ABOUT three o’clock in the morning Garnett slid back the hatch-slide and bawled, “Cape Horn, sir!” Captain Green was asleep, but the news brought him to his feet in an instant, and stopping just long enough to complete his toilet, which consisted of gulping down four fingers of stiff grog, he sprang up the companion-way and was on deck. It was broad daylight, although the wind had shifted to the northward and brought with it a thick haze which partly obscured the light of the rising sun. Some miles away on the weather-beam rose a rocky hump, showing dimly through the mist; but its peculiar shape, not unlike that of a camel lying down with its head to the westward, told plainly that it was the dreaded Cape. Beyond it lay Tierra del Fuego, now almost invisible, and past it swept the high-rolling seas of the Antarctic Drift. Captain Green stood blinking and winking in the crisp air of the early morning as Garnett walked up. It was January and daylight twenty hours out of twenty-four, but it was cold and the morning watch was a cheerless one. The old mate came up and pointed to the northward. “It’s the Cape, I make it, though it don’t show up mighty high. We’ve been holding on like this most of my watch, but it’s been getting a dirty look “It’s the Cape, right enough,” said Zack Green; “and if we can hold on a few hours longer we ought to weather the Ramirez and get clear. How’s she heading now?” “Sou’west b’ sought,” answered the man at the wheel. “Well,” said Green, “there’s almost four points easterly variation here, so that brings her head a little to the s’uth’ard of west b’ south. Let her go up all she will, Mr. Garnett, and call me when we make the Ramirez. I don’t believe much in that drift; it’s all in that big easterly variation. Watch the maint’gallant-sail if it begins to come down sharp from the north’ard,” and as he finished speaking the skipper disappeared down the companion-way. Garnett sniffed the air hungrily as the odor of stiff grog disappeared also. “’Tis a pius drink, s’help me, ’tis a pius drink,” he muttered. “Yes, a truly moral beverage, as they would say in the islands; but there’s no use thinking a dog of a mate will get any pleasure in these days of thieving ship-masters.” He walked fore and aft in no pleasant frame of mind, glancing at each turn at the distant loom of the land on the weather-beam. “How d’ye head?” he bawled to the man at the wheel, in total disregard for the skipper and sleeping passengers. “Sought b’ west a quarter west, sir,” answered the helmsman. “Well, what in the name of the great eternal Davy Jones are you running the ship off like that for?” “She’s touchin’ now, sir, an’ goin’ off all the time.” “Going to——” but before he could finish the maintop-gallant-sail came aback against the mast. “For’ard there! clew down the maint’gallant-sail!” he roared, ad he looked sharply to windward, where the giant Cape Horn sea came rolling down through the deepening haze. “Maint’gallant-sail!” echoed the cry forward, as the men sang out and jumped for the halyards, while some of the watch sprang into the ratlines and made their way aloft. “Come, bear a hand there! Get that sail rolled up and lay aft to the mizzen-top-sail.” The vessel was driving along at a comfortable rate in spite of the heavy sea, and it looked as though she might give the grim Cape the slip and go scudding away on the other side of the world. A few hours running to the westward with the wind holding and she would go clear. But the giant sea began rolling down from the northwest, growing heavier, so by the time the maintop-gallant-sail was rolled up and eight bells struck it had the true Cape Horn heave to it. Mr. Gantline came on deck to relieve the mate, and he soon had the ship dressed down to her lower “Let her come up all she will!” bawled Garnett into Gantline’s ear, as he started to go below. “If she sags off any more you better call the old man, for it looks bad. By the way, Gantline, where’s that bottle of alcohol the old man gave you for varnishing the wheel? I’ve got one of his porous plasters on my chest, and the blooming thing has glued itself to every hair on my body, and I can’t get it adrift.” “It’s in the right-hand corner of the boson’s locker,” said the mate, with a grin. “But go easy, Garnett. The old man put a spoonful of tartar-emetic into the stuff, ‘for,’ says he, ‘tartar-emetic makes the varnish have a more enduring effect against the weather.’” “Sink him for a scoundrel!” growled Garnett, his little eyes flashing and beard bristling with rage. “It’s always something he’s doing to make bad feeling aboard ship. Why should he suspect a man of drinking raw spirit, hey?” “Why, indeed,” said Gantline. And Garnett went below muttering a string of fierce oaths. At six o’clock the gale had increased, and the noise of the bawling men struggling with the fore-and mizzentop-sails awakened the skipper, who, fearing all was not well, hastily made his toilet again and appeared at the head of the companion-way. “How is it now?” he asked of Gantline, who stood near the wheel. “Gone off two points, and there’s an almighty sea running. I’m shortening her down fast. Whew!” As he spoke a great hill of water full forty feet high rolled down on the weather-beam. The ship headed it a couple of points and sank slowly into the slanting trough. Then she began to rise to it. The combing crest struck her forward of the main-rigging, and with a roar like Niagara crashed over the top-gallant-rail. It hove her down on her bearings and filled the main-deck waist-deep, while the shock made the skipper and Gantline clutch for support. The next instant Green sprang on to the poop. “All hands there!” he bawled. “Get that fore-top-sail on the yard!” Garnett came struggling on deck, muttering something about being afloat in a diving-bell, and was almost washed off his feet by the roaring flood in the waist. In a few moments he was on the foreyard bellowing out orders to the men stowing the topsail. The uproar and cries of the men startled the two “Keep the main on her as long as it will hold!” bawled Green. “It looks as if we will catch it sure.” Then, catching a glimpse of Dr. Davis’s face at the companion-way, he added, “I’ll be hanged if I ever overload a ship again and run such risk.” The minister stepped out on deck. “Good-morning, doctor; we are having a touch of the Cape this morning,” cried the skipper. “So it seems; is the Cape in sight?” “No; but I guess you’ll see it again before we get clear.” “Mr. Garnett said he thought we would make some northing to-day. He does not believe in so much easterly variation, but says it is the drift that makes it appear so. It seems to me an easy thing to decide.” “Garnett be hanged!” snorted Green in disgust “He will get into trouble some day with his fool’s Garnett appeared at the table, but Mrs. Davis kept her bunk, as the plunging ship made it difficult to eat with comfort. No one spoke during the meal, as the crashing noise from the straining bulkheads drowned all sounds save the roar of the elements on deck. Garnett stopped in the alley-way to light his pipe and get a few whiffs before relieving Gantline. Then he made his way to the poop and stood close to the mizzen, trying to get shelter from the wind and spray, while Gantline went below. Dr. Davis came on deck and found the second officer trying to smoke, so he joined him. “It’s harder to be mate with a man like Green than anything I’ve tackled,” said he. “I’ve been to a few places and seen a few men in my day, but most of them would reason things out. There’s no reason in him.” “What’s the matter?” asked Dr. Davis. “It’s all about variation now. He’s always trying to work off new-fangled notions on me. When I first began coming around this way the drift was good enough to figure by.” “But hasn’t it been proved?” “Proved nothing. How’s a man going to prove he’s steering north when he’s heading nor’west in a three-knot drift with nothing to get a bearing on? I’ll allow there’s some variation in a compass, but “Well, I suppose it is hard to get along with unreasonable people,” said the minister; “but there are some things we know are true without being able to reason about them. For instance——” “No, sir,” interrupted Garnett. “There ain’t anything we know about anything unless we can reason it out. You have your ideas and I have mine; that’s all there is to it.” “Fore-staysail!” bawled the skipper from the wheel, and that piece of canvas was run up, quickly followed by the trysail on the spanker-boom. Dr. Davis, left alone, started aft. He went safely along until he reached the middle of the poop, when a heavy sea struck the vessel and made her heel quickly to leeward. The minister tried to seize the rail, but missed it, and the next instant fell headlong into the seething water alongside. Garnett was not ten feet distant working at the trysail, and without a moment’s hesitation he seized a downhaul and plunged overboard with the line about him. The passenger arose with a look of peaceful resignation on his face which contrasted strongly with the old mate’s fierce expression of determination. As the vessel was making no headway against the sea it was less difficult than it appeared to seize the drowning man and give the signal to haul away. In another minute Garnett was on deck again with Dr. Davis, neither of them much the worse for The gale held on all day, but nothing unusual occurred. At eight bells that evening Dr. Davis had recovered sufficiently to again venture on deck. It was Gantline’s dog-watch, but as there was as much light as there had been during the day, Dr. Davis kept him company. “Mr. Garnett is a very hard man to convince when he has once set his mind against a thing,” said the minister. “There’s no way of showing him he is wrong when he has made a mistake.” “That’s true enough, especially if you try to rough him. He’s mad to-day because the skipper found fault with his swearing at the men.” “He does swear most horribly,” said Dr. Davis. “It’s nothing to what he used to. He don’t realize he does it at all now.” “How do you mean?” “Why, he used to be a most blasphemous old cuss. One day he went ashore at Tinian, and the missionary there asked him to dinner. When he asked Garnett what he would have he sung out, ‘Gimme a bowl of blood, ye tough old ram of the Lord,’ just to shock the good man. The missionary rose and ordered him out of the house, but Garnett wouldn’t go, so he struck him over the head with a dish of fried plantains, he was that mad. Garnett was two days getting over the stroke, for he had been stove down before by a handspike in the “I see,” said Dr. Davis. “Yes, it’s a fact, you’ve got to show a thing pretty plain to Garnett before he believes it. As to that missionary, he wasn’t overbright at converting savages.” “What do you mean? That he wasn’t strong enough physically?” “No, no, love ye, no; that missionary could take care of himself and not half try. What I mean is downright religious and Christian argument. There was one chief he never could convert. The fellow had an idol, the most uncanny thing I ever saw; sort of half bird, half beast, part fish, and having a strain of dragon. He used to pray to the thing, although he could speak English well enough and had seen plenty of white men. The missionary told him it was wrong to worship anything in an image of things in the heavens above, the earth beneath, or waters under the earth, and the chief took it all kindly. The good man finally gave him up, but the chief never could tell why. Once he offered to bet the missionary two wives against a bottle of rum that there wasn’t anything in the heavens above or earth beneath that resembled the strange thing in any way; and as the good man couldn’t prove it, the matter ended.” The gale increased as the night wore on, and the vessel lay to on the port tack and drifted off with her head pointing northwest by north, but she was The old mate had a chart in his room with the variation marked on it above the fiftieth parallel, some ten degrees less than where he now was. But even this variation appeared excessive to him, and, as the skipper told him to report if the vessel’s head fell off to the eastward of north, he held on. Figuring on a two-knot drift, he would not be in the vicinity of the rocks during his watch even if she headed as far as north by west, for at noon she had made a good westing. The ship’s head was to the eastward at four bells, but, as there was really over twenty degrees’ variation, Garnett held on and made sail whenever he could. Long before his watch was out the vessel had been making little leeway and reaching heavily along under lower topsails. At seven bells the wind hauled again to the southward and came harder than ever, carrying the foretop-sail out of the bolt-ropes. The noise of bawling men brought the skipper on deck, and he had the mizzentop-sail rolled up and the fore-staysail ready for waring ship. While he stood on the poop he looked to leeward. The mist seemed to break into rifts in the dull light of the early morning, and through one he saw an Garnett came aft, and, although it was cold, he took off his sou’wester and mopped the top of his bald head as he glanced at the skipper. The old man stood petrified gazing into the blank to leeward. Then he turned on the mate with a savage glare in his eye. “Get all hands on that fore-staysail, quick!” he roared, and Garnett went plunging forward, the skipper’s voice following him and rising almost to a shriek,—“Loose the jib and foresail!” Then turning, he dashed for the wheel and rolled it hard up. Back again on the poop he roared to Gantline, who came plunging out on the main-deck to loose the foretop-sail. The men started to obey orders and sprang to the halyards and braces, looking over their shoulders to leeward at each roll of the ship to find out the cause of the excitement. Suddenly the flying spume broke again, and there, dead under the lee, lay the outer rocks of the Ramirez not a mile distant. Then some of the crew became panic-stricken, and it was all the mates could do to keep them in hand. “There’s no land there!” roared Garnett “H’ist away the fore-staysail.” Then the ship’s head paid off, while the staysail tore to ribbons under the pressure. The topsail was loosened, and it thundered away to bits, almost taking the topmast with it. The jib followed suit, “Will she go clear?” asked Dr. Davis, calmly, as he stood by the skipper’s side on the poop. But Green’s teeth were shut tight, and the muscles of his straining face were as taut as the clews of the storm-topsail. Nearer and nearer sounded that dull, booming thunder, and now, right under her lee, they could see the great white rush of those high-rolling seas that tore over the ledges and crashed into a world of smother that hid everything beyond in a thick haze. “She’ll go clear,” said Garnett, and he took out his handkerchief and mopped the dent in his bald head. “But it’s a d—d close shave,” answered Gantline. As he spoke a great rolling sea rose on the weather-quarter, lifting full forty feet from trough to crest as it began its shoreward rush. On and on it rolled in majestic grandeur, a gigantic, white-topped mass, until it vanished into the thick haze of flying spray, but still bearing more and more to the northward. They went clear. Dr. Davis was not present at a little conversation held between Mr. Garnett and the skipper some minutes later, but during the mate’s next watch on deck he found a chance to speak to him. He saw him standing under the mizzen watching the main-top-sail, and he crowded close into the mast, wiping his spectacles. “Well, what do you think of it now?” he asked. “Nothing,” growled Garnett, “except I made a mistake; and if I’d held on ten minutes there’d have been thirty more men gone to a lower latitude, that’s all.” “But think of the responsibility. How would you have felt with the lives of thirty men on your conscience? Don’t you see, we have to accept some truths without stopping to reason them out. There may be no reason for that variation, but you see it exists, after all. It is the same way in regard to the duty we owe our Maker, and I am afraid you will acknowledge it only after you have ‘held on too long,’ as you admit in this case. As for a man going to a lower latitude, as you call it, there is no such place. A man’s hell is his own conscience.” Garnett remained silent for some minutes watching the clews of the maintop-sail, and appeared to be absorbed in deep thought. “Maybe you’re right about there not being any hell below, and maybe you’re not,” he finally said. “I hope you are right; but I’ve had some experience in my day, and had all kinds of luck, both And Dr. Davis left him standing there with a strange, hopeful gleam in his eyes. |