It was the fourth day of the long calm. An awning had been made on the stern for the passengers, and under it sat Lestrange, trying to read, and the children trying to play.
“Daddy!” suddenly cried Dick, who was looking over the rail.
“What?”
“Fish!”
Lestrange rose to his feet, came up and looked over the rail.
Down in the green water something moved, something pale and long—an ugly form. It vanished; and yet another came, neared the surface, and displayed itself more fully. Lestrange saw its eyes, he saw the dark fin, and the whole huge length of the creature; a shudder ran through him as he clasped Dicky.
“Ain’t he fine?” said the child. “I guess, daddy, I’d pull him aboard if I had a hook. Why haven’t I a hook, daddy?—why haven’t I a hook, daddy?—Ow, you’re squeezin’ me!”
Emmeline also wanted to look. He lifted her up in his arms; but there was nothing to see: the creature had vanished.
“What’s they called, daddy?” persisted Dick, as his father took him down from the rail, and led him back to the chair.
“Sharks,” said Lestrange, whose face was covered with sweat.
He picked up the book he had been reading and sat with it on his knees staring at the white sunlit main-deck.
He glanced at the book upon his knees, and contrasted the beautiful things in it with the terrible things he had just seen, the things that were waiting for their food under the ship.
It was three bells—half-past three in the afternoon—and the ship’s bell had just rung out. The stewardess appeared to take the children below; and as they vanished down the saloon companion-way[37], Captain Le Farge came up to the stern, and stood for a moment looking over the sea on the port side, where fog had suddenly appeared.
“The sun has dimmed a bit,” said he; “I can a’most look at it. There’s a fog coming up—ever seen a Pacific fog?”
“No, never.”
“Well, you won’t want to see another,” replied the mariner, shading his eyes and fixing them upon the sea-line. The sea-line had lost its distinctness.
The captain suddenly turned from his viewing the sea and sky, raised his head and sniffed.
“Something is burning somewhere—smell it? Seems to me like an old mat or somewhat. It’s that steward, maybe; if he isn’t breaking glass, he’s upsetting lamps and burning holes in the carpet. Bless my soul, I’d sooner have a dozen women an’ their dustpans round the place than one tomfool steward like Jenkins.” He went to the saloon hatch. “Below there[38]!”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“What are you burning?”
“I an’t burnin’ northen, sir.”
“Tell you, I smell it!”
“There’s northen burnin’ here, sir.”
“Neither is there, it’s all on deck. Something in the caboose, maybe—rags, most likely.”
“Captain!” said Lestrange.
“Ay, ay.”
“Come here, please.”
Le Farge climbed on to the stern.
“I don’t know whether it’s my weakness that’s affecting my eyes, but there seems to me something strange about the mainmast[39].”
The main-mast seemed in motion—a spiral movement most strange to watch.
This apparent movement was caused by a spiral smoke so vague that one could only see it from the slight tremor of the mast.
“My God!” cried Le Farge, as he sprang from the stern and rushed forward.
Lestrange followed him slowly, stopping every moment to clasp the rail and pant for breath. He heard the shrill bird-like notes of the bosun’s pipe[40]. He saw the hands rushing from the cockpit, like bees out of a hive; he watched them surrounding the main-hatch. He watched the tarpaulin and locking-bars removed. He saw the hatch opened, and a burst of black smoke rise to the sky.
Lestrange was a man of a highly nervous temperament, and it is just this sort of man who keeps his head in an emergency. His first thought was of the children, his second of the boats.
Going around Cape Horn the Northumberland lost several of her boats. There were left the long-boat, a quarter-boat, and the dinghy[41]. He heard Le Farge’s voice ordering the hatch to be closed and the pumps manned, so as to flood the hold[42]; and, knowing that he could do nothing on deck, he made as fast as he could for the saloon companion-way[43].
Mrs Stannard was just coming out of the children’s cabin.
“Are the children lying down, Mrs Stannard?” asked Lestrange, almost breathless from the excitement of the last few minutes.
The woman glanced at him with frightened eyes.
“For if they are, and you have undressed them, then you must put their clothes on again. The ship is on fire, Mrs Stannard.”
“Good God, sir!”
“Listen!” said Lestrange.
From a distance came the noise of the pumps.
Before the woman had time to speak a heavy step was heard on the stairs, and Le Farge broke into the saloon. There was blood on his face, and the veins stood on his temples like twisted cords[44].
“Get those children ready!” he shouted, as he rushed into his own cabin. “Get all you need—boats are getting ready. Hell! where are those papers?”
They heard him furiously searching and collecting things in his cabin—the ship’s papers, accounts; and as he searched, and found, and packed, he kept shouting orders for the children to be got on deck. Half mad he seemed, and half mad he was with the knowledge of the terrible thing that was packed among the cargo.
Up on deck the crew, under the direction of the first mate, were working in an orderly manner, utterly unconscious of the terrible thing being on fire there, under their feet. The covers had been stripped from the boats, kegs of water and bags of biscuit placed in them. The dinghy, smallest of the boats, was hanging at the port side; and Paddy Button was in the act of putting a keg of water in her, when Le Farge broke on to the deck, followed by the stewardess carrying Emmeline, and Mr Lestrange leading Dick. The dinghy was rather a larger boat than the ordinary ships’ dinghy, and possessed a small mast and long sail.
“Into the dinghy with you[45],” the captain cried to Paddy Button, “and row these children and the passenger out a mile from the ship—two miles—three miles.”
“Sure, Captain dear, I’ve left me fiddle in the—”
Le Farge dropped the bundle of things he was holding under his left arm, seized the old sailor and pushed him against the side of the ship, as if he meant to fling him into the sea through it.
Next moment Mr Button was in the boat. Emmeline was handed to him, pale of face and wide-eyed, and clasping something wrapped in a little shawl; then Dick, and then Mr Lestrange was helped over.
“No room for more!” cried Le Farge. “Your place will be in the long-boat, Mrs Stannard, if we have to leave the ship. Lower away[46], lower away!”
The boat sank towards the smooth blue sea, kissed it and was afloat.
Now Mr Button, before joining the ship at Boston, had spent a long time hanging around the quay, having no money to enjoy himself in a tavern. He had seen something of the lading of the Northumberland, and heard more from a stevedore. No sooner had he seized the oars[47], than his knowledge awoke in his mind. He gave a shout: “Bullies!”
“Run for your lives—I’ve just rimimbered—there’s two bar’ls of blastin’ powther in the hould[48]!”
Then he bent to his oars, as no man ever bent before.
Lestrange, sitting in the stern clasping Emmeline and Dick, saw nothing for a moment after hearing these words. The children, who knew nothing of blasting powder or its effects, though half frightened by all the bustle and excitement, were still amused and pleased at finding themselves in the little boat so close to the blue pretty sea.
Dick put his finger over the side, so that it made a ripple in the water (the most delightful experience of childhood). Emmeline, with one hand clasped in her uncle’s, watched Mr Button rowing the dinghy.
The long-boat and the quarter-boat were floating by the side of the Northumberland.
From the ship men were jumping overboard like water-rats, swimming in the water like ducks, getting on board the boats anyhow.
From the half-opened main-hatch the black smoke, mixed now with sparks, rose steadily and swiftly, as if through the half-closed teeth of a dragon.
A mile away from the Northumberland stood the fog bank[49]. It looked solid, like a vast country that had suddenly and strangely built itself on the sea—a country where no birds sang and no trees grew.
“I’m spint[50]!” suddenly gasped the oarsman, putting the oar handles under his knees, and bending down. “I’m spint—don’t ax me, I’m spint!”
Mr Lestrange, white as a ghost, gave him time to recover himself and turned to look at the ship. She seemed a great distance off, and the boats, well away from her, were making at a furious pace towards the dinghy. Dick was still playing with the water, but Emmeline’s eyes were entirely occupied with Paddy Button. She had seen him washing the decks, dancing a jig, going round the main deck on all fours[51] with Dick on his back, but she had never seen him going on like this before.
She saw he was in trouble about something, and, putting her hand in the pocket of her dress, she searched for something that she knew was there. She produced a Tangerine orange[52], and leaning forward she touched his head with it.
Mr Button raised his head, stared for a second, saw the orange, and at the sight of it the thought of “the childer” and their innocence, himself and the blasting powder, cleared his tired mind, and he took to the oars again.
“Daddy,” said Dick, “there’s clouds near the ship.”
In a short space of time the solid fog had broken. The faint wind had reached it, and was now making pictures of it, most wonderful and weird to see. The fog advanced, taking the world for its own.
Against this grey background stood the smoking ship.
“Why’s the ship smoking like that?” asked Dick. “And look at those boats coming—when are we going back, daddy?”
“Uncle,” said Emmeline, putting her hand in his, as she gazed towards the ship, “I’m ’fraid.”
“What frightens you, Emmy?” he asked, drawing her to him.
“Shapes,” replied Emmeline, close to his side.
“Oh, God!” gasped the old sailor, suddenly resting on his oars. “Will yiz look at the fog that’s comin’—”
“I think we had better wait here for the boats,” said Mr Lestrange; “we are far enough now to be safe if—anything happens.”
“Ay, ay,” replied the oarsman, “She won’t hit us from here.”
“Daddy,” said Dick, “when are we going back? I want my tea.”
“We aren’t going back, my child,” replied his father. “The ship’s on fire; we are waiting for another ship.”
“Where’s the other ship?” asked the child, looking round at the horizon that was clear.
“We can’t see it yet,” replied the unhappy man, “but it will come.”
The long-boat and the quarter-boat were slowly approaching. They looked like beetles crawling over the water.
Now the wind struck the dinghy. It was like a wind from fairyland, very low, and dimming the sun. As it struck the dinghy, the fog took the distant ship.
It was a most extraordinary sight, for in less than thirty seconds the ship of wood became a ship of haze, and was gone forever from the sight of man.
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