THE SURVIVORS OF THE CHANCELLOR.
DIARY OF J.R.KAZALLON, PASSENGER.
By Jules Verne
CHAPTER I.
CHARLESTON, SEPTEMBER 27th, 1869.--It is high tide, and three o’clock
in the afternoon when we leave the Battery-quay; the ebb carries us off
shore, and as Captain Huntly has hoisted both main and top sails, the
northerly breeze drives the “Chancellor” briskly across the bay. Fort
Sumter ere long is doubled, the sweeping batteries of the mainland on
our left are soon passed, and by four o’clock the rapid current of the
ebbing tide has carried us through the harbour-mouth.
But as yet we have not reached the open sea; we have still to thread our
way through the narrow channels which the surge has hollowed out amongst
the sand-banks. The captain takes a south-west course, rounding the
lighthouse at the corner of the fort; the sails are closely trimmed; the
last sandy point is safely coasted, and at length, at seven o’clock in
the evening; we are out free upon the wide Atlantic.
The “Chancellor” is a fine square-rigged three-master, of 900 tons
burden, and belongs to the wealthy Liverpool firm of Laird Brothers. She
is two years old, is sheathed and secured with copper, her decks being
of teak, and the base of all her masts, except the mizzen, with all their
fittings, being of iron. She is registered first class A I, and is now
on her third voyage between Charleston and Liverpool. As she wended her
way through the channels of Charleston harbour, it was the British flag
that was lowered from her mast-head; but without colours at all,
no sailor could have hesitated for a moment in telling her
nationality,--for English she was, and nothing but English from her
water-line upwards to the truck of her masts.
I must now relate how it happens that I have taken my passage on board
the “Chancellor” on her return voyage to England. At present there is no
direct steamship service between South Carolina and Great Britain,
and all who wish to cross must go either northwards to New York or
southwards to New Orleans. It is quite true that if I had chosen to
start from New York I might have found plenty of vessels belonging to
English, French, or Hamburg lines, any of which would have conveyed me
by a rapid voyage to my destination; and it is equally true that if I
had selected New Orleans for my embarkation I could readily have reached
Europe by one of the vessels of the National Steam Navigation Company,
which join the French Transatlantic line of Colon and Aspinwall. But it
was fated to be otherwise.
One day, as I was loitering about the Charleston quays, my eye lighted
upon this vessel. There was something about the “Chancellor” that
pleased me, and a kind of involuntary impulse took me on board, where I
found the internal arrangements perfectly comfortable. Yielding to the
idea that a voyage in a sailing vessel had certain charms beyond the
transit in a steamer, and reckoning that with wind and wave in my
favour there would be little material difference in time; considering,
moreover, that in these low latitudes the weather in early autumn is
fine and unbroken, I came to my decision, and proceeded forthwith to
secure my passage by this route to Europe.
Have I done right or wrong? Whether I shall have reason to regret my
determination is a problem to be solved in the future. However, I will
begin to record the incidents of our daily experience, dubious as I feel
whether the lines of my chronicle will ever find a reader.
CHAPTER II.
SEPTEMBER 28th.--John Silas Huntly, the captain of the “Chancellor,” has
the reputation of being an experienced navigator of the Atlantic. He is
a Scotchman, a native of Dundee, and is about fifty years of age. He is
of middle height and slight build, and has a small head, which he has a
habit of holding a little over his left shoulder. I do not pretend to be
much of a physiognomist, but I am inclined to believe that my few hours’
acquaintance with our captain has given me considerable insight into
his character. That he is a good seaman and thoroughly understands his
duties I could not for a moment venture to deny; but that he is a man
of resolute temperament, or that he possesses the amount of courage
that would render him, physically or morally, capable of coping with
any great emergency, I confess I cannot believe. I observe a certain
heaviness and dejection about his whole carriage. His wavering glances,
the listless motions of his hands, and his slow, unsteady gait, all seem
to me to indicate a weak and sluggish disposition. He does not appear
as though he could be energetic enough ever to be stubborn; he never
frowns, sets his teeth, or clenches his fist. There is something
enigmatical about him; however, I shall study him closely and do what
I can to understand the man who, as commander of a vessel, should be to
those around him “second only to God.”
Unless I am greatly mistaken there is another man on board who,
if circumstances should require it, would take the more prominent
position--I mean the mate. I have hitherto, however, had such little
opportunity of observing his character, that I must defer saying more
about him at present.
Besides the captain and this mate, whose name is Robert Curtis, our crew
consists of Walter, the lieutenant, the boatswain, and fourteen sailors,
all English or Scotch, making eighteen altogether, a number quite
sufficient for working a vessel of 900 tons burden. Up to this time my
sole experience of their capabilities is, that under the command of the
mate, they brought us skillfully enough through the narrow channels of
Charleston; and I have no reason to doubt but that they are well up to
their work.
My list of the ship’s officials is incomplete unless I mention Hobart,
the steward, and Jynxstrop, the negro cook.
In addition to these, the “Chancellor” carries eight passengers,
including myself. Hitherto, the bustle of embarkation, the arrangement
of cabins, and all the variety of preparations inseparable from starting
on a voyage for at least twenty or five-and-twenty days have precluded
the formation of any acquaintanceships; but the monotony of the voyage,
the close proximity into which we must be thrown, and the natural
curiosity to know something of each other’s affairs, will doubtless lead
us in due time to an interchange of ideas. Two days have elapsed and
I have not even seen all the passengers. Probably sea-sickness has
prevented some of them from making their appearance at the common
table. One thing, however, I do know; namely, that there are two ladies
occupying the stern-cabins, the windows of which are in the aft-board of
the vessel.
I have seen the ship’s list and subjoin a list of the passengers. They
are as follow:--Mr. and Mrs. Kear, Americans, of Buffalo. Miss Herbey,
a young English lady, companion to Mrs. Kear. M. Letourneur and his son
Andre, Frenchmen, of Havre. William Falsten, a Manchester engineer. John
Ruby, a Cardiff merchant; and myself, J. R. Kazallon, of London.
CHAPTER III.
SEPTEMBER 29th.--Captain Huntly’s bill of lading, that is to say, the
document that describes the “Chancellor’s” cargo and the conditions of
transport, is couched in the following terms:--
“BRONSFIELD AND CO., AGENTS, CHARLESTON.
“I, John Silas Huntly, of Dundee, Scotland, commander of the ship
‘Chancellor,’ of about 900 tons burden, now at Charleston, do purpose,
by the blessing of God, at the earliest convenient season, and by the
direct route, to sail for the port of Liverpool, where I shall obtain
my discharge. I do hereby acknowledge that I have received from you,
Messrs. Bronsfield and Co., Commission Agents, Charleston, and have
placed the same under the gun-deck of the aforesaid ship, seventeen
hundred bales of cotton, of the estimated value of 26,000l., all in
good condition, marked and numbered as in the margin; which goods I do
undertake to transport to Liverpool, and there to deliver, free from
injury (save only such injury as shall have been caused by the chances
of the sea), to Messrs. Laird Brothers, or to their order, or to their
representative, who shall on due delivery of the said freight pay me the
sum of 2000l. inclusive, according to the charter-party and damages in
addition, according to the usages and customs of the sea.
“And for the fulfillment of the above covenant, I have pledged and do
pledge my person, my property, and my interest in the vessel aforesaid,
with all its appurtenances. In witness whereof, I have signed three
agreements, all of the same purport; on the condition that when the
terms of one are accomplished, the other two shall be absolutely null
and void.
“Given at Charleston, September 13th, 1869,
“J. S. HUNTLY.”
From the foregoing document it will be understood that the “Chancellor”
is conveying 1700 bales of cotton to Liverpool; that the shippers are
Bronsfield, of Charleston, and the consignees are Laird Brothers, of
Liverpool. The ship was constructed with the especial design of carrying
cotton, and the entire hold, with the exception of a very limited space
reserved for passengers’ luggage, is closely packed with the bales, The
lading was performed with the utmost care, each bale being pressed into
its proper place by the aid of screw-jacks, so that the whole freight
forms one solid and compact mass; not an inch of space is wasted, and
the vessel is thus made capable of carrying her full complement of
cargo.
CHAPTER IV.
SEPTEMBER 30th to OCTOBER 6th.--The “Chancellor” is a rapid sailer, and
more than a match for many a vessel of the same dimensions. She scuds
along merrily in the freshening breeze, leaving in her wake, far as the
eye can reach, a long white line of foam as well defined as a delicate
strip of lace stretched upon an azure ground.
The Atlantic is not visited by many gales, and I have every reason to
believe that the rolling and pitching of the vessel no longer incommode
any of the passengers, who are all more or less accustomed to the sea.
A vacant seat at our table is now very rare; we are beginning to know
something about each other, and our daily life, in consequence, is
becoming somewhat less monotonous.
M. Letourneur, our French fellow-passenger, often has a chat with me.
He is a fine tall man, about fifty years of age, with white hair and a
grizzly beard. To say the truth, he looks older than he really is: his
drooping head, his dejected manner, and his eye, ever and again suffused
with tears, indicate that he is haunted by some deep and abiding sorrow.
He never laughs; he rarely even smiles, and then only on his son:
his countenance ordinarily bearing a look of bitterness tempered by
affection, while his general expression is one of caressing tenderness.
It excites an involuntary commiseration to learn that M. Letourneur is
consuming himself by exaggerated reproaches on account of the infirmity
of an afflicted son.
Andre Letourneur is about twenty years of age, with a gentle,
interesting countenance, but, to the irrepressible grief of his father,
is a hopeless cripple. His left leg is miserably deformed, and he is
quite unable to walk without the assistance of a stick. It is obvious
that the father’s life is bound up with that of his son; his devotion
is unceasing; every thought, every glance is for Andre; he seems to
anticipate his most trifling wish, watches his slightest movement, and
his arm is ever ready to support or otherwise assist the child whose
sufferings he more than shares.
M. Letourneur seems to have taken a peculiar fancy to myself,
and constantly talks about Andre. This morning, in the course of
conversation, I said,--
“You have a good son, M. Letourneur. I have just been talking to him. He
is a most intelligent young man.”
“Yes, Mr. Kazallon,” replied M. Letourneur, brightening up into a smile,
“his afflicted frame contains a noble mind. He is like his mother, who
died at his birth.”
“He is full of reverence and love for you, sir,” I remarked.
“Dear boy!” muttered the father half to himself. “Ah, Mr. Kazallon,”
he continued, “you do not know what it is to a father to have a son a
cripple, beyond hope of cure.”
“M. Letourneur,” I answered, “you take more than your share of the
affliction which has fallen upon you and your son. That M. Andre is
entitled to the very greatest commiseration no one can deny; but you
should remember, that after all a physical infirmity is not so hard to
bear as mental grief. Now, I have watched your son pretty closely, and
unless I am much mistaken there is nothing, that troubles him so much as
the sight of your own sorrow.”
“But I never let him see it,” he broke in hastily. “My sole thought
is how to divert him. I have discovered, that in spite of his physical
weakness, he delights in travelling; so for the last few years we have
been constantly on the move. We first went all over Europe, and are now
returning from visiting the principal places in the United States.
I never allowed my son to go to college, but instructed him entirely
myself, and these travels, I hope, will serve to complete his education.
He is very intelligent, and has a lively imagination, and I am sometimes
tempted to hope that in contemplating the wonders of nature he forgets
his own infirmity.”
“Yes, sir, of course he does,” I assented.
“But,” continued M. Letourneur, taking my hand, “although, perhaps, HE
may forget, I can never forget. Ah, sir, do you suppose that Andre can
ever forgive his parents for bringing him into the world a cripple?”
The remorse of the unhappy father was very distressing, and I was
about to say a few kind words of sympathy when Andre himself made his
appearance. M. Letourneur hastened toward him and assisted him up the
few steep steps that led to the poop.
As soon as Andre was comfortably seated on one of the benches, and his
father had taken his place by his side, I joined them, and we fell into
conversation upon ordinary topics, discussing the various points of
the “Chancellor,” the probable length of the passage, and the different
details of our life on board. I find that M. Letourneur’s estimate of
Captain Huntly’s character very much coincided with my own, and that,
like me, he is impressed with the man’s undecided manner and sluggish
appearance. Like me, too, he has formed a very favourable opinion of
Robert Curtis, the mate, a man of about thirty years of age, of great
muscular power, with a frame and a will that seem ever ready for action.
Whilst we were still talking of him, Curtis himself came on deck, and as
I watched his movements I could not help being struck with his physical
development; his erect and easy carriage, his fearless glance and
slightly contracted brow all betokened a man of energy, thoroughly
endowed with the calmness and courage that are indispensable to the
true sailor. He seems a kind-hearted fellow, too, and is always ready
to assist and amuse young Letourneur, who evidently enjoys his company.
After he had scanned the weather and examined the trim of the sails, he
joined our party and proceeded to give us some information about those
of our fellow-passengers with whom at present we have made but slight
acquaintance.
Mr. Kear, the American, who is accompanied by his wife, has made a large
fortune in the petroleum springs in the United States. He is a man of
about fifty, a most uninteresting companion, being overwhelmed with
a sense of his own wealth and importance, and consequently supremely
indifferent to all around him. His hands are always in his pockets,
and the chink of money seems to follow him wherever he goes. Vain and
conceited, a fool as well as an egotist, he struts about like a peacock
showing its plumage, and to borrow the words of the physiognomist
Gratiolet, “il se flaire, il se savoure, il se goute.” Why he should
have taken his passage on board a mere merchant vessel instead of
enjoying the luxuries of a Transatlantic steamer, I am altogether at a
loss to explain.
The wife is an insignificant, insipid woman, of about forty years of
age. She never reads, never talks, and I believe I am not wrong in
saying, never thinks. She seems to look without seeing, and listen
without hearing, and her sole occupation consists in giving her orders
to her companion, Miss Herbey, a young English girl of about twenty.
Miss Herbey is extremely pretty. Her complexion is fair and her eyes
deep blue, whilst her pleasing countenance is altogether free from
that insignificance of feature which is not unfrequently alleged to be
characteristic of English beauty. Her mouth would be charming if she
ever smiled, but exposed as she is to the ridiculous whims and fancies
of a capricious mistress, her lips rarely relax from their ordinary
grave expression. Yet humiliating as her position must be, she never
utters a word of open complaint, but quietly and gracefully performs her
duties accepting without a murmur the paltry salary which the bumptious
petroleum-merchant condescends to allow her.
The Manchester engineer, William Falsten, looks like a thorough
Englishman. He has the management of some extensive hydraulic works in
South Carolina, and is now on his way to Europe to obtain some improved
apparatus, and more especially to visit the mines worked by centrifugal
force, belonging to the firm of Messrs. Cail. He is forty-five years of
age, with all his interests so entirely absorbed by his machinery that
he seems to have neither a thought nor a care beyond his mechanical
calculations. Once let him engage you in conversation, and there is no
chance of escape; you have no help for it but to listen as patiently as
you can until he has completed the explanation of his designs.
The last of our fellow-passengers, Mr. Ruby, is the type of a vulgar
tradesman. Without any originality or magnanimity in his composition, he
has spent twenty years of his life in mere buying and selling, and as
he has generally contrived to do business at a profit, he has realized a
considerable fortune. What he is going to do with the money, he does
not seem able to say: his ideas do not go beyond retail trade, his mind
having been so long closed to all other impressions that it appears
incapable of thought or reflection on any subject besides. Pascal says,
“L’homme est visiblement fait pour penser. C’est toute sa dignite
et tout-son merite;” but to Mr. Ruby the phrase seems altogether
inapplicable.
CHAPTER V.
OCTOBER 7th.--This is the tenth day since we left Charleston, and I
should think our progress has been very rapid. Robert Curtis, the mate,
with whom I continue to have many a friendly chat, informed me that we
could not be far off Cape Hatteras in the Bermudas; the ship’s bearings,
he said were lat. 32deg. 20min. N. and long. 64deg. 50min. W., so that
he had every reason to believe that we should sight St. George’s Island
before night.
“The Bermudas!” I exclaimed. “But how is it we are off the Bermudas? I
should have thought that a vessel sailing from Charleston to Liverpool,
would have kept northwards, and have followed the track of the Gulf
Stream.”
“Yes, indeed; sir,” replied Curtis, “that is the usual course; but you
see that this time the captain hasn’t chosen to take it.”
“But why not?” I persisted.
“That’s not for me to say, sir; he ordered us eastwards, and eastwards
we go.”
“Haven’t you called his attention to it?” I inquired.
Curtis acknowledged that he had already pointed out what an unusual
route they were taking, but that the captain had said that he was quite
aware what he was about. The mate made no further remark; but the knit
of his brow, as he passed his hand mechanically across his forehead,
made me fancy that he was inclined to speak out more strongly.
“All very well, Curtis,” I said, “but I don’t know what to think about
trying new routes. Here we are at the 7th of October, and if we are to
reach Europe before the bad weather sets in, I should suppose there is
not a day to be lost.”
“Right, sir, quite right; there is not a day to be lost.”
Struck by his manner, I ventured to add, “Do you mind, Mr. Curtis giving
me your honest opinion of Captain Huntly?”
He hesitated a moment, and then replied shortly, “He is my captain,
sir.”
This evasive answer of course put an end to any further interrogation on
my part, but it only set me thinking the more.
Curtis was not mistaken. At about three o’clock the lookout man sung out
that there was land to windward, and descried what seemed as if it might
be a line of smoke in the north-east horizon. At six, I went on deck
with M. Letourneur and his son, and we could then distinctly make out
the low group of the Bermudas, encircled by their formidable chain of
breakers.
“There,” said Andre Letourneur to me, as we stood gazing at the distant
land, “there lies the enchanted Archipelago, sung by your poet Moore.
The exile Waller, too, as long ago as 1643, wrote an enthusiastic
panegyric on the islands, and I have been told that at one time English
ladies would wear no other bonnets than such as were made of the leaves
of the Bermuda palm.”
“Yes,” I replied, “the Bermudas were all the rage in the seventeenth
century, although latterly they have fallen into comparative oblivion.”
“But let me tell you, M. Andre,” interposed Curtis, who had as usual
joined our party, “that although poets may rave, and be as enthusiastic
as they like about these islands, sailors will tell a different tale.
The hidden reefs that lie in a semicircle about two or three leagues
from shore make the attempt to land a very dangerous piece of business.
And another thing, I know. Let the natives boast as they will about
their splendid climate, they, are visited by the most frightful
hurricanes. They get the fag-end of the storms that rage over the
Antilles; and the fag-end of a storm is like the tail of a whale;
it’s just the strongest bit of it. I don’t think you’ll find a sailor
listening much to your poets,--your Moores, and your Wallers.”
“No, doubt you are right, Mr. Curtis,” said Andre, smiling, “but poets
are like proverbs; you can always find one to contradict another.
Although Waller and Moore have chosen to sing the praises of the
Bermudas, it has been supposed that Shakspeare was depicting them in the
terrible scenes that are found in ‘The Tempest.’”
The whole vicinity of these islands is beyond a question extremely
perilous to mariners. Situated between the Antilles and Nova Scotia, the
Bermudas have ever since their discovery belonged to the English,
who have mainly used them for a military station. But this little
archipelago, comprising some hundred and fifty different isles and
islets, is destined to increase, and that, perhaps, on a larger scale
than has yet been anticipated. Beneath the waves there are madrepores,
in infinity of number, silently but ceaselessly pursuing their labours;
and with time, that fundamental element in nature’s workings, who shall
tell whether these may not gradually build up island after island, which
shall unite and form another continent?
I may mention that there was not another of our fellow-passengers who
took the trouble to come on deck and give a glance at this strange
cluster of islands. Miss Herbey, it is true, was making an attempt to
join us, but she had barely reached the poop, when Mrs. Kear’s languid
voice was heard recalling her for some trifling service to her side.
CHAPTER VI.
OCTOBER 8th to OCTOBER 13th.--The wind is blowing hard from the
north-east; and the “Chancellor” under low-reefed top-sail and
fore-sail, and labouring against a heavy sea, has been obliged to be
brought ahull. The joists and girders all creak again until one’s teeth
are set on edge. I am the only passenger not remaining below; but I
prefer being on deck notwithstanding the driving rain, fine as dust,
which penetrates to my very skin. We have been driven along in this
fashion for the best part of two days; the “stiffish breeze” has
gradually freshened into “a gale;” the top-gallants have been lowered,
and, as I write, the wind is blowing with a velocity of fifty or sixty
miles an hour. Although the “Chancellor” has many good points, her drift
is considerable, and we have been carried far to the south we can
only guess at our precise position, as the cloudy atmosphere entirely
precludes us from taking the sun’s altitude.
All along throughout this period, my fellow-passengers are totally
ignorant of the extraordinary course that we are taking England lies
to the NORTH-EAST, yet we are sailing directly SOUTH-EAST, and Robert
Curtis owns that he is quite bewildered; he cannot comprehend why the
captain, ever since this north-easterly gale has been blowing, should
persist in allowing the ship to drive to the south, instead of tacking
to the north-west until she gets into better quarters.
I was alone with Curtis to-day upon the poop, and could not help saying
to him “Curtis, is your captain mad?”
“Perhaps, sir, I might be allowed to ask what YOU think upon that
matter,” was his cautious reply.
“Well to say the truth,” I answered, “I can hardly tell; but I confess
there is every now and then a wandering in his eye, and an odd look on
his face that I do not like. Have you ever sailed with him before?”
“No; this is our first voyage together. Again last night I spoke to him
about the route we were taking, but he only said he knew all about it,
and that it was all right.”
“What do Lieutenant Walter and your boatswain think of it all?” I
inquired.
“Think; why they think just the same as I do,” replied the mate; “but
if the captain chooses to take the ship to China we should obey his
orders.”
“But surely,” I exclaimed, “there must be some limit to your obedience!
Suppose the man is actually mad, what then?”
“If he should be mad enough, Mr. Kazallon, to bring the vessel into any
real danger, I shall know what to do.”
With this assurance I am forced to be content. Matters, however, have
taken a different turn to what I bargained for when I took my passage
on board the “Chancellor.” The weather has become worse and worse. As I
have already said, the ship under her large low-reefed top-sail and fore
stay-sail has been brought ahull, that is to say, she copes directly
with the wind, by presenting her broad bows to the sea; and so we go on
still drift, drift, continually to the south.
How southerly our course has been is very apparent; for upon the night
of the 11th we fairly entered upon that portion of the Atlantic which
is known as the Sargassos Sea. An extensive tract of water is this,
enclosed by the warm current of the Gulf Stream, and thickly covered
with the wrack, called by the Spaniards “sargasso,” the abundance of
which so seriously impeded the progress of Columbus’s vessels on his
first voyage across the ocean.
Each morning at daybreak the Atlantic has presented an aspect so
remarkable, that at my solicitation, M. Letourneur and his son have
ventured upon deck to witness the unusual spectacle. The squally gusts
make the metal shrouds vibrate like harp-strings; and unless we were
on our guard to keep our clothes wrapped tightly to us, they would have
been torn off our backs in shreds. The scene presented to our eyes is
one of strangest interest. The sea, carpeted thickly with masses of
prolific fucus, is a vast unbroken plain of vegetation, through which
the vessel makes her way as a plough. Long strips of seaweed caught up
by the wind become entangled in the rigging, and hang between the masts
in festoons of verdure; whilst others, varying from two to three hundred
feet in length, twine themselves up to the very mast-heads, from whence
they float like streaming pendants. For many hours now, the “Chancellor”
has been contending with this formidable accumulation of algae; her
masts are circled with hydrophytes; her rigging is wreathed everywhere
with creepers, fantastic as the untrammelled tendrils of a vine, and as
she works her arduous course, there are times when I can only compare
her to an animated grove of verdure making its mysterious way over some
illimitable prairie.
CHAPTER VII.
OCTOBER 14th.--At last we are free from the sea of vegetation, the
boisterous gale has moderated into a steady breeze, the sun is shining
brightly, the weather is warm and genial, and thus, two reefs in her
top-sails, briskly and merrily sails the “Chancellor.”
Under conditions so favourable, we have been able to take the ship’s
bearings: our latitude, we find, is 21deg. 33min. N., our longitude
50deg. 17min. W.
Incomprehensible altogether is the conduct of Captain Huntly. Here we
are, already more than ten degrees south of the point from which, we
started, and yet still we are persistently following a south-easterly
course! I cannot bring myself to the conclusion that the man is mad. I
have had various conversations with him: he has always spoken rationally
and sensibly. He shows no tokens of insanity. Perhaps his case is one
of those in which insanity is partial, and where the mania is of
a character which extends only to the matters connected with his
profession. Yet it is unaccountable.
I can get nothing out of Curtis; he listens coldly whenever I allude
to the subject, and only repeats what he has said before, that nothing
short of an overt act of madness on the part of the captain could induce
him to supersede the captain’s authority and that the imminent peril of
the ship could alone justify him in taking so decided a measure.
Last evening I went to my cabin about eight o’clock, and after an hour’s
reading by the light of my cabin-lamp, I retired to my berth and was
soon asleep. Some hours later I was aroused by an unaccustomed noise on
deck. There were heavy footsteps hurrying to and fro, and the voices
of the men were loud and eager, as if the crew were agitated by some
strange disturbance. My first impression was, that some tacking had been
ordered which rendered it needful to fathom the yards; but the vessel
continuing to lie to starboard convinced me that this was not the origin
of the commotion, I was curious to know the truth, and made all haste
I could to go on deck; but before I was ready, the noise had ceased.
I heard Captain Huntly return to his cabin, and accordingly I retired
again to my own berth. Whatever may have been the meaning of the
manoeuvre, I cannot tell; it did not seem to have resulted in any
improvement in the ship’s pace; still it must be owned there was not
much wind to speed us along.
At six o’clock this morning I mounted the poop and made as keen a
scrutiny as I could of everything on board. Everything appeared as
usual. The “Chancellor” was running on the larboard tack, and carried
low-sails, top-sails, and gallant-sails. Well braced she was; and under
a fresh, but not uneasy breeze, was making no less than eleven knots an
hour.
Shortly afterwards M. Letourneur and Andre came an deck. The young man
enjoyed the early morning air, laden with its briny fragrance, and I
assisted him to mount the poop. In answer to my inquiry as to whether
they had been disturbed by any bustle in the night, Andre replied that
he did not wake at all, and had heard nothing.
“I am glad, my boy,” said his father, “that you have slept so soundly. I
heard the noise of which Mr. Kazallon speaks. It must have; been about
three o’clock this morning, and it seemed to me as though they were
shouting. I thought I heard them say, ‘Here, quick, look to the
hatches!’ but as nobody was called up, I presumed that nothing serious
was the matter.”
As he spoke I cast my eye at the panel-slides, which fore and aft of the
main-mast open into the hold. They seemed to be all close as usual,
but I now observed for the first time that they were covered with heavy
tarpauling. Wondering; in my own mind what could be the reason for
these extra precautions I did not say anything to M. Letourneur, but
determined to wait until the mate should come on watch, when he would
doubtless give me, I thought, an explanation of the mystery.
The sun rose gloriously, with every promise of a fine dry day. The
waning moon was yet above the western horizon, for as it still wants
three days to her last quarter she does not set until 10.57 am. On
consulting my almanac, I find that there will be a new moon on the 24th,
and that on that day, little as it may affect us here in mid ocean, the
phenomenon of the high sygyzian tides will take place on the shores of
every continent and island.
At the breakfast hour M. Letourneur and Andre went below for a cup of
tea, and I remained on the poop alone. As I expected, Curtis appeared,
that he might relieve Lieutenant Walter of the watch. I advanced to meet
him, but before he even wished me good morning, I saw him cast a quick
and searching glance upon the deck, and then, with a slightly contracted
brow, proceed to examine the state of the weather and the trim of the
sails.
“Where is Captain Huntly?” he said to Walter.
“I have seen nothing of him,” answered the lieutenant “is there anything
fresh up?”
“Nothing, whatever,” was the curt reply.
They then conversed for a few moments in an undertone, and I could see
that Walter by his gesture gave a negative answer to some question which
the mate had asked him. “Send me the boatswain, Walter,” said Curtis
aloud as the lieutenant moved away.
The boatswain immediately appeared, and another conversation was carried
on in whispers. The man repeatedly shook his head as he replied to
Curtis’s inquiries, and then, in obedience to orders, called the men
who were on watch, and made them plentifully water the tarpauling that
covered the great hatchway.
Curious to fathom the mystery I went up to Curtis and began to talk to
him upon ordinary topics, hoping that he would himself introduce the
subject that was uppermost in my mind; finding, however, that he did not
allude to it; I asked him point blank.
“What was the matter in the night, Curtis?”
He looked at me steadily, but made no reply.
“What was it?” I repeated. “M. Letourneur and myself were both of us
disturbed by a very unusual commotion overhead.”
“Oh, a mere nothing,” he said at length; “the man at the helm had made a
false move, and we had to pipe hands to brace the ship a bit; but it was
soon all put to rights. It was nothing, nothing at all.”
I said no more; but I cannot resist the impression that Robert Curtis
has not acted with me in his usual straightforward manner.
CHAPTER VIII.
OCTOBER 15th to OCTOBER 18th.--The wind is still in the north-east.
There is no change in the “Chancellor’s” course, and to an unprejudiced
eye all would appear to be going on as usual. But I have an uneasy
consciousness that something is not quite right. Why should the
hatchways be so hermetically closed as though a mutinous crew was
imprisoned between decks? I cannot help thinking too that there is
something in the sailors so constantly standing in groups and breaking
off their talk so suddenly whenever we approach; and several times I
have caught the word “hatches” which arrested M. Letourneur’s attention
on the night of the disturbance.
On the 15th, while I was walking on the forecastle, I overheard one of
the sailors, a man named Owen say to his mates,--
“Now I just give you all warning that I am not going to wait until the
last minute. Every one for himself, say I.”
“Why, what do you mean to do?” asked Jynxstrop, the cook.
“Pshaw!” said Owen, “do you suppose that longboats were only made for
porpoises?”
Something at that moment occurred to interrupt the conversation, and I
heard no more. It occurred to me whether there was not some conspiracy
among the crew, of which probably Curtis had already detected the
symptoms. I am quite aware that some sailors are most rebelliously
disposed, and require to be ruled with a rod of iron.
Yesterday and to-day I have observed Curtis remonstrating somewhat
vehemently with Captain Huntly, but there is no obvious result arising
from their interviews; the Captain apparently being bent upon some
purpose, of which it is only too manifest that the mate decidedly
disapproves.
Captain Huntly is undoubtedly labouring under strong nervous excitement;
and M. Letourneur has more than once remarked how silent he has become
at meal-times; for although Curtis continually endeavours to start some
subject of general interest, yet neither Mr. Falsten, Mr. Kear, nor Mr.
Ruby are the men to take it up, and consequently the conversation flags
hopelessly, and soon drops. The passengers too are now, with good cause,
beginning to murmur at the length of the voyage, and Mr. Kear, who
considers that the very elements ought to yield to his convenience, lets
the captain know by his consequential and haughty manner that he holds
him responsible for the delay.
During the course of yesterday the mate gave repeated orders for the
deck to be watered again and again, and although as a general rule this
is a business which is done, once for all, in the early morning, the
crew did not utter a word of complaint at the additional work thus
imposed upon them. The tarpaulins on the hatches have thus been kept
continually wet, so that their close and heavy texture is rendered quite
impervious to the air, The “Chancellor’s” pumps afford a copious supply
of water, so that I should not suppose that even the daintiest and most
luxurious craft belonging to an aristocratic yacht-club was ever subject
to a more thorough scouring. I tried to reconcile myself to the belief
that it was the high temperature of the tropical regions upon which
we are entering, that rendered such extra sousings a necessity, and
recalled to my recollection how, during the night of the 13th, I had
found the atmosphere below deck so stifling that in spite of the heavy
swell I was obliged to open the porthole of my cabin, on the starboard
side, to get a breath of air.
This morning at daybreak I went on deck. The sun had scarcely risen, and
the air was fresh and cool, in strange contrast to the heat which below
the poop had been quite oppressive. The sailors as usual were washing
the deck, A great sheet of water, supplied continuously by the pumps was
rolling in tiny wavelets, and escaping now to starboard, now to larboard
through the scupper-holes. After watching the men for a while as they
ran about bare-footed, I could not resist the desire to join them, so
taking off my shoes and stockings I proceeded to dabble in the flowing
water.
Great was my amazement to find the deck perfectly hot to my feet! Curtis
heard my exclamation of surprise, and before I could put my thoughts
into words, said,--
“Yes! there is fire on board!”
CHAPTER IX.
OCTOBER 19th.--Everything, then, is clear. The uneasiness of the crew,
their frequent conferences, Owen’s mysterious words, the constant
scourings of the deck and the oppressive heat of the cabins which had
been noticed even by my fellow-passengers, all are explained.
After his grave communication, Curtis remained silent. I shivered with a
thrill of horror; a calamity the most terrible that can befall a voyager
stared me in the face, and it was some seconds before I could recover
sufficient composure to inquire when the fire was first discovered.
“Six days ago,” replied the mate.
“Six days ago!” I exclaimed; “why, then, it was that night.”
“Yes,” he said, interrupting me; “it was the night you heard the
disturbance upon deck. The men on watch noticed a slight smoke issuing
from the large hatchway and immediately called Captain Huntly and
myself. We found beyond all doubt, that the cargo was on fire, and what
was worse, that there was no possibility of getting at the seat of the
combustion. What could we do? Why; we took the only precaution that
was practicable under the circumstances, and resolved most carefully
to exclude every breath of air from penetrating into the hold, For some
time I hoped that we had been successful. I thought that the fire was
stifled; but during the last three days there is every reason to make us
know that it has been gaining strength. Do what we will, the deck gets
hotter and hotter, and unless it were kept constantly wet, it would be
unbearable to the feet. But I am glad, Mr. Kazallon,” he added; “that
you have made the discovery. It is better that you should know it.”
I listened in silence, I was now fully aroused to the gravity of the
situation and thoroughly comprehended how we were in the very face of a
calamity which it seemed that no human power could avert.
“Do you know what has caused the fire?” I presently inquired.
“It probably arose,” he answered, “from the spontaneous combustion of
the cotton. The case is rare, but it is far from unknown. Unless the
cotton is perfectly dry when it is shipped, its confinement in a damp
or ill-ventilated hold will sometimes cause it to ignite; and I have no
doubt it is this that has brought about our misfortune.”
“But after all,” I said, “the cause matters very little. Is there no
remedy? Is there nothing to be done?”
“Nothing; Mr. Kazallon,” he said. “As I told you before, we have adopted
the only possible measure within our power to check the fire. At one
time I thought of knocking a hole in the ship’s timbers just on
her waterline, and letting in just as much water as the pumps could
afterwards get rid of again; but we found the combustion was right
in the middle of the cargo and that we should be obliged to flood
the entire hold before we could get at the right place. That scheme
consequently was no good. During the night, I had the deck bored in
various places and water poured down through the holes; but that again
seemed all of no use. There is only one thing that can be done; we must
persevere in excluding most carefully every breath of outer air, so that
perhaps the conflagration deprived of oxygen may smoulder itself out.
That is our only hope.”
“But, you say the fire is increasing?”
“Yes; and that shows that in spite of all our care there is some
aperture which we have not been able to discover, by which, somehow or
other, air gets into the hold.”
“Have you ever heard of a vessel surviving such circumstances?” I asked.
“Yes, Mr. Kazallon,” said Curtis; “it is not at all an unusual thing for
ships laden with cotton to arrive at Liverpool or Havre with a portion
of their cargo consumed; and I have myself known more than one captain
run into port with his deck scorching his very feet, and who, to save
his vessel and the remainder of his freight has been compelled to unload
with the utmost expedition. But, in such cases, of course the fire has
been more or less under control throughout the voyage; with us, it
is increasing day by day, and I tell you I am convinced there is an
aperture somewhere which has escaped our notice.”
“But would it not be advisable for us to retrace our course, and make
for the nearest land?”
“Perhaps it would,” he answered. “Walter and I, and the boatswain, are
going to talk the matter over seriously with the captain to-day. But,
between ourselves, I have taken the responsibility upon myself; I have
already changed the tack to the south-west; we are now straight before
the wind, and consequently we are sailing towards the coast.”
“I need hardly ask,” I added; “whether any of the other passengers are
at all aware of the imminent danger in which we are placed.”
“None of them,” he said; “not in the least; and I hope you will not
enlighten them. We don’t want terrified women and cowardly men to add to
our embarrassment; the crew are under orders to keep a strict silence on
the subject. Silence is indispensable.”
I promised to keep the matter a profound secret, as I fully entered into
Curtis’s views as to the absolute necessity for concealment.
CHAPTER X.
OCTOBER 20th AND 21st.--The “Chancellor” is now crowded with all the
canvas she can carry, and at times her top-masts threaten to snap with
the pressure. But Curtis is ever on the alert; he never leaves his post
beside the man at the helm, and without compromising the safety of the
vessel, he contrives by tacking to the breeze, to urge her on at her
utmost speed.
All day long on the 20th, the passengers were assembled on the poop.
Evidently they found the heat of the cabins painfully oppressive, and
most of them lay stretched upon benches and quietly enjoyed the gentle
rolling of the vessel. The increasing heat of the deck did not reveal
itself to their well-shod feet and the constant scouring of the boards
did not excite any suspicion in their torpid minds. M. Letourneur, it
is true, did express his surprise that the crew of an ordinary merchant
vessel should be distinguished by such extraordinary cleanliness, but as
I replied to him in a very casual tone, he passed no further remark. I
could not help regretting that I had given Curtis my pledge of silence,
and longed intensely to communicate the melancholy secret to
the energetic Frenchman; for at times when I reflect upon the
eight-and-twenty victims who may probably, only too soon, be a prey to
the relentless flames, my heart seems ready to burst.
The important consultation between captain, mate, lieutenant, and
boatswain has taken place. Curtis has confided the result to me. He says
that Huntly, the captain, is completely demoralized; he has lost all
power and energy; and practically leaves the command of the ship to him.
It is now certain the fire is beyond control, and that sooner or
later it will burst out in full violence The temperature of the crew’s
quarters has already become almost unbearable. One solitary hope
remained; it is that we may reach the shore before the final catastrophe
occurs. The Lesser Antilles are the nearest land; and although they
are some five or six hundred miles away, if the wind remains north-east
there is yet a chance of reaching them in time.
Carrying royals and studding-sails, the “Chancellor” during the last
four-and-twenty hours has held a steady course. M. Letourneur is the
only one of all the passengers who has remarked the change of tack;
Curtis however, has set all speculation on his part to rest by telling
him that he wanted to get ahead of the wind, and that he was tacking to
the west to catch a favourable current.
To-day, the 21st, all has gone on as usual; and as far as the
observation of the passengers has reached, the ordinary routine has been
undisturbed. Curtis indulges the hope even yet that by excluding the
air, the fire may be stifled before it ignites the general cargo; he has
hermetically closed every accessible aperture, and has even taken the
precaution of plugging the orifices of the pumps, under the impression
that their suction-tubes, running as they do to the bottom of the
hold, may possibly be channels for conveying some molecules of air.
Altogether, he considers it a good sign that the combustion has not
betrayed itself by some external issue of smoke.
The day would have passed without any incident worth recording if I had
not chanced to overhear a fragment of a conversation which demonstrated
that our situation hitherto precarious enough, had now become most
appalling.
As I was sitting on the poop, two of my fellow-passengers, Falsten,
the engineer, and Ruby, the merchant whom I had observed to be often in
company, were engaged in conversation almost close to me. What they said
was evidently not intended for my hearing, but my attention was directed
towards them by some very emphatic gestures of dissatisfaction on the
part of Falsten, and I could not forbear listening to what followed.
“Preposterous! shameful!” exclaimed Falsten; “nothing could be more
imprudent.”
“Pooh! pooh!” replied Ruby; “it’s all right; it is not the first time I
have done it.”
“But don’t you know that any shock at any time might cause an
explosion?”
“Oh, it’s all properly secured,” said Ruby, “tight enough; I have no
fears on that score, Mr. Falsten.”
“But why,” asked Falsten, “did you not inform the captain?”
“Just because if I had informed him, he would not have taken the case on
board.”
The wind dropped for a few seconds; and for a brief interval I could
not catch what passed; but I could see that Falsten continued to
remonstrate, whilst Ruby answered by shrugging his shoulders. At length
I heard Falsten say,--
“Well, at any rate the captain must be informed of this, and the package
shall be thrown overboard. I don’t want, to be blown up.”
I started. To what could the engineer be alluding? Evidently he had not
the remotest suspicion that the cargo was already on fire. In another
moment the words “picrate of potash” brought me to my feet? and with an
involuntary impulse I rushed up to Ruby, and seized him by the shoulder.
“Is there picrate of potash on board?” I almost shrieked.
“Yes,” said Falsten, “a case containing thirty pounds.”
“Where is it?” I cried.
“Down in the hold, with the cargo.”
CHAPTER XI.
What my feelings were I cannot describe; but it was hardly in terror so
much as with a kind of resignation that I made my way to Curtis on
the forecastle, and made him aware that the alarming character of our
situation was now complete, as there was enough explosive matter on
board to blow up a mountain. Curtis received the information as coolly
as it was delivered, and after I had made him acquainted with all the
particulars said,--
“Not a word of this must be mentioned to any one else, Mr. Kazallon,
where is Ruby now?”
“On the poop,” I said.
“Will you then come with me, sir?”
Ruby and Falsten were sitting just as I had left them. Curtis walked
straight up to Ruby, and asked him whether what he had been told was
true.
“Yes, quite true,” said Ruby, complacently, thinking that the worst
that could befall him would be that he might be convicted of a little
smuggling.
I observed that Curtis was obliged for a moment or two to clasp his
hands tightly together behind his back to prevent himself from
seizing the unfortunate passenger by the throat; but suppressing his
indignation, he proceeded quietly, though sternly, to interrogate him
about the facts of the case. Ruby only confirmed what I had already told
him. With characteristic Anglo-Saxon incautiousness he had brought
on board with the rest of his baggage, a case containing no less than
thirty pounds of picrate, and had allowed the explosive matter to be
stowed in the hold with as little compunction as a Frenchman would feel
in smuggling a single bottle of wine. He had not informed the captain
of the dangerous nature of the contents of the package, because he was
perfectly aware that he would have been refused permission to bring the
package on board.
“Any way,” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders, “you can’t hang me
for it; and if the package gives you so much concern, you are quite at
liberty to throw it into the sea. My luggage is insured.”
I was beside myself with fury, and not being endowed with Curtis’s
reticence and self-control, before he could interfere to stop me, I
cried out,--
“You fool! don’t you know that there is fire on board?”
In an instant I regretted my words. Most earnestly I wished them
unuttered, But it was too late: their effect upon Ruby was electrical.
He was paralyzed with terror his limbs stiffened convulsively; his eye
was dilated; he gasped for breath, and was speechless. All of a
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