Chapter 22

IN WHICH THE WAVECREST SETS SAIL AGAIN

Nobody gave any further thought to the whale. My own eyes were set upon that yawning wound in the hull of the old Scarboro. After the shock of the collision the bark righted slowly, and when she did so the sea rushed into the hole in a most awful fashion.

We rowed rapidly toward the bark and made fast to the hoisting tackle. We had a sling let down for the second mate, who was still unconscious. Before we got him on the deck and got aboard ourselves, Captain Rogers had all hands remaining aboard at work to stop the dreadful leak.

Had all six of the boats been out at this time I fully believe the Scarboro would have gone to the bottom. Or, if there had been any sea to speak of, she would have gone down inside of two hours.

But being right on the job, as you might say, Captain Hi lost few seconds in the work of seeking to save the bark--and, incidentally, all hands. He did not even take the time to see how badly his nephew was hurt just then. As our crew came over the rail he set them to work, too.

"Take poor Ben below and let cookee do what he can for him," he bawled to me. "I want you to deck here, Webb."

There was a light breeze, and he had some canvas put on her and got the old bark hove over so that the hole the whale had smashed (it was right at the water-line) was where it could be got at. Of course, it was impossible at first to do anything from inside. There were two men on the pumps and they kept steadily at work, now I tell you.

Mr. Rudd, the carpenter, was not aboard; but Captain Webb did all that could be done at the moment. He put slings under the arms of two men and let them down the canted side of the craft, on either side of the great gap. Then canvas was let down--three thicknesses of heavy, new cloth--and this was laid over the hole after the splinters were cut away, and tacked to the hull, cleats being used to hold it in place all the way around.

Meanwhile the tar-buckets had been heated up, and those fellows gave the canvas and the hull all about it a good coating of tar. We ran several miles on this tack, and until the job was completed. Then, when the men and the tar-buckets were inboard again, the Scarboro was put over on the other tack and we beat back toward the whaleboats.

I can't say that no water came in; but we could keep the water down by working steadily at the pumps; and before night we had the other boats aboard, and three whales--including the old bull that had done the damage--strung together nearby. We could do nothing toward cutting up and trying-out the whales until the bark was safe.

A sharp blow just then would have fixed us, and that's a fact. Mr. Rudd and his helpers went below and broke out enough cargo to get at the hole stove in her side. Meanwhile we had to keep the pump brakes moving and the water that flowed from the pipes and out at the hawser-holes was as clear as the sea itself. The old bark had settled a good bit, and we were by no means out of danger.

Here we were, by the Captain's reckoning, all of four hundred miles southwest of Cape St. Antonio, which is south of the huge mouth of the de la Plata. To set sail for the principal port of Argentina--or any other port--would not suit Captain Hiram Rogers a little bit. Nor am I at all sure that, crippled as she was, the bark could have got to land.

Mr. Rudd would be some days repairing the damage done by the fighting whale. And meanwhile, what was going to become of poor Ben Gibson?

For our cheerful, boyish second mate was badly hurt. Consider: the whale had actually shut his jaws on Ben, and that one crunch should, by good rights, have finished the young fellow.

But he was reserved for a better fate, it seemed. When the captain overhauled his nephew, he found that he had sustained, beside the scalp wound from which he bled so much, a broken arm, a lacerated leg above the knee, and several broken ribs. These ribs and possible internal injuries are what feazed Captain Hi. He was no mean "catch as catch can" surgeon; most whaling captains have had to tackle serious medical and surgical difficulties in their careers.

Ben, however, was the skipper's own flesh and blood--his sister's child. He couldn't face that sister (she was a widow) if he brought Ben back to New Bedford a cripple for life. And the whale had certainly smashed him up badly.

"Clint Webb," he said to me, in a most serious tone, when he had made his examination of the poor fellow, "we are in a bad hole. It'll take a week o' fair weather for the carpenter to make us all tight again--and we ain't even sure of the weather. Then, there's the three whales alongside. We can't throw them away. The crew would have cause to complain. But this boy ought to have doctor's care."

I agreed with him, but had nothing to offer.

"I couldn't sail for the Plate now," he ruminated, "if I wanted to. Repairs of the ship must come before repairs of the boy. Webb! it's a good season, and the winds are fair. Would you make an attempt to get Ben to Buenos Ayres in that sloop of yours?"

"In a minute!" I declared, quickly, for the suggestion went hand in hand with the desire I had been milling in my mind for days.

"I'll mark you a chart. You can't miss of it. Anyhow, you'll hit land if you keep on going. There are fine hospitals at Buenos Ayres. I'd feel more as though I'd done my duty by Ben if I got him there. I'll find you a man to go along. Two of you can work that sloop prettily."

"Aye, aye, sir," I agreed.

He bustled away and brought back old Tom Anderly. I couldn't have wished for anybody else. In a quarter of an hour we had agreed on everything. Tom and Ben were to stick around Buenos Ayres until they heard from Captain Rogers, or the Scarboro put in for them. Of course, I would be free once I got to land, unless I wanted to stick the voyage out and claim my lay at the end. However, I was to have one hundred dollars in gold from the captain, and the sloop, whichever way I decided.

Captain Rogers had set Ben's arm and dressed his other wounds. Ben was conscious, but in great pain from the broken ribs. He knew what we were going to attempt, and he was willing to trust himself to old Tom and me. And the next morning, as soon as it was light, the Wavecrest was slung over the side, her mast stepped, and the riggers got to work on her. By noon she was provisioned and everything was ready for our cruise.

Ben Gibson was let down into the cockpit of the Wavecrest on a mattress and was got comfortably into the cabin without any trouble. There was a steady breeze, but the sea was calm. The crew bade us godspeed and the skipper wrung my hand hard; but only said:

"Do the best you can for him, Webb. I'm trustin' to you and Tom to pull the lad through."

We got the canvas up and sheered off from the Scarboro's side. We could hear the muffled hammering of the carpenter and his mates inside her wounded hull. They were fighting to keep the old hooker above the seas. As we drifted away from the whaling bark I was not at all sure that we should ever see her above the seas again.

Our canvas filled and the sloop got a bone in her teeth and walked away with it just as prettily as ever she had sailed in Bolderhead Harbor.

"She's a beauty boat, lad," growled old Tom Anderly. "And she's taking us out o' range o' them carcasses--Whew! they sartainly do begin to stink. I don't begredge the boys their job of cutting them whales up when they git at it."

We left the gulls and the sharks behind, with the bark and the rotting whales, and soon they were all far away--mere specks upon the horizon.