CHAPTER IV.

A VESSEL IN DISTRESS.

Mr. Pelham saw that he had made a mistake in leaving the Tritonia at such a time, though he would not have thought of doing so if the senior vice-principal had not sent the boat. But it was a case of severe sickness which had induced his superior to send out a boat in such a sea. The squall, which might prove to be a hurricane, was already roaring in the distance. In a moment more it would break upon the vessels.

“Get your boat in quick!” said Mr. Fluxion to the officer of the deck, in sharp tones, though not loud enough to be heard by the seamen. “Call all hands!”

At the same moment the senior vice-principal seized the speaking-trumpet in the hands of the officer of the deck, and, leaping into the main rigging, shouted,--

“Fill away! fill away!”

Whether, in the roar of the tempest, the officer in charge of the Tritonia heard him or not, the vessel immediately filled away. O’Hara was too good a sailor to be caught napping at such a time. He had sent for the captain as soon as he saw the squall coming; and, as this was a case of emergency in which the officer of the deck was authorized to act without waiting for orders, he had braced up the fore-yards on his own responsibility.

Capt. Wainwright came on deck before the schooner was fairly under way again. All hands were called, the lessons of the professors in the steerage were promptly abandoned, and almost in the twinkling of an eye the canvas was reduced to a storm staysail.

The Josephine had a bigger problem to solve: the officer of the deck sent for Capt. Vroome, but, without waiting for his coming, ordered the cutter to be hauled under the lee of the schooner; and it was hoisted up at the davits, carefully secured, and swung inboard.

As soon as the boat was clear of the water, the forebraces were manned, and the yards trimmed, the vessel filling away as this was done. The orders came very rapidly from the first lieutenant for a moment; but they were executed as fast as they were given, and the vessel was soon under the same short canvas as the Tritonia.

The squall came down upon the little squadron, and the vessels reeled under it. But this was one of the emergencies which the students, especially the officers, of the academy squadron, had been faithfully trained to meet. The ships’ companies had executed the manœuvre just completed, hundreds of times, in still water and at sea in a fresh breeze.

Though the fury of the squall lasted but a short time, it was succeeded by a severe gale, which had been sufficiently prognosticated by the barometer and the aspect of the heavens. When the first fierceness of the tempest had somewhat abated, the Josephine set her foresail, close-reefed, and hoisted her jib. The wind still came from the north-west, and she resumed her course for the Madeira Islands.

Capt. Wainwright followed the example of his senior; and the two vessels were again standing on their course, which was still west, a quarter south. All went well till dark, though the vessels labored heavily in the ugly sea. The captain of the Tritonia was somewhat anxious about his craft, as he had no vice-principal on board upon whom he could lean if the situation became more trying. He walked the deck, keeping his gaze fixed to windward most of the time.

Since the squall a full watch had been kept on duty. Scott was in charge of the deck when the darkness, deep and dense, settled down upon the scene. Even with only the jib and the double-reefed foresail, the Tritonia rolled till the water frequently came in over her high bulwarks, while the seas broke in heavy sheets over the top-gallant forecastle.

“This will be a nasty night, Scott,” said the captain, pausing in his walk on the weather side of the vessel.

“I never saw any thing worse,” replied the second lieutenant. “But I think we shall be able to keep most of the water on the outside of her.”

“She is wetter on deck than I ever saw her before,” added Capt. Wainwright.

“Or behind either.”

“I am afraid we shall lose sight of the Josephine before morning.”

“If we do, I suppose, like any other old wine-bibbers, we can find our way to Madeira.”

“But I am very sorry that Mr. Pelham was unable to return,” continued the captain.

“I think he will feel worse about it than any one else,” answered Scott.

“It is for his sake that I am sorry.”

“I don’t object to a cruise on our own account as long as we keep within the strict line of duty.”

“I am not alarmed, though in such a night as this I cannot help feeling a little anxious about the vessel,” said Capt. Wainwright. “I had no idea that we should have such a storm as this proves to be. I don’t see the lights of the Josephine.”

“I saw her starboard light within five minutes,” added Scott, as he peered through the gloom of the night in the direction the consort had last been seen. “She can’t be far from us.”

“I see it now,” added the captain. “The tops of the waves shut it out from our view at times.”

“Now we have lost it again.”

The Tritonia rolled and pitched fearfully, and of course the Josephine was doing the same. The night was a long and dismal one. Twice it became necessary to call all hands to lay the vessel to under the storm staysail. Even the jib and reefed foresail were too much for her.

Shortly after the captain and second lieutenant were observing the lights of the Josephine, they disappeared, and were not seen again. A very heavy rain began to pour down, and it was thought that the thickness of the weather alone prevented them from seeing her. Capt. Wainwright declared that it was the worst night he had seen since he had been in the Tritonia; and Mr. Marline confirmed his view of the matter.

The morning broke dull and heavy, with a fierce rain-storm still battering against the rigging. The captain had been on deck about all night, and had turned in at eight bells in the morning when the watch was changed, leaving the first lieutenant in charge of the deck.

“Heard a gun off the port bow,” reported the lookout on the top-gallant forecastle.

“Are you sure it was a gun?” asked Richards, the fourth master, to whom the report was made.

“It was a good way off; but I’m pretty sure it was a gun,” replied the seaman. “There it is again! I am sure of it now.”

Richards heard the gun himself this time, though it was only a dull report, evidently coming from a great distance. He reported it to the officer of the deck.

“I haven’t heard it,” said Greenwood.

“You can hardly make out the sound above the roar and swash of the sea. I heard it myself just now,” added Richards.

They listened attentively for some minutes, but without hearing the gun again. The first lieutenant concluded that the officer and seaman had been mistaken, and he sent the fourth master back to his station. All hands forward listened again for some time; but the gun was not heard.

“I was sure I heard it,” said Richards to the second master.

“There are so many strange sounds in a storm like this, that you can’t be sure of any thing,” replied Raymond. “I hope you didn’t hear a gun, for it can only be a signal of distress in such a storm.”

But Richards was piqued at the idea of having made a false report, and he kept his ears wide open for the next hour. Once he thought he heard the sound again, but he did not mention it, though the lookout glanced at him to indicate that he had heard something.

It was too thick and dark to see any thing, even if there had been a sinking ship within a cable’s length of the Tritonia. Nearly half an hour later he heard the sound again. It was a sort of dull and indistinct “thud,” which might have been made by a wave under the counter of the schooner; but it came from a distance, and from the same direction as before.

“Gun on the weather-bow, sir,” repeated the lookout; and this time he spoke so confidently that the fourth master deemed it his duty to report again to the officer of the deck.

“I imagined I heard it myself this time,” replied Greenwood, looking very anxious. “But it might have been a gun, and it might not.”

“I think it was a gun; and I have heard it several times,” answered Richards.

“I don’t like to call the captain, after he has been on deck all night, for nothing,” continued the first lieutenant, looking very much troubled, as he wiped the spray from his face.

“If it is a gun, it can only mean that some vessel is in distress,” added Richards. “I think we had better err on the side of humanity.”

“No doubt of it; but we are not running away from the direction you report the sound as coming from.”

“If the vessel is disabled, she is drifting this way; and we can hardly work to windward in this weather.”

“Remain on the quarter-deck, if you please, Mr. Richards, and see if you can make out the gun again,” continued Greenwood.

“I hardly expect to hear it again for half an hour; for it is that time since I heard it last,” said Richards, as he climbed into the weather main rigging.

Greenwood continued to walk the deck along the life-line, which had been extended fore and aft for the safety of the officers and seamen on duty. As the fourth master had suggested, the sound was not heard again till nearly another half-hour had elapsed. Then it was heard, and so distinctly that Richards thought there could be no mistake about it this time.

“I heard it myself,” said the officer of the deck when the report was made to him. “I will thank you to call the captain, and inform him that signal-guns have been heard on the weather-bow.”

Richards came down from his perch in the weather rigging, and went below. Wainwright awoke from a heavy slumber at the knock on his door; but he was himself at once, and inquired carefully into the matter of the report till he had satisfied himself that guns had really been heard. Hastily putting on his pea-jacket, he went on deck.

All hands gazed earnestly at him as he appeared, and watched his movements with intense interest. The vice-principal was not on board, and Capt. Wainwright was the supreme authority. Mr. Primback, the senior professor, who was nominally the head of the institution in the absence of the vice-principal, knew no more about a ship, or about nautical matters, than a man that had never seen the ocean. The adult boatswain and carpenter were seamen, and were competent advisers; but they were without authority in the absence of Mr. Pelham.

While Capt. Wainwright was inquiring into the situation, the signal-gun was repeated; and this time it could be plainly heard by all on deck. It was more nearly on the beam than before. The Tritonia was on her course. The wind, which had been rather variable during the night, was now from the north, veering to the west. The vessel in distress was therefore almost dead to windward.

“Brace her sharp up, Mr. Greenwood,” said the captain, as soon as he had fully taken in the situation.

The first lieutenant gave the necessary orders in detail to carry out the command of the captain. The Tritonia promptly answered her helm, and, coming up into the wind, rose upon the tremendous sea, and then darted down into the trough, while the crest of the wave broke upon her top-gallant forecastle.

“We can’t make much beating to windward under a double-reefed foresail, in such a sea as this,” said Greenwood.

“I am afraid not,” replied the captain, as he returned to the cabin to inform the senior professor of the action he had taken.

“How do you know it is a ship in distress?” asked Mr. Primback, greatly disturbed by the announcement.

“Ships at sea don’t fire guns for nothing in such a sea as this,” answered Wainwright.

“It may be an engagement between a French and a German vessel; for France and Germany are unhappily at war with each other at this time,” suggested the professor.

“I think not, sir; for vessels in action would be likely to fire oftener than once in half an hour,” replied the captain.

“Very true: I think they would be likely to discharge their guns more frequently than this,” added Mr. Primback, looking wise. “You feel confident that the guns are from a ship in distress?”

“I feel reasonably sure of it, sir.”

“Then I suppose it is quite proper to go to her assistance,” said the professor, with an inquiring look at the young commander.

“Entirely proper, Mr. Primback.”

“I am sorry that some other vessel does not have this duty imposed upon it. Nevertheless, as the sea is very stormy, and the violence of the motion does not permit the conducting of the regular recitations, I dare say that no great loss of time will result from this deviation from the true course of the vessel.”

“I should say not, sir,” added the captain.

“Have you consulted with Mr. Marline, in the unfortunate absence at this time of Mr. Pelham?”

“I have not done so, sir. Mr. Marline turned in, and”--

“Did what? Do me the favor to speak the English language when you address me,” interposed the professor, who could not tolerate even the mildest of nautical terms.

“He went to bed, sir.”

“Ah, he retired?”

“Yes, sir: he turned in when”--

“Retired, if you please.”

“Yes, sir: he retired from the deck when I did; and I have not seen him since the signal-guns were reported to me.”

“Mr. Marline is a prudent mariner; and I request that you confer with him before any decided steps are taken.”

“But I have taken the decided step already; for I have hauled her up”--

“How can that be when the vessel is far out of sight of the land? You speak in enigmas,” interrupted Mr. Primback.

“We braced her up”--

“In English, sir,” said the professor rather sternly.

“I don’t know that I can describe nautical manœuvres in any other than nautical language,” said Wainwright. “We were going with the wind free before, sir”--

“The wind is always free, Wainwright: no one can control it.”

“Well, sir, I caused the schooner to be turned so that she is headed as near as she can go in the direction from which the wind comes.”

“That is quite intelligible. I thank you.”

“The vessel is now headed as near as can be towards the ship in distress. If you wish me to speak to Mr. Marline I will do so, sir; but I think it is better to let him sleep, after being on deck as he was all night.”

“He must be somewhat fatigued; and you may wait till he gets up from his bed.”

Wainwright withdrew from the cabin of the professor, and went on deck again. It was still too thick to make out the vessel in distress; and, when he had directed the first lieutenant to call him if occasion should require, he went to his state-room to obtain the rest he needed.

The guns were repeated every half-hour as before; and it was evident that the two vessels were coming nearer together. The rain had ceased, but a thick fog had settled down upon the ocean, and concealed the two craft from each other. But the captain could not sleep, weary as he was, in his anxiety about the wreck to windward of the Tritonia. He went on deck. The gun sounded as though the vessel in distress was not more than a mile distant.

There was no gun on board of the schooner, or he would have used it to inform the sufferers that assistance was at hand.

The Tritonia had tacked several times in the heavy sea; and, after the captain came on deck the second time, he had ordered the addition of a close-reefed mainsail to the vessel, for the wind seemed to have abated a trifle.

“I see her!” shouted the lookout forward.

“Where away?” demanded the fourth master, springing upon the rail of the vessel, ready to get into the fore-rigging.

“Sharp on the weather-bow.”

“I see her,” added Richards, as he made out the dim outline of the craft in the fog, which had lifted a little as if to reveal the presence of the sufferer.

“She is a steamer!” shouted Richards, as he jumped down upon the deck, and hurried aft as rapidly as the uneasy motion of the Tritonia would permit.

He reported to the first lieutenant the position of the steamer; and immediately all the officers leaped upon the rail, and looked intently to windward to obtain a view of her.

“What do you make of her, Mr. Greenwood?” asked Capt. Wainwright, who was of course too dignified to leave the quarter-deck.

“She is a steamer, barkentine rig. She is heeled over to port, with her stern settled deep in the water,” replied the first lieutenant.

“Down from the rail!” shouted the captain.

The order was repeated by the officer of the deck, and the momentary panic caused by the appearance of the wreck gave place to the usual order on board of the schooner. The captain sent the fourth master to call Marline; and this old salt was greatly surprised when he learned what had been done while he slept.

“How do we happen to be headed to the nor’ard, captain?” asked he, after he had glanced at the compass.

“We have been working to windward for the last four hours in search of this vessel, for we heard her signal-guns at two bells in the morning watch,” replied the captain, with a smile at the blank look of astonishment on the face of the boatswain. “Mr. Primback desired me to confer with you as soon as you came on deck.”

“Why was I not called before?”

“I thought it best not to disturb you after you had been all night on deck.”

“And you were on deck all night also.”

“I was; but I was called at two bells. I propose to lie to under the lee of the steamer, and send a boat on board of her as soon as practicable,” continued the captain. “What do you think of that idea?”

“I don’t think much of it,” replied the old sailor bluntly. “Do you think of sending a boat on board of the wreck at once?”

“Do you think it is safe to get out a boat?”

“I don’t think it is safe; and for that reason I shouldn’t lay her to.”

“What would you do?” asked Capt. Wainwright, rather nettled by the disapproval of the boatswain.

“I should run as near the wreck as possible, hail them, and say we will stand by them; then stand off and on till the weather moderates a little. A boat might live now; but the steamer floats, and don’t seem to be in any immediate danger of going down,” said Mr. Marline, when he had examined the condition of the wreck as well as he could in the fog.

“I like that plan,” replied the captain; “but I thought we might be able to reach the wreck in a boat.”

“If there was any need of it, we might,” added the boatswain, now getting a better view of the steamer. “She has a hole in her starboard bow; she has been run into by another vessel. I think the water poured into that hole in the beginning, flowed aft, and settled her down by the stern so as to lift the opening out of the water. That is what saved her. It was a miracle.”

The Tritonia tacked again, and then stood under the stern of the wreck. Only one man, whose gray locks were streaming in the fresh wind, could be seen on board of her.

“We will stand by you!” shouted Greenwood through the trumpet, as the Tritonia passed within a few fathoms of the steamer.

“Two ladies on board!” yelled the man in response to the hail.

“We will save them!” replied Greenwood.

The Tritonia passed out of hailing distance.