voyage.” Blanche and Lance, who were standing near enough to overhear these remarks, were also of opinion that it had been quite uncomfortably warm below, and the two gentlemen, who by this time had arrived at that stage of intimacy with the ladies which seemed to justify them in their own eyes for assuming an occasional dictatorial air toward their fair companions, forthwith insisted on returning below to seek for shawls or wraps of some kind. “Phew! it is like walking into a Turkish bath to come in here,” exclaimed Rex, as he passed through the saloon doors; “and what a peculiar smell!” “Yes,” assented Lance. “Smells like oil or grease of some kind. I expect the steward has spilled some lamp-oil down in the lazarette, and the heat is causing the odour to rise. I hope it will pass off before we turn-in to-night, for it is decidedly objectionable.” “Do you know, Miss Lascelles,” said Lance, as he settled himself comfortably in a chair by that young lady’s side, after carefully enveloping her in a soft fleecy wrap, “I have an idea in connection with that touching story you told me the other night respecting your uncle’s loss of his wife and infant son.” “Have you, indeed?” said Blanche. “And pray, what is it, Mr Evelin?” “Simply this,” replied Lance. “I have an impression—almost a conviction—that your cousin is living, and that I can put my hand upon him when required.” “Oh, Mr Evelin! what is this you say?” exclaimed Blanche eagerly. “Have you, indeed, met with anyone in the course of your wanderings, whose history is such that you believe him to be my dear little long-lost cousin, Dick? I do not think you would speak heedlessly or without due consideration upon such a subject; and if your supposition should be correct, and you can furnish a clue to the discovery of my missing relatives, you will give new life to my uncle, and lay us all under such an obligation as we shall never be able to repay.” “Do not place too much confidence in the idea that it would be quite impossible to repay even such an obligation as the one of which you speak,” said Lance in a low and meaning tone which somehow caused Blanche’s cheek to flush and her heart to flutter a little. “You are right in supposing,” he continued, “that I would not make such an assertion without due consideration. I have thought much upon the story you confided to me; and, comparing it with another which I have also heard, I am of opinion that I have discovered a clue which is worth following up, if only for the satisfaction of ascertaining whether it be a true or a false one. If true, your poor aunt is without doubt long since dead; but your cousin is still alive, and—there he stands!” pointing to Bob, who was in the waist leaning musingly over the lee rail. “Where?” asked Blanche, looking quite bewildered. “There,” replied Evelin, again pointing to Bob. “If my supposition is correct, that lad Bob is your cousin, Miss Lascelles.” “Impossible!” exclaimed Blanche. “Oh, Mr Evelin, tell me:—What has led you to think so?” “I will,” answered Lance. “But I hope the idea is not very distressing to you. It is true that the lad’s present position is—well, not perhaps exactly worthy of the cousin of—” “Oh no; do not say that, Mr Evelin, I beg,” interrupted Blanche. “I was not thinking of that in the least. If Bob indeed prove to be my cousin, I shall certainly not be ashamed of him—quite the contrary; but you took me so completely by surprise. I have ever pictured my lost cousin as a chubby little flaxen-haired baby boy, from always having heard him so spoken of, I suppose; and I had forgotten for the moment that, if alive, he must necessarily have grown into a young man. But let me hear why you have come to think that Robert may be my cousin; I am all curiosity and impatience—woman-like, you see—in the presence of a mystery.” “Well,” said Lance, “you doubtless remember that on one occasion I remarked upon the striking resemblance he bears to you; and, I might have added, the still more striking resemblance between him and your uncle, Sir Richard. My somewhat bungling remark, as I at the time considered it, led to your relating to me first the history of your friend Bob, and then that of your uncle’s loss. As I listened to you, the idea dawned upon me that Bob and your lost cousin might possibly be one and the same individual I got the lad to tell me his story, which was naturally somewhat more full and circumstantial than your own sketch; and comparing dates and so on, I have been led to the conclusion that he may indeed prove to be Sir Richard’s son. In the first place, his age, which of course can only be approximately guessed at, is about the same as your cousin’s would be, if alive. Next, there is the very extraordinary likeness, almost too striking, I think, to be merely accidental; and lastly, the clothes he wore when found, and which are still in existence, I understand, are marked with the initials R.L., which may stand for Richard Lascelles, the name, as I understood you, which your cousin bore.” At this moment Captain Staunton made his appearance at the head of the saloon staircase, and calling to the chief mate, said— “Mr Bowles, pass the word for the carpenter to come aft to the saloon at once, if you please. Let him look smart.” The skipper then disappeared below again; but not before the passengers, who were all by this time on the poop, had had time to observe that his features wore a somewhat anxious expression. The word was passed; and Chips, who was on the forecastle smoking his pipe, at once came shambling aft. At the head of the companion-way he encountered the steward, who went up to Mr Bowles, said a word or two to him in a low tone of voice, and then returned below again. Mr Bowles nodded; stepped quietly down to the main dock, and put his head inside the door of the deck-house wherein Mr Dashwood was lodged; and in another moment the second mate came out, followed the chief up to the poop, and took charge of the deck; Mr Bowles immediately proceeding below. No one but Lance appeared to take any particular notice of these movements, so quietly were they executed; and if he suspected that anything was wrong he took care not to show it, but went on chatting with Blanche upon the same subject as before. It may be, however, that his thoughts wandered a little from the matter in hand, for once or twice he halted and hesitated somewhat in his speech, and seemed to forget what he was talking about. A quarter of an hour passed away; and then Captain Staunton, followed by the chief mate, came on deck. They walked as far as the break of the poop together, and then Mr Bowles gave the word to “pipe all hands aft!” (“There is something amiss,” thought Lance.) In less than a minute the men were all mustered in the waist of the ship, waiting wonderingly to hear what the skipper had to say, for it was perfectly evident that Captain Staunton was about to address them. When the men were all assembled the captain turned to the passengers on the poop, and said— “Ladies and gentlemen, have the goodness to come a little nearer me, if you please; what I have to say concerns all hands alike—those in the saloon as well as those in the forecastle.” The passengers moved forward as requested, Lance taking Blanche’s hand upon his arm and giving it a little reassuring squeeze as he did so. Captain Staunton then turned himself so that he could be heard by all, and began— “My friends, I have called you round me in order to communicate to you all a piece of very momentous intelligence. It is of a somewhat trying nature; and therefore, before I go further, I must ask you to listen to me patiently, to obey orders implicitly, and above all, to preserve coolness and presence of mind. With these, I have not a doubt that we can successfully battle with the difficulty; without them it will be impossible for us to work effectively, and the consequences must necessarily be proportionately grave.” He paused a moment; and then, seeing that every one appeared to be perfectly cool and steady, he added— “I greatly regret to say I have some cause for suspicion that fire has broken out somewhere below—steady, now! steady, lads; wait and hear all I have to say—I repeat I have a suspicion that fire may have broken out on board; the temperature of the saloon is unaccountably hot, and there is a strange smell below which may or may not be caused by fire. It is necessary that the matter should be looked into at once; and I ask every one here to lend me their best assistance. In case of my surmise proving correct keep cool and work your hardest, every man of you, and then there is no reason whatever why we should not come easily out of the scrape. Mr Bowles and Mr Dashwood will each take charge of his own watch. Mr Dashwood, get the fire-engine rigged and under weigh. Mr Bowles, rig the force-pump, get the deck-tubs filled, and arrange your watch in a line along the deck with all the buckets you can muster. Gentlemen,” turning to the passengers, “be so good as to keep out of the men’s way, and hold yourselves in readiness to assist in whatever manner may be required. Now lads, go quietly to your posts, and do your duty like Englishmen.” <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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