Chapter XV

THE GOOD SHIP "SAN SALVADOR."--A MYSTERY OF THE
SOUTHERN SEAS.

It was just such a night as a sailor loves--bright and starry, with a ten-knot breeze blowing, and enough sea on to heel the ship over to leeward, and make one feel one really is afloat on the ocean wave; a night to make one feel rather proud of his ship too than otherwise, if there really is any go and independence about her; a night on which the seaman is apt to pause in his walk fore and aft the decks, and gaze over the bulwarks at the lapping, leaping, bubbling waters, that lisp to him, whisper to him, sing to him, talk to him, and tell him of home.

If he is leaning over the lee side on a night like this with the wind abeam, the water seems ever so much darker and nearer, and the wavelets make pretence every minute to jump up and kiss the hand he extends towards them. If he is leaning over the weather side, the water appears brighter but far off, for it catches the glints of the starlight and the reflected shimmer from the long, clear line of wave-scoured copper, ever and anon showing up as the vessel swings to leeward.

The stars were as bright to-night as bright could be, and the southern cross was very high in the heavens, for the good ship _San Salvador_ was well to the south'ard. She was ploughing her way across that wide and lonesome sea, that stretches from stormy Cape Horn far down in the fifties, to the Cape of Good Hope in warmer latitudes, but pointing to an ocean that is at times hardly less wild and tempest-vexed than that which laves the shores of Tierra del Fuego itself.

A single glance at a map, reader, will give you some idea of the width of this wondrous sea--five thousand miles if it be a league; but think of its loneliness. Almost entirely out of the track of ships was the course of the _San Salvador_, for here is no great ocean highway, so on, on, on over the deep and blue-black waters the good barque had been sailing for weeks, since the day she had rounded the Horn in a gale of wind, with ice on every hand. Sometimes the breeze had been favourable enough, at other times dead ahead, so that it was tack and tack all day long; but for days she had lain becalmed--no, not lain, for she had come into a strong current, and been drifted far to the south out of her course.

They were trying hard now to make up that lee-way, and only this very forenoon they had sighted land, which, as nearly as they could make out, must have been the lonely isle of South Georgia. Never a ship had they seen, never a sail or even canoe. On an ocean like this, and under such circumstances, one cannot help feeling at times as if the world were all a world of waters, and that the ship on which one stands bears the only life afloat on it, and that it is doomed to sail for ever and for ever onwards, yet never reach a port or haven.

Seldom had they seen birds even, only now and then a solitary albatross--great eagle of the sea--that flew silently over them, nor deigned to turn an eye towards the ship, or the frigate-bird that flitted past like some dark spirit of the ocean wave.

No wonder that such a sea as this is supposed by old hands to be haunted. Not by phantom ships nor by Flying Dutchmen. Oh, no! Vanderdecken was never so low down in the world's great chart; but by strange creatures, dark and fearful, that raise their awful forms high out of the water to stare at you with wondering eyes as your ship sails slowly by.

There is always much that is mysterious about the ocean, much that we cannot understand, and creatures may exist therein that are more dreadful to behold than the wildest nightmares. It is on still, calm nights that these mysteries come up from the dark depths, so sailors will tell you. Even on the blackest nights they may give some indication of their presence. On this very cruise of the _San Salvador_, for instance, the men forward openly averred that the ship was followed, was "shadowed," they termed it, by some dread thing--they could not have told you what, for it had so many shapes. It was never twice seen alike. But they would have told you they always seemed to feel its presence, and knew that it was not far off even in daylight and in the sunshine.

In a fog, soon after they had got clear of the southern ice, men forward heard a fearful blowing, hissing sound on the lee bow, and soon after saw IT looming high above them almost like a black cloud. Then a plash in the water and IT was gone.

In the broad light of day once a flag had been dropped overboard. Now, it is unlucky to lose a flag, so the main-yard was hauled aback, and a whaler lowered, manned by five men. They could see the flag spread out on the water after they had rowed fully half a mile from the ship's position. They pulled fast and hard now, and soon reached it. Horror of horrors! the awful IT was near the flag, and no oar was stretched out to recover the bunting. What it was like no man could rightly say; but all agreed as to its being all legs and claws, with a beak-armed head and terror-striking eyes.

Another day a boat went after a seal that was floating on a morsel of ice. When within about two hundred yards of the little berg a very strange thing occurred. A tall, black arm, higher and thicker than a fishing-boat's mast, was slowly raised above the water, and there remained, as if to warn them not to approach. It is needless to say the boat returned without the seal.

One dark night, a long, wriggling, snake-like line of bluish fire was seen rushing along the surface of the water. All hands were called when it was no larger than a ship's lantern far away on the lee bow. All hands watched it, getting bigger and bigger as it approached. All hands saw it cross the bows in the shape I have mentioned, the men being frightened almost to death, and clutching fearfully at each other, none daring to speak or move, till finally IT disappeared as it had come, far away on the weather horizon.

And every night, when becalmed, the men were sensible of some huge dark image rolling in the water at no very great distance.

Verily there are more things in heaven and in the earth and sea, than we have dreamt of in our philosophy.

But on this particular night the men of the good barque _San Salvador_ were far more cheerful than usual, for IT had not not appeared in any shape or form for several days. Then the stars looked so comforting and seemed so near, while away in the west lay a long bank of rock-like clouds, the profile of which could be seen every few seconds in the glare of the lightning that flashed behind it.

There was not much light on deck, however, a glimmer from the skylight, a smoking lantern forward near the forecastle, and rays from the binnacle, but not sufficient to show even the faces of three individuals who were sitting on the grating abaft. You could have noticed that two were smoking cigars, the red tips would have told you that, and the aroma of Cuba confirmed it.

"Why, sir, if this wind holds, we'll go jumping across, and get into Cape Town harbour in a fortnight's time."

"And if," answered the captain, for it was he whom the mate had addressed, "_if_ it doesn't blow more big guns, _if_ you don't lose the sticks out of her by cracking on too much, and _if--if_--oh! there's lots of other _ifs_."

"If, for instance," said a younger voice to leeward of the captain, "IT doesn't appear again and scare the men to death."

"Why, Fred Arundel, are you there, lad? I didn't notice you, as you're not smoking. But no, I think we've left IT down to the south. Though you're not superstitious, are you, lad?"

"N----no; that is, not much, you know, only I had a queer dream last night."

"Ah! a dreamer of dreams are you? Well, tell us your dream. It's just a night for a song or a story."

"Well, you know, sir, I don't believe in dreams as a rule, they are generally so silly and upside-down-like. But this one was so vivid that I feel quite certain poor Frank is either dead and gone, or I shall soon see him again alive and well."

"It seems to me, Fred, that the dream reads in either direction. But who is Frank? You haven't told us that yet."

"Didn't I? I feel somehow as if everybody should know Frank. But Frank is--a--well, Frank is--Frank, you know."

"To be sure. I don't doubt you."

"Oh, excuse me, sir, for being so very stupid! Well, Frank Fielding _is_, or, heigho! _was_, my dearest friend on earth, we loved each other so; and when we were shipwrecked on a lonely island together we shook hands, and vowed we'd be brothers till death. And----"

"Wait a bit, Fred. I'm taken all aback like. Is this part of the dream?"

"No, sir, this is all reality."

"But you weren't at sea before to get shipwrecked?"

Fred was saucily laughing now.

"Oh, yes, sir, we were! Our craft was the good ship _Water Baby_, the owner, Frank Fielding, of Benshee House. I was captain, and the crew all told was my sister Toddie--who isn't my sister at all, however--and her little dog Tip."

"I begin to see through the milestone now," said Captain Cawdor. "Go on with your cruise of the _Water Baby_ then."

"There's nothing much to tell, you know. We had put to sea well-provisioned, and all that, and were enjoying ourselves finely. We had just finished dinner, when a white squall came roaring over the mountains, and blew us far away to the west. I was the pirate of the wild west seas, anyhow."

"I say, mate, did you know we had a real live pirate on board?"

"No, sir, it's terrible!"

"Well, sir," continued Fred, "we were shipwrecked on a desert island, and played at Crusoes, till Toddie grew sick, and lay down to die. Then it was very awful; but somehow Daddy Pop found us, and we were saved."

"Go on, lad."

"Frank's people were very rich, you know; but as far as education went Frank, poor fellow, didn't know much. He was going to be a barrister, he told me, and confessed at the same time he hadn't cleverness enough to be a bar tender even, or a billiard marker. Then his father died on a Christmas night, and Benshee House was burned down--and my poor friend Frank was ruined. Daddy would have got him on as middie like myself, but he was too proud to accept a money favour, and he couldn't have passed the exams, either. But he went to sea, and I greatly fear he has gone before the mast. Oh, fancy, sir, a gentleman's son, and he himself a gentleman, working as a boy, scraping masts, and----"

"Scraping fiddlesticks," cried honest old Cawdor. "Why, lad alive, I begun life just like that, and look at me now."

"Well," said Fred, "I am looking, but I can only see the point of your old cigar."

"You young rascal, you!" The captain gave Fred a kindly slap. "Do you feel me then? But heave round with that yarn of yours. Didn't your friend write?"

"Just once to Toddie from Demerara, but he gave no address, and didn't even tell her the name of his ship. Well now, sir, he and I have both been at sea for nearly four years," continued Fred.

"Yes, boy, it's going on that way."

"I've been twice home, and I've passed for mate, though Frank has made no sign. But now in my dream I saw him as plainly as I see you."

"What!"

"I don't mean that, because I can't see you, but I saw Frank Fielding coming smiling towards me and holding out his hand."

"How did he look?"

"He looked well-dressed, healthy and bonnie, and a sailor all over, sir."

"And you love this lad, Fred?"

"Ah! sir, he is the only friend I have about my own age. I love him _like a brother_."

Captain Cawdor smoked in silence for a time. Then he put his iron hand once more on Fred's shoulder, but this time he let it rest there for a time.

"Now, lad, I'll tell you what it is. Ever since you've come to me you've behaved like a brick, and a brave brick too. I've been watching all your doings, boy; I hope I've been a father to you."

Fred patted the big hand that lay on his shoulder.

"Indeed, indeed you have, Captain Cawdor."

"Well, you've done your duty, what man or boy can do more? Then, when in half a gale of wind our poor second mate Finch fell overboard, not a month ago, you stripped jacket and boots and dived after him, and you kept him afloat till we found you both. Had that mate of mine not been so fond of accursed rum he'd be living now. But his constitution was rotten to the core--rum-rotten. So his immersion killed him, and I've made you second mate of the _San Salvador_. And as sure as my name is James Cawdor, when we get back to old England you shall have the Albert medal for bravery in saving life at sea.

"Thanks, sir, thanks, but it was really nothing."

"Stop, let me finish. We are an officer short now, and if we do meet that friend Frank of yours, and he is worth an old ship biscuit, and up to the ropes, I'll give him a chance, just see if I don't. Don't thank me, I hate verbal thanks. Don't speak your thanks, _live_ it."

"I'll _live_ to please you, sir. Yes, I'll _live_ my thanks."

"Well now, let us go below, and leave the mate to keep his watch. I want to hear you play a bit, I always think it cheers the men forward up to hear music aft. Down you go first."

Fred dived below and entered the well-lighted little saloon of the barque. Though not large, it was as snug and cosy as a lady's boudoir, and at the farther end of it stood an open piano.

And now that the light shines full in their faces, we can see both Fred himself and his kindly Captain Cawdor.