Chapter 6

A FREAKISH SHIPWRECK

Joe wakened me at early dawn, laying a wet, clammy hand in mine and jerking me to a sitting position.

“Get up, Sam!” he said. “Something’s going to happen pretty quick.”

“Are we leaking?” I asked as I tumbled from the berth.

“Yes; but that isn’t it. Come on deck; and step lively while you’ve got the chance.”

He rushed away with the words and I followed him closely.

The sky was gray and overcast, and although it was so early there was light enough to observe distinctly our surroundings. The waves were simply gigantic and the disabled Seagull was like a fisherman’s bob in their grasp. The cargo had not shifted, fortunately, owing to its being so heavy and so carefully stowed, so we kept on our keel as well as the sea would allow us. I found nothing terrifying in the view from the deck until my eye caught sight of a dark object looming ahead, which I instantly recognized as the rocky shore of an island. The waves were bearing us rapidly toward it, and we were helpless to resist.

“See there! and there!” cried Joe, pointing to right and left.

I saw. Rocks were everywhere, on all sides of us. We were right in the heart of a group of South Sea islands—what group, we had no idea. My father’s stern, set face showed from the poop; the sailors stood motionless at the rail. The two De Jiminez, father and son, clung together and stared with blanched faces at the threatening coast.

There was scarcely any wind, as we were partially sheltered in this location. A wind might possibly have saved us; but as it was, and in our crippled condition, there was absolutely no hope.

Uncle Naboth stumbled toward us and said to Joe:

“Call the passengers. Get ’em all on deck an’ see that there are plenty of life preservers. Ned’s getting the boats ready to launch.”

I went with Joe, for there was nothing I could do on deck. Madam de Alcantara began to scream again, but she was not slow in grabbing her jewels and gaining the deck, where she collapsed at once and sobbed like a baby. We got the old lady up easily, and she was as cheerful as anyone could be under such trying circumstances. I had Lucia search for all the cloaks and warm clothing she could lay hands on and Joe and I brought up a lot of blankets; for the air was chilly, even in this tropical clime, and I knew we would all be soaked if we managed to get ashore in the boats.

Bryonia provided a lot of food for us—tinned meats, biscuits and various edibles that might be eaten uncooked—and had the forethought to add some utensils for cooking, as well. A keg of fresh water was deposited in each of the boats. By this time the grim island ahead was very near, and Captain Steele shouted his orders to have the boats lowered.

We put the women into the first, while it still swung at the davits, and Ned Britton, cool as a cucumber, picked a crew to man it. He watched his chance and dropped the longboat neatly on the crest of a high wave, casting loose as the ship rolled heavily in the opposite direction. A little cheer arose from our men as they saw Ned’s boat floating safely, and at once Joe began loading the gig. The two De Jiminez and Uncle Naboth were with this lot; but Joe was not so fortunate as Ned had been. He dropped the boat all right into the gulf between two big waves, but a line got tangled, somehow, and in a jiffy the gig was over and her occupants struggling frantically in the water. The boatswain dropped the third boat quick as a flash, got free from the ship and began picking up the swimmers. Ned also came to the rescue, at the peril of capsizing his own frail craft, and he drew Little Jim aboard as the boy was sinking for the third time. His father was hauled in by a boat hook wielded by the sturdy boatswain, and fortunately Uncle Naboth was spilled so close to the side that he was able to seize a rope and hold fast until rescued. Not a life was lost and the third boat, the cutter, carried its double load easily.

There remained to us but one more boat to launch, and I went to my father and said:

“Come, sir; there’s nothing to be gained by waiting.”

He shook his head.

“Get aboard, Sam,” said he, “and take all the men that’s left with you. I’m goin’ to stay here.”

“But that is folly!” I cried. “It’s a useless sacrifice, father. You can’t help the poor Seagull by staying.”

“It’s my ship—part o’ her, anyhow—an’ I’ll stay by her like she’s always stayed by me,” he returned obstinately.

I was in despair and for a moment knew not what to do. Turning half around I found the two big blacks, Nux and Bryonia, standing just behind me. The remaining sailors were already in the boat, looking anxiously towards us.

I caught Bry’s eye and there was an inquiring look in it that could not be misunderstood.

“Take him, boys!” I exclaimed, and at the word the two promptly caught my father up and bore him kicking and struggling to the boat, where they dumped him on the bottom and then sat upon him.

The lines were quickly cast off and we floated squarely upon the brow of a wave. The men at the oars pulled lustily and we increased our distance from the ship with steady strokes. They then lay to, merely trying to keep a balance as we slid down the side of one wave and up the slope of another.

I had my eyes fastened on the Seagull, and presently a huge mountain of water came sweeping along, caught her full on its crest and rushed with her upon the rocks of the island, now very near to us.

The ship went ashore stern foremost, upright as a die and riding the top of the great wave like a swan. It tucked her into a cove between two elevated points of rock and then receded and left her perched there. There was no crash of splintering timbers—no sound at all. The foremast swayed, cracked off and tumbled over the side; but the other masts stood firmly and it seemed to our wondering eyes as if some monster had grabbed the ship from the sea and set it high on the rocks to dry. Our oarsmen had plenty to do just then to keep us from swamping, for although we were not directly in the track of the monster wave we were near enough to feel a portion of its resistless power and were nearly sucked in upon the reefs ourselves. But I shouted as frantically as a madman, and from the other boats, which were at the right of us, arose a hearty cheer that made our seamen pause long enough to stare over their shoulders at the marvelous sight. Then they cheered too, for we all loved the dear old Seagull.

Instead of a wreck—the fatal smash-up that had seemed imminent and was expected by all—the good ship was suddenly rendered safe from further harm, for no other wave that followed was powerful enough to dislodge her.

Nux and Bryonia allowed the captain to sit up to view the wonderful sight, and my father stared until his eyes bulged from their sockets. He said nothing, however, but turned his attention to our personal dilemma, for there was no surety that we could manage to gain the shore alive. A forbidding line of rocky reefs faced us and should we attempt to land among them our frail boats would be instantly dashed to pieces. Bryonia, who had stood up to look at the ship when he released my father, remained for some time upright, shading his eyes with his hand and peering attentively at the coast. Presently he gave a grunt and muttered something to Nux in their native language. I caught the words, for long ago they had taught me, merely as a pastime, their peculiar dialect.

“Faytan!” he said. “Look, Ketaha, is it not so?”

Ketaha was Nux’s original name, never used since Uncle Naboth had picked him up. He too stared at the coast line steadily, and then nodded his head.

“It may be Faytan, my Louiki. Perhaps we are wrong. But it surely looks like Faytan.”

“Do you know this island, then?” I asked, speaking their own language.

“If it is Faytan, we have been very near to it; but we have never landed upon the island,” replied Bry. “The Pearl People live in Faytan, and they are the enemies of all the other islanders—of all the world. If it is Faytan, we are risking our lives to land there.”

“It is risking our lives to try to keep afloat in this sea,” I replied. “Our men cannot fight these waves for long, Bry.”

He turned away and whispered to Nux. After a brief confab the latter said to us in English:

“Jus’ try to turn dat point o’ rock yonder, Cap’n Steele. Den I guess you find a cove to land, where dere am no rocks.”

The English of the blacks was somewhat imperfect, although they spoke their own language with excellent expression. But you must remember they had acquired our language on shipboard, from all classes of people, and seamen are not noted for grammatical precision.

Captain Steele at once took command of our boat and directed the men to pull around the point of rock. They obeyed with a will and, although they found it a desperately hard task in such a raging sea, finally succeeded in breasting the waves and making the point. Immediately we found ourselves sheltered from the force of the waves and, sure enough, a strip of white sand lined the shore of a small cove just ahead.

“Faytan!” cried Bry, and covered his face with his hands.

“Faytan!” echoed Nux; but he frowned and said nothing more.

The other boats had followed our lead and, heavily laden though they were, managed to round the point. Within half an hour we had run all three boats upon the tiny beach, pulled them out of reach of the sea, and stood wet and despondent in a dismal group upon this unknown isle.