Within the Capes

Tom stood looking at him without a word for maybe half a minute. He felt that if he turned his eyes away for so much as a second, he was a dead man. So he stood without moving. At last he spoke again:

“Captain Knight, give me that pistol.”

The captain looked from side to side.

“Captain Knight, give me that pistol,” he repeated, and very sternly. He held out his left hand as he spoke. His right was clenched, and if the captain had made a dangerous movement, he would have smitten him down where he stood. Captain Knight looked up for an instant. He must have seen the resolve in Tom’s face, for he slowly drew out the pistol and put it into his hand.

“Now give me the other,” said Tom. And once more the captain did as he was bidden. Tom went to the side of the ship and threw both pistols overboard. When he turned around the captain had gone into his cabin. Tom never saw him again.

It was not till all was over that he felt what he had passed through. So long as he had faced the captain his purpose had kept him braced to what he was doing, but now his hands were cold and trembling nervously.

All of the ship’s crew had been looking on at what had passed, so he tried to appear as cool as though nothing of any account had happened. He went up to where Jack Baldwin was standing. “Jack,” said he (but his voice trembled a little in spite of himself), “you’re the chief officer now. For the Lord’s sake, give orders to get the cutter cleared away, for there’s no time to lose.”

“I’ll give orders when I choose,” said Jack, roughly, and he swung on his heel and strode away.

Tom was struck all aback, for he could not think at first what he had done to touch Jack’s feelings. Presently Jack came back to him again. He stopped close in front of him, and folded his arms.

“Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said he, “I suppose you think that because you got the better of that d – d sea dandy, you can get the better of me. You needn’t think that you’re the cock-of-the-walk because you took the barkers away from him. I could have done it easy enough, if he hadn’t taken me unawares. I’ll not deny that you did get the better of him, but I want you to understand that you’re not to lord it over me on that account. I’m the chief officer here, and I’ll give my orders to you, and not take them from you. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.” Then he turned on his heel again and walked away.

But Tom had caught some insight into Jack’s mind, and he could not but feel a certain contempt for him, for this was no time for little jealousies and heart-burnings. He did not say anything to Jack, for there could be no use in answering such a speech, so he walked to the mizzen-mast without a word, and stood leaning against it, looking ahead. All of a sudden Jack went stumbling down the ladder from the poop, and forward amongst the men. Tom saw him a little while afterward, talking to the boatswain, and then he knew that he was thinking of lowering the cutter. He was glad that Jack had so far swallowed his ugly pride, for it was a pity that all of the men aboard of the ship should drown, when some of them might get safely away.

I say that he was glad, but there was a bitter feeling, too, when he thought of others being saved, while he was to be left to drown like a rat in a box. His pride would not let him run away from the ship to take his chance in the cutter, but, all the same, his thoughts were very bitter. About this time he saw that those of the crew not at work about the cutter were throwing many loose things overboard. He saw the side of a hen-coop near to the ship; “I shall keep close to something of that kind when she goes down,” said he to himself. They were a good hundred miles from land, but the thought did not seem as foolish to him then as it does now, for a man clings to his life as long as he is able.

Presently, Jack Baldwin came aft. He went to the lashings of the wheel and put the helm over, so as to give the cutter a lee, but he never looked at Tom for a moment. Just as he was about to leave the poop, however, he turned suddenly, and came straight across the deck to him.

“Tom,” said he, gruffly; “will you take a try in the cutter?”

“Not I,” said Tom.

“Why not?”

“One officer’s enough for the boat; it would be cowardly for me to go!” He spoke bravely enough, but I am compelled to own that his courage was only of words, and not of heart.

“Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said Jack, fiercely; “do you mean to say that I’m a coward?”

“I mean to say nothing about you,” said Tom, calmly; “you know your own reasons for leaving the ship better than any other man. If you’re going for the sake of the crew, you’re no coward; if you’re going for the sake of your own skin, you are.”

Jack looked him very hard in the face for a moment or two. “See here, Tom,” said he, at last; “you know the old saying; – ‘each man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost;’ don’t be a fool; go with us, you’re a better hand at managing a boat than I am.”

“I don’t care to go.”

“Very well, my hearty; suit yourself,” was all that Jack said, and he swung on his heel, and left the poop.

Tom saw him a little later standing beside the cutter with a heavy iron belaying pin in his hand, so as to keep the men from crowding into the boat. The men had a great notion of Jack’s strength, and maybe it was this that kept them back, for Tom saw no movement in that direction.

About five or ten minutes before the cutter was lowered, and about half-past ten or eleven o’clock in the morning of Thursday, the 26th, the ship was slowly settling by the stern. Any one could see that there was a great change in the last half of an hour, and Tom began to be afraid that she would founder before they could get the boat away. He went forward to where Jack and the men were busy at work.

“If you don’t lower away pretty soon, it’ll be too late, Jack,” said he.

“Tom,” said Jack, turning to him, suddenly, “don’t be a bull-headed loon in such a matter as this. Come, and take your chance like a man; there’s a place in the cutter yet, for I’ve taken care to save it for you.”

Poor Tom was only a mortal man, and his life was very sweet to him at that moment, when there seemed so great a chance of his losing it. Therefore, he could not screw the words of refusal from his lips; – he could only shake his head.

“You won’t come?” said Jack.

“No!” roared Tom; “didn’t you hear me say no? Are you deaf? No! I tell you; no! no!!”

“Now, by the eternal, you shall go, and that whether you want to or not!” said Jack, and as he spoke, he flung his arms around Tom, and undertook to drag him into the boat. Jack had never measured his strength with Tom before, and it is altogether likely that he found him to be stronger than he had any notion of, for, after struggling with him for a little while, and not being able to throw him down upon the deck, he presently began singing out to the boatswain to come and lend him a hand, as there was no time to lose. So the boatswain came, and in a short time they had lashed Tom’s arms and legs so that he could not move. As soon as they had done this, they heaved him heels over head into the cutter, and then stepped in themselves, and all hands lowered away immediately.

As soon as the boat was in the water, it began drawing under the channel of the ship, and was in great peril of being stove, but the boatswain and two others got out oars, and shoved her off. But no sooner had they pushed the cutter away, than she began drawing in again, for there was a suction that was bringing her right under the stern, which would have been sudden death to every man in her, so they brought the oars to bear once more. At that time the crew of the cutter seemed more afraid of being drawn under the stern of the ship than of too many men jumping into the boat; for the matter of that, Tom saw only one attempt to keep any of the crew from boarding, and that was just after the boat had been lowered into the water.

A poor fellow attempted to slide down the falls from the davits, but the boatswain pushed them to one side, so that he would have fallen into the water if he had tried to jump. It seemed to Tom to be a horrible thing to cut away the last chance that the poor man had for saving his life; he begged hard for him as he hung from the davits, but the boatswain said that the cutter was already full, and that even one man might be enough to swamp her. I suppose that the boatswain must have acted according to his light, but Jack Baldwin, who sat looking on without speaking, should have seen that the man was taken aboard.

The second time that the boat was pushed away, its head came around, and they were soon pulling from the port side of the ship.

When those aboard of the Nancy Hazlewood saw that the cutter was clear, and was likely to get away, they cheered and waved their hands. I can hardly bear to write of this, even now; – it made Tom Granger cry like a child.

The boatswain sat next to him where he lay. He chewed hard at the quid of tobacco in his mouth, as, lying on his oars, he looked back at the sinking ship, and at his messmates standing on her decks. I think, from what some of the sailors afterward said, that they would have been willing to put back to the ship, and have taken off a parcel more of the crew, but nothing of the kind was done.

So every one lay on his oars and looked back; just then the sun shone out, pale and watery. Tom could see the vessel very easily from where he lay. The fore-top sail was still standing, and also half of the main-top sail. The yards on the mizzen were swinging about with the braces loose, and her bulwarks were as sound as when she left the docks. Her stern was low in the water, and her bow was standing so high that her red copper bottom could be plainly seen.

Soon they ran down into the trough of a sea, and the Nancy Hazlewood was hidden from sight; when they came up again, she had changed her position. They could not see the after-part of the vessel, though it might have been hidden by a sea, and not under water. By the pitch of her masts the ship seemed to be sitting at an angle of about forty-five degrees. Just then another sea came, and again they ran down in the trough of it; – when they came up the Nancy Hazlewood was nowhere to be seen.

CHAPTER IX

FOR a time no one in the cutter moved or said a word. I remember that the boatswain chewed at his quid of tobacco as though he was starving; but he did not speak a word.

It was Jack Baldwin’s voice that broke the silence.

“The old ship’s gone, boys,” roared he. “We can’t do her any good, so drop her, and mind what you’re about, or you’ll be with her before you know it.” And he was right, for the cutter was heavily loaded, there being nineteen aboard of her – the right number of her crew was twelve.

I am bound to say, that I believe if any one of the crew of the Nancy Hazlewood had been seen clinging to the loose gear that was floating about the place where the ship foundered they would have been taken into the cutter; but no one was seen, nor was it likely that a man could keep afloat for any length of time, for the spray was flying.

Such was the loss of the good ship Nancy Hazlewood, the story of which I have tried to tell you just as it happened, adding nothing and keeping nothing back that might give you a clear idea of how she foundered on that Thursday, the 26th of April, 1813.

It was judged that she went down in latitude 27° North, by longitude 77° West, and about one hundred or one hundred and ten miles north of the Little Bahama Banks.

The cutter was a fine, light boat, about twenty-five feet in length, by six feet in breadth at the widest part – a small craft to carry nineteen souls one hundred miles through a stormy sea.

Ten minutes after the Nancy Hazlewood foundered the crew of the cutter were pulling away to the southward. After a little while Tom looked up and saw that Jack Baldwin was gazing very earnestly at him.

“Tom,” said he, suddenly, “if I loose the lashings on your arms and legs, will you promise to be quiet, and do your fair share of work?”

Tom’s cheeks were still wet, and he was shaken every now and then by a sob. I hope that you who read this will not think him overly womanish, but will give a thought as to how broken he was with fatigue, and with the hardships through which he had passed. I can say that none of the crew of the cutter seemed to think lightly of him on account of it, and even Jack Baldwin’s voice was kind as he spoke.

I have always found that when men are strongly moved they are apt to be very unreasonable. So it was with Tom, for he felt very bitterly toward Jack at that moment, as though Jack were to blame for the trouble that had fallen upon them. However, nothing could be gained by staying tied as he was, so he presently said:

“You may untie me, if you like. The Lord knows that I don’t care much for my life just now, but there’s no use letting all these poor fellows drown like the rest.”