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<h3>Chapter Fourteen.</h3> <h4>An Appeal For Aid.</h4> “Aye, that’s the better way of looking at it,” chimed in the skipper, raising his arm at the same time from his station at the end of the bridge, where he was conning the ship. He then called out sharply, to enforce the signal. “Luff up, you lubber, luff!” “Luff it is, sir,” rejoined the helmsman, rapidly turning round the spokes of the little steam steering wheel. “It’s hard over now, sir.” “Steady there,” next sang out the captain. “Steady, my man!” “Aye, aye, sir,” repeated the parrot-like Tom Parrell, bringing the helm amidships again. “Steady it is!” “By George, we’re nearing the boat fast!” cried the skipper after another short pause, during which we had been going ahead full speed, with a quick “thump-thump, thump-thump” of the propeller and the water foaming past our bows. “Starboard, Parrell! Starboard a bit now!” “Aye, aye, sir,” came again the helmsman’s answering cry from the wheel-house. “Starboard it is, sir!” “Keep her so. A trifle more off. Steady!” “Steady it is, sir!” “Now down with it, Parrell!” sang out the skipper, bringing his hand instanter on the handle of the engine-room gong, which he sounded twice, directing those in charge below to reduce speed, while he hailed old Masters on the fo’c’s’le. “Hi, bo’sun! Look-out there forrad with your rope’s end to heave to the poor fellows! We’re just coming alongside the boat.” “Aye, aye, sir!” replied Masters promptly, keeping one eye on the skipper on the bridge and the other directed to the little craft we were approaching, and now close to our port bow. “We’re all ready forrad, sir. Mind you don’t run her down, sir. She’s nearly under our forefoot.” “All right, bo’sun,” returned the skipper. “Port, Parrell!” “Port it is, sir,” repeated Tom Parrell. “Two points off.” “Steady, man, steady,” continued the skipper, holding his hand up again. “Boat ahoy! Stand by. We’re going to throw you a rope!” At the same instant Captain Applegarth sounded the engine-room gong again, bringing the Star of the North to a dead stop as we steamed up to the boat slanting-wise, the steamer having just sufficient way on her when the screw shaft ceased revolving, to glide gently up to the very spot where the little floating waif was gently bobbing up and down on the wave right ahead of us, and barely half a dozen yards away, drifting, at the will of the wind, without any guidance from its occupants, who seemingly were unaware of our approach. “Boat ahoy!” shouted the skipper once more, raising his voice to a louder key. “Look-out, there!” The men in the bows of the boat still remained in the same attitude, as if unconscious or dead; but the other in the stern-sheets appeared to hear the skipper’s hail, for he half-turned his head and uttered a feeble sort of noise and made a feeble motion with one of his hands. “Now’s your time, bo’sun!” cried Captain Applegarth. “Heave that line, sharp!” “Aye, aye, sir,” roared out Masters in his gruff tones. “Stand by, below there!” With that the coil of half-inch rope which he held looped on his arm made a circling whirl through the air, the end falling right across the gunwales of the boat, close to the after thwart, where sat the second of the castaways, who eagerly stretched out his hand to clutch at it. But, unfortunately, he failed to grasp it, and the exertion evidently being too much for him, for he tumbled forward on his face at the bottom of the boat, while the rope slipped over the side into the water, coming back home to us alongside the old barquey on the next send of the sea, the heavy roll of our ship when she brought up broadside-on, as well as the weight of the line saturated with water, fetching it in to us all the sooner. “Poor fellows; they can’t help themselves!” cried the skipper, who had watched the boatswain’s throw and its unsatisfactory result with the deepest interest. “Bear a hand there, some one forrad, and have another try to reach them. The boat’s drifting past, and we’ll have to go astern to board her in another minute, if you don’t look sharp!” <ANTIMG src="images/ghost133.jpg" alt=""> Having climbed into the fore-rigging, however, so as to have a good look at the boat and its occupants as we neared them, I was quite as quick as the skipper to notice what had happened, having, indeed, foreseen the contingency before it occurred. So, ere Masters or any of the other men could stir a hand, having made up my mind what to do, I had seized hold of part of the slack of the line that remained inboard and, plunging into the sea, swam towards the boat. A couple of strokes, combined with the forward impetus of my leap overboard, took me up to the little craft, and in a jiffey I had grasped the gunwale aft and clambered within her, securing the end of the line I had round one of the thwarts at once, amid the ringing cheers of the skipper and my shipmates in the old barquey, who proceeded to haul us up alongside without further delay, tugging away at the tar rope I had hitched on, yo-heave-hoing and hurrahing in one and the same breath right lustily! So smart were they, so instantaneous had been the action of the moment during the episode, that we were close in to the ship’s side and under her conning, immediately below the port end of the bridge, where the skipper stood leaning over the rail and surveying operations, before I had time actually to look round so as to have a nearer view of the unfortunate men whom we had so providentially rescued. When I did though, one glance was enough. I was horror stricken at the sight that met my eyes. The man whom I had observed when we were yet some distance off to be lying huddled up in the bows motionless, as if dying or already dead, I now saw had received a horrible wound on the top of his head that had very nearly smashed in the skull, besides almost severing one of his ears which was hanging from the cheek bone, attached by a mere scrap of skin, the bottom boards of the boat near him being stained with blood that had flowed from the cut, and his hair likewise matted together with gore. Oh, it was horrible to see! He was not dead, however, as I had thought, but only in a state of stupor, breathing heavily and making a strange stertorous sound as if snoring. His fellow-sufferer aft, who did not appear to have suffered so much as his comrade, had seemingly swooned from exhaustion or exposure; as, on my putting my arm round him and lifting up his bent head, the man opened his eyes and murmured something faintly in some foreign lingo—Spanish, I think it was; at any rate a language I did not understand. But I was unable to notice anything beyond these details, which I grasped in that one hurried glance; for as I was in the act of raising up the poor chap in the stern-sheets, the skipper hailed me from the bridge above. “Below there!” he sang out. “How are the poor fellows? Are they alive, Haldane?” “They are in a bad way, sir,” I replied. “They’ve got the life left in them and that’s all, I’m afraid!” “Neither dead, then?” “No, sir.” “Bravo! ‘whilst there’s life there’s hope,’” cried the skipper in a cheery tone. “Are they quite helpless, do you think, Haldane—I mean quite unable to climb up the side?” “Quite unable, sir,” I answered. “One’s unconscious, and I don’t think the other could move an inch if he tried!” “Then we must haul ’em up,” said Captain Applegarth, turning to Masters, who had popped his head over the bulwarks and was now looking down into the boat, like the rest of the hands on board. “I say, bo’sun, can’t you rig up a chair or something that we can lower down for the poor fellows?” “Aye, aye, sir,” responded old Masters, drawing in his head from the bulwarks and disappearing from my view as I looked upwards from the stern-sheets, where I was still holding up the slowly-recovering man. “I’ll rig up a whip from the foreyard and we can let down a hammock for ’em, tricing up one at a time.” “Stay, cap’en,” cried Mr Fosset as the boatswain went bustling off, I suppose, though of course from my position I could not see him, to carry out this plan of his. “The davits here amidship are all right, as well as the tackle of our cutter that had got washed away in the gale. Wouldn’t it be easier to let down the falls, sir, and run up the boat all standing with the poor fellows in her as they are?” “By George, the very thing, Fosset!” exclaimed the skipper, accepting the suggestion with alacrity. “It will save the poor fellows a lot of jolting, and be all the easier for us, as you say. Besides, the little craft will come in handy for us, as we’re rather short of boats just now!” “Short of boats, sir!” repeated the first mate ironically as he set to work at once, with the help of a couple of the hands who jumped to his side to assist him the moment he spoke, casting off the lashings of the davits so as to rig them outwards, letting go at the same time the hooks of the fall blocks and overhauling the running gear. “Why, sir, we haven’t even the dinghy left intact after that clean sweep we had from the wave that pooped us!” “Oh, aye, I know that well enough,” said the skipper drily. “But, look alive now, Fosset, with that tackle, and don’t be a month of Sundays over the job! Send down two of the cutter’s crew to overrun the falls and drop down into the boat. They can help Haldane in holding up that poor chap astern and also bear a hand in hoisting up.” “All right, sir; we’re just ready,” shouted back the first mate as he gave the word to let go. “Lower away there with the slack of those falls. Easy, my man, gently does it!” In another instant down came the fall blocks, with one of the hands hanging on to each, the men alighting “gingerly” on the thwarts of the boat in the bow and stern of the little craft, which became immersed almost up to the gunwales with the additional weight. This was only for a moment, for the next minute Mr Fosset gave the signal to “hoist away,” the falls having been hooked on beneath the thwarts in a jiffey, and up we all went in mid air, “between the devil and the deep sea,” as we say afloat sometimes! “Bravo!” cried the skipper when we reached the level of the gangway and were all able to step out on to the deck. “That’s very handsomely done, my lads! Now let us see about lifting the poor fellows out. That chap there in the bows seems in a very bad way! You’d better carry him into the cuddy at once and let Mr O’Neil look after him.” “Indade, I will, sor,” said our doctor-mate, who was standing near by with a spirit flask in one hand and a medicine glass in the other, ready to give immediate succour to the rescued men. “Carry the poor beggar along an’ I’ll be afther ye in a minnit; for this other misfortunate gossoon here looks as if he wouldn’t be the worst for a dhrop of good brandy, an’ faith, I’ll say to him fourst, avic!” So saying the Irishman poured some of the contents of the spirit flask into the glass, which he held to the lips of the man. Mr Fosset and I were supporting him in our arms against the side of the boat, whence we had just removed him. The poor fellow’s strength returned to him almost as soon as he had sipped a drop or two of the brandy, and, starting away from the first mate and myself, as if no longer needing our aid, he stood erect on the deck. “Mil gracias, amigos,” he said, with a polite inclination of his head, in apology like for shaking himself free from us. “Estoy major!” Captain Applegarth stepped up to him. “I am sorry I can’t speak Spanish, sir, though I understand you to say you’re better. We’re Englishmen all on board this ship, sir, and I’m glad we’ve been able to pick you up.” The eyes of the man glistened and a pleased expression stole over his face. “What! You are English! he exclaimed excitedly. But—but I’m an American! Only I’ve been so long in Venezuela amongst Spaniards that I sometimes forget my own language.” Our skipper was equally delighted. “By George!” he said. “I was sure you were no blessed foreigner, in spite of your lingo, sir! Welcome on board the Star of the North.” The stranger looked round and his manner changed at once, and he pointed towards our funnels anxiously and their escaping steam. “A steam vessel, eh!” “Yes, sir,” said the skipper. “I command her, sir. Cap’en Applegarth, at your service!” “The deuce! I was forgetting. We passed you last night, I remember now! and you’re the captain?” “Aye!” replied the skipper, not quite making out what the other was driving at. “I’m captain of this ship!” “Merciful Heavens!” cried the rescued man, falling on his knees on the deck and bursting into a passion of sobs. “Thanks be to God! Yes, thanks be to God! You will save her, captain. You will save her?” The skipper thought the evident suffering he had gone through had turned his brain. “Save who?” he asked, adding in a kinder tone: “Of course, we’ll do anything and everything we can for you, but I must know my bearings first, my friend.” The man was on his feet at once. “I am not mad, captain, as you appear to think. I can see from your manner you think so,” he said. “I want you to save my Elsie, my only child, my little daughter, whom those villains, those black devils, are carrying off!” “Your only child, your daughter—black devils,” echoed Captain Applegarth, astonished at the poor man’s speech and at his wild and agonised look. “What do you mean, sir?” “Heavens! We’re losing time while those scoundrels are getting away with the ship!” exclaimed the other frantically and walking to and fro in a most excited state. “Fire up the engines, pile on the coals and steam like the devil! and go in chase of her, my good captain, you will? For Heaven’s sake, captain, for the love of God, start at once in chase of her!” “In chase of whom?” asked Captain Applegarth, still believing him to be out of his mind. “In chase of whom?” The man uttered a heart-rending cry, in which anger, grief and piteous appeal were alike blended. “In chase of a band of black miscreants who have committed murder and piracy on the high seas!” he ejaculated in broken accents. “The blood of a number of white men massacred by treacherous negroes calls for vengeance, the safety of a young girl and the lives of your brother sailors still on board the ship calls to you for help and rescue! Great Heaven! Will you stand idly by and not render the aid you can? Think, captain, a little girl like your own daughter—my Elsie, my little one! Yes, and white men, your brothers, and sailors, too, like yourselves, at the mercy of a gang of black ruffians! Sir, will you help them or not?” <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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