Homeward bound, or, The chase a tale of the sea |
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 | CHAPTER VIII. Homeward bound, or, The chase |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,
Hushing its billowy breast—
The quiet of that moment, too, is thine;
It breathes of him who keeps
The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.
Bryant.
It was chilling to meet with this unexpected and sudden
check at so critical a moment. The first impression was,
that some one of the hundreds of Arabs, who were known
to be near, had laid a hand on the launch; but this fear
vanished on examination. No one was visible, and the side
of the boat was untouched. The boat-hook could find no
impediment in the water, and it was not possible that they
could again be aground. Raising the boat-hook over his
head, Paul soon detected the obstacle. The line used by the
barbarians in their efforts to move the ship was stretched
from the forecastle to the reef, and it lay against the boat's
mast. It was severed with caution; but the short end slipped
from the hand of Mr. Sharp, who cut the rope, and fell
into the water. The noise was heard, and the watch on the
deck of the ship made a rush towards her side.
No time was to be lost; but Paul, who still held the outer
end of the line, pulled on it vigorously, hauling the boat
swiftly from the ship, and, at the same time, a little in advance.
As soon as this was done, he dropped the line and
seized the tiller-ropes, in order to keep the launch's head in
a direction between the two dangers—the ship and the reef.
This was not done without some little noise; the footfall on
the roof, and the plash of the water when it received the
line, were audible; and even the element washing under the
bows of the boat was heard. The Arabs of the ship called
to those on the reef, and the latter answered. They took
the alarm, and awoke their comrades, for, knowing as they
did, that the party of Captain Truck was still at liberty, they
apprehended an attack.
The clamour and uproar that succeeded were terrific.
Muskets were discharged at random, and the noises from
the camp echoed the cries and tumult from the vessel and
the rocks. Those who had been sleeping in the boat were
rudely awaked, and Saunders joined in the cries through
sheer fright. But the two gentlemen on deck soon caused
their companions to understand their situation, and to observe
a profound silence.
“They do not appear to see us,” whispered Paul to Eve,
as he bent over, so as to put his head at an open window;
“and a return of the breeze may still save us. There is a
great alarm among them and no doubt they know we are
not distant; but so long as they cannot tell precisely where,
we are comparatively safe.—Their cries do us good service
as land-marks, and you may be certain I shall not approach
the spots were they are heard. Pray Heaven for a wind,
dearest Miss Effingham, pray Heaven for a wind!”
Eve silently, but fervently did pray, while the young
man gave all his attention again to the boat.—As soon as
they were clear of the lee of the ship, the baffling puffs
returned, and there were several minutes of a steady
little breeze, during which the boat sensibly moved away
from the noises of the ship. On the reef, however, the
clamour still continued, and the gentlemen were soon satisfied
that the Arabs had stationed themselves along the
whole line of rocks, wherever the latter were bare at high
water, as was now nearly the case, to the northward as
well as to the southward of the opening.
“The tide is still entering by the inlet,” said Paul, “and
we have its current to contend with. It is not strong, but
a trifle is important at a moment like this!”
“Would it not be possible to reach the bank inside of
us, and to shove the boat ahead by means of these light
spars?” asked Mr. Sharp.
The suggestion was a good one; but Paul was afraid
the noise in the water might reach the Arabs, and expose
the party to their fire, as the utmost distance between the
reef and the inner bank at that particular spot did not
exceed a hundred fathoms. At length another puff of air
from the land pressed upon their sails, and the water once
beat hard, and as he managed the tiller-lines, he strained
his eyes uselessly in order to penetrate the massive-looking
darkness.
“Surely,” he said to Mr. Sharp, who stood constantly
at his elbow, “these cries are directly ahead of us! We
are steering for the Arabs!”
“We have got wrong in the dark then. Lose not a
moment to keep the boat away, for here to leeward there
are noises.”
As all this was self-evident, though confused in his
reckoning, Paul put up the helm, and the boat fell off
nearly dead before the wind. Her motion being now comparatively
rapid, a few minutes produced an obvious change
in the direction of the different groups of clamorous Arabs,
though they also brought a material lessening in the force
of the air.
“I have it!” said Paul, grasping his companion almost
convulsively by the arm. “We are at the inlet, and
heading, I trust, directly through it! You hear the cries
on our right; they come from the end of the northern reef,
while these on our left are from the end of the southern.
The sounds from the ship, the direction of the land breeze,
our distance—all confirm it, and Providence again befriends
us!”
“It will be a fearful error should we be mistaken!”
“We cannot be deceived, since nothing else will explain
the circumstances. There!—the boat scels the ground-swell—a
blessed and certain sign that we are at the inlet!
Would that this tide were done, or that we had more
wind!”
Fifteen feverish minutes succeeded. At moments the
puffs of night-air would force the boat ahead, and then
again it was evident by the cries that she fell astern under
the influence of an adverse current. Neither was it easy
to keep her on the true course, for the slightest variation
from the direct line in a tide's way causes a vessel to sheer.
To remedy the latter danger, Paul was obliged to watch his
helm closely, having no other guide than the noisy and
continued vociferations of the Arabs.
“These liftings of the boat are full of hope,” resumed
Paul; “I think, too, that they increase.”
“I perceive but little difference, though I would gladly
see all you wish.”
“I am certain the swell increases, and that the boat
rises and falls more frequently. You will allow there is a
swell?”
“Quite obviously: I perceived it before we kept the boat
away. This variable air is cruelly tantalizing!”
“Sir George Templemore—Mr. Powis,” said a soft voice
at a window beneath them.
“Miss Effingham!” said Paul, so eager that he suffered
the tiller-line to escape him.
“These are frightful cries!—Shall we never be rid of
them!”
“If it depended on me—on either of us—they should distress
you no more. The boat is slowly entering the inlet,
but has to struggle with a head-tide. The wind baffles, and
is light, or in ten minutes we should be out of danger.”
“Out of this danger, but only to encounter another!”
“Nay, I do not think much of the risk of the ocean in
so stout a boat. At the most, we may be compelled to cut
away the roof, which makes our little bark somewhat clumsy
in appearance, though it adds infinitely to its comfort. I
think we shall soon get the trades, before which our launch,
with its house even, will be able to make good weather.”
“We are certainly nearer those cries than before!”
Paul felt his cheek glow, and his hand hurriedly sought
the tiller-line, for the boat had sensibly sheered towards the
northern reef. A puff of air helped to repair his oversight,
and all in the launch soon perceived that the cries were
gradually but distinctly drawing more aft.
“The current lessens,” said Paul, “and it is full time;
for it must be near high water. We shall soon feel it in our
favour, when all will be safe!”
“This is indeed blessed tidings! and no gratitude can
ever repay the debt we owe you, Mr. Powis!”
The puffs of air now required all the attention of Paul,
for they again became variable, and at last the wind drew
directly ahead in a continued current for half an hour. As
and the boat began to stir the water under her bows.
“The shift was so sudden, that we cannot be mistaken in
its direction,” Paul remarked; “besides, those cries still
serve as pilots. Never was uproar more agreeable.”
“I feel the bottom with this spar!” said Mr. Sharp suddenly.
“Merciful Providence protect and shield the weak and
lovely—”
“Nay, I feel it no longer: we are already in deeper
water.”
“It was the rock on which the seamen stood when we
entered!” Paul exclaimed, breathing more freely. “I like
those voices settling more under our lee, too. We will keep
this tack” (the boat's head was to the northward) “until we
hit the reef, unless warned off again by the cries.”
The boat now moved at the rate of five miles in the hour,
or faster than a man walks, even when in quick motion. Its
rising and falling denoted the long heavy swell of the ocean,
and the wash of water began to be more and more audible,
as she settled into the sluggish swells.
“That sounds like the surf on the reef,” continued Paul
“every thing denotes the outside of the rocks.”
“God send it prove so!”
“That is clearly a sea breaking on a rock! It is awkwardly
near, and to leeward, and yet it is sweet to the ear
as music.”
The boat stood steadily on, making narrow escapes from
jutting rocks, as was evinced by the sounds, and once or
twice by the sight even; but the cries shifted gradually, and
were soon quite astern. Paul knew that the reef trended
east soon after passing the inlet, and he felt the hope that
they were fast leaving its western extremity, or the part that
ran the farthest into the ocean; after effecting which, there
would be more water to leeward, his own course being
nearly north, as he supposed.
The cries drew still farther aft, and more distant, and the
sullen wash of the surf was no longer so near as to seem
fresh and tangible.
“Hand me the lead and line, that lie at the foot of the
to deepen, and the seas have become more regular.”
He hove a cast, and found six fathoms of water; a proof,
he thought, that they were quite clear of the reef.
“Now, dear Mr. Effingham, Miss Effingham, Mademoiselle,”
he cried cheerfully, “now I believe we may indeed
deem ourselves beyond the reach of the Arabs, unless a gale
force us again on their inhospitable shores.”
“Is it permitted to speak?” asked Mr. Effingham, who
had maintained a steady but almost breathless silence.
“Freely: we are quite beyond the reach of the voice;
and this wind, though blowing from a quarter I do not like,
is carrying us away from the wretches rapidly.”
It was not safe in the darkness, and under the occasional
heaves of the boat, for the others to come on the roof; but
they opened the shutters, and looked out upon the gloomy
water with a sense of security they could not have deemed
possible for people in their situation. The worst was over
for the moment, and there is a relief in present escape that
temporarily conceals future dangers. They could converse
without the fear of alarming their enemies, and Paul spoke
encouragingly of their prospects. It was his intention to
stand to the northward until he reached the wreck, when,
failing to get any tidings of their friends, they might make
the best of their way to the nearest island to leeward.
With this cheering news the party below again disposed
themselves to sleep, while the two young men maintained
their posts on the roof.
“We must resemble an ark,” said Paul laughing, as he
seated himself on a box near the stem of the boat, “and I
should think would frighten the Arabs from an attack, had
they even the opportunity to make one. This house we
carry will prove a troublesome companion, should we encounter
a heavy and a head sea.”
“You say it may easily be gotten rid of.”
“Nothing would be easier, the whole apparatus being
made to ship and unship. Before the wind we might carry
it a long time, and it would even help us along; but on a
wind it makes us a little top-heavy, besides giving us a leeward
set. In the event of rain, or of bad weather of any
females, and I think we had better keep it as long as possible.”
The half hour of breeze already mentioned sufficed to
carry the boat some distance to the northward, when it
failed, and the puffs from the land returned. Paul supposed
they were quite two miles from the inlet, and, trying the
lead, he found ten fathoms of water, a proof that they had
also gradually receded from the shore. Still nothing but a
dense darkness surrounded them, though there could no
longer be the smallest doubt of their being in the open ocean.
For near an hour the light baffling air came in puffs, as
before, during which time the launch's head was kept, as
near as the two gentlemen could judge, to the northward,
making but little progress; and then the breeze drew gradually
round into one quarter, and commenced blowing with
a steadiness that they had not experienced before that night.
Paul suspected this change, though he had no certain means
of knowing it; for as soon as the wind baffled, his course
had got to be conjectural again. As the breeze freshened,
the speed of the boat necessarily augmented, though she was
kept always on a wind; and after half an hour's progress,
the gentlemen became once more uneasy as to the direction.
“It would be a cruel and awkward fate to hit the reef
again,” said Paul; “and yet I cannot be sure that we are
not running directly for it.”
“We have compasses: let us strike a light and look into
the matter.”
“It were better had we done this more early, for a light
might now prove dangerous, should we really have altered
the course in this intense darkness. There is no remedy,
however, and the risk must be taken. I will first try the
lead again.”
A cast was made, and the result was two and a half
fathoms of water.
“Put the helm down!” cried Paul, springing to the sheet:
“lose not a moment, but down with the helm!”
The boat did not work freely under her imperfect sail
and with the roof she carried, and a moment of painful
anxiety succeeded. Paul managed, however, to get a part
of the sail aback, and he felt more secure.
“The boat has stern-way: shift the helm, Mr. Sharp.”
This was done, the yard was dipped, and the two young
men felt a relief almost equal to that they had experienced
on clearing the inlet, when they found the launch again
drawing ahead, obedient to her rudder.
“We are near something, reef or shore,” said Paul,
standing with the lead-line in his hand, in readiness to
heave. “I think it can hardly be the first, as we hear no
Arabs.”
Waiting a few minutes, he hove the lead, and, to his infinite
joy, got three fathoms fairly.
“That is good news. We are hauling off the danger,
whatever it may be,” he said, as he felt the mark: “and
now for the compass.”
Saunders was called, a light was struck, and the compasses
were both examined. These faithful but mysterious
guides, which have so long served man while they have
baffled all his ingenuity to discover the sources of their
power, were, as usual, true to their governing principle.
The boat was heading north-north-west; the wind was at
north-east, and before they tacked they had doubtless been
standing directly for the beach, from which they could not
have been distant a half quarter of a mile, if so much. A
few more minutes would have carried them into the breakers,
capsized the boat, and most probably drowned all below
the roof, if not those on it.
Paul shuddered as these facts forced themselves on his
attention, and he determined to stand on his present course
for two hours, when daylight would render his return towards
the land without danger.
“This is the trade,” he said, “and it will probably stand.
We have a current to contend with, as well as a head-wind;
but I think we can weather the cape by morning, when we
can get a survey of the wreck by means of the glass. If
we discover nothing, I shall bear up at once for the Cape de
Verds.”
The two gentlemen now took the helm in turns, he who
slept fastening himself to the mast, as a precaution against
being rolled into the sea by the motion of the boat. In fifteen
fathoms water they tacked again, and stood to the east-south-east,
the compass, that the wind stood in the same quarter as before.
The moon rose soon after, and, although the morning
was clouded and lowering, there was then sufficient light to
remove all danger from the darkness. At length this long
and anxious night terminated in the usual streak of day,
which gleamed across the desert.
Paul was at the helm, steering more by instinct than any
thing else, and occasionally nodding at his post; for two
successive nights of watching and a day of severe toil had
overcome his sense of danger, and his care for others.
Strange fancies beset men at such moments; and his busy
imagination was running over some of the scenes of his
early youth, when either his sense or his wandering faculties
made him hear the usual brief, spirited hail of,
“Boat ahoy!”
Paul opened his eyes, felt that the tiller was in his hand,
and was about to close the first again, when the words were
more sternly repeated,
“Boat ahoy!—what craft's that? Answer, or expect a
shot!”
This was plain English, and Paul was wide awake in an
instant. Rubbing his eyes, he saw a line of boats anchored
directly on his weather bow, with a raft of spars riding
astern.
“Hurrah!” shouted the young man. “This is Heaven's
own tidings! Are these the Montauk's?”
“Ay, ay. Who the devil are you?”
The truth is, Captain Truck did not recognize his own
launch in the royal, roof, and jigger. He had never before
seen a boat afloat in such a guise; and in the obscurity of
the hour, and fresh awakened from a profound sleep, like
Paul, his faculties were a little confused. But the latter
soon comprehended the whole matter. He clapped his
helm down, let fly the sheet, and in a minute the launch of
the packet was riding alongside of the launch of the Dane.
Heads were out of the shutters, and every boat gave up
its sleepers, for the cry was general throughout the little
flotilla.
The party just arrived alone felt joy. They found those
whereas the others now learned the extent of the misfortune
that had befallen them. For a few minutes this contrast in
feeling produced an awkward meeting; but the truth soon
brought all down to the same sober level. Captain Truck
received the congratulations of his friends like one in a stupor;
Toast looked amazed as his friend Saunders shook his
hand; and the gentlemen who had been to the wreck met the
cheerful greetings of those who had just escaped the Arabs
like men who fancied the others mad.
We pass over the explanations that followed, as every
one will readily understand them. Captain Truck listened
to Paul like one in a trance, and it was some time after the
young man had done before he spoke. With a wish to
cheer him, he was told of the ample provision of stores that
had been brought off in the launch, of the trade winds that
had now apparently set in, and of the great probability of
their all reaching the islands in safety. Still the old man
made no reply; he got on the roof of his own launch, and
paced backwards and forwards rapidly, heeding nothing.
Even Eve spoke to him unnoticed, and the consolations
offered by her father were not attended to. At length he
stopped suddenly, and called for his mate.
“Mr. Leach?”
“Sir.”
“Here is a category for you!”
“Ay, ay, sir; it's bad enough in its way; still we are
better off than the Danes.”
“You tell me, sir,” turning to Paul, “that these foul
blackguards were actually on the deck of the ship?”
“Certainly, Captain Truck. They took complete possession;
for we had no means of keeping them off.”
“And the ship is ashore?”
“Beyond a question.”
“Bilged?”
“I think not. There is no swell within the reef, and she
lies on sand.”
“We might have spared ourselves the trouble, Leach, of
culling these cursed spars, as if they had been so many
toothpicks.”
“That we might, sir; for they will not now serve as
oven-wood, for want of the oven.”
“A damnable category, Mr. Effingham! I'm glad you
are safe, sir; and you, too, my dear young lady—God bless
you!—God bless you!—It were better the whole line should
be in their power than one like you!”
The old seaman's eyes filled as he shook Eve by the hand,
and for a moment he forgot the ship.
“Mr. Leach?”
“Sir.”
“Let the people have their breakfasts, and bear a hand
about it. We are likely to have a busy morning, sir. Lift
the kedge, too, and let us drift down towards these gentry,
and take a look at them. We have both wind and current
with us now, and shall make quick work of it.”
The kedge was raised, the sails were all set, and, with
the two launches lashed together, the whole line of boats
and spars began to set to the southward at a rate that would
bring them up with the inlet in about two hours.
“This is the course for the Cape de Verds, gentlemen,”
said the captain bitterly. “We shall have to pass before
our own door to go and ask hospitality of strangers. But
let the people get their breakfasts, Mr. Leach; just let the
boys have one comfortable meal before they take to their
oars.”
Eat himself, however, Mr. Truck would not. He chewed
the end of a cigar, and continued walking up and down the
roof.
In half an hour the people had ended their meal, the day
had fairly opened, and the boats and raft had made good
progress.
“Splice the main-brace, Mr. Leach,” said the captain,
“for we are a littled jammed. And you, gentlemen, do me
the favour to step this way for a consultation. This much
is due to your situation.”
Captain Truck assembled his male passengers in the stern
of the Dane's launch, where he commenced the following
address:
“Gentlemen,” he said, “every thing in this world has
its nature and its principles. This truth I hold you all to be
of a traveller is to travel, and see curiosities; the nature of
old men is to think on the past, of a young man to hope for
the future. The nature of a seaman is to stick by his ship,
and of a ship to be treated like a vessel, and not to be ransacked
like a town taken by storm, or a nunnery that is
rifled.—You are but passengers, and doubtless have your
own wishes and occupations, as I have mine. Your wishes
are, beyond question, to be safe in New York among your
friends; and mine are to get the Montauk there too, in as
little time and with as little injury as possible. You have a
good navigator among you; and I now propose that you
take the Montauk's launch, with such stores as are necessary,
and fill away at once for the islands, where, I pray
God, you may all arrive in safety, and that when you reach
America you may find all your relations in good health, and
in no manner uneasy at this little delay. Your effects shall
be safely delivered to your respective orders, should it please
God to put it in the power of the line to honour your drafts.”
“You intend to attempt recapturing the ship!” exclaimed
Paul.
“I do, sir,” returned Mr. Truck, who, having thus far
opened his mind, for the first time that morning gave a
vigorous hem! and set about lighting a cigar.—“We may
do it, gentlemen, or we may not do it. If we do it, you will
hear farther from me; if we fail, why, tell them at home
that we carried sail as long as a stitch would draw.”
The gentlemen looked at each other, the young waiting
in respect for the counsel of the old, the old hesitating in
deference to the pride and feelings of the young.
“We must join you in this enterprise, captain,” said Mr.
Sharp quietly, but with the manner of a man of spirit and
nerve.
“Certainly, certainly,” cried Mr. Monday; “we ought to
make a common affair of it; as I dare say Sir George Templemore
will agree with me in maintaining; the nobility and
gentry are not often backward when their persons are to be
risked.”
The spurious baronet acquiesced in the proposal as readily
as it had been made by him whom he had temporarily deposed;
far from being a dastard.
“This is a serious business,” observed Paul, “and it
ought to be ordered with method and intelligence. If we
have a ship to care for, we have those also who are infinitely
more precious.”
“Very true, Mr. Blunt, very true,” interrupted Mr. Dodge,
a little eagerly. “It is my maxim to let well alone; and I
am certain shipwrecked people can hardly be better off and
more comfortable than we are at this very moment. I dare
say these gallant sailors, if the question was fairly put to
them, would give it by a handsome majority in favour of
things as they are. I am a conservative, captain—and I
think an appeal ought to be made to the ballot-boxes before
we decide on a measure of so much magnitude.”
The occasion was too grave for the ordinary pleasantry,
and this singular proposition was heard in silence, to Mr.
Dodge's great disgust.
“I think it the duty of Captain Truck to endeavour to retake
his vessel,” continued Paul; “but the affair will be
serious, and success is far from certain. The Montauk's
launch ought to be left at a safe distance with all the females,
and in prudent keeping; for any disaster to the boarding
party would probably throw the rest of the boats into the
hands of the barbarians, and endanger the safety of those
left in the launch.—Mr. Effingham and Mr. John Effingham
will of course remain with the ladies.”
The father assented with the simplicity of one who did
not distrust his own motives, but the eagle-shaped features
of his kinsman curled with a cool and sarcastic smile.
“Will you remain in the launch?” the latter asked pointedly,
turning towards Paul.
“Certainly it would be greatly out of character were I
to think of it. My trade is war; and I trust that Captain
Truck means to honour me with the command of one of the
boats.”
“I thought as much, by Jove!” exclaimed the captain,
seizing a hand which he shook with the utmost cordiality.
“I should as soon expect to see the sheet-anchor wink, or
the best-bower give a mournful smile, as to see you duck!
situations. I ask no man to forget his duties to those on
shore on my account; and I fancy that my regular people,
aided by Mr. Blunt, who can really serve me by his knowledge,
will be as likely to do all that can be done as all of
us united. It is not numbers that carry ships as much as
spirit, promptitude, and resolution.”
“But the question has not yet been put to the people,”
said Mr. Dodge, who was a little mystified by the word last
used, which he had yet to learn was strictly technical as applied
to a vessel's crew.
“It shall, sir,” returned Captain Truck, “and I beg you
to note the majority. My lads,” he continued, rising on a
thwart, and speaking aloud, “you know the history of the
ship. As to the Arabs, now they have got her, they do not
know how to sail her, and it is no more than a kindness to
take her out of their hands. For this business I want volunteers;
those who are for the reef, and an attack, will rise up
and cheer; while they who like an offing have only to sit
still and stay where they are.”
The words were no sooner spoken than Mr. Leach jumped
up on the gunwale and waved his hat. The people rose as
one man, and taking the signal from the mate, they gave
three as hearty cheers as ever rung over the bottle.
“Dead against you, sir!” observed the captain, nodding
to the editor; “and I hope you are now satisfied.”
“The ballot might have given it the other way,” muttered
Mr. Dodge; “there can be no freedom of election
without the ballot.”
No one, however, thought any longer of Mr. Dodge or
his scruples; but the whole disposition for the attack was
made with promptitude and caution. It was decided that
Mr. Effingham and his own servant should remain in the
launch; while the captain compelled his two mates to
draw lots which of them should stay behind also, a navigator
being indispensable. The chance fell on the second
mate, who submitted to his luck with an ill grace.
A bust of Napoleon was cut up, and the pieces of lead
were beaten as nearly round as possible, so as to form a
dozen leaden balls, and a quantity of slugs, or langrage.
was opened, a flannel shirt or two were torn, and cartridges
were filled. Ammunition was also distributed to
the people, and Mr. Sharp examined their arms. The gun
was got off the roof of the Montauk's launch, and placed
on a grating forward in that of the Dane. The sails and
rigging were cleared out of the boat and secured on the
raft when she was properly manned, and the command of
her was given to Paul.
The three other boats received their crews, with John
Effingham at the head of one, the captain and his mate
commanding the others. Mr. Dodge felt compelled to
volunteer to go in the launch of the Dane, where Paul had
now taken his station, though he did it with a reluctance
that escaped the observation of no one who took the pains
to observe him. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Monday were with
the captain, and the false Sir George Templemore went
with Mr. Leach. These arrangements completed, the
whole party waited impatiently for the wind and current to
set them down towards the reef, the rocks of which by this
time were plainly visible, even from the thwarts of the
several boats.
| CHAPTER VIII. Homeward bound, or, The chase | |