XVIII
"----AFTER FORTY YEAR!"
"Martin?" ... "_Huh!_" "Lewis?" ... "_Iss!_" "Granger?" ... "_'Ere!_""Ulricks?" ... "_Ya!_" "Dago Joe?" ... "_Ser!_" "'Ansen?" ... "_Yep!_""Bunn?" ... "_Yes!_" "Munro?" ... "_Here!_""Eccles?--ECCLES!--ECC--Damn your eyes, lay 'long 'ere! You goin' t'keep awl 'ans waitin'?" Eccles joined us fumbling with the buttons ofhis jacket. (Eccles, for the time limit!) "Awl 'ere," continued thebo'sun; then reported to the Mate, "Watch is aft, Sir!"
A surly growl that might have been, "Relieve the wheel and look-out,"came from the poop, and we were dismissed muster; the starboard watchto their rest; we of the port to take our turn on deck.
It was a cold, raw morning that fell to our lot. A light wind, blowingfrom north of west in fitful puffs, scarcely slanted the downpour ofthin, insistent rain; rain that by the keenness of it ought to havebeen snow or sleet. The sea around was shrouded in mist, and breakingday, coming in with a cold, treacherous half-light, added to theillusion that made the horizon seem scarcely a length away. The barquewas labouring unsteadily, with a long westerly swell--the ghost of theCape Horn 'greybeards '--running under her in oily ridges.
It needed but a bite of freshening wind to rouse the sea; at the lashof a sudden gale the 'greybeards' would be at us again--whelming andsweeping. Even in quiet mood they were loath to let us go north, andwe jarred and rattled, rolled, lurched, and wallowed as they hove atus. Heave as they did, we were still able to make way on our course,standing with yards in to the quartering wind and all plain sail on her.
Thick weather! The horizon closed to us at a length or so ahead. Butshe was moving slowly, four knots at the most, and we were well out ofthe track of ships! Oh, it was all right--all right; and aft there theMate leaned over the poop rail with his arms squared and his headnodding--now and then!
As the light grew, it seemed to bring intenser cold. Jackets were notenough; we donned coats and oilskins and stamped and stamped on theforedeck, yawning and muttering and wishing it was five o'clock and the'doctor' ready with the blessed coffee: the coffee that would make menof us; vile 'hogwash' that a convict would turn his face at, but whatseemed nectar to us at daybreak, down there in fifty-five!
By one bell the mist had grown denser, and the Mate sung out sudden andangrily for the foghorn to be sounded.
"Three blasts, d'ye 'ear," said the bo'sun, passing the horn up toDago, the look-out. "_Uno! ... Doo! ... Tray!_" (Three fingers heldup.) ... "_Tray_, ye burnt scorpion! ... An' see that ye sounds 'emproper, or I'll come up there an' hide th' soul-case out o' ye! ...(Cow-punchin' hoodlum! Good job I knows 'is bloomin' lingo!)"
Now we had a tune to our early rising, a doleful tune, a tune set tothe deepening mist, the heaving sea, at dismal break of day. _R-r-ah!... R-r-ah! Ra!_ was the way it ran; a mournful bar, with windy gaspshere and there, for Dago Joe was more accustomed to a cowhorn.
"A horn," said Welsh John suddenly. "Did 'oo hear it?"
No one had heard. We were gathered round the galley door, all talking,all telling the 'doctor' the best way to light a fire quickly.
"_Iss_! A horn, I tell 'oo! ... Listen! ... Just after ours issounded!"
_R-r-ah! ... R-r-ah! ... R-ah!_ Joe was improving.
We listened intently.... "There now," said John!
Yes! Sure enough! Faint rasps answering ours. Ulrichs said three;two, I thought!
"Don't ye 'ear that 'orn, ye dago fiddler," shouted the bo'sun...."'Ere! Hup there, one of ye, an' blow a proper blast! That damnhoodlum! Ye couldn't 'ear 'is trumpetin' at th' back of an arearailin's!"
John went on the head; the bo'sun aft to report.
A proper blast! The Welshman had the trick of the wheezing 'gad jet.'... Ah! There again! ... Three blasts, right enough! ... She wouldbe a square rigger, running, like ourselves! ... Perhaps we weremaking on her! ... The sound seemed louder.... It came from ahead!
R-R-R-R-R-AH! ... R-R-R-R-R-AH! ... R-R-R-R-R-AH!
_... R-r-r-r-eh! ... R-r-r-r-eh! ... R-r-r-r-eh!_
The Mate was now on the alert, peering and listening. At the plainanswer to our horn, he rapped out orders. "Lower away main an'fore-to'gal'ns'ls ... let 'em hang, an' lay aft and haul th' mains'lup! Come aft here, one of you boys, and call th' Captain! Tell himit's come down thick! Sharp, now!"
I went below and roused the Old Man.
"Aye ... all right," he said, feeling for his sea-boots. (South'ard ofthe 'forties' Old Jock slept 'all standing,' as we say.) .... "Thick,eh? ... Tell th' Mate t' keep th' horn goin'! ... A ship, ye say? ...Running, eh? ... Aye! All right ... I'll be up...."
I had scarcely reached the poop again before the Old Man was at myback. "Thick, b'Goad," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Man, man! Why wasI not called before?"
The Mate muttered something about the mist having just closed in...."Clear enough t' be goin' on before that," he said.
"Aye, aye! Where d'ye mak' this ship? Ye would see her before themist cam' doon, eh?"
"Sound that horn, forrard there!" shouted the Mate, moving off to thegangway. "Keep that horn going, there!"
John pumped a stirring blast.... R-R-R-R-R-AH! ... R-R-R-R-R-AH! ...R-R-R-R-R-AH!
We bent forward with ears strained to catch the distant note.
... _R-r-r-r-eh!_ ... At the first answering blast Old Jock raisedhis head, glancing fearfully round.... _R-r-r-r-eh! ... R-r-r-r----_"Down hellum! DOWN HELLUM! DOWN," he yelled, running aft to thewheel! "Haul yards forrard! Le'go port braces! Let 'm rip! Le'goan' haul! ... Quick, Mist'r! Christ! What ye standin' at? ...Ice! Ice, ye bluidy eedi't! Ice! Th' echo! Let go! LE'GO AN' HAUL!LE'GO!"
Ice! The Mate stood stupid for an instant--then jumped to thewaist--to the brace pins--roaring hoarse orders. "All hands on deck!Haul away, there! All hands! On deck, men--for your lives!"
Ice! At the dread cry we ran to the ropes and tailed on with desperateenergy! Ice! The watch below, part dressed, swarmed from house andfo'cas'le and hauled with us--a light of terror in their eyes--theterror that comes with stark reason--when the brain reels from restfulstupor at a trumpet of alarms!
Ice! The decks, that so late had been quiet as the air about us,resounded to the din of sudden action! Yards swinging forward with acrash--blocks _whirring_--ropes hurtling from the pins--sails liftingand thrashing to the masts--shouts and cries from the swaying haulersat the ropes--hurried orders--and, loud over all, the raucous bellow ofthe fog-horn when Dago Joe, dismayed at the confusion, pumpedfuriously, _Ra! Ra! Ra! Ra! Ra!_
... _Reh! Reh! Reh! Reh! Reh!_ ... Note for note--the echo--outof the mist!
"Belay, all! Well, mainyards!" The order steadied us. We had timenow to look! ... There was nothing in sight! ... No towering monsterlooming in our path--no breakers--no sea--no sky; nothing! Nothing butthe misty wall that veiled our danger! The Unknown! The Unseen!
She was swinging slowly against the scend of the running swell--layingup to the wind. Martin had the wheel and was holding the helm down,his keen eyes watching for the lift that would mark the limit ofsteering-way. The Old Man stood by the compass, bending, peering,smiling--nosing at the keen air--his quick eyes searching themist--ahead--abeam--astern.... Martin eased the helm; she lay quietlywith sails edged to the wind, the long swell heaving at her--broadsideon.
Suddenly a light grew out of the mist and spread out on both bows--aluminous sheen, low down on the narrowed sea-line! The 'ice-blink'!Cold! White!
At the first glow the Old Man started--his lips framed to roar anorder! ... No order came!
Quickly he saw the hopelessness of it; what was to happen was plain,inevitable! Broad along the beam, stretching out to leeward, the greatdazzling 'ice-blink' warned him of a solid barrier, miles long,perhaps! The barque lay to the wind, at mercy of the swell, driftingdead to leeward at every heave! ... On the other tack, perhaps? Therewas a misty gap to the south of us; no 'ice-blink' there! ... If shecould be put abou
t? ... No, there was no chance! ... To gather speedto put her about he would have to bear off towards the brighteningsheen! Already the roar of the swell, lashing at the base, was loud inour ears! ... There was no room! No sea-room to wear or stay!
"Embayed!" he said bitterly, turning his palms up! ... "All hands aftand swing th' port boat out!"
The port boat? The big boat? Had it come, so soon, to that? Morethan one of us cast an anxious look at the broad figure of our Masteras we ran aft. He stood quite still, glaring out at the ice ring.
"This is it, eh!" he muttered, unheeding the stir and cries of us."This is it--after forty year!"
Madly we tore and knifed at the lashings, working to clear the bigboat. She was turned down on the skids (the fashion of thrifty'limejuicers'), bound and bolted to stand the heavy weather. We werehandless, unnerved by the suddenness of it all, faulty at the task.The roar of breaking water spurred us on.... A heave together! ....Righted, we hooked the falls and swayed her up. The Mate looked aftfor the word. "Aye," said the Old Man. "Oot wi' her, an' try tae towth' heid roun'! On th' ither tack we micht----" He left the wordsunfinished! Well he knew we could never drag three thousand tonsagainst that swell!
A wild outcry turns our eyes forward. Dago Joe (forgotten on thelookout) is running aft, his precious horn still slung from hisshoulders. "_Arretto! Arretto! Arretto!_" He yells as he runs."_Arretto, Capitan!_" waving his arms and signing to the Old Man tostop the ship! Behind him, over the bows, we see the clear outline ofa small berg--an outflung 'calf' of the main ice! There is no time!Nothing can be done! Small as the berg is--not the height of our loweryards--it has weight enough to sink us, when aided by the heaving swell!
"Quick with th' boat, there," yells the Old Man! He runs over to thecompanion-way and dives below, jostling the Second Mate, who isstaggering up under a weight of biscuit bags.
In a moment we have closed with the ice and are hammering and grindingat the sheer glistening wall. At the first impact the boom goes with acrash! Then fore-to'gallant mast--yards--sails--rigging--all hurtlingto the head, driving the decks in! A shelf of solid ice, tons weightof it, crashes aboard and shatters the fore-hatch! Now there is agrind and scream of buckling iron, as the beams give to thestrain--ring of stays and guy-ropes, parting at high tension--crash ofsplintering wood! The heaving monster draws off, reels, and comes atus again! Another blow and----
"'Vast lowering! Hold on! Hold on the boat there!" The Old Man, comeon deck with his treasured papers, has seen more than the wreck of thehead! He runs to the compass--a look--then casts his eyes aloft."Square mainyards!" His voice has the old confident ring: the ring weknow. "Square main yards! ... A hand t' th' wheel!"
Doubting, we hang around the boat. She swings clear, all ready! Thejar of a further blow sets us staggering for foothold! What chance?... "A hand t' th' wheel, here," roars the Old Man. Martin looks up... goes back to his post.
A man at the wheel again! No longer the fearful sight of the main postdeserted; no longer the jar and rattle of a handless helm! Martin'saction steadies us. What dread, when the oldest of us all stands theregrasping the spokes, waiting the order? ... We leave the swingingboat and hurry to the braces!
A 'chance' has come! The power of gales long since blown out isworking a way for us: the ghostly descendants of towering Cape Horn'greybeards' have come to our aid!
As we struck, sidling on the bows, the swell has swept our stern roundthe berg. Now we are head to wind and the big foresail is flat againstthe mast, straining sternward!
It is broad day, and we see the 'calf' plainly as we drift understern-way apart. The gap widens! A foot--a yard--an oar's-length!Now the wind stirs the canvas on the main--a clew lifts--the tops'lsrustle and blow out, drawing finely! Her head still swings!
"Foreyards! Le'go an' haul!" roars the Old Man. We are stern on tothe main ice. Already the swell--recurving from the sheer base--ishissing and breaking about us. There is little room for sternboard."Le'go an' haul!" We roar a heartening chorus as we drag the standinghead yards in.
Slowly she brings up ... gathers way ... moves ahead! The 'calf' isdead to windward, the loom of the main ice astern and a-lee. The windhas strengthened: in parts the mist has cleared. Out to the south'arda lift shows clear water. We are broad to the swell now, but sailingfree as Martin keeps her off! From under the bows the broken boom(still tethered to us by stout guy-ropes) thunders and jars as we movethrough the water.
"Cut and clear away!" roars Old Jock. "Let her go!"
Aye, let her go! ... We are off ... crippled an' all ... out for opensea again!