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Mr. Trunnell, Mate of the Ship 'Pirate'

<h2 id="id00270" style="margin-top: 4em">V</h2> When I turned out for the mid-watch that night, Trunnell met me at the door of the forward cabin. It was pitch dark on deck, and the wind had died away almost entirely. The canvas had been rolled up, as it had begun to slat heavily against the masts with the heave from a long, quick swell that ran rapidly from the southward. The running gear was not new, and Trunnell was a careful mate, so the ship was down to her upper topsails on the fore and mizzen and a main t'gallant on mainmast, the courses fore and after being clewed up and left hanging. "He's out for trouble to-night," said the little mate. "Blast him if he ain't touching the boose again." "Who, the skipper?" I asked. "He's been below twice during the watch, an' each time he's gettin' worse an' worse. There he comes now to the edge of the poop." I looked and saw our old man rolling easily across the deck to the poop rail. There he stopped and bawled out loudly,— "Lay aft to the main-brace." The men on watch hesitated a moment and then came crowding aft and began to cast off the weather-brace from its belaying-pin. It was so dark I couldn't see how many men were there, but I noticed Bill the quartermaster, and as I stood waiting to see what would happen, a little sailor by the name of Johnson, who had a face like a monkey's and legs set wide apart, so they never touched clear up to his waist, spoke out to a long, lean Yankee man who jostled me in the darkness. "Don't pull a pound on the bleeding line. The old cock's drunk, an' we ain't here to be hazed around decks like a pack o' damned boys." The skipper, however, didn't wait to see if his order was carried out, but came down from the poop and asked for Trunnell and myself. We went with him into the forward cabin, and he motioned us to sit down. "Did you ever see such a lot o' confounded fools?" he said. "Here I calls for to take a pull in the main-brace, and the whole crowd of duff-eaters come layin' aft as if the skipper of a ship should blow them all off to drinks. Blast me, Trunnell, I'd 'a' thought you'd get them into better discipline. It's come to a fine state o' things when the whole crew turns to every time I get thirsty. But never mind, sing out as you says, and tell the steward what kind o' pisin you'll mix with your blood current. Mine's the same old thing." "It's my watch below now," said Mr. Trunnell, "an' if you'll excuse me, I'll turn in. The third mate's gone below some time ago." "Oh, the boat's all right. It's dead calm, and she can't hurt herself floating around this ocean," said the old man. "You can take a drink before you go. Steward! Ahoy there, steward!" "Yessir," said that active mulatto, springing out of his cabin. "Yessir; I hears yo', cap'n." "What'll you have?" asked Thompson, addressing the mate. Trunnell scratched his big bushy head a moment, and then suggested that a bottle of the ginger pop which the steward had in the pantry would do for him. "Hell'n blazes, man, take a drink o' something," cried Thompson, turning upon him with his fierce eyes. "What's the matter with you?" "Nothin', only I drinks what I drinks or else I don't drink at all," said Trunnell. "Ye asked me what I'd have, an' I says it." "All right, Shorty," said Thompson, in mock gravity. "You drinks what you drinks. What's yours, Rolling?" "As I've just turned to, a little soda will do for me," I answered. "I'd rather take my grog in the morning at regular hours." Thompson let his hand fall upon the table with a crash, and then sat motionless, looking from one to the other, his long, beak-like nose twitching convulsively. "Steward," said he, with a nasal drawl which made his hooked nose wrinkle, "get Mr. Trunnell a drink o' ginger pop, or milk, if he prefers it, and then, steward, you may get Mr. Rolling a drink o' sody water. It's hot, but I reckon it'll fizz." "Yessah. What's yourn, cap'n?" "You don't think there's a priest aboard here, do you, steward, hey?" "No, sah, 'tain't likely, but I ken find out, sah. Shall I get yo' drink fust, sah?" "Well, I dunno, I dunno, steward; I can't think what I kin take what won't offend these gentlemen. You might see first if there's a priest, an' if you find one you can bring me a pint or so o' holy water. If it's too strong for you," said he, turning toward Trunnell and myself, "I can get the steward to dilute it for me, hey?" Trunnell made no remark at this. The steward brought in our drinks and informed the skipper loudly that there was no one in the crew who had held holy orders. "Never mind, then, steward," said Thompson. "I'll wait till it rains and get it fresh from heaven." In a moment Trunnell rose and went into his room with a rough "good night." Thompson arose and passed through the door in the bulkhead, and I went on deck to take charge. The night was quiet, and I leaned over the poop rail, looking into the water alongside, which appeared as black as ink. The Pirate had little or no headway, for it was now dead calm. Forward at the bends a sudden flare of phosphorescent fire would burn for a moment alongside when the heavy ship rolled deeply and soused her channels under. The southerly swell seemed to roll quickly as if there were something behind it, and the topsails slatted fore and aft with loud flaps as they backed and filled with the motion. It was a bad night for wearing out gear, and I was glad Trunnell had rolled up the lighter canvas. Chafing gear had been scarce aboard, and nothing is so aggravating to a mate as to have his cotton or spars cut by useless rolling in a quiet seaway. If sails can be kept full of wind, they will last well enough with care; but let them slat for a few days, and there is more useless wear than would take place in a month of ordinary weather, with no headway to pay for it. While I looked into the dark water I noticed a long thin streak of fire moving slowly alongside. It wavered and snaked along, growing brighter at times and then dying out almost completely. Suddenly it turned at the fore channels and came slowly aft. I looked harder at the black surface below me and tried to see what caused the disturbance. In an instant I beheld a huge shadow, blacker than the surrounding water, outlined faintly with the phosphorescent glow. It was between twenty and thirty feet in length, and had the form of a shark. The grim monster swam slowly aft and rounded the stern, then sank slowly out of sight into the blackness beneath. There is something so uncanny in the silent watchfulness of these giants of the deep that a sailor always feels unpleasantly disposed toward them. I thought how ghastly would be the ending of any one who should get overboard that night. The sudden splash, the warm water about the body, and the heads of the fellows at the rail starting to pull the unfortunate aboard. Then the sudden grisly clutch from below, and the dragging down out of sight and sound forever. I began to actually reckon the amount of arsenic I should put into a chunk of beef to trick the giant at his last meal. "Sharp lightning on port bow, sir," came the news from the forward; for, although I was supposed to be able to see well enough, I had taught the men of my watch to sing out at everything unusual, more to be certain that they were awake than anything else. I looked up from the black depths and my unpleasant reflections, and gazed to the southward. As I did so, several sharp flashes showed upon the dark horizon. It looked as if something were raising fast, and I stepped below a moment to see the glass. It was down to twenty-eight. Going on deck at once, I bawled for the watch to clew down the main-topgallantsail. In a moment the men were swarming up the main rigging, and the sail was let go by the run, the yard settling nicely, while the clews, buntlines, and leachlines were hauled down in unison. "Mizzen topsail!" I cried. The watch came up the poop ladders with a rush and tramping of feet that sounded ominously loud for the work on so quiet a night. The yelling of the men at the braces coupled with the tramping aroused Captain Thompson in spite of his liquor, and he came up the after-companion to see what was the matter. "Hey, there, hey!" he bawled. "What are you doing, Rolling? Are you coming to an anchor already? Have I been asleep six months, and is this the Breakwater ahead? No? Well, do you expect to get to port without canvas on the ship? Split me, but I thought you knew how to sail a boat when you signed on as mate. Don't come any of these grandmother tricks on me, hey? I won't have it. Don't make a fool of yourself before these men. Get that topsail up again quicker'n hell can scorch a feather, or I'll be taking a hand, see! I'll be taking a hand. Jump lively, you dogs!" he roared, as he finished. The topsail was swayed up again, the men silent and sullen with this extra work. Then came the order for the t'gallantsail, and by the time that was mastheaded, the skipper followed with orders for royals, fore and aft. During the time these affairs were going on upon the ship, the southern horizon was lit up again and again by vivid flashes. It appeared to sink into a deeper gloom afterward, but in another moment we heard the distant boom of thunder. Before we could get the topgallantsail set there was a blinding flash off the bow-port, followed by a deep rolling peal of thunder. I was standing in the waist and sprang to Trunnell's room— "All hands!" I bawled. Then I rushed for the mizzen rigging, yelling for the men to clew down the t'gallantsail and let the topsail halyards go by the run. At the cry for all hands the men tumbled out, looking around to see what had happened. It was dead still, and the only sounds were the cries of the men on deck to those aloft, and the rattling of gear. Trunnell was on deck in a moment, and as he rushed aft I went for the main rigging with the intention of saving the upper topsail if I could. It was quick work getting up those ratlines, but even as I went I heard a deepening murmur from the southward. The yard came down by the run as I gained the top, owing to Trunnell having cast off everything, trusting that we might get some stops on the sail before too late. I heard the skipper roaring out orders to "hurry there," followed by curses at the slowness of the work. He appeared to realize now what was happening, and it sobered him. As I crawled out to starboard with a couple of hands, Jackson of Trunnell's watch and Davis of mine, the murmur to the southward swelled rapidly in volume. I glanced into the blackness, and as I did so there was a blinding flash. My eyes seemed to be burned out with the brightness, and a crashing roar thundered in my ears. Instantly afterward I heard Trunnell's voice:— "Hard up the wheel. Hard up, for God's sake!" Then, with a rush that made the mast creak with the strain and laid us slowly over amid a thunder of thrashing canvas, the hurricane struck the ship. There was nothing to do but hold on with both hands and feet. Jackson, who was outside of me, gripped the jackstay and threw his feet around the yard-arm which was springing and jumping away at a terrific rate with the shock of the cracking topsail. I did likewise, and noticed that the canvas was bellying forward, which showed that we were not aback. If we were, I knew our lives were only questions of seconds. All sounds from below were silenced in the roar about us, but flash after flash, following rapidly in succession, showed me momentary glimpses of the deck. We were far over the water as the Pirate was laying down with her topgallant rail beneath the sea. The mizzen topsail had disappeared, as though made of vapor, leaving the mizzen clear. Forward, the two topsails and fore topmast staysail were holding, but between the flashes the upper canvas melted away like a puff of steam, the ragged ends flying and thrashing into long ribbons to leeward. Three men were on the yard when I looked at first, and then, almost instantly afterward, the yard was bare. Whether they had gone overboard I could not tell, but the thought made me look to myself while I might. Pulling myself along the jackstay until I reached the bunt, I managed to grasp a line that was tailing taut downward toward the deck. This I grasped quickly with both hands, and bawling with all my might to Jackson and Davis to follow, I swung clear of the yard. Looking below, the sea appeared as white as milk in the ghastly light, with the ship's outline now dimly discernible in contrast. I breathed a prayer that the line was fast amidships and slid down. There was a terrific ripping instantly overhead, and I knew the topsail had gone. The line bowed out with the wind, but led toward the deck near the mast, and in a moment my feet struck the fife rail. I was safe for the present. Jackson followed close upon me, but Davis was unable to get the line. He was never seen again. Making my way aft by the aid of the weather rail, I reached the poop and climbed up the steps. The wind nearly swept me from my feet, but I managed to crawl aft to where I could make out by the flashes the forms of Trunnell and the skipper. "She'll go off soon," yelled the mate in my ear. "Nothin' gone forrads yet, hey?" "Only the canvas and a couple of men," I yelled in reply. The wind began to draw further and further aft, showing that the ship was gradually gathering headway in spite of her list to starboard. Soon she began to right herself in the storm-torn sea. All was white as snow about us, and the whiteness gave a ghastly light in the gloom. I could now make out the maintopsail, dimly, from where I stood, and the outline of the hull forward. Evidently the fore lower topsail was holding still. Jackson, who was tall and strong, and who was an American by adoption, was put to the lee wheel, as his knowledge of English made him quick to obey. John, a Swede, built very broad with stooping shoulders, and Erikson, a Norwegian with a great blond head and powerful neck, grasped the weather spokes. Bill, the other quartermaster, had not shown up, and we found later that he was one of the missing from the fore topsail yard. Trunnell and Captain Thompson called the men aft to the poop, and away we went into the gloom ahead. She was doing a good fifteen knots under her two, or rather one storm topsail; for we found out afterward that the fore had gone almost instantly after she had payed off. The water was roaring white astern, and the wind blew so hard that it was impossible to face it for more than a moment. The sea was making fast, and I began to wonder how long the vessel could run before the great heave which I knew must soon follow us. Thompson stood bareheaded near the binnacle, and roared to the men to be careful and keep her steady. It was plain he knew nothing of seamanship, but could tell that a thing must be done well after the mate had given orders. He was apparently perfectly sober now, and as cool as though on the beach. It was evident the man feared nothing and could command. I saw that I could be of little use aft, so I started forward, hoping to be able to keep a lookout for a shift of wind and get some gear ready to heave the vessel to. On reaching the main deck, things showed to be in a hopeless mess. Everything movable had gone to leeward when she was hove down, the running rigging was lying about, and no attempt had been made to coil it. The sea, which had been over the lee rail, had washed that on the starboard side into long tangles which would take hours to clear. I stumbled over a mass of rope which must have been the fore topsail brace. I saw a figure moving through the gloom along the bulwarks and called for the man to lay aft and coil down some of the gear. The man, however, paid no attention to me, but made his way into the forward cabin, and as the door opened and the light from within flashed out I recognized the third mate. A man named Hans answered my hail, and I started forward again. The sea by this time was running rapidly. The ship was so deep that I knew she would not keep her deck clear, and I started to gain the topgallant forecastle where the height would make it safer. Just as I gained the highest step, a tremendous sea following broke clear along the top of the rail in the waist, and went forward a good five feet above her bulwarks, the entire length of the main deck. It was terrific. The thundering crash and smothering jar nearly paralyzed me for a moment. In the dim glare I could see rails, stanchions, boats, rigging, all in the furious white rush. The Pirate settled under the load and seemed to stop perfectly still. Then another huge sea went roaring over her and blotted out everything to the edge of the forecastle head. I stood looking down at the main deck in amazement. How long would the hatches stand that strain? Everything was out of sight under water, save the top of the forward house. I looked up into the roaring void above me and breathed a parting prayer, for it seemed that the ship's end must be at hand. Then I was aware that she was broaching to, and I grabbed the rail to meet the sea. Every stitch of canvas had gone out of her now, and nothing but the bare yards were left aloft. How they ever stood the frightful strain was a miracle and spoke volumes for the Yankee riggers who fitted her out. The wind bore more and more abeam, and under the pressure she heeled over, letting the great load on her decks roar off in a torrent to leeward, over the topgallant rail and waterways. A sea struck her so heavily that the larger portion of it went thundering clear across her forty feet of deck, landing bodily to leeward as though the ship were below the surface. I could hear a bawling coming faintly from the poop and knew Trunnell was trying to heave her to. Something fluttered from the mizzen rigging and disappeared into the night. Part of a tarpaulin had gone, but it was a chance to get another piece large enough on the ratlines to hold her head up. I tried to make my way aft again to help, for I saw it was about our only hope, and started to crawl along the weather topgallant rail. Then a form sprang from the black recess under the forecastle head and seized me tightly around the body. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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