It will be remembered that, when making preparations for the gale, we had sent down our topgallant and royal-yards. When the project of cutting away the masts to serve as a last retreat for the crew had been carried out, somebody had had the forethought to get these spars overboard and secured to the wreck of the foremast; and in subsequently planning our raft it had been our intention to get the topgallant-yard on end to serve as a mast, with the sail as our means of propulsion through the water. Our plans were not carried out to such a stage of completeness as this when the strange sail hove in sight, and all our energies were now employed to get this part of the work done forthwith; as I felt convinced that, lying so low in the water as we were, we might be passed at a very short distance unobserved, unless we could raise a spar of some sort to attract attention.
But, owing to our very limited amount of standing room, and the aggravating way in which the water still washed over our structure, this particular task of getting the topgallant-yard on end proved most difficult; and we were still struggling ineffectually for success when a loud groan of disappointment, instantly followed by a frantic hail, told me that something was wrong; and, looking again toward the ship, now distant only some two miles, we saw that she had altered her course a couple of points, by which proceeding she would pass to the southward of us without approaching any nearer.
For a minute or two something very like a panic took possession of all hands, and everybody began to shout and gesticulate to the utmost of his ability without reference to the efforts of the rest. At length, however, Woodford and I managed between us to secure silence; upon which we directed that, whilst as many as could do so should stand up and wave jackets, shirts, or any other article most handy, the whole should at a given signal unite in a simultaneous hail. This we did, waiting each time until we rose to the crest of a sea; but it soon became evident that our voices were not powerful enough to reach the ship—I never expected that they would be—for she swept on unheeding, and was very soon to the eastward of us, increasing her distance every minute.
This most disheartening state of affairs continued until she had run about three miles to leeward of us, when we suddenly saw her round to and back her main-yard. I ought to mention, by the bye, that we had ere this discovered her to be a full-rigged ship—and not the Dido, as some had at first declared her to be—with her mizzen-topmast and fore and main-topgallant-masts gone, showing that she too must have encountered the hurricane which had proved so disastrous to us. She was evidently a foreigner; many of us pronounced her to be a Spaniard; and I thought that, if so, it was more than probable she was the identical vessel we had been sent out to look for.
“Hurrah!” shouted Tompion, as the stranger rounded to, “she sees us, my hearties; and—look, if my eyes don’t deceive me, there goes one of her quarter-boats down into the water. Now, ain’t that just like a lubberly Spaniard, to lie there with his main-topsail to the mast and give his boat’s crew a three-miles pull to windward when he might just as well make a couple of short boards and heave to within a cable’s length of us?”
By this time I had scrambled to my feet, and was with half a dozen others watching with mingled curiosity and apprehension the movements of the stranger, which were certainly not such as I should have expected her to make had her object in heaving to been our rescue. A boat had certainly been lowered, but we had not as yet caught a glimpse of it, from the exasperating circumstance that whenever we rose upon a sea the boat happened to be sunk in a hollow. At length, however, we got a moment’s view of her, and not only of her but also of something else which looked remarkably like another raft or a piece of wreckage, and it was toward this that the boat was steering and not toward us.
“By heaven!” I exclaimed, “they have not seen us after all; they are not coming here, and unless we can make them hear us within the next ten minutes our chance will be lost. It is a piece of wreckage—possibly part of the poor old Dolphin—that they have stopped to examine. We must shout, lads, and with a will, the ship is to leeward of us and may catch the sound. Now then, when we rise stand by—one, two, three, Ship ahoy!”
We shouted as we had probably never shouted before, not once but at least fifty times; we shouted ourselves hoarse, and at last had the vexation to see the boat being again hoisted up. We now fully expected to see the ship immediately bear up on her course, but she did not; her topsail remained aback for nearly ten minutes longer, during which we continued to shout and wave for our very lives. At length, however, the ponderous main-yard swung, the square canvas was braced sharp up, and the ship gathered way. A breathless half minute passed, during which every eye among us was unwaveringly fixed upon the distant ship, except when she vanished behind a wave-crest, and then a joyous shout went up.
“Now she sees us! she is standing this way, hurrah! hurrah!” And in the midst of it all the boom of a gun came sullenly up against the wind from the stranger, as an assurance of help and rescue.
Oh, how anxiously we watched the noble fabric as she ponderously ploughed her way obliquely toward us over the liquid ridges, now plunging to her hawse-holes and rolling heavily to leeward as she dived into the trough, and anon raising her dripping bows, richly carved and gilt, high in air as she slowly climbed to the surge’s crest! Her motion was slow and stately, for the wind had dropped very considerably, whilst, owing to the loss of her upper spars, she was under short canvas, and her approach consequently seemed to us most tediously slow. At length, however, she arrived within a biscuit-throw of us, backed her main-topsail again, and once more lowered a boat, which a dozen oar-strokes sufficed to bring alongside our raft. The bowman laid in his oar and hove us a rope, and as he did so the officer in charge of the boat—a young man in the undress uniform of a Spanish naval lieutenant—rose to his feet in the stern-sheets and, raising his hat to the little cluster of uniforms he saw among us, said in Spanish:
“Are you a portion of the crew of the Dolphin, British cruiser, which foundered last night?”
“We are,” I answered, very much surprised at the question, and wondering how in the world he came to know anything about the Dolphin and her having foundered.
“Then,” said he, “you will be gratified to learn that we have already picked up twenty-six of your company which we discovered about three miles to leeward, floating on a portion of the ship’s deck; and it was in consequence of the representations made to my captain by one of your officers picked up by us that an examination of the sea was made from our mastheads, resulting in your discovery. But I will not waste time by entering into further explanations at present; have I the honour of addressing the captain of the Dolphin?”
“I was her commanding officer,” I replied; “and I thank you greatly for the pleasing intelligence you have so promptly afforded us. How many of us can you take at once?”
“I am afraid we dare not venture alongside with more than twelve in addition to the boat’s crew; the swell is still very heavy. Will you have the goodness to tell off that number for our first trip?”
I called out the names of the men, one by one, as the boat was brought cautiously alongside the raft, and in a few minutes her complement was complete.
“Adieu, Señor Lascelles,” said the young officer, raising his hat again as he shoved off; “we will not leave you in your present uncomfortable position one moment longer than is absolutely necessary.”
I mechanically returned the salute, again wondering where he had picked up my name, until it occurred to me that he must have heard it mentioned by some of the party taken off the floating deck. The news that our loss was not as heavy by twenty-six as I had supposed it to be was intensely gratifying, and my spirits rose under its influence to a pitch of almost extravagant hilarity. Twenty-eight poor fellows still remained unaccounted for, and they had undoubtedly gone down with the schooner; but the loss was, after all comparatively trifling, taking into consideration the suddenness and completeness of the disaster, and I was inexpressibly thankful that matters had t
urned out to be no worse.
The boat was soon alongside again for a second moiety of my companions in misfortune, and a third trip sufficed to clear the raft of its living occupants, I, of course, as in duty bound, being the last to leave the clumsy structure which had served us in such good stead.
As I sat beside the young lieutenant in the stern-sheets of the boat during our journey to the ship—which occupied about a quarter of an hour, she having drifted considerably to leeward during the process of transhipment—he asked a few questions which elicited from me the leading particulars of our mishap; and having learned these he informed me that his ship, the Santa Catalina, had sailed four days previously from Cartagena for Cadiz, that she, like ourselves, had been caught in the hurricane, from which, however, she had escaped with only the damage to her spars already referred to. As we approached the ship’s side near enough to discern the crowd of curious faces peering at us over the lofty bulwarks, my new friend remarked with a peculiar smile:
“You will find among our passengers two former acquaintances of your own, unless I am greatly mistaken.”
We were alongside before I had time to ask him the names of these two former acquaintances, and in another moment, accepting the precedence which the courteous young Spaniard, with a graceful wave of the hand accorded me, I found myself on the side ladder of the Santa Catalina.
As I stepped in through the entering port a small, withered-up, sun-dried, yellow-complexioned man in full captain’s uniform met me, and, introducing himself somewhat pompously as Don Felix Calderon, the captain of the Santa Catalina, bade me, and through me my companions, welcome on board his ship, congratulating us upon our speedy rescue, and expressing the gratification he felt at being the means of saving so many gallant enemies from a possible watery grave. I made my acknowledgments as gracefully as I could under the circumstances, and was about to proceed with an inquiry relative to those previously picked up off the floating deck when the ring of people who had gathered round us during our somewhat ceremonious exchange of compliments was abruptly broken through by a female figure, and in another instant my neck was encircled by a pair of lovely arms, a beautiful head was laid lovingly upon my breast, and the clear silvery notes of Dona Inez de Guzman’s voice sobbed out:
“Oh, Leo, Leo, my darling! what joy is this to meet you so unexpectedly, when I feared that fate had separated us for ever!”
I was about to reply when, to my horror I must confess, my eye encountered that of Don Luis, Inez’s father, as he stepped forward and laid his hand somewhat sternly on his daughter’s shoulder.
“There, Inez,” said he, “that will do. You are doubtless overjoyed to again meet a friend who possesses so large a share of our regard; but do not allow your enthusiasm to carry you too far. Señor Lascelles is suffering from the effects of a long immersion in the sea; he is doubtless both hungry and thirsty; and he is also undoubtedly anxious to make arrangements with Don Felix as to the disposal of his men. Come, my dear girl, let us return to the cabin for the present; when our young friend has refreshed himself and is at liberty we shall both be glad of an opportunity to renew our acquaintance and to have a little conversation with him. Señor,” he continued, turning to me and offering his hand with a stately and somewhat distant bow, “accept my felicitations upon your most fortunate escape.”
My beautiful Inez upon this released me and retired, somewhat abashed, with her father; but as she went she managed to throw back a parting glance from her brimming eyes which assured me that my hold upon her affections was still as firm as it had ever been.
This most unexpected meeting with Inez and her father, with the restraint and coolness of the latter’s manner to me, coming as it did close upon the heels of several hours of exposure and, what was worse, extreme excitement and anxiety of mind, rather pushed me off my balance, and for a moment or two after my lady-love vanished into the cabin I scarcely knew where I was. Don Felix saw this, and coming forward placed his hand under my arm and very kindly invited me to accompany him to his private cabin, delicately suggesting that I appeared to be much exhausted, and that a glass of wine would do me good. Like most youngsters, however, I was too proud to yield to the weakness which had momentarily overpowered me, so, rallying with an effort, I murmured that it was a mere nothing, and turned the subject by asking his permission to muster my men in the waist that I might ascertain exactly who were the missing ones. The permission was at once accorded, and I then discovered that, of the entire crew of the Dolphin, the surgeon, Boyne the senior mid, and twenty-six men still remained unaccounted for.
The question now arose: In what light would Don Felix regard us, and how dispose of us? I thought it desirable that this question should be settled at once; and I was about to submit it to the Spanish captain before dismissing the men, when the individual most concerned forestalled me by calling me aside to the quarter-deck, where he and several of his officers had been in apparently anxious consultation whilst I had been mustering the remnant of the schooner’s crew. He informed me, upon my joining him, that, pleased as he was to have been the means of rescuing us, his duty to his government left him no alternative but to regard us as prisoners of war; and, whilst he should be pleased to receive my parole and that of the other officers, he feared he would be compelled to put the seamen in close confinement below—unless I would undertake on their behalf that no attempt should be made by them to capture or otherwise interfere with the Santa Catalina and her crew, in which case the confinement should be merely nominal.
I could scarcely refrain from smiling at the suggestion thus thrown out, for the Spaniards mustered twice as strong as we did; and they were moreover armed, which we were not. But, preserving my gravity, I unhesitatingly replied that gratitude alone for the important service rendered us would have sufficed to prevent any such attempt as that hinted at, and that I therefore cheerfully entered upon the required undertaking.
This matter satisfactorily settled, I retired below with the young officer who had had charge of the boat which effected our removal from the raft. His name, he informed me, was Silvio Hermoso Villacampa y Albuquerque; he was second lieutenant of the ship; and being very nearly my size and build he had very kindly proffered me the use of a suit of his clothing with which to replace my own drenched garments. He was a very pleasant, chatty young fellow, remarkably free and unreserved in his manner—for a Spaniard—and whilst I was shifting my rig, and subsequently partaking of some refreshments which had been laid out for me upon the ward-room table, I learned from him a great deal about the ship and her skipper, one item of my acquired information being the fact that the Santa Catalina was undoubtedly the identical vessel which I had been despatched to look out for. I learned that Don Felix, though a good enough man in the main, was not very greatly respected by his officers, who found him very deficient in seamanship, and suspected him of being also somewhat wanting in courage. He was new to the ship, it seemed, this being his first voyage in her; and young Albuquerque more than hinted his suspicion that Don Felix owed his command a great deal more to influence than to merit. My meal ended, I returned to the deck, and was then introduced in due form to each of the quarter-deck officers in succession, more than one of whom were polite enough to compliment me upon my Spanish.
When I had time to look about a bit I was greatly surprised to notice that no preparations were going forward to replace the spars lost by the ship during the hurricane; and upon my noticing it to the first lieutenant he replied, with rather a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders, that it was Captain Calderon’s intention to put into Cumana to refit, and also to land us Englishmen.
This was by no means pleasant news for me. I was in hopes we should have been carried across the Atlantic, which would have afforded us at least a chance of recapture by one of our own men-of-war; moreover Inez and her father were on board, and though I augured ill from the studied coolness of the latter’s reception of me, I thought I should never have a better opportunity than that afforded by
an Atlantic voyage for ingratiating myself with him and forwarding my love affairs. I thought matters over a little, and at length hit upon a plan which I thought might serve to render our visit to Cumana unnecessary, at least so far as the spars were concerned. I knew that a quick passage was regarded by the authorities as of the most vital importance, for my friend the second lieutenant had told me so; I therefore awaited my opportunity, and, taking advantage of a moment when Don Felix and several of his officers were chatting with me, I suddenly changed the topic of conversation by thanking the captain for the arrangements he had made for the comfort of myself and my men, which I begged he would allow me to acknowledge in the only way I then could, namely by assisting his crew to replace the lost spars of the ship, which I assured him we could and would do, unaided if necessary, before noon next day. He flushed up a little, stammered something unintelligible, and finally declined the assistance rather curtly.
I saw no more of Don Luis or his daughter until after the commencement of the first watch that evening, when the former joined me and proposed a little private chat on the poop.
I of course acceded to the proposal at once and followed my stately friend to the poop, fully expecting to be severely reproached for having presumed to entangle the affections of his daughter.
I quite looked for an exhibition of righteous anger; but in this I was agreeably disappointed. Whatever Don Luis’ feeling might have been he remained, outwardly at least, perfectly calm, speaking throughout our short interview in a low, sonorous, and steady voice.
“Since meeting you so unexpectedly on the quarter-deck this afternoon,” he commenced, “I have had a private conversation with my daughter, which has resulted in a full and complete explanation by her of the singular scene I then witnessed, and of all that has led up to it. I will not reproach you with anything that is past, because I feel that it is really I who am more to blame than anybody else for it. I have never thought it necessary to provide my daughter with any staid female companion—any duenna—to watch and control her actions; she has been allowed to run wild about the place from her infancy, and to have her own way in everything. I ought to have remembered this, and to have provided against all that has happened, before I ventured to introduce two young men beneath my roof. However, there is no very great harm done, so far—a few love-letters, and so on, but nothing serious. Now, young sir, I wish you to understand me clearly; I am quite willing to forget everything that has happened—but so must you. I am fully aware that, so long as we all remain on board the same ship, it will be quite impossible that you and my daughter should avoid meeting more or less; and after the scene of this afternoon on the quarter-deck I do not choose to excite comment and curiosity by forbidding your speaking to each other. But let me remind you that I am a parent, and that I possess rights which no gentleman will for a moment dream of infringing or disputing; in virtue of these, therefore, I must insist that, henceforward, you never presume to address my daughter in the language of love. Nay, do not look so angry, my young friend; I meant not to speak quite so harshly, but I was and am most anxious you should understand that there must be an end to all this business.”
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 169
