Saved by the Lifeboat - Robert Michael Ballantyne (little bear else holmelund minarik txt) 📗

a great deal that was said and done in regard to his vessel.

At length the _Swordfish_ left the Brunswick Dock, _six inches deeper_ than the surveyor had directed, and was towed to the Wellington Dock, where she took in 120 tons of coke, and sank still deeper. Harry also discovered that the equipment of the ship was miserably insufficient for the long voyage she was intended to make. This was too much for him to bear. He went at once to Mr Webster's office and said that if a deaf ear was to be turned any longer to his remonstrances he would throw up his appointment.

Poor Harry could scarcely have taken a more effective step to insure the turning of the deaf ear to him.

"Oh!" replied Mr Webster, coolly, "if you refuse to take charge of my vessel, Captain Boyns, I will soon find another to do it."

"I certainly do refuse," said Harry, preparing to leave the office, "and I think you will find some difficulty in getting any other man to go to sea in such a ship."

"I differ from you, Captain Boyns. Good afternoon."

"And if you do, and lives should be lost in consequence," added Harry, grasping the handle of the door, "I warn you solemnly, that murder will have been committed by you, whatever the law may say on the subject."

"Good afternoon, Captain Boyns."

"You've got a hard master," said Harry to Grinder as he passed through the outer office.

The confidential clerk shook his head in a deprecatory way, and smiled.

Next moment Harry Boyns found himself in the street--with nothing to do, and the wide world before him!

Meanwhile, the loading of the _Swordfish_ went on--also the pumping of her. That same day she was visited by a surveyor from the Underwriters' Association, who found her only five feet clear above water, and still taking in cargo. That gentleman called in another surveyor to a consultation, who agreed with him in pronouncing her overladen. She was represented as such to the local Underwriters' Association for which the surveyor acted, but as the _Swordfish_ was insured in London and not with them, the Liverpool underwriters did not consider themselves called upon to interfere. Their surveyor, however, visited the vessel again, a few days later, when he found her "only four feet clear," and declared that, so far from going to Bombay, he should not like to attempt to cross to Dublin in her in anything like rough weather.

Now it must be observed that all these consultations and investigations took place in a quiet way. To the public eye all was "fair and above board." Few among the thousands who visited the docks knew much about deep loading; still less about adequate equipping. They saw nought but a "noble ship," well painted, washed, gilded, and varnished, taking merchandise into her insatiable hold, while the "Yo-heave-ho" of the seamen rang out cheerily to the rattling accompaniment of chains and windlass. Many other ships were there, similarly treated, equally beautiful, and quite as worthy of the titles "good" and "noble" as the whited sepulchre is to be styled pure.

A few days before the _Swordfish_ was ready for sea, a new captain was sent down to her. This captain was not a "bad man" in the worst sense of that term--neither was he a "good" one. Vigour, courage, resolution when acting in accordance with his inclinations--these were among his characteristics. But he was a reckless man, in want of money, out of employment, and without an appreciable conscience. In the circumstances, he was glad to get anything to do, and had been so long ashore and "in trouble," that he would probably have agreed to take command of and go to sea in a washing-tub if part paid beforehand for doing so.

Nevertheless, even this man (Captain Phelps by name) felt some degree of nervous anxiety on getting on board and examining the state of the ship. On further acquaintance with her, he was so dissatisfied that he also resolved to throw up his appointment. But he had obtained the berth through the influence of a friend who happened to be acquainted with Mr Webster. This "friend" wrote him a stern letter, saying, if he ventured to do as he proposed, he should never have a ship out of Liverpool again, as long as he (the friend?) could prevent it!

Captain Phelps was one of those angry men of iron mould, who appear to take pleasure in daring Fate to do her worst. On receipt of the letter, he swore with an awful oath that he would now go to sea in the _Swordfish_, even if he knew she would go to the bottom in twenty-four hours after weighing anchor. Accordingly, having intrenched himself behind a wall of moral adamant, he went about with quiet indifference, and let things take their course. He made no objection whatever when, in addition to the loading already in the ship, the agents added a deck cargo of some massive pieces of machinery, weighing thirty tons, and a supply of coals, the proper receptacle for which below had been filled with iron goods. Neither did he utter a word when--after the vessel had been taken out into the stream by the riggers--he and the owner, agents, pilot, and crew (only six of which last were A.B.'s), were taken off to her in a tug and put on board with orders to sail immediately.

Only a few passengers were going. These were already on board, but some of their friends went off in the tug to bid them a last farewell.

This was a sad scene, but the captain regarded it with stoical indifference. There was a stout, hale old Indian officer going out on a pleasure trip to his beloved East, and a daughter of the same whom he hoped to get married "offhand, comfortably there." There was a sick nephew of the old officer, going the voyage for the benefit of his health, on whose wan countenance consumption, if not death, had evidently set a deep mark. There were, also, a nurse and a lady's-maid, and two girls of ten or thirteen years of age--sisters--who were going to join their father and mother, besides one or two others. Earnest loving words passed kindly between these and their relatives and friends as the moment of parting drew near.

"Don't forget to remember me to Coleman and the rest of `ours,'" cried a stout elderly man, waving his hand as the tug moved off.

"That I won't, and I shall expect to shake you by the hand again, old fellow, in a year or two."

"You'll never see him again," thought Captain Phelps, as he stood with compressed lip and frowning eye on the quarter-deck.

"Good-bye, darling Nelly," cried a lady to one of the sobbing girls from whom she was parting; "remember the message to mamma."

"Oh! yes," exclaimed the child, trying to look bright, "and we won't be very long of coming back again."

"You'll never come back again," thought the captain, and he sighed _very_ slightly as the thought passed through his brain.

"Look alive there, lads," exclaimed the pilot, as the tug sheared away.

Soon the anchor was at the bows, the sails were shaken out, and the _Swordfish_ began her voyage.

"There's not a piece of spare rope aboard, sir," said the first mate, coming up to the captain with a blank look; "we can't even get enough to cat and fish the anchor."

"You can unreeve the tops'l halyards," replied the captain, quietly.

This was done, and the anchor was secured therewith.

"How much water in the hold?" asked the captain.

"Three feet, sir; the carpenter has just sounded. It seems that the riggers were at work on the pumps when we came out in the tug, but were stopped by the agents before we got alongside. I fear she is very leaky, sir," said the mate.

"I _know_ she is," replied the captain; "keep the men at the pumps."

That night the weather became what sailors call "dirty," and next morning it was found that the water had mounted to 4 feet 10 inches. The pumps had become almost unworkable, being choked with sand, and it became evident that the voyage thus inauspiciously begun would very soon be ended. During the day the "dirty" weather became gale, so that, although the wind was fair, Captain Phelps determined to run to the nearest port for shelter. With a "good ship" this might have been done easily enough--many a vessel does it during every gale that visits our stormy shores--but the _Swordfish_ was by this time getting water-logged and unmanageable. She drifted helplessly before the gale, and the heavy seas broke over her continually, sweeping away everything moveable. Another night passed, and next morning--Sunday--it became plain that she was settling down so the captain gave orders to get out the long-boat, and told the passengers to get ready. Day had broken some time before this, but the weather was still so thick that nothing could be seen.

"Take a cast of the lead," said the captain.

"Ay, ay, sir," was the prompt reply, but before the order could be obeyed, the roar of breakers was heard above the howling of the storm, and the shout, "Land on the port bow!" was instantly followed by "Down with the helm!" and other orders hurriedly given by the captain and hastily obeyed by the men. All too late! The ship was embayed. As if to make their position more painful, the mists cleared partially away, and revealed the green fields and cottages on shore, with the angry sea--an impassable caldron of boiling foam--between.

Another instant and the ship struck with a convulsive quiver from stem to stern. The billows flew madly over her, the main-mast went by the board--carrying two of the men to their doom along with it--and the _Swordfish_, "bound for Bombay," was cast, a total wreck, upon the coast of Cornwall.


CHAPTER FOUR.


THE RESCUE.

Fortunate is it for this land that those who war for evil and those who fight for good do so side by side; and well is it for poor humanity that the bane and the antidote grow together. The misanthrope sends his poisonous streams throughout the land, but the philanthropist erects his dams everywhere to stem the foul torrents and turn them aside. The Infidel plants unbelief with reckless hand far and wide, but the Christian scatters the "Word" broadcast over the land. The sordid shipowner strews the coast with wreck and murdered fellow-creatures; but, thank God, the righteous shipowner--along with other like-minded men--sends forth a fleet of lifeboats from almost every bay and cove along the shore to rob the deep of its prey, and rescue the perishing.

In the bay where the _Swordfish_ was stranded there chanced to be a lifeboat. Most of her noble crew were, at the time the vessel struck, in chapel, probably engaged in singing the hymns of the great John Wesley, or listening to the preaching of the "old, old story" of the salvation of souls through faith in Jesus Christ. But there were bodies to be saved that day as well as souls, and the stout arms of the lifeboat crew were needed.

The cry was quickly raised, "A wreck in the bay!" The shout that naturally followed was, "The lifeboat!"