Part 40 (1/2)
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
NORTHWARD HO!--HOISTING BEACONS--THE WHITE FOG--THE GREAT SEA-SERPENT.
”Good-bye, and G.o.d be with you.”
It was a prayer as heartfelt and fervent as ever fell from the lips of an honest sailor.
The _Arrandoon_ steamed away, and soon was hidden from view behind a lofty iceberg, and all that Silas Grig, as he stood on his own quarter-deck, could now hear, was the sad and mournful wail of Peter's bagpipes. Peter was playing that wild and plaintive melody which has drawn tears from so many eyes when our brave Highland regiments were departing for some far-off seat of wax, to be--
”Borne on rough seas to a far-distant sh.o.r.e, Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.”
”Heigho! matie,” sighed Silas, talking to his chief officer and giving orders all in one breath, ”I don't think we'll--haul aft the jib-sheet-- ever see them again. I don't think they can--take a pull on the main-brace--ever get back from among that fearful--luff a little, lad, luff--ice, matie. And the poor boys, if any one had told Silas he could have loved them as much as he does in so short a time, he would have laughed in his face. Come below, matie, and we'll have a drop o' green ginger. Keep her close, Mortimer, but don't let her s.h.i.+ver.”
”Ay, ay, sir,” said the man at the wheel.
In a few hours the wind got more aft, and so, heading now for more southern climes, away went the _Canny Scotia_, with stun'sails up. I cannot say that she bounded over the waters like a thing of life. No; but she looked as happy and frisky as a plough-horse on a gala day, that has just been taken home from the miry fields, fed and groomed, and dressed with ribbons and started off in a light spring-van with a load of laughing children.
But eastwards and north steamed the _Arrandoon_. Indeed, she tried to do all the northing she could, with just as little easting as possible.
She pa.s.sed islands innumerable; islands that we fail to see in the chart, owing, no doubt, to the fact that they are usually covered entirely with ice and snow, and would be taken for immense icebergs.
But this was a singularly open year, and there was no mistaking solid rocky land for floating ice.
The bearings of all these were carefully put down in the charts--I say charts, because not only the captain and mate, but our young heroes as well, took the daily reckoning, and kept a log, though I am bound in the interests of truth to say that Ralph very often did not write up his log for days and days, and then he impudently ”fudged” it from Rory's.
”Are you done with my log?” Rory would sometimes modestly inquire of Ralph as he sat at the table busily ”fudging.”
”Not yet, youngster,” Ralph would reply; ”there, you go away and amuse yourself with your fiddle till I'm done with it, unless you specially want your ears pulled.”
McBain landed at many of these islands, and hoisted beacons on them.
These beacons were simply spare spars, with bunches of light wood lashed to their top ends, so that at some little distance they looked like tall brooms. He hoisted one on the highest peak of every island that lay in his route.
They came at length to what seemed the very northernmost and most easterly of these islands, and on this McBain determined to land provisions and store them. It would tend to lighten the s.h.i.+p; and ”on the return voyage,” said the captain, ”if so be that Providence shall protect and spare us, they will be a welcome sight.”
This done, the voyage was continued, and the sea becoming clearer of ice towards the west, the course was altered to almost due north.
The wind drawing round more to the south, the fires were banked, and the vessel put under easy sail. The water all round looked black and deep; but, with all the caution of your true sailor, McBain had two men constantly in the chains to heave the lead, with a watch continually in the crow's-nest to give warning of any sudden change in the colour of the water. More than once such a change was observed, the surface becoming of a yellowish ashen hue away ahead of them. Then the main or fore yard was hauled aback, and a boat despatched to investigate, and it was found that the strange appearance was caused by myriads of tiny shrimplets, what the northern sailor calls ”whale's food.” Whether this be whale food or not I cannot say for certain, but several times our heroes fell in with a shoal of bottle-noses, disporting themselves among these curious ashen-hued streams.
This formed a temptation too great to resist, for the oil would do instead of fuel when they wintered away up in the extreme north. So boats were lowered--not two but four, for these brutes are as wild as the winds and more wily than any old fox. No less than four were ”bagged,” as Rory called it. They were not large, but the blubber obtained from them was quite sufficient to fill one large tank. The best of it was, that Ralph--big, ”plethoric” (another of Rory's pretty words), Saxon Ralph, made quite a hero of himself by manfully guiding his boat towards a floundering monster that was threatening destruction to the third whaler, which was fast to her, and skilfully spearing her at the very nick of time.
Rory was in the same boat, and drenched in blood from head to heels though both of them were, he must needs get up and shake his ”baby brother” by the hand.
”Oh, sure!” said Rory, with tears in his eyes, ”it's myself that is proud of the English race, after all. They haven't the fire of the Gael; but only just awaken them!--Dear Ray, you're a broth of a boy, entirely.”
”What do you think,” said McBain, one morning just after breakfast--”what do you think, Rory, I'm going to make to-day?”
”Sure, I don't know,” said Rory, all interest.
”Why, fenders,” said McBain.
”Fenders?” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Rory, with wider eyes. ”Fenders? troth it'll be fire-irons you'll be making next, sir; but what do you want with fenders?”