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Strange Adventures of Eric Blackburn

<h3>Chapter Six.</h3> <h4>Caught in a Typhoon.</h4> Those who have never enjoyed the experience of suddenly coming upon a treasure of enormous value, a substantial share of which one knows will one day be one’s own, will naturally suppose that the crew of the Yorkshire Lass would be one of the happiest and most contented little communities on the face of the earth. And assuredly they ought to have been, in so far at least as the prospective possession of great wealth can confer happiness; for, little as any of us knew of the actual value of the treasure we had so easily obtained, we knew enough to feel assured that, when the time for division should arrive, we should each be rich enough to be independent, for the rest of our lives, of any need to work for a living. But, on the contrary, as a matter of fact the acquisition of the treasure gave rise to a condition of restiveness and discontent that caused me grave uneasiness. Not that I was greatly surprised. From the moment when I first climbed in over the brigantine’s rail from the Saturn’s life-boat I recognised that the presence of the four Dagoes in the ship’s company was likely to breed discord, but it was not until I witnessed the mad covetousness with which they flung themselves upon the chest containing coin, and proceeded to help themselves regardless of the rights of us others, that I actually began to scent real, serious trouble; for I then foresaw that, having once glimpsed the treasure, those men would never more be content until it was actually theirs to squander in the debauchery that they called pleasure. The trouble which I anticipated developed within twenty-four hours of our departure from the estuary, first taking the form of a demand, on the part of the six seamen in the forecastle, that the division of the treasure should be effected forthwith; and when I pointed out that, owing to the impossibility of justly valuing such articles as gold and silver candlesticks, salvers, bowls, cups, caskets, jewelled crosses, articles of jewellery and gems, such a division as they desired was out of the question, they insisted that the ship should forthwith be taken to the nearest civilised port, in order that the treasure might be turned into money, and the division effected. To this I replied that only in London would it be possible to obtain anything approaching fair value for so enormous a treasure as ours, therefore to London I intended to take it; whereupon the Dagoes became so violently insubordinate that forcible measures had to be resorted to, and a very pretty fight ensued between them on the one hand, and the boatswain, carpenter, and myself on the other before we succeeded in putting the quartette in irons and dumping them down upon the ballast in the main hold, where, I informed them, they would remain until they should show unmistakable signs of having come to their senses. Such resolute action, coupled with the fact that during their confinement their food consisted solely of coarse ship biscuit and water, soon brought the insubordinate ones to their bearings, a message of unconditional surrender being brought from them to me within thirty-six hours of their confinement, promising good behaviour in the future if I would release them and permit them to return to duty. Naturally I was more than willing to accept the olive branch thus held out, for the absence from duty of four able seamen out of our little company left the ship perilously undermanned, and would have involved us in serious difficulties, might indeed have imperilled the safety of the ship, had we fallen in with bad weather. Fortunately, however, the weather, for the first week after our departure from the estuary, proved to be almost too fine for our liking, consisting as it did of light, baffling contrary airs, interspersed with spells of calm; thus the temporary confinement below of the four foreigners proved of no disadvantage to us, although I was heartily glad to have them back on duty again. Nevertheless it soon became apparent that their reformation was, like beauty, only skin-deep, and that at heart they were as ready as ever to give trouble. The exceptionally fine weather, to which I have just referred, continued for nearly a month, during which, with much pulling and hauling at tacks, sheets, and braces, we contrived to jockey the brigantine fairly into the Pacific, where I intended to hunt up a cargo of copra, sandalwood, and shell on the way home. But such an extraordinarily long spell of fine weather as we had been experiencing was bound to break, sooner or later, and the break came during the afternoon of our twenty-seventh day out. The barometer, which for nearly three weeks had been standing well above thirty inches, gave us the first warning of the coming change by an ominously rapid decline of the mercury, which was quickly succeeded by a subtle veiling of the sky, the clear, rich blue of which gradually changed to a uniform tint of dirty white, in the midst of which the sun hung a mere shapeless blotch. The light breeze that during the earlier part of the day had been fanning us along at a scant three knots, died away, leaving the surface of the sea oil-smooth and colourless, while the stagnant air grew so hot that we literally felt the heat of it in our nostrils with every breath we drew. The quality of the air seemed to change, too, rendering it difficult to breathe, so that we found ourselves gasping for breath at frequent intervals, while perspiration poured from us in streams that we could distinctly feel trickling down our bodies and limbs. So enervating were the conditions that none of us cared to make the slightest unnecessary movement; yet the steady decline of the mercury was a warning that I dared not ignore. Accordingly, at eight bells in the afternoon watch, when Enderby took charge of the deck, I showed him the barometer, expressed the conviction that we were in for a typhoon, and instructed him to set all hands to the task of stripping the ship to a close-reefed topsail, reefed fore topmast-staysail, and close-reefed main trysail. When the boatswain went for’ard and gave the necessary orders, the men received them, as I had quite expected, with black looks, muttered curses, and inarticulate growls; but the sight of Chips and me lowering and stowing the big mainsail while they surlily slouched about the deck, letting go halliards, clewing up and hauling down; and perhaps, more than all, the aspect of the heavens, conveying a message that no man could misinterpret, caused them somewhat to modify their attitude, and by four bells the ship was as nearly ready for what might come as we could make her. But our preparations were completed not a moment too soon, for we were in a latitude where twilight is unknown, and with the disappearance of the sun below the horizon there closed down upon us a darkness that might literally be felt, for any attempt to move about the decks, well as we believed ourselves to be acquainted with them, resulted in constant collisions with unexpected obstacles. This bewildering state of affairs continued until shortly after five bells in the first watch, when we became aware that the atmosphere was being subtly and gradually suffused with ruddy light, coming from we knew not where. The change was so gradual that it was impossible to say just when it began, but within half an hour of our first perception of it the light had grown so strong that not only were we able to move about freely without running foul of things but, standing aft by the useless wheel and looking forward, every detail of the ship’s hull, spars, sails, and rigging stood out clearly and sharply, like a silhouette cut out of black paper, against a background of shining oil-smooth water and dense masses of twisting and writhing cloud-shapes all reflecting the weird, mysterious ruddy light. It was an awe-inspiring phenomenon, strongly suggestive of the supernatural, and from the uneasy glances that were directed aft from the forecastle it was not difficult to surmise that none of the men had ever before beheld anything like it. Neither had we of the afterguard, for that matter, and I have no doubt that I should have been very much more seriously alarmed than I was at the spectacle, had I not read somewhere the description of a hurricane that had been similarly heralded. As it was, I was by no means happy at the prospect of what was in store for us, asking myself uneasily whether quite all had been done that it was possible to do to prepare the ship for the impending ordeal. There was but one thing I could think of, and that was to order all the scuttles to be securely closed, and this was at once done, although it rendered the cabins insupportably hot and close. Of course I should have liked to send down the royal and topgallant yards, and to have housed the fore topgallant mast and main topmast, and I would have attempted it had we had a decently willing crew; but I doubted whether the Dagoes would have undertaken the job, except under compulsion; and I was unwilling to engage in a tussle with a crowd of insubordinates with a hurricane threatening to burst upon us at any moment. Naturally, under the circumstances I never dreamed of turning in; nor did any of the others, for that matter, the boatswain and Chips keeping me company aft, while a glance for’ard showed that even the forecastle bunch, jealous as they were of their “rights”, preferred for once in a way to spend their watch below on deck. Shortly after midnight the weird, ruddy light began to fade, indicating that the crisis was approaching. I accordingly sent the boy Billy below, secured the companion doors, and closed the slide, knowing this to be one of the ship’s most vulnerable points in a heavy sea, such as one might expect when the gale should burst upon us, and thereafter there was nothing more to be done but to abide events. It was about half an hour later, and the light had almost entirely faded, when we got our first distinct warning to “stand by”. It came in the form of a sudden scurry of wind, apparently from nowhere in particular, that swept, whining and moaning, over the ship, causing the canvas to flap violently—and then it was gone. This occurred perhaps half a dozen times, each gust lasting a few seconds longer and being perceptibly stronger than the one which preceded it, smiting the canvas with such violence that I quite expected to see it fly out of the bolt-ropes, while the brigantine, being only in ballast, rocked and staggered like a drunken man. Fortunately, there remained just light enough to enable us to trace the direction from which those tornadoes came. With their help, therefore, Chips and I, who at once sprang to the wheel, managed to get the ship’s head round before the hurricane itself struck us, Enderby going for’ard to stand by on the forecastle. It announced its approach by a low, weird, unearthly moaning that with terrifying rapidity swelled to a deafening compound of the shrieking yell of the swooping wind and the hiss of the tempest-lashed sea as it rushed, in the form of a wall of ghastly, heaped-up, phosphorescent foam stretching from horizon to horizon, straight down upon the ship. The spectacle of that unbridled outburst of elemental fury was awe-inspiring beyond the power of words to describe, but it was terrifying too, as was evidenced by Chips’ remark, a moment before the gale struck us. Leaning over toward me as we stood on opposite sides of the wheel, he yelled: “Good-bye, sir! This is the finish. The ship ain’t built that could weather such an outfly as this!” And I felt very much inclined to agree with him. To me it seemed impossible that any combination of wood and metal, the work of men’s hands, however cunningly fashioned and deftly put together, could withstand such a frenzied onslaught as that which was about to burst upon us. Another instant and we were within the hurricane’s clutches. With a yell of indescribable fury the blast struck us, and as the storm-wave boiled in over our taffrail and swept along the deck, filling it to the level of the rail and taking with it in its rush for’ard every movable thing in its way, I saw the storm trysail fill, with a terrific jerk of the doubled sheets, and then go flying away out of the bolt-ropes like a sheet of tissue paper. Whether or not the remainder of our canvas had withstood the strain I could not for the moment determine, for I was up to the armpits in the surging water, pinned by it and the pressure of the wind so hard up against the wheel that I momentarily expected to feel my breast-bone collapse under the pressure. Luckily the gale came up square astern, and hit us end-on; luckily, also, we were in ballast, and the ship was therefore quite lively; nevertheless I felt the hull under my feet tremble perceptibly under the tremendous strain to which it was subjected as the wind and sea smote her, and for a few breathless moments I believed she was foundering under us. Then, as she gradually freed herself of the water that flooded her decks, she gathered way and went foaming off before the gale like a mad thing. The next occurrence of which I was clearly conscious was that Chips was again leaning over toward me and shouting: “My God! Mr Blackburn, that was a narrer squeak, if ever there was one! If anybody had told me that the old hooker would have stood it, I wouldn’t ha’ believed ’em. But I think we’re all right now, so long as we can keep her runnin’ afore it, if only the spars and riggin’ ’ll stand the strain. But what about what’s ahead of us, sir? Is there anything that we’re likely to run foul of?” “Nothing, so far as I know,” answered I. “The chart shows a clear sea for some hundreds of miles to the eastward; and before we have run that distance the gale will have blown itself out. But there is Enderby trying to claw his way aft. I wonder what news he has for us.” The unnatural, ruddy light in the sky had by this time quite died out, but it was replaced by a faint, ghostly sheen emitted by the foaming surface of the wind-scourged sea, and by this feeble radiance it was just possible to discern the burly form of the boatswain laboriously clawing aft along the port bulwarks against the tremendous pressure of the wind. Presently he reached us and seated himself upon the wheel grating at my feet, gasping and panting for breath. “Well, Enderby,” I shouted, “what’s the news from the fore end of the ship? Did the sea that pooped us do any damage?” “Not so much as might ha’ been expected,” returned the boatswain. “The jolly-boat’s clean gone; the life-boat’s a wreck; the to’gallant bulwark, both sides, is gone, for’ard of the fore riggin’; the staysail blowed out of the bolt-ropes directly the gale struck us; and—worst of all—we’ve lost three of our little crowd.” “Lost!” I ejaculated. “What d’ye mean, man?” “Just what I says, Mr Blackburn,” answered the boatswain. “We’ve lost three hands—Van Haalst, Mendal, and Manning. The sea that broke aboard us must have took ’em unawares and swept ’em over the bows, for they was on deck before we was swept, and when she cleared herself they was gone!” “Jove! that’s bad news indeed,” said I. “We were short-handed enough before, but we shall be worse off than ever now. And they were all good men, too; we can ill spare them.” “Ay,” agreed Enderby; “there’s others that we could better have spared, if some of ’em had to go. But as to them bein’ good men—well, they was good enough sailor-men, I won’t deny, but if we’d lost ’em any other way than bein’ drownded—if they’d cut and run, for instance—I wouldn’t ha’ grieved overmuch at the loss of the two Dagoes.” Thereupon we fell silent, for to out-shout the yell of the wind and the roar of the sea was no easy matter; moreover the loss of those three men set me thinking, and on top of that the ship needed most careful watching, for, in light trim as she was, there were moments when the rudder seemed to lose control of her, and then it taxed our skill and strength to the utmost to prevent her broaching to, which would have meant the end of her and of all hands. I shall never forget that night, so long as I live. Never before had I known it blow anything like so hard; the wind smote one like something solid and with such tremendous force that to have stood up, unsupported, against the pressure of it, would have been impossible. If it had been blowing, say, half as hard as it actually was, there would have been a terrific sea running, but, far from this being the case, the surface of the ocean was as flat as a billiard-table, the slightest roughness being instantly seized by the wind and swept away to leeward in the form of scud-water. Then there was the appalling unnatural darkness, through which the ship was rushing at a speed which I am certain she had never before attained. The only mitigating circumstance was that the wind-lashed sea emitted a certain ghostly radiance that, despite the deluge of spindrift and scud-water with which the air was saturated, enabled one dimly to discern objects as far forward as the foremast. But to rush, at the speed at which we were travelling, into the heart of that pitchy blackness was nerve-racking work, for although the chart assured us that we had a clear sea for some hundreds of miles ahead, there were still such possibilities as derelicts to be reckoned with, and under such circumstances as I have been endeavouring to describe, if an obstacle of any sort should happen to be in our way, to avoid it would be a sheer impossibility, while to strike it would mean for us simply—destruction. I was anxiously considering the chance of such an eventuality when another terrific gust swooped down upon us; the ship trembled and lurched forward as though she were about to plunge to the bottom and have done with it; I heard a loud “crack” behind me, and simultaneously received a terrible blow on the back of the head; then—oblivion. A dull, aching, throbbing pain at the back of my head was the sensation of which I was first conscious upon awaking from what seemed to have been a sleep haunted by innumerable harrowing nightmares. Then, before I had time to fully realise that I was once more awake and free from the torment of those dreadful nightmares, I became aware of two things; first, that a soft, warm, salt-laden breeze was gently fanning my face and affording me much refreshment, and next, that the air was vibrant with the deep, booming thunder of heavily breaking surf. I was aware also that I was in bed, and that, apart from my throbbing headache, I was quite comfortable; and for perhaps two or three minutes I remained as I was, quiescent, enjoying the sensation of comfort, quite oblivious of everything else. Then it suddenly occurred to me to wonder where I was, what was the matter with my head—and back came the memory of that awful night of hurricane—that terrible blow on the back of my head—and, opening my eyes, I started up, with an inarticulate cry. That is to say I attempted to start up—but failed: my body felt like lead; I had no strength to move it, and after a moment’s ineffectual struggle I abandoned the attempt and let my head sink back upon the pillow. As I did so I became aware of a slight movement at my side and, glancing in that direction, I saw the boy Billy bending over me with an expression of deep anxiety in his eyes. As he continued to gaze, the expression of anxiety gave place to one of satisfaction, and he said: “Ah, that’s better, Mr Blackburn! I believe you’re not going to die yet, after all.” “Going to die!” I reiterated. “Have I been ill, then?” “You have, and no mistake!” emphatically asserted the boy. “For four days and nights you have been just raving; and all the while you refused to take anything but an occasional drink of water. No wonder you found yourself too weak to rise just now.” “By Jove!” ejaculated I, “you amaze me, Billy. But—I am puzzled. I am in my own bunk, in my own cabin; there is a nice breeze blowing, for I can feel it coming through the open scuttle, and I hear the seething of water along the ship’s side, yet I’ll swear she is not moving an inch. What is the explanation?” “I’ll tell you in a minute or two,” answered Billy. “But, first, let me get you some broth, for I can see that you’re about done up, and need something to strengthen you. I thought, this morning, that you seemed a bit different, and when you stopped raving and dropped off to sleep I seized the chance to get something ready for you against the time when you woke up. I’ll fetch it in half a jiffy.” So saying, Billy disappeared into the main cabin, returning a minute or two later with a bowl of steaming-hot, savoury-smelling soup, with which, after propping me up with cushions, he cautiously fed me, a little at a time, until he thought I had taken as much as was good for me. Then, removing the cushions, he lowered me gently back into a reclining position, made me comfortable and, seating himself by my bedside, proceeded to make me acquainted with the happenings succeeding my accident. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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