Chapter IX: A Stranded Ship and a Board of Survey

In a struggle between steam and iron on the one side and human flesh on the other, the flesh must generally give way; and it was so in this case. The winch turned, the rope tautened, and in another second something must have broken.

The man was more sober than his companions, as well as more stubborn; and the moment the rope began to strain he simply bent his body, and the winch drew him easily out upon the deck. A minute later he was unfastened and set to work.

“That’s the usual picnic we have at the beginning of a voyage,” Captain Godfree said when, everything being in working order, he returned to the bridge. “We ship a new set of seamen for each voyage, and they generally come aboard too drunk for duty. A bad condition that poor Jack has come to in these days, isn’t it? You see the minute they arrive in New York after a voyage they are seized upon by the sailors’ boarding-house keepers, who get all their money away from them and supply them with food and drink till it’s time to get rid of them. Then the boarding-master finds a new ship for Jack and gets an order for his advance pay, and brings him aboard so full of Water Street whiskey that half the time the man doesn’t know what ship he is on, nor where he is going. If the boys who think of running away to sea knew what the life of a modern sailor is, they’d go rather slow.”

“I should think it would be dangerous to take the ship to sea with a crew that you know nothing about,” Dick suggested.

“Oh, no. You see there are enough of us who belong with the ship to handle her. Besides myself there are the first and second mates, the chief engineer and first and second assistants, the quartermaster, and four stokers. With these and the supercargo and the cook and two stewards, we can keep the crew in order.”

Dick expected to have a view of the whole length of the New Jersey coast, as he had had in the Alameda; but in this he was disappointed. The Smeaton Tower headed a little east of south as soon as she passed Sandy Hook, her bow pointed direct for Porto Rico; and in about two hours the American coast sank below the horizon.

There were three good meals a day in the comfortable cabin; and for the evening there was a checkerboard, with the captain and supercargo to play with; and there was the full run of the ship for Dick, with a much better chance to see everything than one can have on a passenger ship. The six days between New York and Porto Rico went by like a song, the sun growing hotter every day. About two o’clock in the afternoon of the sixth day, the high mountains of the island were sighted.

“There we are,” said Captain Godfree; “you see the little sextant and the chronometer have guided us right, though we have hardly seen as much as a schooner since we lost Sandy Hook. We’ll eat dinner in San Juan to-night, if everything goes well.”

It was a beautiful sight, that mountain-peak in the clouds, and Dick remained on the bridge to watch it. By three o’clock the mountains were much plainer, and by four he could distinguish their outlines plainly. When the supper-bell rang at five, he was just beginning to make out some cocoanut trees on shore.

“I don’t like the looks of the weather very much,” Captain Godfree said as they went down into the cabin. Dick and the captain and the first mate and supercargo ate together always at the first cabin table, the second mate eating from the same table later on.

“There’s a squall coming,” Captain Godfree continued, “but we may get into harbor before it reaches us.”

The captain got the meal started, but Dick saw that he was not at ease. He ate a few hurried mouthfuls; and then, taking his cup of tea in his hand, he arose and said:--

“You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen; I must be on the bridge when we’re approaching land in a squall.”

The others quickly finished their supper and went up to the bridge. Dick was surprised to see how much darker it was. The clouds had grown blacker and there were some lights on shore. The captain stepped to the signal dial and pulled the handle that gave the engineer the order:--

“Half speed!”

It was the act of a prudent commander. If he had not done it, the bones of the Smeaton Tower would be lying on the rocks of Porto Rico at this moment.

All who had any right to be on the bridge were there to see the steamer enter the harbor of San Juan, the capital of Porto Rico. They were Captain Godfree and first mate Gran, each of whom had made eight previous voyages to the island; Mr. Maloney, the supercargo, an old navigator, who was perfectly familiar with the place; and Dick, an interested spectator.

“There is the great castle of San Juan on the side and summit of that hill,” said Mr. Maloney; “the harbor runs in behind the hill, and the city lies on the other slope. You see where the two mountain ridges seem to join? Well, just below that the city lies. That light on the right is the lighthouse; on the left are the castle lights. We run in between the two.”

“How far are we from the harbor mouth, captain?” Dick asked.

“About four miles,” Captain Godfree answered. “Now see how close a guess I have made. We are running six miles an hour, and you can tell by looking at your watch now and when we have the light abeam.”

Darker grew the sky and brighter gleamed the lights on shore. There came a blinding flash of lightning, followed instantly by such a pour of rain as falls only in a tropical shower.

A moment later there was a grating and grinding and crunching beneath their feet, and the ship stopped with a jar that threw them all against the bridge’s rail. The propeller continued to revolve, but the vessel was stationary. Dick did not know what it meant, but he saw by the countenances of his companions that something had happened.

Not a soul moved for a second or two, but the seconds seemed like half-hours. Then the captain sprang to the signal dial.

“Blast my eyes!” he shouted. “I’ve put the ship aground!”

“Stop her! Back her!” he signaled; and the propeller first stopped, then began to reverse. But the ship’s only answer was to begin pounding against the rocks. She was hard and fast on a reef.

Everything was in confusion in a moment. The captain was shouting orders, men were rushing about the decks, the rain continued to pour, lightning flashed, and thunder seemed to roll across the water and echo a dozen times among the mountains. To add to the weirdness of the scene, a number of bright lights sprang up along the shore; some down on the beach, others apparently up in the hills.

Dick was soaked with the rain, but he did not know it. The violent pounding of the ship made standing uncertain, and he wound his arm around one of the iron stanchions.

“I’m sorry for Captain Godfree,” he said to himself, “but I wouldn’t have missed this for a thousand dollars! Just this scene alone is good for two or three columns. Those must be tar barrels they’re burning on shore for signals; and there are hundreds of people running about them, looking in that light like naked savages on a cannibal island. Talk about shipwreck scenes in the theatre! They’re nothing compared with the reality.”

Dick was alone on the bridge now. All the officers were on deck. He heard the captain rapidly issuing orders.

“Lower away the port quarterboat, Mr. Gran!”

“Sound the wells, Mr. Turner!”

“Quartermaster, heave the lead!”

“This is something for me to keep an eye on,” Dick thought. “I’ll have a chance to see exactly what they do when a steamship is run on a reef.”

At that moment Mr. Maloney sprang up the iron ladder and seized Dick by the arm.

“Don’t stay up here!” he shouted; nothing less than a shout could have been heard in that furious din. “She’s liable to pound the masts out of herself at any minute, and these iron masts will smash everything when they fall. You’ll be safer in the cabin.”

Dick had no idea of hiding himself in the cabin, but he went down as far as the deck, where he almost ran against Captain Godfree.

“Blast my eyes, Sumner!” the captain shouted; “I’ve made the wrong port. This is not San Juan, at all; this is Arecibo, forty miles down the coast!”

By this time the officers had executed their orders.

“Port quarterboat lowered, sir!” Mr. Gran shouted.

“Fore and aft wells dry, sir,” said Mr. Turner.

“Six fathom fore and aft, sir,” the quartermaster reported. “Less than two fathom amidship. She’s run up on a reef till she’s nearly balanced on it.”

But the worst report of all came from the engineer. He ran up to say:--

“Machinery disabled, sir. The jar has disconnected the main steampipe!”

“You must mend it, chief!” the captain answered. “We _must_ have steam or we’re gone. She’ll break in two inside of an hour on this reef.”

Leaving that work to the chief engineer, the captain went on issuing orders.

“Get out a kedge anchor, Mr. Gran, and put the cable on the after winch.”

This work took some minutes, and while it was in progress Dick was delighted to hear the propeller revolving again, for that showed that the steampipe had been repaired. Dick was dodging into the little chart room every minute now, making memoranda of all the orders issued; for in that flood of rain it was impossible to write.

When the kedge anchor was in place over the stern the after winch was started and the line tautened, but after a hard pull it snapped like a cord.

“Get out another anchor!” The captain and all on board were growing more excited--all but Dick; he was busy taking notes.

The second kedge anchor did better. With the engines reversed at full speed and the winch revolving, they could feel the ship move. They sighted her bow with one of the fires on shore, and she certainly backed. She had begun to move faster, when there was a terrible crash aft and the stern flew up into the air.

“That settles us!” the captain shouted. “We’ve struck something and knocked the whole stern out of her.”

But he kept the engines backing and the winch going, and in a minute the stern settled to its proper position and the ship continued to back. The anchor cable was cut and the quarterboat hoisted, and on went the ship, backing slowly seaward. She was afloat!

“Sound the wells, Mr. Turner!”

“Heave the lead, quartermaster!”

The ship was taking a little water, so “start the number two pump, Mr. Gran,” was ordered. But the stern was still sound as far as could be seen in the rain and darkness, and she still floated and moved.

For nearly half an hour the captain kept the engines reversed and the ship backing seaward; then he started her ahead, pointed up the coast toward San Juan.

“That thing never happened to me before,” Captain Godfree said when he and Dick were in the cabin together an hour later. “There must have been something in the atmosphere to deceive me; perhaps it was the refraction; I had no more doubt that we were off San Juan than I have that we’re sitting here. We had a narrow escape, and there’s no telling how badly we’re injured till we get into San Juan harbor. I think we have lost most of our propeller, but we have enough left to move us. It’s a bad beginning for your Porto Rico voyage.”

“Bad!” Dick repeated; “why, you couldn’t have done anything to suit me better. I know as much about stranding a ship now as an old sailor. I’m only sorry I could do nothing to help you.”

“Oh, but you can!” Captain Godfree retorted. “You can do a great deal to help me. It’s lucky for me I have you aboard, for you can give me a great deal of assistance with the cabling and the Board of Survey.”

“Board of Survey?” Dick asked; “what is that?”

“Oh, you see you don’t know all about stranding a ship yet!” the captain laughed. “When you get her off, that’s only the beginning of the job. The Board of Survey is worse than running on the rocks. We have all that to come yet, and it will make a good newspaper article for you, too.”

“Why, you’re a perfect jewel of a captain to travel with!” Dick exclaimed. “The voyage down will make one article, stranding the ship is good for another, and this Board of Survey, whatever it is, will be the third, before I begin with Porto Rico at all. One thing I don’t understand, captain. What were all those lights on shore? How did they come to be there?”

“Those were signals for us,” the captain replied, “to warn us off. They saw us standing in for the shore, and knew that we’d be on that deadly Arecibo reef in a few minutes unless we put about. Arecibo is one of the ports we touch at, and our agents there burned those tar barrels to show us we were in danger. That is one of the most dangerous reefs on the coast, covered with the bones of lost ships. When we brought up sharp astern and probably broke our propeller, we ran into the ribs of some sunken vessel.

“But I want you to help me, Sumner,” the captain went on; “and we have a big job before us. I’ll explain to you what has to be done in such a case, so that you’ll understand. As soon as we reach port I have to cable my owners that the ship has been stranded and tell them how much damage was done. That has to be done with the cable code, of course, because telegraphing from Porto Rico to London costs three dollars a word, and we must put it in as few words as possible. You’ve no idea what hard work it is to put a dispatch into the code; at least it is for me; perhaps it may be easier for you.

“Then,” the captain went on, “comes the Board of Survey. This is a British ship, as you know; so as soon as the cable is sent I go to the British consul in San Juan and report that my ship has been stranded and ask him to appoint a board of survey. He does so, appointing generally three masters of vessels that happen to be lying in the harbor. They examine the ship and decide whether she is fit to proceed on her voyage or not. Their decision is law, too, and we have to obey it.”

“Why!” Dick exclaimed, “I had no idea there was so much red tape about it. What is the use of all that fuss?”

“Because the ship might be so badly injured as to be unseaworthy,” the captain replied; “and to take her to sea in that case would be to risk the lives of the crew. I couldn’t compel the crew to go another mile in her without a survey.”

“Now here is the cable code,” the captain continued, handing Dick a small red-covered book. “You see there are single words to express most every sentence a shipmaster could want to send. Of course the owners in London have another copy of the book, so that they can decipher the dispatch. The single word ‘Refuse,’ for instance, means ‘No cargo to be had here,’ and saves five words in telegraphing. I will write out the dispatch I want to send, and you can translate it into the code for me.”

The captain took a pencil and wrote his dispatch in plain English, in this way:--

Smith & Jones, London:--

Stranded at Arecibo. On the rocks forty minutes. Damage unknown.
Proceeded to San Juan and requested Board of Survey. GODFREE.

“Now, there are twenty-four words,” the captain continued, “for the cable company charges for the address and signature. You will find some word in the book that means a whole sentence, and that will reduce the number of words about one half.”

Dick examined the book and soon mastered its principles. It might be hard work for a sea captain to prepare a cipher dispatch, but it was easy enough for a newspaper man. The word adjoins, he found, meant “stranded at”; forward meant “on the rocks forty minutes”; mystery meant “proceeded to”; and simply the word board stood for “requested Board of Survey.” For “damage unknown” he had to search some time, but at length he found that the word motion expressed that. So his cipher dispatch, when done in the code, read in this way:

Smith & Jones, London:--
Adjoins, Arecibo, forward, motion, mystery, San Juan, board.
GODFREE.

“There,” he said as he finished it, “try that over with the book, captain, and see whether it doesn’t express what you want to say.”

“That’s it exactly,” the captain declared, after a long struggle with the book. “You’ve got it into thirteen words--a saving to the company of over thirty dollars; and you did it in ten minutes. It would have taken me half the night to cipher that thing out, Sumner.”

“I know something about the expense of cabling from Porto Rico,” Dick said. “A reporter finds out a little of everything, you know. I interviewed a man once who had been a cable operator in San Juan. He happened to be there when the Count de Paris arrived on his way from Havana to Barcelona. The count’s daughter was very sick in England, and he sat down in the office and wrote her a letter of one thousand four hundred words, and cabled it. That cost him over four thousand dollars.”

“That might do for a millionaire like the Count de Paris,” the captain laughed, “but I don’t think my owners would stand it. Now we must take hold of the Board of Survey matter, and I want you to do a little headwork for me there. You’re just the man to do it, too.”

“Well, we’ve got safely out of one bad scrape to-night,” Dick answered; “I think we’ll pull through the next one.”

“The main thing I’m afraid of, Sumner,” the captain said, “is that the Board of Survey may order us into dry dock for repairs. There is no dry dock at Porto Rico, and we’d have to go over to St. Thomas. If they should make us put in a new propeller, we’d have to cable to England for it, and that would keep us in St. Thomas at least a month or six weeks.”

“That would be very bad for me,” he continued, “to have the ship lose so much time. The owners won’t say much about my stranding the ship, if I don’t lose too much time over it. Now what we’ve got to do is to influence the Board of Survey so that they’ll let us proceed on our voyage, and I want to do that through you.”

“Through me!” Dick exclaimed.

“Yes, through you. You see shipmasters ain’t very good writers, as a rule, and it will be an easy matter to arrange things so that they’ll ask you to act as clerk and do the writing. Then whenever they get stuck for a sentence to put in the report, you can suggest one. And of course you’ll suggest the things that we make up our minds we want in the report. Oh, that will work; I’ve seen that done before.”

“Well,” Dick laughed, “that seems fair enough. Of course you’ll not want me to put in anything that isn’t fair and square. I want to help you in every honest way I can.”

They sat up late discussing the report they wanted the board to make, and the substance of it all was that the ship was seaworthy and should be allowed to proceed on her voyage.

“That’s it!” the captain exclaimed; “of course she’s seaworthy. We’re moving under our own steam, ain’t we, and taking hardly any water? We’re fit to go around the world in. But I don’t honestly believe,” he added “that there’s more than part of one blade left in our propeller.”

When the Smeaton Tower lay safely in San Juan harbor next morning Dick went out with Captain Godfree in one of the small boats, and they saw for themselves what had happened to the propeller. Two blades were gone entirely, the third was broken off about six inches from the shaft; and the fourth, the only serviceable blade, had lost but a few inches from its tip.

“But the bonnet is what I’m afraid of,” the captain said; “the bonnet you know is the part that fits around the shaft, that the blades are fastened to. If that should be cracked, it might drop off at any minute and then we’d be helpless. However, we’ll go on if the board will let us.”

There was an interval of two days between the arrival of the Smeaton Tower at San Juan and the convening of the Board of Survey. This time Dick used to the best advantage on shore, driving out to the sugar and coffee plantations, making himself acquainted with the people and their mode of life, and riding over the railway.

“It’s the people I like best to write about,” he often said to himself, “because they are what the reader takes most interest in. Suppose I should try to write a glowing description of one of those mountain-peaks? How many readers would care anything about it? But everybody is interested in the way the people of other countries live. I don’t want to be one of the glowing-sunset writers, all color and no substance.”

On the third day the members of the Board of Survey visited the ship. The British consul had selected three shipmasters who were altogether satisfactory to Captain Godfree. One was Captain Fraser, of the steamship Caribbee; another was the good-natured captain of a fine Spanish steamer lying in the harbor; and the third was a real live Yankee skipper from Maine, whose schooner was waiting for a cargo of sugar.

Dick and the captain naturally made everything as pleasant for the board as they could. A fine lunch was spread on the cabin table, to which they immediately sat down. The three shipmasters spent half an hour in looking over the vessel, rowed around to the propeller in a small boat, asked to have the engines moved, went down into the hold, and retired to the cabin with Dick and Captain Godfree, to make out their report. Dick, as had been anticipated, was asked to act as their clerk.

“I think we can say that the propeller is damaged but still serviceable,” said Captain Fraser, who was the spokesman.

Dick put that down; the consul had sent out the proper blanks for the report, and only the board’s findings had to be written in.

“And--and”--

“Engines moved and found in good order?” Dick suggested.

“Yes, put that in,” Captain Fraser said. “And you can say that we have inspected the hull and find it fairly tight--with very little cement started. And you might add that we find that--that”--

Captain Fraser looked inquiringly at his fellows.

“That the ship is seaworthy and able to proceed on her voyage?” Dick suggested.

“Y-e-s,” Captain Fraser said, looking inquiringly at the others, who both nodded. “Yes, you can put that in, with a recommendation that she be docked on her arrival in New York.”

It was all down in a minute, and Dick filled out the duplicate copy to be filed with the consul, and the members of the board signed them both.

The danger of being sent to St. Thomas was over. The board had officially declared the ship seaworthy, and nothing would prevent her now from going on to her other ports.

“You did that famously, Sumner!” Captain Godfree exclaimed, giving Dick a stunning slap on the back after the board had gone. “I should have been in a tight fix without your help. I wish I could always have a newspaper man on board.”

That same night the ship steamed back to Arecibo, having a quantity of cargo for that port, but this time she was careful to avoid the reef. Then she proceeded to Mayaguez, a port on the west coast, to deliver more cargo. In Mayaguez harbor she was soon surrounded by a little fleet of bum-boats, every boat loaded with something to sell--parrots, cigars, cigarettes, fruits, shell-work, sugarcane, bay rum, walking sticks, and a dozen other things.

“Hold on there!” the captain exclaimed to the first boatman who came up the ladder. “What have you got in those bottles? I’m not going to have any rum brought aboard to the crew.”

“Him only bay rum, señor,” the man replied. “Not drinkee; only rub on face after shavee. Very nice bay rum, señor.”

“We’ll see about that,” the captain replied; and he sent for a corkscrew and opened several of the bottles. He and Dick both smelled them and were convinced that they contained nothing but bay rum.

“All right,” said the captain. “You can sell all the bay rum you like, but no other kind. Put the quartermaster at the head of the gangway, Mr. Gran, and let him open every bottle that’s brought aboard. They may sell bay rum, but nothing to drink.”

Either to let the crew go ashore or to allow any liquor on board meant a repetition of the scene of the first day, and strict orders were given that no one should land. Shoal water compelled the ship to anchor nearly a mile from the wharf, and the cargo was taken in lighters. But the order of course did not prevent Dick and the captain from landing, and they learned in the afternoon that a ball was to be given in the “Gran Hotel Marina” that night.

“I want you to see that,” the captain said to Dick. “A ball in one of these old towns will give you something to write about. Our agents here will get invitations for us.”

They returned to the ship for supper, and about nine o’clock in the evening, dressed in their thinnest clothes (for the night was intensely hot), they set out for shore and the ball, leaving Mr. Gran in charge of the deck.

The open space in front of the hotel was full of carriages, and the ball was in full progress when they arrived. The dancers were in the dining-room, clad in the gayest of clothes. Music was playing, gay señors and señoritas were whirling. On the broad portico that extended across the whole front of the building most of the spectators were gathered, for the air was cooler there.

Dick was enjoying the scene very much, going in and out among the dancers, admiring their grace and wondering at their strangely cut clothes, when Captain Godfree beckoned him to a retired part of the portico.

“I think we’d better get out of this, Sumner,” the captain whispered. “I have just found out that there’s a case of yellow fever in the house.”

“There is!” Dick exclaimed.

“Yes; and only two rooms from where they’re dancing, too. All those doors down the other end of the portico open into bedrooms, and the sick man is in the second room. He was taken down yesterday, but they’re keeping it quiet so as not to break up the ball. These natives are not much afraid of the fever, you know, but it won’t do for us; and the sooner we get out the better. The sick man is an American shipmaster with a brig lying in the harbor.”

“An American!” Dick repeated; “and all this music and dancing about his ears! Perhaps you had better go, captain; but I shall stay and see whether my countryman is in need of help. Oh, yes; I couldn’t do anything else,” he went on in answer to the captain’s surprised look. “You would do the same thing for an Englishman; any decent man would. I am not afraid of the fever; I have seen plenty of it in Havana and Vera Cruz.”

“By George, I’m glad the English and Americans are cousins!” the captain exclaimed. “That’s said like a man. But in this case it would be worse than useless for you to stay, for the man is well supplied with money, has good nurses and a good English doctor attending him; so you would only be in the way. Come along.”

Dick would not go until he learned from the hotel people that his countryman was supplied with every possible comfort; and then he and the captain returned to the ship. It was after midnight when they reached her side, and they were surprised to hear a great commotion on deck.

“On deck, there, Mr. Gran!” the captain shouted when they were within a few feet of the vessel.

“Aye, aye, sir!” Mr. Gran replied; “I’m glad you’re back, sir. These lubbers have been drinking bay rum till they’re wild. They’re in a state of mutiny, sir.”

“Are they?” the captain exclaimed. “I’ll sober ’em, the drunken beasts!” He sprang up the ladder with Dick close behind, and the moment he reached the deck he threw off his coat.

“Call Mr. Turner and the quartermaster,” he ordered; and Mr. Gran turned to obey.

The men, eight of them, were in a cluster forward, near the starboard rail, fighting furiously, struggling, swearing, striking, too drunk to know or care that the captain had returned.

Without waiting for assistance, Captain Godfree sprang into the midst of them, knocking two down with the first rush and staggering two more. Three of the others shrank back before the captain’s powerful fists; but one big fellow stood his ground and whipped out a long knife. In a second, almost, one of the men who had been knocked down sprang to his feet and seized the captain from behind, while the big fellow in front, his face livid with rage and rum, raised his hand with the knife.

Dick stood perhaps ten feet away, with the captain’s coat over his arm. He heard the two mates and the quartermaster coming, but before they could reach the spot the captain would be a dead man. He saw the gleam of the long knife.

Without an instant’s hesitation he snatched an iron belaying-pin from its socket and sprang forward.

Crash! crash!

Two blows with that heavy club laid the knife-wielder helpless upon the deck. Next moment the two mates and the quartermaster were there, and the mutiny was ended. Dick was glad to see the man with the knife struggle as the mates put handcuffs on him; he was afraid he had killed him.

“Sumner, I’ll always read the newspapers with greater respect after seeing what kind of fellows make them,” Captain Godfree said when they had retired to their cabin. “Whether it’s to manage a board of survey, to brave the yellow fever, or to knock out a drunken sailor, you’re on hand every time. If you’ll stay on board this ship, I’ll make a mate of you in short order.”

“Oh, that would be a holiday!” Dick laughed. “I’ve got three hours of writing to do now, captain.”