Part 1 (1/2)
True Blue.
by W.H.G. Kingston.
CHAPTER ONE.
TRUE BLUE--A BRITISH SEAMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL.
The old _Terrible_, 74, was ploughing her way across the waters of the Atlantic, now rolling and leaping, dark and angry, with white-crested seas which dashed against her bows and flew in ma.s.ses of foam over her decks. She was under her three topsails, closely reefed; but even thus her tall masts bent, and twisted, and writhed, as if striving to leap out of her, while every timber and bulkhead fore and aft creaked and groaned, and the blocks rattled, and the wind roared and whistled through the rigging in chorus; and the wild waves rolled and tumbled the big s.h.i.+p about, making her their sport, as if she was a mere c.o.c.k-boat.
Stronger and stronger blew the gale; darkness came on and covered the world of waters, and through that darkness the s.h.i.+p had to force her way amid the foaming, hissing seas. Darker and darker it grew, till the lookout men declared that they might as well have shut their eyes, for they could scarcely make out their own hands when held at arm's length before their noses.
Suddenly, however, the darkness was dispelled by the vivid flashes of lightning, which, darting from the low hanging clouds, circled about their heads, throwing a lurid glare on the countenances of all on deck.
Once more all was dark; then again the forked lightning burst forth hissing and crackling through the air, leaping along the waves and playing round the quivering masts. Now the big s.h.i.+p plunged into the trough of the sea with a force which made it seem as if she was never going to rise again; but up the next watery height she climbed, and when she got to the top, she stopped as if to look about her, while the lightning flashed brighter than ever; and then, rolling and pitching, and cutting numerous other antics, she lifted up her stern as if she was going to give a vicious fling out with her heels, and downwards she plunged into the dark obscurity, amid the high foam-topped seas, which hissed and roared high above her bulwarks. Her crew walked her deck with but little anxiety, although they saw that the gale was likely to increase into a hurricane; for they had long served together, they knew what each other was made of, and they had confidence in their officers and in the stout s.h.i.+p they manned.
The watch below had hitherto remained in their hammocks, and most of them, in spite of the gale, slept as soundly as ever. What cared they that the s.h.i.+p was roiling and tumbling about? They knew that she was watertight and strong, that she had plenty of sea-room, and that they would be roused up quickly enough if they were wanted. There was one person, however, who did not sleep soundly--that was her Captain, Josiah Penrose. He could not forget that he had the lives of some eight hundred beings committed to his charge, and he knew well that, even on board a stout s.h.i.+p with plenty of sea-room, an accident might occur which would require his immediate presence on deck. He was therefore sitting up in his cabin, holding on as best he could, and attempting to read--a task under all circ.u.mstances, considering that he had lost an eye, and was not a very bright scholar, more difficult of accomplishment than may be supposed. He had lost an arm, too, which made it difficult for him to hold a book; besides, his book was large, and the printing was not over clear, a fault common in those days; and the paper was a good deal stained and injured from the effects of damp and hot climates.
He was aroused from his studies by a signal at the door, and the entrance of one of the quartermasters.
”What is it, Pringle?” asked the Captain, looking up.
”Why, sir, Molly Freeborn is taken very bad, and the doctor says that he thought you would like to know,” was the answer. ”He doesn't think as how she'll get over it. Maybe, sir, you'd wish to see the poor woman?”
”Certainly, yes; I'll go below and see her,” answered the Captain in a kind tone. ”Poor Molly! But where is her husband--where is Freeborn?
It will be a great blow to him.”
”It is his watch on deck, sir. No one liked to go and tell him. He could do no good, and the best chance, the doctor said, was to keep Molly quiet. But I suppose that they'll let him know now,” answered the quartermaster.
”Yes; do you go and find him, and take him below to his wife, and just break her state gently to him, Pringle,” said the Captain.
Captain Penrose stopped a moment to slip on his greatcoat, and to jam a sou'wester tightly down over his head, before he left the cabin on his errand of kindness, when a terrific clap was heard, louder than one of thunder, and the s.h.i.+p seemed to quiver in every timber fore and aft.
The Captain sprang on deck, for the moment, in his anxiety for the safety of his s.h.i.+p, forgetting his intention with regard to Molly Freeborn.
Poor Molly! There she lay in the sick-bay, which had been appropriated to her use, gasping out her life amid the tumult and disturbance of that terrific storm. She was one of three women allowed, in those days, under certain circ.u.mstances, to be on board s.h.i.+p for the purpose of acting as nurses to the sick, and of was.h.i.+ng for the officers and men.
Her husband was captain of the maintop, and as gallant and fine a seaman as ever stepped. Everybody liked and respected him.
But Molly was even a greater favourite. There was not a kinder-hearted, more gentle, sensible, and judicious person in existence. No one had a greater variety of receipts for all sorts of ailments, and no one could more artistically cook dishes better suited to the taste of the sick.
Most of the officers, who had from time to time been ill and wounded, acknowledged and prized her talents and excellencies; and the Captain declared that he considered he owed his life, under Providence, entirely to the care with which she nursed him through an attack of fever when the doctor despaired of his life.
”All hands on deck!” was the order given as soon as the Captain saw what had occurred. The main-topsail had been blown from the boltropes, and the tattered remnants were now las.h.i.+ng and slas.h.i.+ng about in the gale, twisting into inextricable knots, and winding and wriggling round the main-topsail yard, rendering it a work of great danger to go out on it.
The boatswain's whistle sounded shrilly through the storm a well-known note. ”All hands shorten sail!” was echoed along the decks. ”Rouse out there--rouse out--idlers and all on deck!” Everybody knew that there was work to be done; indeed, the clap made by the parting of the sail had awakened even the soundest sleepers. Among the first aloft, who endeavoured to clear the yard of the fragments of the sail, was William Freeborn, the captain of the maintop. With knives and hands they worked away in spite of the las.h.i.+ng they got, now being almost strangled, and now dragged off the yard.
The Captain resolved to heave the s.h.i.+p to. The wind had s.h.i.+fted, and if they ran on even under bare poles, they would be carried on too much out of their course. It was a delicate and difficult operation. A new main-topsail had first to be bent. It took the united strength of the crew to hoist it to the yard. At length the sail was got up and closely reefed, hauled out, strengthened in every possible way to resist the fury of the gale. It was an operation which occupied some time. The fore-topsail had to be taken in. The helm was put down, and, as she came slowly up to the wind, the after-sail being taken off also, she lay to, gallantly riding over the still rising seas. Though she did not tumble about, perhaps, quite as much as she had been doing, her movements were far from easy. She did not roll as before, as she was kept pressed down on one side; still every now and then she gave a pitch as she glided down into the trough of the sea, which made every timber and mast creak and quiver, and few on board would have been inclined to sing:
”Here's a sou'wester coming, Billy, Don't you hear it roar now!
Oh help them! How I pities those Unhappy folks on sh.o.r.e now!”
At length William Freeborn was relieved from his post aloft, and came down on deck. Paul Pringle, his old friend and messmate, who had been hunting for him through the darkness, found him at last. Paul grieved sincerely for the news he had to communicate, and, not liking the task imposed on him, scarcely knew how to begin.