Part 13

On reaching the deck we found Garnett had discovered a brass gun lying on the port side of the ship, and he was busy spinning a yarn to the men in the boat, when the skipper bawled out for them to lend a hand to get our stuff aboard. We placed the iron box in the stern and, jumping in, started to examine the cut for a channel to get to sea.

We had only been on the wreck a few minutes, but we had no desire to remain any longer until we found a way out of the lagoon.

After sounding all the morning we found the depth pretty much the same all the way across, and we now noticed that the whole reef appeared much higher on the south side than before. The part above high-water also showed many seams and fissures that we had not seen there when we first examined it.

About noon we headed for the schooner, feeling anxious and depressed. Frisbow was more sanguine than the rest of us about lighting the schooner and forcing her across the barrier, but I knew it would be a desperate undertaking when we struck the breakers, that now rolled clear across the entrance.

When we reached the schooner we pried off the lid of the iron box and found a mass of discolored pulp, at the bottom of which was a brass plate with the word Isabella cut upon it in large characters.

We were so tired out with our exertions that as soon as we had something to eat all hands turned in for a short rest before beginning to unload everything on the beach. This appeared to be the only way out of the difficulty, and the skipper’s anxiety increased at every delay.

In the afternoon we began to get the gear out of the hold, and soon had the deck covered with stuff of all kinds to be sent ashore. As we had to break out some of our provisions, we closed the hatchway that evening on account of the heavy dew that fell at night.

After supper we started to load the boat, but as the men were tired they worked slowly. Garnett was growing ugly under the continual nagging by the skipper, and once Frisbow started to remonstrate with the captain for directing his abuse against the mate. This only had the effect of precipitating matters, and Garnett, who was passing some of the gear into the boat alongside, threw down the coil of rope he had in his hand and swore a great oath that he would not do another stroke of work until the skipper “mended his jaw tackle.”

This drove the old man into a frenzy, and before we could stop him he grabbed a harpoon and poised it to hurl at the mate.

“You mutinous scoundrel,” he yelled, “I’ll show you who’s captain of this craft!” Quick as thought he threw the iron, and I believed Garnett’s end had come.

Quicker still did the old sailor spring to one side, and, grabbing the bomb-gun, let drive at the skipper’s head, while the harpoon drove clear through the port bulwarks and hung there. The recoil of the gun sent Garnett staggering backward, while the captain, throwing up his hands, fell like a log across the hatchway. Frisbow and I stood horror-stricken for an instant and then we rushed to the captain’s side. I expected to find half of his head torn off by the shell, but, although his face was black with powder and the blood oozed from his mouth, he appeared to have no wound whatever.

We carried him aft and laid him out in his bunk, Garnett lending a hand as if nothing had happened between them. Then the professor went for the medicine-chest.

After washing blood, grease, and powder from the old man’s bruised face and applying a little spirits between his swelling lips, he suddenly opened his eyes and saw Garnett standing close by. He made a quick movement as though to rise, but Frisbow held him down. Then seeing we had mistaken the motive, he smiled a ghastly smile and held out his hand in the direction of the mate.

Garnett stepped forward and took it and their eyes met.

“You’ve killed me fair and square and I don’t bear you any malice,” said the captain with great difficulty.

“Killed nothing,” growled Garnett, with half a smile; “I only blowed a gallon or two of tallow into your whiskers; you were so almighty quick, you know.”

Here the skipper muttered an oath and tried to get up again, but Frisbow and I both held him quiet.

“You lie quiet to-night,” said the professor; “there’s no tremendous hurry about this business, and to-morrow this dizziness will be out of your head.”

He poured out a stiff glass of spirits, which the captain gulped down, and, after bandaging up the lower part of the bruised face with wet towels, we left him and went on deck.

Garnett kept chuckling to himself during the evening as we loaded the boat, and when the moon came up he and two men started to carry the load to the beach.

While they were absent Frisbow and I sat on the rail and discussed our chances of getting to sea again in a few days. I did not like to tell him how small our chances were, for he appeared to have perfect confidence in our ability to float the vessel overland on a heavy dew if it became necessary.

The boat had been gone about an hour and the moon was now high in the cloudless heavens, and I was getting sleepy, so I lit my pipe and smoked hard to keep awake. The water shone like a polished mirror of silver, and the dark outline of the reef loomed distinctly through the night on all sides. We could hear Garnett and the men talking on the beach as they unloaded the boat, but besides this there was not a sound on that desolate spot save the deep hum of the surf outside the barrier.

My thoughts turned to the wreck, which shone like a black speck in the white wash of the sea, and we talked of how she had probably run on the ledge in the night, years ago, and then slid off into deep water. Her crew, even if they were rescued, must have died over a century ago, and there was little chance of our ever finding any record of her loss. That she was a Spanish ship and her name Isabella I felt quite certain; but even that fact conveyed little knowledge to any of us.

While we sat on the rail and talked a deep booming like thunder suddenly broke the stillness about us, and the little vessel trembled violently. We started to our feet and listened as the great volume of sound filled the air around us, dying away gradually in pulsations. We heard the cries of the men on the beach, followed by a few moments of silence; then the booming began again and lasted a few seconds, dying out as before.

“I suppose we’re about as safe here as anywhere,” muttered the professor; “but I must say that is the most terrific sound I’ve ever heard.”

We waited ten or fifteen minutes in silence, when the stillness was broken by the wash of oars as Garnett started to come aboard. We could not see the boat against the dark outline of the shore, but we could hear the clank of the rowlocks, and I leaned over the side, knowing it would be in sight in a few moments.

As I watched the water I was suddenly aware of a strong current setting past the vessel towards the entrance, and at the same instant Frisbow uttered a startled exclamation. In an instant the boat showed clear in the moonlight and Garnett’s voice bawled out for to throw him a line.

Seizing the main-sheet, I threw it to him as the men were bending to the oars as if rowing through a rapid. The man forward caught it and hauled alongside, all hands wasting no time in clambering to the schooner’s deck.

“It’s a tidal wave, sure,” grunted Garnett, out of breath. “Look out for the hatches.”

In less than a minute we had everything lashed down forward, and then all hands came aft to the companion-way of the cabin. As we stood there we heard a deep murmur from the northward and westward, which gradually increased as the seconds flew by.

“How are the anchors?” asked the professor of Garnett.

“Every fathom of the best Norway iron tailing to each one,” answered the mate; “but they’ll never hold if the sea comes over the reef.”

Suddenly the deep murmur swelled into a thundering roar. The schooner strained at her cables as the water flashed past, and then above the reef we saw a hill rise white in the moonlight with its crest ragged and broken against the night sky. The very air shook with the jar of that foaming crest as it fell with a mighty crash on the reef and went over it.

“Get below!” roared Garnett, and we tumbled down the companion into the cabin, the mate pulling the hatch-slide after him and fastening it.

The skipper had sprung from his bunk when the roar had awakened him, and stood looking at us in dismay as we tumbled below. In an instant I felt the schooner rise as, with a deafening, smothering crash, the surge struck and passed over her. She seemed to mount into the air and fly through space for nearly a minute. I found myself lying on the port side with my feet against the deck-beams and my hands stretched out against the cabin floor. The next instant she righted with a jerk and I found myself lying on top of Garnett in the middle of the cabin. The water poured through the crack of the hatchway and down the skylight, so for an instant I supposed we were at the bottom of the sea. Garnett, however, flung me aside and started for the deck.

The schooner made a few sharp rolls and then partly steadied herself on an even keel as the mate slid back the hatch-slide. Instead of tons of water pouring down upon us, as we looked up we caught a glimpse of the full moon in a clear sky, and I don’t remember anything that looked half so beautiful as it did to me at that moment.

We scrambled on deck and looked about us. There, a quarter of a mile away to the northward, lay Clipperton Reef, quiet and peaceful on the bosom of the calm Pacific Ocean. Not a thing was left, save a few streaks in the moonlit water which looked like tide-rips, to show that any disturbance had taken place.

As for the schooner, our bowsprit and foretop-mast were missing, and the main-boom was broken at the saddle, but our lower masts were all right. The bits forward were torn completely out of her with the surge on the anchors, and her decks were swept perfectly clean, but when we sounded the well and found only two feet of water in the hold we knew we were safe. She had gone over the reef on the crest of the tidal wave and had not even touched it. Whether we went through the cut or not it was impossible to tell.

The boat was gone, so we could not go ashore again even if we wanted to, but the professor was the only one who showed the slightest inclination in this respect, and after we assured him of the loss of his specimens he showed even less than the rest of us.

The skipper stayed on deck during the remainder of the night while we worked the schooner away from the breakers. As there was no wind we had to do this by means of a drag, which one man carried forward and dropped overboard, while the rest of us tailed on to the rope which led through a block on her quarter. By midnight we were out of all danger, and, after putting the foresail on her, we divided into our regular watches again.

The next morning we went to work to repair damages, and by noon we had all the lower sails set. A light air drifted us slowly to the westward, and before night we saw the reef for the last time.

We had nearly a hundred valuable specimens in the hold, and, considering our bad luck, we were not entirely unsuccessful. Frisbow fretted a good deal about his whale, but when we struck the trade-wind his spirits rose so high at the prospect of being home again in a few weeks that even this loss was forgotten.

The skipper and Garnett got along together splendidly, and there was less swearing done on board during the run home than probably ever before among five sailors afloat. The only great inconvenience was the loss of our galley, which caused us to have to cook in the cabin and eat with the forecastle mess things.

On the sixty-first day out we sighted the Farralone Islands, and that night we were ashore in San Francisco.

After being ashore about a month I was astonished one day to find Professor Frisbow’s card at my lodgings asking me to call at once on him at the Museum. I did so and found him greatly excited. Without giving me a chance to ask questions he immediately began to tell me about the wreck we saw on the reef.

“She was the Spanish ship Isabella,” he said, “and I want your confidence in the matter I’m going to arrange.”

I promised secrecy, and then he told me that upon looking up old records he had found there was a ship by that name lost with all hands somewhere in the Pacific, and that she was fairly loaded with silver bullion.

I did not place much faith in the matter, but told him I would try and get a vessel to take him back there if he wanted to go.

He was much disappointed at my reception of his scheme, but he accompanied me to Garnett’s boarding-place, where we discussed the matter with that sailor at the risk of losing everything.

After a little talk the mate finally convinced Frisbow that the wreck was either washed off into deep water or torn to pieces by the sea that carried us over the reef, so that in either case it would be useless to hunt for the treasure.

This ended the matter so far as the professor and I were concerned, but I heard afterwards how Garnett had bribed the skipper of the next ship he sailed on to put in there and examine the place.

No one ever knew if he found anything, for the captain and he were the only ones who went ashore during three weeks spent there, but it was his last voyage, for he afterwards bought a little farm up the valley and lived quietly with a very young and pretty girl for a wife.

_THE TRANSMIGRATION OF AMOS JONES_

After supper Zack Green came on deck, and, seating himself on the bitt coverings near the port quarter-rail, lit a villanous looking cigar and began to smoke.

We had run into the southeast trade and were reaching along to the southward under skysails. It was just seven bells and O’Toole, the first mate, had half an hour more of his watch on deck. The evening was clear, and the lumpy little trade-clouds flew merrily away to the northwest. Not even a skysail halyard had been touched for a week, so O’Toole lounged carelessly fore and aft on the quarter-deck, stopping at every turn when he reached the skipper to see if he had anything to say.

In good weather Captain Green’s discipline was not too strict, and he would often talk to the officer on watch. “I was thinking,” said he, without taking his eyes from the horizon-line, “about this transportation or emigration of souls you hear so much about nowadays. You know what I mean,--one person’s soul getting the weather-gauge of another’s; and do you know, by Gorry, I believe there’s some truth in it”

“Sure! No fear, ’pon me whurd; I know it’s a fact,” said O’Toole.

“There’s no doubt of it.”

“I was just thinking av a case in hand, an’, ’pon me whurd, ’twas typical av th’ machination. D’ye remember owld man Crojack? But ye must, fer he was one av th’ owld shell-back wind-jammers av yer time, an’ a man to decorate a quarter-deck.

“Ye remember th’ time he took Mr. Jones to Chaney? That’s th’ case in hand. ’Twas transmigration av sowl fer sowl, sure.

“He was a contumacious rask’l, this Jones, an’ ’twas by this token I came to like him.

“His governor offered Crojack one thousand dollars if he would take him to sea an’ bring him back again minus th’ unaccountable thirst he had fer iced wines an’ owld liquors. An’ th’ owld man did it.

“There was money enough in th’ Jones family. But that is where th’ trouble came in. Th’ young divil must have had nigh onto a ton av stuff sent outside th’ bar to meet us th’ day we sailed. Bottles av all kinds came over th’ rail whin th’ owld man lay th’ topsail to th’ mast an’ waited to see what th’ small boat ahead av us wanted. Crojack didn’t object, fer he reckoned to lock th’ stuff in th’ lazarette an’ sell it at a fair figure in Hong-Kong. I remember th’ outfly th’ youngster made over th’ grub. We were living better than any ship in th’ Chaney trade, an’ more like a man-o’-war than any trader afloat, but nothing would do him.

“Wan morning he came to th’ owld man an’ said there was a bug in his bunk. ‘Likely as not,’ said Crojack; ‘’pon me sowl, there’s wan in mine.’

“If it hadn’t been fer me th’ owld man would have made out av th’ wines, but when he had th’ stuff locked fast th’ young man came to me, so sorrowful like, I didn’t have th’ heart to refuse him th’ loan av a capstan-bar. Thin we went halves, an’ as fast as we’d drink th’ stuff he would fill th’ bottles with good salt water an’ put them back again.

“‘Faith, ye have th’ makin’ av an uncommon nose on ye,’ said th’ owld man one day to th’ young Jones. He was suspicious av th’ color. “’Tis a good rule not to belave anything ye see an’ nothing ye hear,’ said that Amos, cocking his eye at me. An’ th’ owld man never thought to examine his lazarette till we made Singapore. Thin we came near having a mutiny aboard.

“After this we grew mighty quiet, fer our grog was cut off intirely, an’ we began to nose around fer something to scratch. Jones drank all th’ Worcestershire sauce from th’ cabin mess, an’ wound up on th’ alcohol av th’ varnish tins in th’ carpenter’s room.

“I was feeling blue, an’ by th’ time we struck into th’ hot calms av th’ Chaney Sea I was seeing queer things. Wan stifling, foggy morning I could stand it no longer, fer I’d had a nightmare that set me shaking. I went aft to th’ owld man an’ said, all tremblin’ like, ‘Captain, there’s something wrong on this here ship, an’ I had a bad night last night.’

“‘Anything wrong for’ard?’ said he. ‘I thought ye were man enough to manage a lot av fellers like these.’

“’‘Tain’t that,’ I said. ‘Nothin’ th’ matter there.’

“‘Well, what in blazes is it?’ he roared. ‘Out with it. What’s th’ matter with ye?’

“I must have looked pretty rough, fer he kept his eyes on me, staring like, but I was a little nervous about telling my suffering. Finally I had to let it come.

“‘It’s like this,’ said I. ‘Last night I lay out on the main-hatch durin’ my watch below. I was draming av Billy Malone’s wake,--Bill, yer know, that used to be mate with Cutwater,--an’ I could see it all so plain, even Bill’s pet goat. Th’ goat had a pigtail as long as yer arrum hanging right under his chin, an’ his eyes were bad looking. I gives th’ baste a kick, an’ Malone that’s dead sat right up an’ grinned horrible. Thin he called fer water, an’ it seemed like th’ new taste was too much fer him. He drank an’ drank an’ swelled an’ swelled till he got as big as th’ mainsail, an’ all th’ time I heard th’ splash, splash, splash av th’ liquid washing down his innerds. Thin he seemed to overshadow me an’ thin draw slowly away, beck’ning me to follow. An’ I tried to follow an’ woke up. ’Pon me whurd, fer a fact, may th’ saints belave me, there he was drifting off th’ port beam, an’ I could hear th’ splash, splash, splash fer a minute afterwards.’

“‘Is that all?’ said th’ owld man.

“‘No, sir; ever since we struck this calm, three days ago, I’ve been feeling quare like, an’ I ain’t slept overmuch--an’, an’--well, if ye have a drap av th’ craythur it would do me good.’

“‘Go for’ard an’ send th’ carpenter aft, an’ then come here.’

“So I did, an’ whin I got there th’ owld man give me an uncommon long grog.

“‘Now,’ said he, ‘clear away th’ after battery an’ get out th’ muskets. Ye air a fine dramist, Mr. O’Toole.’ So I lent a hand an’ got th’ two six-pounders we carried on th’ poop clear fer firing. Thin I looks out th’ muskets. Amos Jones came on deck an’ saw th’ manœuvres.

“‘What t’ell!’ said he. ‘Be ye going to engage in an engagement? Where’s th’ inimy?’ For th’ wasn’t a rag above th’ sea-line.

“‘Pirits,’ said Chips, ramming a bag av powder into wan av th’ guns.

“‘Ye don’t tell!’ said Amos.

“‘Fact,’ said Chips; ‘an’ now if you’ll pass me a ball I’ll finish this roarer.’

“But there wasn’t wan aboard. No, sir; powder there was in plenty, but divil a ball aboard th’ ship.

“Th’ owld man swore, an’ we hunted all tween-decks, but ’t wasn’t any use, so we dealt out th’ muskets an’ waited for night.

“Pretty soon Amos Jones came on deck again.

“‘I have it,’ said he. ‘Here’s th’ thing,’ an’ he held up a bottle filled full av bullets an’ nails. ‘Stave me, but this is good ammunition; ’twill fit to a T.’ An’ sure enough it did. It fitted th’ bore av th’ little guns exactly. A most uncommon bad thing to have hove at ye close up.

“Th’ fog held an’ at night it was blacker than th’ inside av th’ galley stove-pipe. We had begun to laugh at th’ skipper, but he said nothing, except that we’d see something before morning or else he’d put me in irons fer the biggest liar afloat. I was tired that night, but I kept awake an’ was leaning on th’ port rail about midnight. Suddenly I heard a rippling in th’ calm ocean off th’ port beam. I passed th’ whurd an’ we lay waiting, Amos standing at th’ lanyard av th’ port gun.

“All av a suddin we saw thim. Two junks right alongside jammed to th’ rail with pigtails.

“‘Turn her loose!’ bawled th’ owld man, an’ Amos let her go slap into thim. That bottle burst close aboard, fer ye never heard sich yelling. Thin they ranged alongside an’ was fast to us, an’ they swarmed over th’ rail like so many rats.

“Well, there was bloody murder aboard us fer half an hour. ’Twas a nasty fight an’ things looked bad at wan time. But Amos trained a culverin down th’ main-deck an’ gave thim ground glass, bullets, an’ lug-bolts to th’ quane’s taste.

“Thin we cleared up th’ mess an’ they let go. But Amos had got it bad.

“A big pigtail had hit him a chip in th’ thick av his leg, an’ he was bleeding fer further orders.

“There we were, two days’ sail from Hong-Kong, an’ no doctur aboard.

“We tied him up th’ best we could an’ drew th’ hooker with th’ quarter-boats ranged ahead. Finally th’ air come an’ we went along.

“Whin we made th’ harbor we had th’ doctur, an’ he said,--

“‘Lost too much blood.’

“‘Well,’ says Crojack, ‘there’s plenty av it in Chaney.’

“‘Fact,’ said th’ doctur, an’ he brought th’ first loafer he found aboard.

“‘Now,’ says he, ‘I’ll have sum av yer juice, me boy, an’ pay ye tin dollars fer it.’

“Th’ Chaneyman was scared at first, but th’ doctur said he would have him skinned alive if he wouldn’t trade, so he finally did.

“He guv him some spirits an’ hitched th’ yeller boy’s artery to Amos Jones’s. Thin th’ natur av th’ proceedings did th’ rest.

“We shut off grog on th’ voyage home an’ Amos acted like he was trying to become a dacent member av his father’s church. Whin he landed an’ said good-by, Crojack was making his reckoning fer that thousand dollars.

“He went to th’ office wan day an’ there he met Amos Jones senior, an’ he reminded th’ gent av his debt. ‘What?’ bawled Jones. ‘Cured him, do ye say? Well, he was bad enough before, drinking like a gentleman, but ye’ve ruined him intirely. Here he is getting biled rice cooked fer every meal an’ getting drunk on Chaney saki every night. No, sir, not a cent from me, sir.’ An’ they say he cried like th’ good owld father he was.”

O’Toole stopped here and went to the break of the poop. When he returned, Zack Green was thinking. “It may be so,” said the skipper; “but did you ever hear what become of the Chinaman?”

“That I did,” said O’Toole.

“What?” asked Zack Green.

“Well, Amos Jones was a frind av mine, so, if ye’ll excuse me, I’ll not say. ’Pon me whurd, I won’t.”

_MURPHY OF THE CONEMAUGH_

All deep-water ships carry mascots. As the mascot must be some kind of living creature, a cat will often supply the necessary medium for carrying on pleasant intercourse with the fickle goddess of fortune. But men on deep-water ships must be fed, especially those who live in the after-cabin or who help to form what is called the after-guard. Therefore it is not an uncommon sight to see a ship’s deck looking like a small farmyard afloat.