Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (learn to read activity book .txt) đź“•
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- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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“Ha! you young rascal, I saw you,” said one of the men coming up at that moment.
Billy turned round with a start, and in doing so fell headlong into the sea.
The sailor stood aghast as if paralysed for a moment, then—as Billy rose to the surface with outstretched hands and staring eyes, and uttered a yell which was suddenly quenched in a gurgling cry—he recovered himself, and hastily threw a coil of rope towards the boy.
Now it is a curious and quite unaccountable fact, that comparatively few sailors can swim. At all events no one can deny the fact that there are hundreds, ay, thousands, of our seafaring men and boys who could not swim six yards to save their lives. Strange to say, of all the men who stood on the deck of that sloop, at the time of the accident to Billy, (Russians included), not one could swim a stroke. The result was that they rushed to the stern of the vessel and gazed anxiously over the side; some shouting one thing, and some another, but not one venturing to jump overboard, because it was as much as his life was worth to do so!
Several ropes were instantly thrown over the drowning boy, but being blinded both by terror and salt water, he did not see them. Then one of the men hastily fastened the end of a line round his waist, intending to spring over and trust to his comrades hauling him on board. At the same moment several men rushed to the stern boat, intent on lowering her. All this occurred in a few brief seconds. Billy had risen a second time with another wild cry when his father and the skipper sprang up the after-hatch and rushed to the side. Haco dashed his indestructible hat on the deck, and had his coat almost off, when Gaff went overboard, head first, hat, coat, and all, like an arrow, and caught Billy by the hair when he was about four feet below the surface.
Of course Gaff’s re-appearance with his son in his arms was greeted with heartfelt and vociferous cheers; and, of course, when they were hauled on board, and Gaff handed Billy to the skipper, in order that he might the more conveniently wring a little of the superabundant water from his garments, another and a still more hearty cheer was given; but Gaff checked it rather abruptly by raising himself and saying sternly—
“Shame on you, lads, for not bein’ able to swim. The child might ha’ drownded for all you could do to help him. A soldier as don’t know how to shoot is not much wuss than a sailor as don’t know how to swim. Why, yer own mothers—yer own sweet-hearts—might be a-drownin’ afore yer eyes, an’ you’d have to run up an’ down like helpless noodles, not darin’ to take to the water, (which ought to be your native element), any more than a blue-nosed Kangaroo. Shame on ye, I say, for not bein’ able to swim.”
“Amen to that, say I,” observed Haco with emphasis. “Shame on stout hulkin’ fellers like you for not bein’ able to swim, and shame on them as steers the ship o’ State for not teachin’ ye. You can put that in yer pipes and smoke it, lads, an’ if it don’t smoke well, ye can make a quid of it, and chew it. If I could make quids o’ them there sentiments, I’d set up a factory an’ send a inexhaustible supply to the big-wigs in parlymint for perpetooal mastication. There now, don’t stare, but go for’ard, an’ see, two of you take in another reef o’ the mains’l. If the glass speaks true, we’ll be under my namesake—barepoles—before long; look alive, boys!”
It was something new to the crew of the “Coal-Coffin” to be thus checked in an enthusiastic cheer, and to be rebuked by the object of their admiration for not being able to swim.
Deep and long was the discussion they had that evening around the windlass on this subject. Some held that it was absurd to blame men for not being able, “when p’raps they couldn’t if they wor to try.” Others thought that they might have tried first before saying that “p’raps they couldn’t.” One admitted that it was nothing but laziness that had prevented him from learning, whereupon another opined that dirtiness had something to do with it too. But all agreed in wishing earnestly that they had learned the noble and useful art, and in regretting deeply that they had not been taught it when young.
The boy, who formed one of the crew, silently congratulated himself that he was young, and resolved in his own mind that he would learn as soon as possible.
The sun set in the west, and the evening star arose to cheer the world with her presence, while the greater luminary retired. Slowly the day retreated and dusky night came on. One by one the stars shone out, faintly at first, as if too modest to do more than glimmer, but stronger and brighter, and more numerous by degrees, until the whole sky became like a great resplendent milky way.
Still there was no evidence that a double-reef in the mainsail was necessary; no indication that the weather-glass had told a truthful tale.
It came at length with awful speed and fury.
At first there was a stifling heat in the atmosphere; then clouds began to dim the sky. Mysterious and solemn changes seemed to be taking place in nature—noiselessly for a time. Ere long the war began with a burst of heaven’s artillery. It was distant at first; muttering, prolonged, and fitful, like the rattling musketry of advancing skirmishers. Soon a roar of deafening thunder rent the sky. Another and another followed, with blinding flashes of lightning between, while rain came down in torrents.
The order had been given to take in the mainsail, and the little vessel was almost under bare poles, when the storm burst upon it, and threw it nearly on its beam-ends.
Righting from the first shock, it sprang away like a living creature trying to escape from some deadly foe. Ere long the waves were up and the storm was raging in all its fury.
“If it holds like this till to-morrow, we’ll be in port by noon,” said Haco Barepoles to Gaff as they stood near the wheel, holding on to the backstays, and turning their backs to the seas that swept heavily over the side from time to time.
“You speak as if you wor sure o’ gettin’ in,” said Gaff.
“Well, we an’t sure o’ nothin’ in this world,” replied the skipper; “if Providence has willed it otherwise, we can’t help it, you know. We must submit whether we will or no.”
“D’ye know,” rejoined Gaff, “it has often bin in my mind, that as Christian men, (which we profess to be, whether we believe our own profession or not), we don’t look at God’s will in the right way. The devil himself is obliged to submit to God whether he will or no, because he can’t help it. Don’t ’ee think it would be more like Christians if we was to submit because it is His will?”
Before Haco could answer, an enormous wave came curling over the stern.
“Mind your helm, lad!”
The words were scarce uttered when a heavy mass of water fell inboard, almost crushing down the deck. For some moments it seemed as if the little vessel were sinking, but she cleared herself, and again rushed onward.
That night the wind chopped round, and Haco was obliged to lay-to until daylight, as the weather was thick. Before morning the gale took off and at sunrise had moderated into a stiff breeze. All that day they beat slowly and heavily against the wind, which, however, continued to decrease. At night the wind again veered round to the northward, enabling the “Coal-Coffin” to spread most of her canvass, keep her course, and bowl pleasantly along before the breeze. But the weather was still thick, necessitating a sharp look-out.
During most of this time our friend Billy was confined, much against his will, to the bandbox cabin, where he did as much mischief as he could in the circumstances.
Towards midnight, while Haco and Gaff were standing by the man on the look-out, who was on the heel of the bowsprit, they fancied they observed something looming up against the dark sky on the weather bow.
The look-out gave a shout.
“Port! port! hard a-port!” roared the skipper, at the same moment bounding aft.
“Port it is!” replied the man at the wheel, obeying with promptitude.
The sloop sheered away to leeward. At the same instant the hull of a great vessel bore right down upon them. The yell of the steam-whistle betrayed her character, while the clanging of the fog-bell, and shouts of those on board, proved that the sloop had been observed. At the same time the seething sea that flowed like milk round her bow, showed that the engines had been reversed, while the captain’s voice was heard distinctly to shout “starboard! starboard hard!” to the steersman.
The promptitude with which these orders were given and obeyed, prevented the steamer from running down the sloop altogether. A collision, however, was unavoidable. The crew of the sloop and the Russians, seeing this, rushed to the place where they expected to be struck, in order to leap, if possible, into the head of the steamer. Even the steersman left his post, and sprang into the weather shrouds in the hope of catching some of the ropes or chains below the bowsprit.
On came the steamer like a great mountain. Her way had been so much checked that she seemed merely to touch the side of the sloop; but the touch was no light one. It sent the cutwater crashing through bulwark, plank, and beam, until the “Coal-Coffin” was cut right down amidships, within a foot of the water-line. There was a wild cry from the men as they leaped towards their destroyer. Some succeeded in grasping ropes, others missed and fell back bruised and stunned on the sloop’s deck.
Billy had been standing beside his father when the steamer was first observed, and naturally clung to him. Gaff put his left arm tight round the boy, and with the others prepared for a spring, believing, as did all the rest, that the sloop would be sunk at once.
Not so Haco Barepoles, who went to the wheel of his little vessel, and calmly awaited the result.
Gaff’s spring at the chains of the cutwater was successful, but in making it he received a blow on the head from one of the swinging blocks of the sloop which almost stunned him, insomuch that he could only cling to the chain he had caught with the tenacity of despair.
One of the sailors observed him in this position of danger, and instantly descending with a rope fastened it under his chest, so that he and Billy were safely hauled on board, and the former was led below to have his head examined by the surgeon.
Meanwhile the men in the bow of the steamer shouted to Haco to come on board.
“No, thank’ee,” replied the skipper, “shake yourself clear o’ my riggin’ as fast as ye can, and let me continoo my voyage.”
“Your sloop is sinking,” urged the captain of the steamer.
“Not sinkin’ yet; I’ll stick to her as long as she can float.”
“But you’ve none of your men left on board, have you?”
“No; better without ’em if they’re so easy frightened.”
As he said this one of his own men slid quickly down a rope that hung from the steamer’s bowsprit, and dropt on the deck of the sloop, exclaiming—
“It’ll never be said o’ Tom Grattan that he forsack his ship so long as a man wos willin’ to stick by her.”
Haco took Tom by the hand as he went aft and shook it.
“Any more comin’?” he said, glancing at the faces
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