In the Misty Seas: A Story of the Sealers of Behring Strait

"You brought this grub yourselves. They don't feed you very well," said Appleby, and the others laughed.

"No," said one. "None of the Aldebarans would get a prize at a cattle show, and you'd be glad to steal the dog's dinner in a week or two, only we haven't got one. You see a dog can't live on nothing as we're almost expected to do, and the old man's too mean to waste food on anything that can't handle sail."

"What's he like apart from his stinginess?" asked Niven.

"Well," said one of the others, "I have sailed with worse – a little – but the old man don't count for very much, anyway, because it's the mate who runs the ship, and the one we've got now's a terror."

"He's a pig-faced Geordie with a tiger's heart. I'd sooner live with a shark," said a lad who sat in a corner. "Hadn't been out two hours when he pitched one of the fellows forward down the hold. Of course it was tolerably full, and he didn't fall very far."

"What did the man do?" asked Appleby.

"Crawled away out of sight, and went to sleep – of course," said the first speaker; "none of them will be much good until to-morrow, but there'll be a circus or two on board this packet before we fetch Vancouver."

It was not very encouraging, but it was evident that they must make the best of it, and Appleby solaced himself with a long draught from his pannikin. The tea was hot and sweet at least, though there was very little else to recommend it, and it and the crumbly bread that tore beneath the knife put a little warmth and vigour into him. There was very little of the loaf left when all were contented, and following the example of the others, he and Niven crawled into their shelf-like bunks. Appleby flung off his jacket only because Lawson the eldest lad warned him that he might be wanted at any moment, but though his clothes were wet and his straw mattress might have been more cosy, he was glad to feel the warmth begin to creep back into his chilled limbs. The lamp creaked dolefully above him as it swung to and fro, casting a brightness that flickered and vanished on the brass of the ports. Moisture stood beaded on the iron beams, and the wooden floor was wet, while now and then one of the big sea-chests groaned as it moved a little. Nothing was quite what Appleby had expected, but he did not think there was anything to be gained by mentioning it, and his eyes were growing dim when a shout roused him. Lawson was out of his berth in a moment and struggling into a black oilskin.

"You should have had yours handy, but you'll have to turn out without it. They're getting sail on to her," hee said.

It seemed very black and cold when Appleby went out into the rain again. The wind had evidently freshened, and sang through the maze of cordage above him with a doleful wailing, while as he peered into the darkness a burst of bitter spray beat into his eyes. It was almost a minute before he could see again, and then he made out the reeling lights of the tug with a row of paler ones behind them, and not far away a great whirling blaze.

"That's the Skerries," said Lawson, who appeared at his elbow. "Yonder's Holyhead. Wind's freshening out of the south-east, and she'll about fetch Tuskar on a close jam down channel."

Appleby did not understand very much of this, but he had little time to wonder as to its meaning, for the mate went by just then, and Lawson vanished into the darkness when his voice rang out, "Fore and main topsails. Forward there, loose the jibs."

Dark objects went by at a floundering run, and Appleby followed some of them to the foremost shrouds which ran spreading out with the rattlings across them from the lower mast-head to the rail. He had swung himself up on to it, and was glancing down at the leaping foam below, when somebody grabbed him by the arm, and next moment he was staggering across the deck.

"You'll go up there when you're told," the mate's voice said. "We want a good deal more work out of you before you're drowned."

"He's a pig," said Niven, appearing close by, and then sank back into the shadow when a big hand reached out in his direction, while presently the two found themselves pulling and hauling amidst a group of swaying figures about the foot of the foremast. It ran up into the darkness black and shadowy, and dark figures were crawling out on the long yard above them that stretched out into the night, while there was a groaning and rattling that drowned the wailing of the wind.

"Gantlines!" said somebody. "A pull on the lee-sheet. Overhaul your clew," and black folds of canvas blew out and banged noisily above them. Then while the men chanted something as they rose and fell, the flapping folds slowly straightened out, and Niven looking up saw the topsail stretch into a great shadowy oblong. Then the men upon its yard seemed to claw at the next one, and there was more banging and thrashing as it rose, while the tug's whistle hooted, and hoarse shouts fell from the darkness and mingled with those from the poop.

"Forward," roared somebody. "Get the jibs on to her."

Neither Niven nor Appleby knew whether this referred to them or what they were expected to do, but there was nobody to tell them, so they followed two men forward, and stood panting a moment on the forecastle. It was rising and falling sharply now, for a long swell was running up channel, and they could dimly see a man crawling out upon the jibboom. This time they did not attempt to follow him, and when somebody drove them down the ladder a figure in oilskins thrust a rope into their hands.

"Hang on while I sweat it up," it said.

Appleby did not understand the manoeuvre, but when the man caught the rope beneath a pin and they took up the slack he gave them at every backward swing, a long triangular strip of canvas ceased banging, and the lads felt they were doing something useful when presently a second one rose into the blackness. Then they stood gasping, and watched the lights of the tug slide by. They could see the white froth from her paddles and the rise and fall of the black hull, while the voice of her skipper came ringing across the water.

"Good voyage!" he said. "You'll fetch Tuskar without breaking tack."

The tug went by, and Niven set his lips when with a farewell hoot of her whistle she vanished into the blackness astern. She was going back to Liverpool, and would be there before the morrow, while when another day crept out of the rain he would be only so much farther from home. He was not exactly sorry he had come, but by no means so sure that the sea was the only calling for Englishmen as he had been. Then the bulwarks they leaned upon lurched beneath them, and he was sensible that Appleby was speaking.

"She's starting now. Look at her. This is good, after all," he said.

Niven looked, and saw that black tiers of canvas had clothed the masts, though their upper portions still projected above it. They were also slanting, and the deck commenced to slope beneath him, while the long iron hull took on life and motion. There was a roar beneath the bows which rose and fell with a leisurely regularity, a swing and dip of the sloppy deck, and the spray began to blow in little stinging clouds over the forecastle. The wind also grew sharper, and at last Niven laughed excitedly as he felt the Aldebaransweep away faster and faster into the night.

"Oh, yes," he said. "Now one can forget the other things."

"She's lying up close," said Lawson, who came by. "Still, I'm glad the old man doesn't want the topgallants on her yet. Those are the next higher sails, and she's a very wet ship when you drive her. Look out. She's beginning her capers now."

As he spoke the bows dipped sharply, and from the weather side of the forecastle a cloud of spray whirled up. It blew in long wisps to leeward, struck with a patter along the rail, and before Niven, whose face was streaming, could shake himself, a rush of very cold water sluiced past him ankle-deep. Then the long hull heaved beneath him, and lurched forward faster still.

"I'm wetter than I was when we found Jimmy's duck, but this is great. She's just tearing through it," he said.

As he spoke a sing-song cry came out of the spray that whirled about the dipping forecastle, "Steamer's masthead light to starboard, sir."

Appleby, glancing over his right hand, saw a blink of yellow radiance beyond the swelling curves of the jibs. It was rising higher rapidly, and while he watched it, a speck of green flickered out beneath. Then a deep, organ-toned booming broke through the humming of the wind, and he saw a dark figure which he fancied was the mate swing up and down the poop, and another behind it stand rigid at the wheel.

"One of the Liverpool mailboats doing twenty knots, and it isn't any wonder their skippers are nervous when they meet a sailing-ship coming down channel," said Lawson at his side.

Then somebody gave an order on the Aldebaran'spoop, and though it was not the usual one, any English sailor would have understood it. As it happened, however, the man who held the wheel was not a Briton, and next moment Appleby felt the ship swing round a trifle.

"Jimminy!" gasped Lawson. "The Dutchman's going to ram us right across her."

Next moment there was a bewildering roar from the whistle, and ringed about with lights the great bulk of the liner sprang out of the night. Towering high with her long rows of deckhouses punctured with specks of brilliancy and her two great funnels black against the sky, she was apparently heading straight for them.

Appleby saw all this in a second while he held his breath, and then there was a scuffle on the Aldebaran'spoop. Somebody sprang towards the wheel, there was a thud, and a man reeled away from it, while high up in the darkness, canvas banged as the Aldebaran once more swerved a trifle. As she did so a man came staggering down the poop ladder, and with the white froth seething about her the liner swept by. Appleby gasped, and felt that he was shaking, while he saw that Lawson's face was a trifle white by the yellow glow that came out of one of the poop windows.

Then there was a roaring of orders, rattle of blocks, and hauling at ropes, and a curious silence by contrast when the Aldebaran swung forward with a springy lurch again, and Appleby saw the man who had come down the ladder, sitting apparently half-dazed upon the deck. His face was bleeding.

"Der port und der starboard I know. Also der loof, and keep her away, but der pinch her up I know not, und now I am very seeck," he said.

"I shouldn't wonder if he was," said Lawson dryly. "Still, though that's how accidents happen, it wasn't the stupid beggar's fault he didn't understand pinch her up. The old man wanted him to screw her a little nearer the wind, and luff, or a little higher would have been the usual thing."

"Pinch!" said the seaman. "I not know him, but oop I hear, und I oop mit him."

"And he'd have slung us across the liner's bows if the mate hadn't been too quick for him," said Lawson. "The fellow's head must be made of iron or that smack would have killed him. Well, these things will happen when you're fresh from port."

Appleby and Niven were glad to crawl into their berths again when the watch was over, and neither of them said anything, though that was not because they were not thinking. It was evident that going to sea was not quite all they had fancied it would be, and they had an unpleasant recollection of the Dutchman's bleeding face, and other tokens of the mate's temper. Still, they were tired and drowsy, and in another few minutes Appleby was sleeping too soundly even to dream of slavers and pirates as he had not infrequently done at Sandycombe. Niven, however, tossed and groaned, for his head was hot, and everything seemed to be spinning round, but at last the blinking light faded, and slumber banished the distressful nausea that tormented him.

There was a greyness low down to the eastwards when, swathed in streaming oilskins now, they stood where there was a little shelter beneath the weather-rail next morning. It was raining heavily, but the sky was no longer covered by the smoky haze, and here and there a patch of pale indigo showed between the streaks of driving cloud. The lads could see the white-flecked sea tops heave against it, and the rows of straining staysails, and great oblongs of the topsails across the masts, sharp and black above them as if cut out of ebony. They were not, however, especially interested in anything just then, for the Aldebaran was pitching close-hauled into a short head sea, and Appleby felt unpleasantly dizzy. Niven also clung very tightly to the rail, and his face, so far as it could be seen, was of a curious greyish-green, while he gasped each time the barque dipped her nose viciously and sent a cloud of spray blowing all over her.

Then for some ten minutes there was a deluge which blotted everything out, and they could only hear the roar of the rain. It ceased suddenly, and was followed by a great whirling of cloud, while the streaks of blue grew larger, and the topsails became grey instead of black as the light came through. The wind had also almost gone, but Appleby could see the figure of a man upon the poop with his head turned aft as though looking for something. In another minute he stood at the top of the ladder shouting orders, and the deck was suddenly dotted with scrambling men. They gathered in little groups about the feet of the masts and along the rail, and became busy flinging down coils of rope. Somebody shoved one into Niven's hands, and he and Appleby hauled among the rest as the long yards swung round until they were square across the vessel, and then pointed a trifle towards the other side of her. There was a banging and rattling overhead as the staysails came down, and a man laughed when the Aldebaran lay rolling in a momentary calm.

"It's not easy to pull a Geordie's tail when he's asleep," he said. "And you'd better go round the other road if he has a fancy you've got a bone."

Niven understood the speech was a compliment to the mate's watchfulness. "What is he making us do this for?" he asked.

"Well," said the seaman good-humouredly, "you'll find out these things by and by. Now we were working down channel close-hauled with the wind south-east over our port bow, but it has dropped away with the rain. The mate doesn't wait to see if another one will catch us with topsails aback, because he smells it coming, and it will be screaming behind us out of the north-west presently."

As he spoke one of the topsails swelled out, flapped and banged, then other great oblongs of canvas ceased their rustling too, and a flash of brilliant green swept athwart the sea. A patch of brass blinked in the sudden brightness, the rigging commenced to hum, and the Aldebaran moved, while once more the hoarse voice rose from the poop.

"Topgallants," it said, and then after a string of words Niven could not catch, "Main royal."

Instantly there was a bustle. Men went up the shrouds, swung high on the yards, letting little coils of rope run down, and a third big tier of sailcloth swelled out on either mast. Chain rattled, running wire screamed, the Aldebaran ceased rolling, and Appleby could see the sea smitten into white smoke rush past while he endeavoured to shake the kinks out of very hard and swollen rope. In the meanwhile the voice rose from the poop again, and when he had time to look about him two great pyramids of sail with a third of different shape behind covered the Aldebaranfrom the last feet of her mastheads to her spray-swept rail.

Then Appleby drew in his breath with a little gasp of wonder and delight. The towering tiers of canvas that gleamed a silvery grey now were rushing as fast as the clouds that followed them across blue lakes of sky. The great iron hull had become an animate thing, for there was life in every swift upward lurch and easy swing, and when he saw the foam that roared away in ample folds about the bows unite again astern and swirl straight back athwart the flashing green towards the horizon he realized for a few moments all the exhilaration of swift motion.