In the Yellow Sea

  CHAPTER II

  A TERRIBLE POSITION--A PROPHETIC VISION--SINKING!

  When I had rubbed my eyes, and began to take in the surroundings, Ifelt drenched by the rain and sea. My hands were sticky, and cold anddamp. My clothes clung to my limbs, which were stiff under me. Mystraw hat, with the ribbon of which I had been so proud--a yacht-clubribbon--was sopped, out of shape, and off-colour like my drenched face.The squall was still passing, but the thunder had ceased.

  The sea was very lively, and the wind boisterous. We were runningclose-hauled and fast, dipping and slapping; the mainsail stretchedstiffly over the boat, reefed still, and the jib was as taut as aboard. Daddy, I thought, was steering splendidly in such a sea, but Iat once perceived that the cliffs had sunk deep into the water behindus, and that the line of the horizon was continually broken with therolling waves. A change, indeed, and in a few moments! A great change!

  I sat up, feeling a peculiar sensation of dizziness, and abreathlessness, a desire to gasp for breath--a taste, moreover, ofsomething unpleasant, almost sulphurous, but not of sulphur. Somethinghad happened! I looked around me; astern I saw Tim gripping the sheetin one hand, the tiller in the other, and dragging at the sail, half inthe boat, half out.

  "What's the matter, Tim? Is the skipper asleep?"

  I often called Murry the "skipper" for fun, as he called me his "younggentleman," meaning midshipman.

  Tim made no reply. Perhaps my voice had not reached him, so I shoutedat him--

  "Tim, ahoy! Whither bound? What ship's this, anyhow?"

  "The Dead-ship," replied the young sailor. "Come aft, if ye can, andbear a hand. I can't manage the sail and steer this way."

  Feeling alarmed, I scrambled up, and in an instant I saw that somefearful accident had occurred. The mainsail was lying half in and halfout of the boat, dipping and lashing the waves, and bringing the_Osprey_ down by the quarter and stern, deeply. No wonder I feltdrenched, no wonder the boat was uneasy; and Tim had need of all hisnerve and skill to keep his course.

  I clambered astern and hauled in the sail which had come down full,with the gaff, upon the stern-sheets, and nearly swamped us. Irecollected the cry I had heard. What had happened?

  My cheerfulness was quenched in a second. I was face to face withdeath for the first time! I could not credit it!

  Yet I knew it I could see nothing but the sail, the blackened spar, thetangled ropes, the mainsheet still gripped in Tim's hand, held, too, Ifancied, _by another hand--the hand of his dead father_!

  This impression suddenly seized me, and the idea burned into my brainlike a dart--a hot nerve-thrill. Murry had been struck by that fearfulflash, and I must have been laid out senseless. The peculiar feelingand sensation caused by the "electric fluid" I still remember, and donot wish to experience them again.

  I felt afraid as I seated myself silently and with carefulness besideTim. I questioned him with a look; he replied with a nod. Neither ofus made an attempt to speak. He kept the boat's head close to the windas possible, but we drifted out farther and farther all the time. Wehad no grapnel, and had we shipped an anchor we had not line to holdthe boat there. All Tim could do was to keep up until a fishing-smackor some other craft could assist us.

  Meantime we hauled the sail in board, and then, having lashed thetiller, we managed to roll it up and get it away from the body, whichlay in the small, sunk, stern-sheets, still half supported. Murry wasdead! My heart thumped in my throat, and a horrible feeling ofhysteria attacked me. I suddenly burst out crying, and then sniggeredin shame amid sobs.

  "That's how mother was took," said Tim at length. "Can't we carry himin to the cabin place, think ye?"

  I nodded assent. With great difficulty we managed to place the fineold man upon the lockers; the rolling and jumping of the boat wasexcessive, and imparted a weird movement to the body of the sailor.

  He lay perfectly uninjured to all appearance. There was a blue mark onhis neck, and his jersey had been split. Those were the only signs ofdissolution. Poor Murry! He was a fine hearty sailor, and I am sureall his mates missed him for many a day.

  This terrible incident affected us both deeply. Tim said a few wordsonly, but I could perceive that he was feeling deeply, though histraining and habit did not tend to sentiment. My intention was to getback as quickly as possible, and I said so. Let us get home!

  "Whatever course are you steering, Tim?" I asked. "We're making _out_,not home."

  "We shall never get home unless by land--unless we run ashore," repliedTim grimly. "She's leakin' like old boots."

  "Leaking! What do you mean?" I asked in alarm.

  "I means leakin', that's plain enough, I think. She's takin' the seain fine, and I dessay in a few hours we'll see her beached."

  "Where?" I asked quickly. "You're keeping off shore now."

  "Can't land under these cliffs, anyhow. We must bail and run soon.That's our only chance I take it, Mister Jule. 'Spose you looks andbails; there's a dipper there. See to the well. Come, we'll lash thetiller, and she'll lie up a while in the wind if the mainsel catchesher astern."

  "But surely we can get ashore well enough. There are several vesselsyonder; let us run out and board one."

  "And be swamped likely. No, sir; let's weather the point and then wemay get in on the eddy a bit. See here, we're driftin' now; we can'tsignal, the weather's thick a'ready, and likely as not a fog will comeup to-night. There's bad weather about now. So let's try for the leakanyhow, and fix it."

  We made an investigation which occupied some little time. We found thevessel was leaking, not badly; and if we could set the mainsail wecould sail fairly well. The wind was unfortunately rising fast, andthe day had completely changed.

  I was surprised to find that time had passed so rapidly; it was threeo'clock already. We were some miles out then, and still drifting out.

  We determined to repair the gaff as a preliminary, so Tim set to work,and I assisted him as much as I could. That was not much, however, andall the time the day declined, the sea rose, the wind increased, andthe _Osprey_ jumped so that our efforts were not quickly successful.

  "I say, Tim, can't we rig up the sail on the stump, and let her drive?We shall surely run against something bound homewards, or to London, orsomewhere, and get ashore."

  "I'm thinkin' we must chance it! The drift is dashing up too thick,and I'm feelin' like tea-time. Tell ye the truth, Mister Jule, I ain'tthe spirit for this. Think o' father there! How can we go back withthat story? I'm gettin' 'down' over it."

  "Oh, I say, Tim, none of that, please! Cheer up! we mustn't say die,you know. We have had a bad time, I know that, but we can't alter the_facts_. It's Providence, you know."

  "Ye didn't say that this mornin' when you was savage about youreyesight," retorted Tim. "There was no 'Providence' in that. It wasbad words and hanging people then."

  "I was savage then, I know, and sick of things. But 'there's worsethings happen at sea,' remember; and this is the worst I ever knew.Besides, it's a matter of self-defence and preservation, Tim. So lether drive; we'll be picked up certain. Let's do our best!"

  "Very well, sir; you're master! Only, just see the weather! If wegets out yonder we'll never get back!"

  "And if we lie here dipping and leaking we shall get nowhere! We can'thoist the sail, can we? No; well, then, loose the jib-sheet and driveout, there's plenty of steamers in the offing. I don't want to go homein such a hurry, and if it was not for"--

  I stopped suddenly, my eyes had rested upon the outline of the poor oldskipper's form, covered with the tarpaulin, amidships.

  "Beg your pardon, Tim; do as you think best. I'll say no more. Let uslay to as you say, and try it."

  There was a pause for a few moments. The spin-drift drenched us anew.

  "Mister Jule," said he,--Jule being, of course, short for Julius,--"Ithink I understand ye. But, sir, you're the 'boss,' and arter all, theold dad--he can't hurt. He's 'done his bit,'
and done it well! We'malive-like, and we mustn't give in, must us? No, sir; we'll trim theboat, and run into the sea-way, and take what the Lord sends us. Whatd'ye say?"

  "Done with you, Tim! Here's my hand on it. We'll sink or swimtogether. Is that right?"

  "Yes, sir; that's hearty! I rather thinks it's sink more than swim.What you says I dessay's right; we may sink, and lay-to that way.Let's drive!"

  "Ay, indeed! I am inclined to make a run for it, and _do_ something."

  Before I had finished speaking this _ultimatum_ Tim had loosed thejib-sheet, and I shifted the helm a bit. The wind was lashing us thenacross Channel; the afternoon was glooming, the sun had disappeared toour starboard beam, and the sea became higher as the tide turned andcarried us away from the "dirty cliffs."

  "We shall smile at our fears to-morrow," I said, in an effort to becheerful which my heart did not respond to.

  Tim Murry made no reply, and we still ran seaward silently. Then Isuddenly became dreamy--listless. I did not realise the circumstances,the sea seemed rocking me to sleep. Tim approached and looked at me,took the tiller from me, and I fell into a calm dream of home. Iremember it well even now. The whole dream was for me a reality. Mystepfather was looking at me, while I appeared to be on board a largeship like a man-of-war. Guns were mounted fore and aft, a number ofmen were running about, there was some great excitement. Yet I was noton the large vessel long; I was on a steamship next. The largeman-of-war attacked us, I could not say how, and the ship I was in sankwith a roar of steam and whistling and--

  "Rouse up, sir, look alive! Steamer close aboard of us. She'swhistling; she's seen us. I waved to her. Now we must leave thissinking boat."

  I started up. The evening had fallen. The _Osprey_ was half full ofwater. I had been dreaming of sinking--the reality was very near.

  "Let us shout," I cried. "Say we're sinking, Tim."

  "That's no lie, Mister Jule. The steamer sees us right enough. Willshe be in time?"

  "What a time she takes," I muttered. "Somehow I can't believe it all.Is it _really_ true, Tim?"

  "Rather!" replied Tim. "There's the boat launched! Don't you believethe water's up to your boots now? Look at it!"

  I suppose I was still half asleep. I gazed at the swishing sea, andhad no fear.

  "All right, I can swim! You said we wouldn't, Tim!"

  "You're nearer sinkin'," he answered. "Dad will never see the homeagain, arter all. Well, well, it's the Lord's will, that it is."

  It was a sad and painful ending to a boating excursion. But at leastwe were saved, and going home. How delightful it would be to seemother again, to tell her all my adventures, to confess my temper, andto try to do all she had told me to please Mr. Bentham. Yes, I made upmy mind to behave well, and give up the sea--if I must.

  "Step in youngster," said someone.

  My reverie had been suddenly cut short. I looked up, the steamer'sboat was alongside.

  "Just in the nick," remarked the officer. "How did you lads get intothis pickle o' fish? Lucky we sighted you."

  "Yes," I responded in a sleepy voice. "Is Tim there?"

  "Aye, I'm here," he said.

  "And your father's--body?" I asked. "Bring him out, please."

  "What?" exclaimed the steersman. "A body--a dead body! Not for us.Push off, lads."

  "You won't take it?" I cried. "Won't you bring it ashore?"

  "No time to go ashore, youngster! There, you see, just in time!See!--she's sinking!"

  I looked. The _Osprey_ began to lurch and dip as the men pulled away.I stared in dread suspense, half dead, I fancied. Then we increasedour distance. The _Osprey_ lifted and fell, appeared again,disappeared; rose again, and just when one expected to see it once morethe sea hid it and bore it out of sight for ever.

  I think I shouted; I know I leaped up in haste, but a firm hand wasplaced upon my collar, and I sank back unconscious of all around mesave the darkness of sea and sky. My senses left me!

  So Murry had gained a sailor's grave. "There in the lone, lone sea--ina spot unmarked but holy," he lies at rest until the last call for "allhands" is piped.