Rushing forth at the Alarm of Solomon.—The rolling Waters.—The flooded Decks.—Strange, uneartlily Noises.—Dread Fears.—is the Ship breaking up?—Consolations.—Refuge in the Cabin.—A Barricade against the Waters.—A damp Abode.—A Debate.—Where shall we pass the Night?—Solomon on Guards—The fourth Day.—No Antelope.—A long Watch.—The Cabin deserted.—Sleeping on Deck.
AT the alarm of Solomon, the boys thus all hurried out upon deck. The night was dark. The sky was overcast. The motion of the ship was greater than it had been. As they stepped out, they felt their feet plash in a stream of water that rolled towards them, and perceived by this that the waves had risen high enough to break over the low-lying deck. But it was only enough to wet the deck, and not enough to cause either alarm or even discomfort, since it had not penetrated to the cabin. As they advanced forward, however, they encountered deeper streams of water, which swept down from the bows towards them, rising as high as their ankles. Yet even this excited but little attention. Solomon’s alarm had prepared them all for something serious, and so slight a thing as this was not deemed worthy of notice. They hurried on, therefore, and at length having reached the forecastle, they stood and looked all around.
The motion of the vessel would have been considered very ordinary in any one differently situated. The waves had risen somewhat, and at their motion the ship rose and fell about four feet. This was sufficient to bring her deck under the surface of the sea, and at each fall the water streamed in and rolled about. The wind was rather fresh, but not by any means violent, and it sighed through the rigging overhead.
“Why, Solomon,” said Bart, at length, “what do you mean? I don’t see that anything’s happened.”
Solomon had been clinging to the outskirts of the party, and at this he. cried out,—
“Dey ain’t out dar! Dey’s inside.”
“Inside? Where?”
“In dar!” said Solomon, pointing to the door of the forecastle.
At this Bart went in, followed by all the boys. A dim lamp was burning, suspended from a beam. The boys looked around, and saw the seamen’s berths, but nothing more.
“There isn’t anything here,” said Bruce.
At that moment Solomon grasped Bart’s arm, and said, with a gasp,—
“Jes’ you listen to ‘em!”
The boys all listened.
As they listened, there arose a confused medley of sounds, which seemed to come from the hold of the ship—sounds of pounding, thumping, and grinding, mingled with groanings, gurglings, sobs, choking sighs, squeals, scrapings, rumblings, tumblings, shiverings, and many others of an indefinable character. To these the boys all listened in silence, and for a time there came a solemn feeling of awe over every one of that little band of listeners.
“D-d-d-dem’s um!” said Solomon, with a shudder. “D-d-d-dem’s d-d-de g-g-g-ghosts, d-d-d-dem’s d-d-de hobble-bobble-gobblums!”
“Nonsense!” said Bart. “Don’t talk that trash just now. This may be something serious.”
“The cargo seems moving,” said Bruce. “The leak may be a large one.”
“I dare say she’s got a bad strain,” said Phil.
“It’s very likely,” said Arthur, solemnly, “that she won’t last very long.”
“That’s my own idea,” said Tom. “Come, boys, we may as well look the worst in the face. It’s my opinion that she’s breaking up.”
“Well, we’ve got the captain’s gig,” said Pat, “an can take to that, so we can. We’ve got lots of provisions.”
“But we’ve no oars,” said Bart.
“Well, we can rig up a bit of a sail, so we can, out of thim ould tarpowlines.”
“After all, though,” said Bruce, “she may not be breaking up. I’ve heard somewhere that in a water-logged ship the water makes the most extraordinary noises ever heard whenever there is the slightest motion; so these may, after all, be nothing more than the usual noises.”
“And besides, what is this sea!” said Bart; “it can’t do anything; it’s nothing. In fact, the more I think of it, the more sure I feel that this ship can’t break up, unless she strikes a rock. I remember what sea captains have told me—that a timber ship may float and drift about for fifty years, and hold together without any trouble, unless it should strike a rock or be driven ashore. So now that I think of it, I don’t believe there’s the slightest danger.”
“But, if that is so, why did the captain of the Petrel desert her? He must have known this, if it is so.”
This was Tom’s objection, who was not quite inclined to receive Bart’s assertion.
“Well, I dare say he hadn’t been in the timber trade,” said Bart. “This was something new for him, and he thought she would go to pieces. That’s what he wrote in the message that he put in the bottle.”
This conversation had not been lost on Solomon, whose fears, prompted by superstition, gradually faded away, and finally died out. The true cause of the terrific noises being thus asserted and accepted by the boys, there was no difficulty on Solomon’s part about adopting it. Accordingly he soon regained his ordinary equanimity, and began to potter about the forecastle, arranging some dishes and pans.
The descent of Solomon from the supernatural to the commonplace had a good effect upon the boys, who, seeing that he had suddenly lost all his fears, thought it time to throw aside their own anxieties.
“Well,” said Phil, “I don’t see the use of staying in this dismal forecastle any longer, when there is a comfortable cabin aft; so I’m going back to my berth.”
“Sure an it’s meself,” cried Pat, “that was jist goin to say that same.”
“I think it’s about the best thing we can do, boys,” said Bruce. “There’s no danger just yet, evidently, and so there’s no reason why we should lose our night’s rest. Let’s sleep while we can, say I, and I dare say the Antelope’ll be along some time to-morrow.”
Upon this proposal the boys acted forthwith, and soon they were all not only back again in their berths, but slumbering profoundly. Solomon also turned in “forard,” and finished his night’s sleep, which, however, was frequently interrupted by excursions and reconnoitrings which he made for the purpose of seeing how the weather was.
On the following morning they all awaked early, and hurried upon deck. This was the third day since the Antelope had left, and by evening the three days would be completed which they allowed for her probable absence. There was not one of them who did not go up on deck that morning with the expectation of seeing her somewhere in the distance. But on looking around, they saw no sail of any kind. It was with a feeling of disappointment that they recognized this fact, for, though thus far they had not encountered any danger, they had, at least, become aware of the fact that an increase of wind might make their situation very dangerous indeed.
The wind also had grown stronger, and sang through the rigging in a way that was anything but music to their ears. The sky was overcast with rolling clouds. In another vessel they would have called it a fine day, and a fresh breeze, but to them it became equivalent to a storm. The waves had risen to a height commensurate with the increase of the wind. The rise and fall of the ship amounted to about six feet, and at every other plunge her bows went entirely under water. The deck was now completely flooded, and Solomon in traversing it was sometimes up to his knees in the rushing torrent. The fire in the cook’s galley had been put out, and he had been compelled to transfer his apparatus to the stove in the cabin.
The quarter-deck astern prevented the sea from coming aboard in that direction; and by the time the water that rolled over the bows had reached the cabin doors, it had greatly subsided; yet still enough had poured into the cabin to saturate it in every nook and corner. A pool of water filled all the cabin and all the state-rooms to a depth of six inches, and rolled about with the motion of the ship.
“Well, this isn’t certainly quite as comfortable as it might be,” said Phil, with a blank look.
“At this rate,” said Tom, “if this, sort of thing keeps on, we’ll have to launch the boat, and row to the cook’s galley.”
“It’s strange that the Antelope isn’t in sight!” said Arthur, shading his eyes, and trying to force them to see.
“No use,” said Bart, who had been peering through the glass, and now handed it to Arthur. “No use. There’s not only no Antelope, but no other vessel; in fact, there’s not a sign of any sail of any kind whatever.”
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