Within the Capes

CHAPTER VII

THE next morning, when Tom came upon deck, he found that the wind had increased to half a gale. It was a dreary sight. The sky was heavy and leaden, and the sea was like liquid lead, for, when the sky is dull, like it was that morning, it seems as though one could almost walk over the surface of the ocean, so hard does it look, and so lacking of depth, excepting where the crest of the wave sharpens just before it breaks.

The Nancy Hazlewood showed that she was a very wet ship, for her decks were covered with water, that ran swashing from side to side. She would roll well over on her side, like a log, and scoop in the top of a wave, that would rush backward and forward across the deck until it had run out of the scupper holes; but before it was fairly gone another sea would come, so that the decks were never free of water. Not only was the ship laboring strangely, but she was yawing so that two men at the wheel could hardly keep her to her course.

Jack was standing on the poop, anxious and troubled. Tom stood beside him, but neither of them spoke for a while, both being sunk in deep thought.

“Tom,” said Jack, at last, in a low voice, “I’ve sailed in a many ships in my time, but I never saw one behave like this. She bothers me; I don’t know what to make of her.” He paused for a moment, and then he clapped his hand to his thigh. “D – n it,” said he, “she ain’t either equipped or stowed in a fit way. She ought never to have put out from Lewestown Harbor in her condition, and, without I’m much mistaken, we’ll find that out long before we reach Key West.”

Then he turned over the orders and went below to get his breakfast, leaving Tom in charge of the deck.

The day passed without especial event, and that night at the mid-watch Tom turned in to get a little sleep. It seemed to him that he had hardly closed his eyes when he was aroused by the sound of the boatswain’s voice ringing, as it were, in his very ears:

“All hands reef topsails!”

Tom tumbled out of his bunk and stood on the cabin floor. There was a noise of pounding and grinding alongside, and the decks were careened, so that the first thought that occurred to him was that the ship was foundering. He ran up on deck without stopping a moment, for there was a vibration in the boatswain’s voice that told him that something serious had befallen.

The gale had increased with a sudden and heavy squall, and the maintop-gallant-mast had gone by the board. It was hanging alongside, a tangled wreck, and it was the thumping and grinding of this that Tom had heard when he had first opened his eyes. A dozen men were at work cutting away the wreck, and Tom jumped to help them. At last it drifted away astern, a tangled mass on the surface of grey foam.

All around them were seas, ten or fifteen feet high, shining with phosphorescent crests, moving solemnly forward with their black weight of thousands of tons of solid water. Amongst these the little ship labored like a living thing in pain. The men ran up aloft, and Jack, trumpet to mouth, bellowed orders that rang above all the thunder of the gale. Presently the sails were clapping and thundering in the darkness above, as the men wrestled with them. Now and then voices were to be heard through all the roaring of the waters and the howling of the wind: “Haul out to windward!” and “Light out to leeward!” – an uproar of noises that one never hears excepting on shipboard, and at such a time.

Day broke with the storm blowing as furiously as ever. Tom was officer of the deck, when, about ten o’clock, Maul, the carpenter, came aft to where he was standing. He was a fine-looking fellow, broad-shouldered and deep-chested. He chucked his thumb up to his forehead, and, shifting the quid of tobacco from one cheek to the other, told Tom that which sent a thrill shivering through him:

“Ten inches of water in the well, sir.”

The pumps sucked at five inches, so the Nancy Hazlewood had made five inches of water in the last hour.

“I was afraid it would come,” said Tom to himself, and then he went and reported it to the captain, for, though the leak was not of much account as regarded size, it was as dangerous as it was sudden.

“Man the pumps, sir,” was all that the captain said.

Before very long the pumps sucked, and the men gave a cheer. So far all was well enough. But an hour afterward the carpenter came aft and reported that there was a little less than thirteen inches of water in the well. Captain Knight, and Tom, and Jack were standing near together on the poop at the time.

“Man the pumps,” was all that the captain said, and then he moved away.

“Jack,” said Tom, in a low voice, “this looks ugly.”

“You’re right; it does,” said Jack.

There was a cold, dull rain blowing slantwise across the ocean at that time, which shut in everything to within a mile or two of the ship. The gale had moderated but little, but now, through all the roaring, you could hear the regular thump, thump of the pumps, where two lines of men were working at the brakes. Every now and then the sound of the pumping would stop with the sucking of water, but presently it would begin again – thump! thump! thump! thump! When evening came the sound was unceasing, for at that time they were not pumping the water out of the ship as fast as she was making it.

The last thing that Tom heard that night was the continuous thumping, and it was the first thing that met his ears when he opened his eyes again. He went up on deck, and when he looked around him his heart fell within him. Half of the maintop-sail was blown away, the shreds standing straight out with the force of the wind. There was a great deal of water on the deck – perhaps never less than three feet on the lee side.

She was not taking much water over the weather rail, but she would take it to leeward, and then roll to windward, and the sea would go rushing across the deck, carrying everything before it.

That afternoon he stood on the poop deck looking over the side of the vessel. She was rolling with a dull, heavy motion from side to side; it was just such a motion as a log in a mill pond will take if you give it a push with your foot. He looked first astern, and then forward, and he saw that the stern was deeper in the water than the bows. Just then he felt a hand on his shoulder; he looked up and saw that it was Jack Baldwin.

“Tom,” said he, in a low voice.

“What is it, Jack?”

“I’ve been looking too; do you know that the ship’s foundering?”

Tom nodded his head, for he did not feel like speaking.

“Tom,” said Jack, after a moment of silence; “what do you suppose is the reason that Captain Knight don’t give orders to have the boats cleared away, ready for lowering.”

“Perhaps he don’t think it’s time; the ship’ll last a good while longer yet, Jack.”

“Do you think that’s his reason, Tom?” said Jack.

Tom did not answer.

“I see you don’t. Look here, Tom; do you want to know what I’m beginning to think? It’s this, —that he don’t intend to let a man leave this ship, if he can’t bring her to Key West!”

“For God’s sake, don’t breathe a word of that in the men’s hearing, Jack. You can’t believe what you say.”

“What did Captain Sedgwick do last November?”

Tom did not answer; he knew that story only too well. Captain Sedgwick, of the privateersman Mirabel, had fallen in with a British cruiser off Barnegat; had been crippled by her, and had blown up his ship and all hands on board, so that she might not fall into the Englishman’s hands. Three men out of one hundred and eighteen had come off with their lives.

“For heaven’s sake, Jack, don’t breathe a word of this to the crew!” said Tom again, and then he turned away.

As the day wore along, things looked more and more gloomy.

About three o’clock in the afternoon a sound fell on their ears, that thrilled through every man on board. It was the voice of the lookout, roaring, – “Sail ho!”

“Where away?” sang out Jack.

“Two points on the port bow,” came the answer.

Most of the crew ran to the side of the vessel, as did the men at the brakes. Tom did not order them back, for he saw that there would be no use in doing so.

As the day had worn along, the discipline of the ship had begun to go pretty much to pieces, and there had been great difficulty in keeping the men at the brakes. I think that they, like Jack and Tom, had gotten a notion that the ship was doomed, for, though they worked when they were ordered, it was in a dull, stolid way, as though they had no interest in it one way or another. Tom had tried to do all that lay in him to keep them going, and I think that it was only through his urging that they were kept at it at all.

So now they all left the pumps and ran to the side of the vessel to get a look at the sail.

At first it was seen like a flickering speck in the dull, grey distance, but it presently rose higher and higher as the Nancy Hazlewood held on her course. Jack Baldwin was on the poop when the vessel was first sighted; he did not lose a moment, but went straightway and reported it to the captain, who presently came upon deck from his cabin. He had wound a red scarf about his waist, and had thrust a brace of large pistols in it. There was an odd look about him, that at first led Tom to think that he had been drinking, but he soon found that he was wrong. Whatever it was that had led him to rig himself up in this style, it was not drink.

He stood silently with the glass at his eye, looking at the distant sail that the Nancy Hazlewood was slowly raising above the horizon. He did not seem to notice that the men had left the pumps; at least he made no remark upon it. Minute after minute passed, until at last the hull of the vessel hove in sight and showed her to be a large barque – apparently, from the cut of her sails, an English merchantman. She came within about three miles of them, but Captain Knight neither gave orders to have the course of the Hazlewood altered, or signals of distress run up. Every moment Tom expected to hear such an order, but none passed the captain’s lips. Presently, he shut the tube of the glass sharply, and then he spoke.

“She’s too large for us to tackle in our present condition,” said he.

“Tackle!” burst out Jack. “My G – d! You didn’t think of fighting that vessel, did you?”

Captain Knight turned sharply upon him, as though he were about to say something; but he seemed to think better of it, for he swung on his heel, as though to enter his cabin again.

Then Jack Baldwin strode directly up to him. “Captain Knight,” said he, and he did not so much as touch his hat, “a’n’t you going to signal that vessel?”