The G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  The men, who came along gradually and with difficulty, began to remove the barrels, coils of rope, and spare sails stowed there. Several of them were overpowered by the smoke, and had to be carried up again; and others came down and took their places.

  In three or four minutes the hose was passed down, and the clank of the pumps could be heard. Mr. Hardy took the nozzle and while the men, now a strong party, worked at the stores, directed a stream of water upon the flames.

  For a time, the efforts seemed to make no impression, and the steam added to the difficulty of working. Another gang of men were set to work, forward of the mast and, after half an hour’s labour, the stores were so far removed that the hose could be brought to play upon the burning mass at the foot of the mast.

  The lieutenant had been relieved by Harry, and he by the two midshipmen, in succession. Changes were frequent and, in another quarter of an hour, it was evident that the flames were well under control. The men engaged below relieved those at the pumps and, in an hour from the first outbreak, all danger was over, though pumping was kept up for some time longer.

  The captain made frequent visits to the deck. The vessel was still running before the wind, and the sea had got up. The motion of the ship was becoming more and more violent but, as there was nothing to be done, the men below were not disturbed at their work, and this was continued until smoke no longer ascended.

  Chapter 14

  The Great Andaman

  Leaving a party below, to clear away the burnt barrels and debris, and to extinguish any fire that might still smoulder among them, the rest returned on deck. Terrible as was the storm, it was a relief, to all, to cling to the rail and breathe the fresh air, after the stifling atmosphere of the hold.

  The scene, however, was a terrible one. Lightning was flashing overhead incessantly, although the thunder was only occasionally heard, above the howl of the storm. The sea was broken and irregular, leaping in masses over the bulwarks, and sweeping the decks. The force of the wind continually tore the heads off the waves, and carried the spray along in blinding showers.

  “We are very near the eye of the hurricane,” Captain Fairclough shouted, in Lindsay’s ear. “The men at the wheel tell me she has been twice round the compass, already; but this broken sea would, alone, tell that. We must get a little sail on the main mast, and try to edge out of it.”

  A small stay sail was got out and hoisted, and the helm was put down a little. Though still running at but a slight angle before the wind, the pressure was now sufficient to lay her down to her gunwale. The crew gathered under shelter of the weather bulwark, holding on by belaying pins and stanchions.

  Night had now set in, but it made little difference; for the darkness had, before, been intense, save for the white crests of the tossing waves. Sheets of foam blew across the deck and, sometimes, a heavy fall of water toppled down on the crew. A pannikin of hot soup had been served out to the men, and this would be the last hot refreshment they would obtain, before the gale broke; for the hatchways were all battened down, and it was impossible to keep the fire alight.

  “The best thing you can do is to turn in, Lindsay,” Fairclough said, after the former had finished his soup—a task of no slight difficulty, under the circumstances. “You can do no good by remaining up.”

  “How long is it likely to last?”

  “Probably for two or three days, possibly longer.”

  “I will take your advice,” Harry said. “I shall be glad to get these wet clothes off.”

  For a time, he was sorry that he had lain down, for the motion was so violent that he could, with difficulty, keep himself in his berth. Being, however, completely worn out by the buffeting of the gale, the efforts required to hold on, the excitement of the fire and storm, it was not long before he dropped off to sleep; and he did not wake up until a ray of dim light showed that the morning was breaking. The motion of the ship was unabated and after, with great difficulty, getting into his clothes, he went up on deck.

  Except that the clouds were somewhat more broken, there was no change. Dark masses of vapour flew overhead, torn and ragged. The wild tumble of waves rose and fell, without order or regularity. Forward, the bulwark on both bows had been carried away, and the deck was swept clear of every movable object.

  One watch was below, the men of the other were for the most part gathered aft, and lashed to belaying pins. Fairclough was standing near the wheel. With some difficulty, Harry made his way to him.

  “Not much change since last night,” he said. “I feel quite ashamed of myself, for having been sleeping in my berth while you have all been exposed to this gale.”

  “There has not been much to do,” the commander said. “In fact, there is nothing to be done, except to keep her as much as we dare from running straight before the wind. We have not had much success that way for, as you see, the tumble of water shows that we are still but a short distance from the centre of the gale. I sent the starboard watch below at four bells and, in a few minutes, we shall be relieved. Hardy wanted to stay with me, but I would not have it.

  “The cook has managed, somehow, to boil some water, and served a pannikin of coffee to all hands, just before the watch turned in; and he has sent word that he will have some more ready, by the time they come up again.”

  He looked at his watch, and called out, “four bells.”

  One of the men made his way to the bell, with alacrity. The watch below did not come up, for a few minutes, as they waited to drink their coffee. As soon as they appeared, the men on deck went below.

  “All the better for your sleep, Mr. Hardy?” Fairclough asked, as the other joined him.

  “Very much better, sir. I think the cook ought to have a medal. The cup of coffee before we turned in, and that we have just drunk, have made new men of us.”

  “You will call me, instantly, if there is any change, Mr. Hardy.

  “Mr. Eden, you had better come with us. The coffee will be ready, in my cabin.”

  There was no possibility of sitting at the table. But, sitting down on the floor to leeward, and holding a mug in one hand and a biscuit in the other, they managed, with some difficulty, to dispose of the meal. Then Fairclough, putting on some dry clothes, threw himself on his bunk. The midshipman retired to his own cabin, and Harry went on deck.

  “How are we heading, Mr. Hardy?” he shouted, when he joined the lieutenant.

  “At the present moment, we are running nearly due east but, as we have been round the compass, several times, since the gale struck us, there is no means of saying, with anything like certainty, where our position is. But I was talking it over with the captain, before I went down, and we both agreed that, as the centre of the hurricane is undoubtedly moving to the northeast, we must have gone a good many miles in that direction.

  “Of course, there is no means of determining how far till we can get a glimpse of the sun; but there is no doubt that, if the gale continues, we shall soon be in a very perilous position, for we must be driving towards the Andamans. We may have the luck to pass north of them, or to go between them.

  “We tried, last night, to get up a little more sail; but she would not stand it, and we were obliged to take it off again. So we can do nothing but hope for the best.”

  Two hours later, Fairclough came out again.

  “I am afraid that you have not been to sleep,” Harry said.

  “No. I am all the better for the rest, but sleep was out of the question.

  “How is she heading now, Mr. Hardy?”

  “Northeast, sir.”

  Fairclough took his telescope from the rack in the companion and, slinging it over his shoulder, mounted the ratlines to the top.

  “Have you made out anything?” he asked the sailor stationed there.

  “I have thought, once or twice, sir, that I saw land ahead; but I could not say for certain. It is so thick that it is only when the clouds open a bit that one has a chance.”

  Although he had taken his glass with hi
m, Fairclough did not attempt to use it, at present; but stood gazing fixedly ahead. A quarter of an hour later there was a sudden rift in the clouds, and a low shore was visible, some five or six miles ahead; and a dark mass, much farther off, rising into the cloud. Fairclough instantly unslung the telescope, and adjusted it. A minute afterwards the clouds closed in again and, telling the man to keep a sharp lookout, he descended to the deck.

  “We must set the main top-sail on her again, close reefed, of course. We are running straight for land and, unless I am much mistaken, it is the great Andaman. There is a lofty hill, some distance back from the shore. I only caught a glimpse of its lower part, but none of the small islands have any hill to speak of. The shore is about six miles off and, as the peak lies about the centre of the island, and as this is a hundred and forty miles long, we are some seventy miles from the northern point.

  “You know what that means. However, we must do all that we can, to keep her off.”

  “Ay, ay, sir,” Hardy said, turning without another word, and then gave orders to the men to set the top sail.

  This was done, and the ship’s course was laid parallel to the shore. The wind was now nearly northwest, and she lay down until the water was several planks up her deck. The crew were all lashed to windward, clustering where they would be most out of danger, should the mast go.

  Fairclough stood for a minute, looking at the shivering mast, and the shrouds stretched like iron bars.

  “We must get the guns overboard, Mr. Hardy; she will never stand this,” and indeed the waves, striking her broadside, were falling in a cascade over her.

  Calling four of the men, Hardy made his way down into the lee scuppers, where the water was nearly up to their waists; opened the portholes and slacked the lashings, when the four guns disappeared overboard. It required much greater pains to get down the guns from the port side, as tackle had to be attached to each, so that they could be lowered carefully, one by one, across the deck; but all worked heartily, and these also were launched overboard.

  “That has eased her, a bit,” Fairclough said, when Hardy rejoined him. “They helped to pin her down, and I could almost feel the difference, as each gun went overboard.”

  “I am afraid that it will make no difference, in the long run,” Hardy said. “She must be making a great deal of leeway, and I should say that she will be on shore in a couple of hours, at the latest. Still, we may have time to look out for a soft spot.”

  “We should not have much chance, in that case, Hardy; my only hope is in another shift of wind.”

  “But it will go round more to the north, sir, and then we sha’n’t be able to lie our course, at all. It has gone round a point, since we got up the top sail.”

  “Quite so; and I doubt whether it will go round soon enough to save us. If it should go round a little more to the north, we must try and get her on the other tack; but I am afraid, in such a sea, she will not go about. Of course, our great aim is to reach Port Cornwallis; or, if we cannot get as far as that, I have just been having a look at the chart, and I see there are three narrow straits. How much water there is in them, I do not know. They are most vaguely marked on the chart. One of them is but thirty miles north of our present position and, if we find that we cannot make the northern point, I shall try to get in there. I am not sure that, in any case, it would not be the best plan; for if there is only water enough to run a mile or so up this passage, we shall ground in comparatively still water; whereas, as the wind has been blowing from every quarter, it is almost certain that there will be a tremendous sea in the open port.”

  Fairclough placed himself at the wheel, and told the two midshipmen to go round, and tell the crew that there was an inlet ahead, but the depth of the water was uncertain. When they approached it, all hands would come aft, so as to avoid being crushed by the falling masts. A dozen of the men were to take hatchets, and cut away the wreckage if the mast fell, leaving only a couple of the shrouds uncut. When this was done, directly the vessel began to break up, those who could not swim were to make their way by these shrouds to the floating mast. Those who could swim could make, at once, for the shore.

  “When all have left the ship but Mr. Hardy and myself, we will cut the shrouds; and the masts will probably ground, ere long.”

  While before the sailors had, for the most part, been gazing at the coast, on which they had little doubt that their bodies would soon be cast up; they became lively and active, as soon as they received the order. It seemed that, after all, there was a chance for them.

  Four hours passed. The wind had now so far headed them that the brig could no longer keep her course parallel with the shore. Twice they had endeavoured to put her about, but each time failed; and she was now making so much leeway that the coast was less than three miles away. A tremendous sea was breaking upon it. One of the midshipmen had, for the past hour, been in the foretop with a glass; and the captain himself now went up, and took his place beside him. He saw at once that, accustomed as he was to use his telescope in rough weather, it would be useless here; for the motion was so great that it was only by following the midshipman’s example, and lashing himself to the mast, that he could retain a footing.

  “You are sure that you have seen no break in the surf, Mr. Eden?”

  “Quite sure, sir.”

  “We ought not to be far from it, now, if it is rightly marked on the chart.”

  Another hour passed, and they were within a mile and a half of the shore.

  “I think that I can see a break, over there, sir,” and the midshipman pointed to a spot a mile along the coast.

  “Pray God that it may be so,” Fairclough said, “for it is our only chance.”

  Two or three minutes later, he said:

  “You are right, there is certainly a break there. There is a line of surf, but it does not run up the shore, as it does everywhere else.”

  He at once descended to the deck.

  “Thank God!” he said, as he joined Mr. Hardy and Harry who, on seeing him coming down, had made their way to the shrouds, “there is a break in the surf. It is not a complete break, but there is certainly an inlet of some sort. And though it looks as if there were a bar, there may be plenty of water for us for, with such a sea as this, it would break in three fathoms of water and, as we don’t draw more than two, we may get over it. At any rate, it is our only hope.”

  “It gives us a chance, if we strike,” the lieutenant said, “for it will be comparatively calm water, inside the bar. Those who can swim should have no difficulty in getting ashore. The others might do so, on wreckage. Her masts are sure to come out of her, if she strikes heavily.”

  “I shall be obliged if you will go up to the foretop, Hardy, and con the brig in; but mind you, come down before we get to the white water. You may as well send Mr. Eden down.”

  Mr. Hardy was not long before he came down again and, at the captain’s suggestion, both he and Harry went below, and armed themselves with pistols. As soon as they came up again, they took their places by Fairclough. The seamen had all gathered aft. The boatswain had cut the lashings holding the spars—that had been sent down from aloft—in their place by the bulwarks. The boats had all been torn from their davits, or smashed; with the exception of the largest cutter, which lay bottom upwards in the middle of the ship, securely lashed to the deck.

  “Now, men,” the captain said, raising his voice almost to a shout, so that all might hear him, “you have behaved as well as men could do, during this storm; and I have no doubt that you will continue to do so, to the end. Remember that no one is to leave the ship, till I give the order. If you are cool and calm, there is good ground for hope that all may be saved.

  “If the mast falls, you who have hatchets run forward at once, and stand in readiness to cut the lanyards; but don’t strike until I give the order.”

  They were now fast approaching the line of surf.

  “Let everyone take hold of something,” Mr. Fairclough shouted. “If we strike,
we are sure to be pooped.”

  Another minute, and she was close to the breaking waves. Everyone held his breath as, impelled by a great breaker, she dashed into the surf with the swiftness of an arrow. There was a shock, followed by a grating noise, and then the brig slowly came to a standstill.

  “Hold on, hold on for your lives!” the captain shouted, as a wave even larger than the last came towering up behind them, in an almost perpendicular wall. It struck the vessel with tremendous force, and swept waist deep along the deck; while the vessel, herself, surged forward. There was another shock, but this time much slighter and, as the next wave carried them on, there was a general cheer from the sailors.

  “She has floated, she is through it, hurrah!”

  She was, indeed, over the bar.

  “There are men in the water,” Fairclough shouted. “Get ready to cast ropes to them.”

  Four men, who had been swept overboard by the rush of water, were rescued; two others were found dead on the deck, having been dashed against the stanchions, or other obstacles.

  The brig continued her course, four or five hundred yards farther then, as the banks of the inlet closed in, Fairclough gave orders for the anchors to be let go. Everything had been prepared for this order, and the anchors at once dropped and, as soon as fifty fathoms of chain had been run out, the brig swung round head to wind.

  “Muster the men, and see if any are missing.”

  This was done, and only one, besides three found dead, did not answer to his name. The general opinion was that he had struck against something, as he was swept overboard, and had been killed or disabled; for all who had been seen in the water had been rescued.

  “Serve out an allowance of grog, all round, Mr. Eden,” Fairclough said, “and tell the cook to get his fire alight, as soon as possible. We shall all be glad of a good meal.

  “Well, thank God, everything has ended far better than we could have hoped for!”

  Two hours later the crew, having got into dry clothes, were sitting down, enjoying a plentiful allowance of pea soup and salt junk; while the officers were partaking of similar fare, in the cabin. None who saw them there would have dreamt of the long struggle they had been through, and that the ship was well nigh a wreck. It was now late in the afternoon, and Fairclough gave orders that all might turn in, as soon as they liked; except that an anchor watch, of four men, must maintain a sharp lookout, for the natives of the island were bitterly hostile to the whites.