CHAPTER XXXVIII
I wonder. I wonder. Did the Samurai make a mistake? Or was it the
darkness of oncoming death that chilled and clouded that star-cool
brain of his, and made a mock of all his wisdom? Or was it the
blunder that brought death upon him beforehand? I do not know, I
shall never know; for it is a matter no one of us dreams of hinting
at, much less discussing.
I shall begin at the beginning--yesterday afternoon. For it was
yesterday afternoon, five weeks to a day since we emerged from the
Straits of Le Maire into this gray storm-ocean, that once again we
found ourselves hove to directly off the Horn. At the changing of
the watches at four o'clock, Captain West gave the command to Mr.
Pike to wear ship. We were on the starboard tack at the time, making
leeway off shore. This manoeuvre placed us on the port tack, and the
consequent leeway, to me, seemed on shore, though at an acute angle,
to be sure.
In the chart-room, glancing curiously at the chart, I measured the
distance with my eye and decided that we were in the neighbourhood of
fifteen miles off Cape Horn.
"With our drift we'll be close up under the land by morning, won't
we?" I ventured tentatively.
"Yes," Captain West nodded; "and if it weren't for the West Wind
Drift, and if the land did not trend to the north-east, we'd be
ashore by morning. As it is, we'll be well under it at daylight,
ready to steal around if there is a change, ready to wear ship if
there is no change."
It did not enter my head to question his judgment. What he said had
to be. Was he not the Samurai?
And yet, a few minutes later, when he had gone below, I noticed Mr.
Pike enter the chart-house. After several paces up and down, and a
brief pause to watch Nancy and several men shift the weather cloth
from lee to weather, I strolled aft to the chart-house. Prompted by
I know not what, I peeped through one of the glass ports.
There stood Mr. Pike, his sou'wester doffed, his oilskins streaming
rivulets to the floor, while he, dividers and parallel rulers in
hand, bent over the chart. It was the expression of his face that
startled me. The habitual sourness had vanished. All that I could
see was anxiety and apprehension . . . yes, and age. I had never
seen him look so old; for there, at that moment, I beheld the wastage
and weariness of all his sixty-nine years of sea-battling and sea-
staring.
I slipped away from the port and went along the deck to the break of
the poop, where I held on and stood staring through the gray and
spray in the conjectural direction of our drift. Somewhere, there,
in the north-east and north, I knew was a broken, iron coast of rocks
upon which the graybeards thundered. And there, in the chart-room, a
redoubtable sailorman bent anxiously over a chart as he measured and
calculated, and measured and calculated again, our position and our
drift.
And I knew it could not be. It was not the Samurai but the henchman
who was weak and wrong. Age was beginning to tell upon him at last,
which could not be otherwise than expected when one considered that
no man in ten thousand had weathered age so successfully as he.
I laughed at my moment's qualm of foolishness and went below, well
content to meet my loved one and to rest secure in her father's
wisdom. Of course he was right. He had proved himself right too
often already on the long voyage from Baltimore.
At dinner Mr. Pike was quite distrait. He took no part whatever in
the conversation, and seemed always to be listening to something from
without--to the vexing clang of taut ropes that came down the hollow
jiggermast, to the muffled roar of the gale in the rigging, to the
smash and crash of the seas along our decks and against our iron
walls.
Again I found myself sharing his apprehension, although I was too
discreet to question him then, or afterwards alone, about his
trouble. At eight he went on deck again to take the watch till
midnight, and as I went to bed I dismissed all forebodings and
speculated as to how many more voyages he could last after this
sudden onslaught of old age.
I fell asleep quickly, and awoke at midnight, my lamp still burning,
Conrad's Mirror of the Sea on my breast where it had dropped from my
hands. I heard the watches change, and was wide awake and reading
when Mr. Pike came below by the booby-hatch and passed down my hail
by my open door, on his way to his room.
In the pause I had long since learned so well I knew he was rolling a
cigarette. Then I heard him cough, as he always did, when the
cigarette was lighted and the first inhalation of smoke flushed his
lungs.
At twelve-fifteen, in the midst of Conrad's delightful chapter, "The
Weight of the Burden," I heard Mr. Pike come along the hall.
Stealing a glance over the top of my book, I saw him go by, sea-
booted, oilskinned, sou'westered. It was his watch below, and his
sleep was meagre in this perpetual bad weather, yet he was going on
deck.
I read and waited for an hour, but he did not return; and I knew that
somewhere up above he was staring into the driving dark. I dressed
fully, in all my heavy storm-gear, from sea-boots and sou'-wester to
sheepskin under my oilskin coat. At the foot of the stairs I noted
along the hall that Margaret's light was burning. I peeped in--she
keeps her door open for ventilation--and found her reading.
"Merely not sleepy," she assured me.
Nor in the heart of me do I believe she had any apprehension. She
does not know even now, I am confident, the Samurai's blunder--if
blunder it was. As she said, she was merely not sleepy, although
there is no telling in what occult ways she may have received though
not recognized Mr. Pike's anxiety.
At the head of the stairs, passing along the tiny hall to go out the
lee door of the chart-house, I glanced into the chart-room. On the
couch, lying on his back, his head uncomfortably high, I thought,
slept Captain West. The room was warm from the ascending heat of the
cabin, so that he lay unblanketed, fully dressed save for oilskins
and boots. He breathed easily and steadily, and the lean, ascetic
lines of his face seemed softened by the light of the low-turned
lamp. And that one glance restored to me all my surety and faith in
his wisdom, so that I laughed at myself for having left my warm bed
for a freezing trip on deck.
Under the weather cloth at the break of the poop I found Mr.
Mellaire. He was wide awake, but under no strain. Evidently it had
not entered his mind to consider, much less question, the manoeuvre
of wearing ship the previous afternoon.
"The gale is breaking," he told me, waving his mittened hand at a
starry segment of sky momentarily exposed by the thinning clouds.
But where was Mr. Pike? Did the second mate know he was on deck? I
proceeded to feel Mr. Mellaire out as we worked our way aft, along
the mad poop toward the wheel. I talked about the difficulty of
sleeping in stormy weather, stated the restlessness and semi-insomnia
that the violent motion of the ship caused in me, and raised the
query of how bad weather affected the officers.
"I noticed Captain West, in the chart-room, as I came up, sleeping
like a baby," I concluded.
We leaned in the lee of the chart-house and went no farther.
"Trust us to sleep just the same way, Mr. Pathurst," the second mate
laughed. "The harder the weather the harder the demand on us, and
the harder we sleep. I'm dead the moment my head touches the pillow.
It takes Mr. Pike longer, because he always finishes his cigarette
after he turns in. But he smokes while he's undressing, so that he
doesn't require more than a minute to go deado. I'll wager he hasn't
moved, right now, since ten minutes after twelve."
So the second mate did not dream the first was even on deck. I went
below to make sure. A small sea-lamp was burning in Mr. Pike's room,
and I saw his bunk unoccupied. I went in by the big stove in the
dining-room and warmed up, then again came on deck. I did not go
near the weather cloth, where I was certain Mr. Mellaire was; but,
keeping along the lee of the poop, I gained the bridge and started
for'ard.
I was in no hurry, so I paused often in that cold, wet journey. The
gale was breaking, for again and again the stars glimmered through
the thinning storm-clouds. On the 'midship-house was no Mr. Pike. I
crossed it, stung by the freezing, flying spray, and carefully
reconnoitred the top of the for'ard-house, where, in such bad
weather, I knew the lookout was stationed. I was within twenty feet
of them, when a wider clearance of starry sky showed me the figures
of the lookout, whoever he was, and of Mr. Pike, side by side. Long
I watched them, not making my presence known, and I knew that the old
mate's eyes were boring like gimlets into the windy darkness that
separated the Elsinore from the thunder-surfed iron coast he sought
to find.
Coming back to the poop I was caught by the surprised Mr. Mellaire.
"Thought you were asleep, sir," he chided.
"I'm too restless," I explained. "I've read until my eyes are tired,
and now I'm trying to get chilled so that I can fall asleep while
warming up in my blankets."
"I envy you, sir," he answered. "Think of it! So much of all night
in that you cannot sleep. Some day, if ever I make a lucky strike, I
shall make a voyage like this as a passenger, and have all watches
below. Think of it! All blessed watches below! And I shall, like
you, sir, bring a Jap servant along, and I'll make him call me at
every changing of the watches, so that, wide awake, I can appreciate
my good fortune in the several minutes before I roll over and go to
sleep again."
We laughed good night to each other. Another peep into the chart-
room showed me Captain West sleeping as before. He had not moved in
general, though all his body moved with every roll and fling of the
ship. Below, Margaret's light still burned, but a peep showed her
asleep, her book fallen from her hands just as was the so frequent
case with my books.
And I wondered. Half the souls of us on the Elsinore slept. The
Samurai slept. Yet the old first mate, who should have slept, kept a
bitter watch on the for'ard-house. Was his anxiety right? Could it
be right? Or was it the crankiness of ultimate age? Were we
drifting and leewaying to destruction? Or was it merely an old man
being struck down by senility in the midst of his life-task?
Too wide awake to think of sleeping, I ensconced myself with The
Mirror of the Sea at the dining-table. Nor did I remove aught of my
storm-gear save the soggy mittens, which I wrung out and hung to dry
by the stove. Four bells struck, and six bells, and Mr. Pike had not
returned below. At eight bells, with the changing of the watches, it
came upon me what a night of hardship the old mate was enduring.
Eight to twelve had been his own watch on deck. He had now completed
the four hours of the second mate's watch and was beginning his own
watch, which would last till eight in the morning--twelve consecutive
hours in a Cape Horn gale with the mercury at freezing.
Next--for I had dozed--I heard loud cries above my head that were
repeated along the poop. I did not know till afterwards that it was
Mr. Pike's command to hard-up the helm, passed along from for'ard by
the men he had stationed at intervals on the bridge.
All that I knew at this shock of waking was that something was
happening above. As I pulled on my steaming mittens and hurried my
best up the reeling stairs, I could hear the stamp of men's feet that
for once were not lagging. In the chart-house hall I heard Mr. Pike,
who had already covered the length of the bridge from the for'ard-
house, shouting:
"Mizzen-braces! Slack, damn you! Slack on the run! But hold a
turn! Aft, here, all of you! Jump! Lively, if you don't want to
swim! Come in, port-braces! Don't let 'm get away! Lee-braces!--if
you lose that turn I'll split your skull! Lively! Lively!--Is that
helm hard over! Why in hell don't you answer?"
All this I heard as I dashed for the lee door and as I wondered why I
did not hear the Samurai's voice.
Then, as I passed the chart-room door, I saw him.
He was sitting on the couch, white-faced, one sea-boot in his hands,
and I could have sworn his hands were shaking. That much I saw, and
the next moment was out on deck.
At first, just emerged from the light, I could see nothing, although
I could hear men at the pin-rails and the mate snarling and shouting
commands. But I knew the manoeuvre. With a weak crew, in the big,
tail-end sea of a broken gale, breakers and destruction under her
lee, the Elsinore was being worn around. We had been under lower-
topsails and a reefed foresail all night. Mr. Pike's first action,
after putting the wheel up, had been to square the mizzen-yards.
With the wind-pressure thus eased aft, the stern could more easily
swing against the wind while the wind-pressure on the for'ard-sails
paid the bow off.
But it takes time to wear a ship, under short canvas, in a big sea.
Slowly, very slowly, I could feel the direction of the wind altering
against my cheek. The moon, dim at first, showed brighter and
brighter as the last shreds of a flying cloud drove away from before
it. In vain I looked for any land.
"Main-braces!--all of you!--jump!" Mr. Pike shouted, himself leading
the rush along the poop. And the men really rushed. Not in all the
months I had observed them had I seen such swiftness of energy.
I made my way to the wheel, where Tom Spink stood. He did not notice
me. With one hand holding the idle wheel, he was leaning out to one
side, his eyes fixed in a fascinated stare. I followed its
direction, on between the chart-house and the port-jigger shrouds,
and on across a mountain sea that was very vague in the moonlight.
And then I saw it! The Elsinore's stern was flung skyward, and
across that cold ocean I saw land--black rocks and snow-covered
slopes and crags. And toward this land the Elsinore, now almost
before the wind, was driving.
From the 'midship-house came the snarls of the mate and the cries of
the sailors. They were pulling and hauling for very life. Then came
Mr. Pike, across the poop, leaping with incredible swiftness, sending
his snarl before him.
"Ease that wheel there! What the hell you gawkin' at? Steady her as
I tell you. That's all you got to do!"
From for'ard came a cry, and I knew Mr. Mellaire was on top of the
for'ard-house and managing the fore-yards.
"Now!"--from Mr. Pike. "More spokes! Steady! Steady! And be ready
to check her!"
He bounded away along the poop again, shouting for men for the
mizzen-braces. And the men appeared, some of his watch, others of
the second mate's watch, routed from sleep--men coatless, and
hatless, and bootless; men ghastly-faced with fear but eager for once
to spring to the orders of the man who knew and could save their
miserable lives from miserable death. Yes--and I noted the delicate-
handed cook, and Yatsuda, the sail-maker, pulling with his one
unparalysed hand. It was all hands to save ship, and all hands knew
it. Even Sundry Buyers, who had drifted aft in his stupidity instead
of being for'ard with his own officer, forebore to stare about and to
press his abdomen. For the nonce he pulled like a youngling of
twenty.
The moon covered again, and it was in darkness that the Elsinore
rounded up on the wind on the starboard tack. This, in her case,
under lower-topsails only, meant that she lay eight points from the
wind, or, in land terms, at right angles to the wind.
Mr. Pike was splendid, marvellous. Even as the Elsinore was rounding
to on the wind, while the head-yards were still being braced, and
even as he was watching the ship's behaviour and the wheel, in
between his commands to Tom Spink of "A spoke! A spoke or two!
Another! Steady! Hold her! Ease her!" he was ordering the men
aloft to loose sail. I had thought, the manoeuvre of wearing
achieved, that we were saved, but this setting of all three upper-
topsails unconvinced me.
The moon remained hidden, and to leeward nothing could be seen. As
each sail was set, the Elsinore was pressed farther and farther over,
and I realized that there was plenty of wind left, despite the fact
that the gale had broken or was breaking. Also, under this
additional canvas, I could feel the Elsinore moving through the
water. Pike now sent the Maltese Cockney to help Tom Spink at the
wheel. As for himself, he took his stand beside the booby-hatch,
where he could gauge the Elsinore, gaze to leeward, and keep his eye
on the helmsmen.
"Full and by," was his reiterated command. "Keep her a good full--a
rap-full; but don't let her fall away. Hold her to it, and drive
her."
He took no notice whatever of me, although I, on my way to the lee of
the chart-house, stood at his shoulder a full minute, offering him a
chance to speak. He knew I was there, for his big shoulder brushed
my arm as he swayed and turned to warn the helmsmen in the one breath
to hold her up to it but to keep her full. He had neither time nor
courtesy for a passenger in such a moment.
Sheltering by the chart-house, I saw the moon appear. It grew
brighter and brighter, and I saw the land, dead to leeward of us, not
three hundred yards away. It was a cruel sight--black rock and
bitter snow, with cliffs so perpendicular that the Elsinore could
have laid alongside of them in deep water, with great gashes and
fissures, and with great surges thundering and spouting along all the
length of it.
Our predicament was now clear to me. We had to weather the bight of
land and islands into which we had drifted, and sea and wind worked
directly on shore. The only way out was to drive through the water,
to drive fast and hard, and this was borne in upon me by Mr. Pike
bounding past to the break of the poop, where I heard him shout to
Mr. Mellaire to set the mainsail.
Evidently the second mate was dubious, for the next cry of Mr. Pike's
was:
"Damn the reef! You'd be in hell first! Full mainsail! All hands
to it!"
The difference was appreciable at once when that huge spread of
canvas opposed the wind. The Elsinore fairly leaped and quivered as
she sprang to it, and I could feel her eat to windward as she at the
same time drove faster ahead. Also, in the rolls and gusts, she was
forced down till her lee-rail buried and the sea foamed level across
to her hatches. Mr. Pike watched her like a hawk, and like certain
death he watched the Maltese Cockney and Tom Spink at the wheel.
"Land on the lee bow!" came a cry from for'ard, that was carried on
from mouth to mouth along the bridge to the poop.
I saw Mr. Pike nod his head grimly and sarcastically. He had already
seen it from the lee-poop, and what he had not seen he had guessed.
A score of times I saw him test the weight of the gusts on his cheek
and with all the brain of him study the Elsinore's behaviour. And I
knew what was in his mind. Could she carry what she had? Could she
carry more?
Small wonder, in this tense passage of time, that I had forgotten the
Samurai. Nor did I remember him until the chart-house door swung
open and I caught him by the arm. He steadied and swayed beside me,
while he watched that cruel picture of rock and snow and spouting
surf.
"A good full!" Mr. Pike snarled. "Or I'll eat your heart out. God
damn you for the farmer's hound you are, Tom Spink!. Ease her! Ease
her! Ease her into the big ones, damn you! Don't let her head fall
off! Steady! Where in hell did you learn to steer? What cow-farm
was you raised on?"
Here he bounded for'ard past us with those incredible leaps of his.
"It would be good to set the mizzen-topgallant," I heard Captain West
mutter in a weak, quavery voice. "Mr. Pathurst, will you please tell
Mr. Pike to set the mizzen-topgallant?"
And at that very instant Mr. Pike's voice rang out from the break of
the poop:
"Mr. Mellaire!--the mizzen-topgallant!"
Captain West's head drooped until his chin rested on his breast, and
so low did he mutter that I leaned to hear.
"A very good officer," he said. "An excellent officer. Mr.
Pathurst, if you will kindly favour me, I should like to go in. I .
. . I haven't got on my boots."
The muscular feat was to open the heavy iron door and hold it open in
the rolls and plunges. This I accomplished; but when I had helped
Captain West across the high threshold he thanked me and waived
further services. And I did not know even then he was dying.
Never was a Blackwood ship driven as was the Elsinore during the next
half-hour. The full-jib was also set, and, as it departed in shreds,
the fore-topmast staysail was being hoisted. For'ard of the
'midship-house it was made unlivable by the bursting seas. Mr.
Mellaire, with half the crew, clung on somehow on top the 'midship-
house, while the rest of the crew was with us in the comparative
safety of the poop. Even Charles Davis, drenched and shivering, hung
on beside me to the brass ring-handle of the chart-house door.
Such sailing! It was a madness of speed and motion, for the Elsinore
drove over and through and under those huge graybeards that thundered
shore-ward. There were times, when rolls and gusts worked against
her at the same moment, when I could have sworn the ends of her
lower-yardarms swept the sea.
It was one chance in ten that we could claw off. All knew it, and
all knew there was nothing more to do but await the issue. And we
waited in silence. The only voice was that of the mate,
intermittently cursing, threatening, and ordering Tom Spink and the
Maltese Cockney at the wheel. Between whiles, and all the while, he
gauged the gusts, and ever his eyes lifted to the main-topgallant-
yard. He wanted to set that one more sail. A dozen times I saw him
half-open his mouth to give the order he dared not give. And as I
watched him, so all watched him. Hard-bitten, bitter-natured, sour-
featured and snarling-mouthed, he was the one man, the henchman of
the race, the master of the moment. "And where," was my thought, "O
where was the Samurai?"
One chance in ten? It was one in a hundred as we fought to weather
the last bold tooth of rock that gashed into sea and tempest between
us and open ocean. So close were we that I looked to see our far-
reeling skysail-yards strike the face of the rock. So close were we,
no more than a biscuit toss from its iron buttress, that as we sank
down into the last great trough between two seas I can swear every
one of us held breath and waited for the Elsinore to strike.
Instead we drove free. And as if in very rage at our escape, the
storm took that moment to deal us the mightiest buffet of all. The
mate felt that monster sea coming, for he sprang to the wheel ere the
blow fell. I looked for'ard, and I saw all for'ard blotted out by
the mountain of water that fell aboard. The Elsinore righted from
the shock and reappeared to the eye, full of water from rail to rail.
Then a gust caught her sails and heeled her over, spilling half the
enormous burden outboard again.
Along the bridge came the relayed cry of "Man overboard!"
I glanced at the mate, who had just released the wheel to the
helmsmen. He shook his head, as if irritated by so trivial a
happening, walked to the corner of the half-wheelhouse, and stared at
the coast he had escaped, white and black and cold in the moonlight.
Mr. Mellaire came aft, and they met beside me in the lee of the
chart-house.
"All hands, Mr. Mellaire," the mate said, "and get the mainsail off
of her. After that, the mizzen-topgallant."
"Yes, sir," said the second.
"Who was it?" the mate asked, as Mr. Mellaire was turning away.
"Boney--he was no good, anyway," came the answer.
That was all. Boney the Splinter was gone, and all hands were
answering the command of Mr. Mellaire to take in the mainsail. But
they never took it in; for at that moment it started to blow away out
of the bolt-ropes, and in but few moments all that was left of it was
a few short, slatting ribbons.
"Mizzen-topgallant-sail!" Mr. Pike ordered. Then, and for the first
time, he recognized my existence.
"Well rid of it," he growled. "It never did set properly. I was
always aching to get my hands on the sail-maker that made it."
On my way below a glance into the chart-room gave me the cue to the
Samurai's blunder--if blunder it can be called, for no one will ever
know. He lay on the floor in a loose heap, rolling willy-nilly with
every roll of the Elsinore.
