CHAPTER XII.
THE LAST OF THE SWANSEA.
We could now no longer run, and our only chance of escape lay in crippling the schooner worse than she had crippled us. When she saw the effect of her shot she ceased firing, and came after us, luffing up to windward so as to board us on the weather side. Mr. March and I worked at the gun, loading as rapidly as possible, and aiming with the greatest care for the schooner’s spar. We did little damage for some time, and it was not until the pirates were within half a mile that a lucky shot carried away their mainmast. We gave the loudest cheer that we could give, and then the mate and I jumped aloft and cut adrift the wreck of the foretop-mast. Meanwhile Tom was hanging on to the wheel which he had to keep jammed hard up, for the brig had now no head sail on except the foresail. We drew steadily away from the schooner, however, and as soon as we had cleared away the wreck we managed to set the foretop-mast staysail flying, leading the halyard to a block lashed to a bolt in the head of the foremast. This helped her a little, and made her steer somewhat easier.
All the while Mr. March and I were at work aloft the schooner was firing at us. Sometimes she aimed apparently at our spars with the hope of dismasting us, but for the most part her shot struck us in the hull, and I was convinced that in their rage, the pirates were trying to sink us. But beyond cutting up our running gear and putting a few holes through our sails, the schooner seemed to do us little harm. The wind was freshening, and the pirates were brought almost to a standstill by their mainmast which was towing overboard with all its gear, and which they were unwilling to cut adrift probably because they had no spare mainsail with them.
[Illustration: WE DID LITTLE DAMAGE UNTIL THE PIRATES WERE WITHIN HALF A MILE.
179]
The schooner made no further effort to follow us, and when we had distanced her so far that it was useless for her to waste shot on us, she ceased firing. We were, you may be sure, pretty well tired with hard work and excitement, and after we had eaten our breakfast, such as it was, I relieved Tom at the wheel and he and the mate lay down on the deck to rest.
“It’s very queer that all that cannonading did us so little harm,” said Tom. “I always thought a cannon was such a terrible thing. But its bark is worse than its bite.”
“We were in a bad way at one time,” said the mate. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been here to work the gun? It was my shot that saved us, and considering that I’m entitled to half the value of the ship for recapturin’ her, I’ve earned the other half by beatin’ off the pirates in a fair fight. Not but what you young gentlemen have behaved very well, and I promise you that I’ll see to it that the owners stand something to you in the nature of a reward.”
“It seems to me,” said I, “that the brig feels heavier than she did. She doesn’t rise to the seas as lively as when we were running away early this morning.”
The mate started up and looked over the side. “You’re right,” he cried. “She’s deeper than she was. I’ll go below and see if she is leaking.”
He dived down the main hatchway, and in a very short time came back looking rather grave. “Some of those shot have hit her below the water line,” he said. “I can hear the water runnin’ into her. The lower hold has got four feet of water already. We must start the pumps or we’ll never see Charleston.”
The pump was so heavy and cumbersome that two men could not work it long without being tired out. The mate and Tom, however, went to work with a will, and kept a big stream of water pouring out of the scuppers for at least half an hour. Then the mate sounded the well and found that the water had gone down an inch. This was a proof that the leak could be kept under as long as we could keep the pumps going. We were much encouraged—at least Tom and I were—and I took Mr. March’s place at the pump while he took my place at the wheel.
We pumped another half-hour, and lowered the water another inch. Mr. March then went below and tried again to find the leak, but it was where he could not get at it. He and I then fell to pumping again, but before the half-hour was up we were so utterly exhausted that we dropped the brakes and threw ourselves on the wet deck.
“There’s no use in pumpin’ any more,” said the mate. “We can’t free her. All we could do with the pump would be to keep her afloat a little while longer than if we didn’t break our hearts and backs.”
“But we can lower the water an inch every half-hour,” said I.
“There’s four feet in her now, let’s say. That’s forty-eight inches, ain’t it? Very well. Suppose we could pump two hours at a spell; that would lower the water four inches only. Then we’ll have to rest an hour, and she’d make a foot or two of water in that time. I’m willin’ to pump another hour and a half, after we’re rested a bit, just so as to get as far away from where we left the schooner as we can, but after that we’ll let the old Swansea go and take to the boats.”
There was good sense in what the mate said. It did seem a hopeless task to try to save the brig by pumping. However, Tom had an idea, and as usual it was a good one.
“Mr. March,” said he, “why can’t we get a sail over the side, and stop the leak that way?”
“That’s just what I was goin’ to do,” replied the mate. “It may not work, but we’ll try it. There’s the fore topsail lying on the deck all ready as soon as we cut it adrift from the yard. Wait till I rest a bit longer, and then we’ll see what we can do.”
It was a long job getting the sail over the side, and stretching it over the place where we supposed the leak must be, but we did it at last, and then went to the pumps again. We pumped a good half-hour and sounded the well, only to find that we had lowered the water just an inch and no more. So it was plain that the sail did no good. This was discouraging, especially as the water had been gaining all the time we were working with the sail, and was now four feet and six inches deep.
“Never mind,” exclaimed Mr. March. “Thunder away at the pump, boys, for another hour if we can do it, and then we’ll knock off for good. I reckon that she’ll float a good four hours yet, and we’ll have plenty of time to get a boat ready and start away comfortably.”
We pumped as long as we could, without regard to time, and only gave up when we had so little strength left that we really could not work the pump.
The schooner had long been out of sight, and as it was now five o’clock in the afternoon, we resolved to rest till seven, and then get a boat ready. In the meanwhile there was nothing to gain by carrying sail, so we brought her close to the wind under the main topsail, and the makeshift fore staysail that we had set after losing our fore topmast. Under this sail she would very nearly steer herself, and we were able to leave the wheel; only we had, of course, to keep a sharp lookout, and run to the wheel whenever she came up too close.
I think I never was so exhausted in my life as I was that day, and the mate and Tom were quite as much exhausted as I was. We made some coffee and made a supper of coffee and biscuit, and then we all lay down on the poop. We must have dropped asleep almost instantly. I was awakened by the loud flapping of a sail, and sprang up just as Mr. March and Tom awoke. It was bright starlight.
It was a beautiful quiet night with a light breeze, but I was alarmed to see that the main deck was all awash, and that the brig was fairly water-logged. I ran to help clear away the boat, while Tom filled a breaker from a fresh-water cask, and the mate went to the binnacle and took out the compass. We put the water and the compass in the solitary quarter-boat that remained to us, and then Mr. March told us to jump in and lower away as soon as possible, for the brig might sink any moment.
We got the boat in the water safely, for the brig had little way on her and the sea was smooth. Then we rowed a short distance from her and waited for her to sink. We did not have to wait very long. Quietly enough the Swansea settled down and disappeared. Had we slept fifteen minutes longer we should have gone down with her.
We were again adrift in a small boat, and very much worse off than we were when, with old Bill, we started in a small boat from Florida. Then we had provisions and a sail. Now we had no sail and there was nothing in our boat besides the oars except a compass and a breaker of water. Besides, we were far out at sea, and had not the least idea where we were.
“Keep your courage up, boys,” said the mate. I noticed that lately he had ceased to call us “young gentlemen,” and instead always called us “boys.” “We’ll make Charleston yet; never fear. We’ve got no grub, but we’ve got plenty of water, and we’ll make the Florida coast before we starve, let alone that we may be picked up or may catch a fish or a turtle. Just pour a little water into my shoe, will you, and give me a drink. It’s mighty lucky for you that you’ve got an experienced sailor to look after you. Without me, now, you’d have walked the plank hours ago.”
Mr. March took off his shoe and passed it to Tom to be filled with water, but when he had taken a drink he spat it out, and cried, “Where did you get that water? It’s salt.”
“I got it out of a cask on deck,” said Tom.
“Well, the salt water has got to it, and we’ve got nothing to drink. Unless we’re picked up we’re all dead men. This comes of trusting to boys.”
“I thought you’d done everything, Mr. March,” said I, “and that we boys were under your care.”
“Don’t answer me back, boy,” said the mate, “for I won’t have it. It’s all your fault that we haven’t any water, and I was a fool ever to have anything to do with you.” So saying he lay down in the bottom of the boat, with his face on his arms, and remained silent until he fell asleep.
We were undoubtedly in a perilous position, but I could not hear poor Tom blamed for what was not his fault. He came aft to where I was sitting and said, “I’m sorry, but I could not help it.” So I comforted him and told him that the Lord who had preserved us so far would not let us die of thirst; and we put our arms about each other and sat still.
There was so little sea that the boat did not need any attention, so we let her drift, and being so excessively tired we too fell asleep after a while, and slept as soundly as if we had been in our beds. We did not awake until daylight, and then I startled the mate by a loud cry, for there was a big ship not half a mile away and heading directly for us.
There was no fear that the ship would miss us, for we could see men on the forecastle head looking at us, and by the time we had got on our legs and hailed her at the top of our lungs, we saw the main topsail yard swung round and the ship was hove to.
We got out our oars and pulled as if we were crazy, but it seemed an endless time before we reached the ship and found ourselves safe on board.
She was the London City, bound to Charleston from the Mediterranean, and the captain was as kind and pleasant as he could be. As soon as we came on board he called us down into his cabin, where he asked us who we were and where we came from.
I was going to answer, but before I could speak Mr. March told the captain that he was in charge of the boat, and that after the crew of the Swansea—of which he had been mate—had mutinied and set the captain adrift, and carried him (the mate) a prisoner to the Bermudas, he had watched his chance and carried off the brig single-handed, with a little help from us two boys, who had been passengers; that he had fought the Swansea when she was afterwards attacked by a pirate schooner and had beaten the schooner off, but that afterwards the Swansea had sunk in consequence of the injuries received during the battle. He added that we were both good boys, and had really been of considerable help to him.
We did not contradict him, but we resolved to tell the whole truth as soon as we reached Charleston. We were afraid that the captain of the London City would not believe us, and thought it did not make much difference to us what story the mate might tell.
But when we got to Charleston the mate told the same story to the owners of the ship—or rather to their agents—and when Tom and I tried to tell what was really the truth no one believed us, because the captain of the London City said that we had admitted that the mate’s story was true while we were on board his ship. So Mr. March was paid a handsome sum of money for what was called his noble conduct, and we were warned to stop telling stories against him. Soon afterwards Mr. March went to sea again, and I never heard of him afterwards. All in good time, when my uncle came to know Tom and me, and to know that we could be trusted, he believed our story, and that was of more consequence to us than the opinion of strangers who knew nothing of us.
This is the end of the story of the Swansea, and I am glad to say that piracy has almost ceased, and that honest seamen can now follow their profession without fear of such wretches as the bloodthirsty Blackbeard, the ferocious England, and other cruel rovers of their like.
[Illustration]
D. LOTHROP COMPANY’S
WONDER STORIES OF SCIENCE.
By Rev. D. N. Beach, Amanda B. Harris, Mary W. Fisher and others. 12mo, fully illustrated, 1.25. (=5=)
Recommended by the State Board of Minnesota and other States for use in their public school libraries.
“Twenty-one charming sketches are included in this little volume. The boys can make an excursion in a balloon, the girls can spend an afternoon in a Christmas card factory, or they can go to another factory and see how numberless women earn their living by making dolls’ shoes. One chapter tells how newspapers are made, another, where and how umbrellas are made, etc., etc. There is a great deal of information to be obtained in this little book, and all in a wonderfully delightful way.”—_Christian Observer_, Louisville, Ky.
“It is as interesting as fiction.”—_Zion’s Herald_, Boston.
WONDER STORIES OF TRAVEL.
12mo, fully illustrated, 1.25. (=5=)
Recommended by the State Board of Minnesota and other States for use in their public school libraries.
Tales written by several writers in which peculiarities of people and things abroad are brought out.
“It is in a line of books peculiar to this house, in being intended to agreeably teach the young how to see and enjoy the earth and life about them. This book, and several of its class from these publishers, has special claims upon parents who seek to direct the reading of their young.”—_Boston Globe._
WOODS (Kate Tannatt).
=SIX LITTLE REBELS.= 12mo, illustrated by Boz, 1.50.
“This is a story of boys and girls during the first years of our Civil War. The ‘little rebels’ were five boys, brothers and cousins, and a colored servant, a veritable male Topsy, who were sent from Richmond to Washington and placed under the guardianship of a good doctor there, an old friend of their parents.... The story of their pranks and their sorrows, their visits to Boston and summers by the sea in Massachusetts, with the sombre war cloud hanging over all, and giving an undertone of pathos to the narrative, is charmingly told. Glimpses are caught here and there of President Lincoln, General McClellan and other famous persons.”—_Worcester Spy._
=DOCTOR DICK= (A Sequel to “Six Little Rebels”), 12mo, illustrated by Boz, 1.50.
=OUT AND ABOUT=; or, The Hudsons’ Trip to the Pacific. Square 8vo, cloth 1.75; boards, 1.25. (=5=)
Cape Cod to the Golden Gate with a lot of young folks along and plenty of yarns by the way. Pictures of now and then a sight, but a great deal more in the types.
WOODS (William S.).
=HOW BENNY DID IT.= 12mo, 1.25. (=5=)
The writer of this story is a business man of long experience, and he was moved to its preparation by a fact which experience had shown him that there is much in currently received business principles—even among those whom we call good men—that is wrong, and so wrong as to be not only injurious to him upon whom, but by whom committed. He places the hero of the story, Bennie Stout, in positions to exemplify this fact, and to show how a boy of good principle and a strong will can not only resist temptation himself, but can even exert an influence over his elders.