Part 18 (1/2)
The schooner rolls to the long ground-swell, her lamp-bracket swinging through a great arc and casting long, black shadows, monstrous presentiments of the smokers, which move rapidly from side to side over the misty beams and bulkheads like gnomes. A concertina, a mouth-organ, and perhaps a fiddle, are brought out, and a sea-song, an Irish jig, or something in unspeakable Portuguese, rises above the creaking of the timbers and the burst of foam alongside.
But the work is not done yet. It is never done. The s.h.i.+p is to be cleaned down and the gurry-pen and dory are to be sluiced out in readiness for the morrow. A vigil is to be kept, watch and watch, and woe be to the youngster who tumbles off his hatchway to the deck from sheer weariness.
WHEN A STEAMER LOOMS UP IN THE FOG
If there should be a fog,--and hardly a day or a night pa.s.ses without one,--the danger is great. When the white veil settles down over the schooners the men on deck can hardly see their cross-trees. Foot-power horns are blown, the s.h.i.+p's bell is tolled steadily, while conch sh.e.l.ls bellow their resonant note from the trawlers in the dories. But it is all to no purpose. For the great siren comes nearer and nearer every second, and the pounding of the waves against the great hulk and the rush of resisting water grow horribly distinct.
There is a hazy glimmer of a row of lights, a roar and a splutter of steam, a shock and the inrush of the great volume of water, a shout or two from the towering decks and bridge, and the great body dashes by disdainfully, speed undiminished, her pa.s.sengers careless, and unmindful that the lives and fortunes of half a dozen human beings have hung for a moment in the balance of Life and Death. But records have to be made, and the gold-laced officers forget to mention the occurrence. The men on the schooner do not forget it, though. More than one face is white with the nearness to calamity.
”What was she, Jim?”
”The 'Frederick.' I'd know her bloomin' bellow in a thousand.”
They lean out over the rail and peer into the gray blackness, shaking their fists at the place where she vanished in the fog.
The man who gets his name in the newspaper and a medal from his government is not the only hero. And the modesty with which the Gloucester fisherman hides his sterling merit is only convincing proof of the fact,--Gloucester is a city of heroes.
For grit and devotion the case of Howard Blackburn surpa.s.ses understanding.
THE COURAGE OF THE UNNAMED HEROES
Blackburn and his dory-mate left their schooner in a driving snow-storm.
Before they had been at the trawls long the weather had become so thick that they couldn't see ten feet from the dory's gunwale. The wind s.h.i.+fted and put them to leeward of their vessel. There was never a sound of bell or horn through the thickness, and, though they pulled to windward, where they thought their skipper lay, the vessel could not be found. They were lost, and the sea was rising. Then they anch.o.r.ed until dawn.
When the snow stopped falling, they saw the schooner's light, a tiny speck, miles to windward. To reach it was impossible. The situation was desperate. Wave-crest after wave-crest swept into the dory, and all but swamped her. Time after time she was baled out, until it seemed as if human endurance could stand it no longer. Blackburn made a sea-anchor for a drag, but in throwing it out lost his mittens overboard. It was horrible enough to fear drowning in the icy sea, but as he felt his hands beginning to freeze the effort seemed hopeless.
With hands frozen, Blackburn felt that he was useless, for his dory-mate was already almost helpless with exposure. So he sat down to his oars and bent his freezing fingers over the handles, getting as firm a clutch as he could. There he sat patiently, calmly, keeping the dory up to the seas meanwhile,--waiting for his hands to freeze to the oars. The dory became covered with ice, and pieces of it knocked against the frozen hands and beat off a little finger and a part of one of the palms. During the second day Blackburn's dory-mate gave it up, and Blackburn laid down beside him to try and warm him. But it was useless. The dory-man froze to death where he lay.
FOR FIVE DAYS ADRIFT AND STARVING