To The West Part 31

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

EMULATING THE CORNISHMEN.

Unwittingly we had made friends with the master of the little fis.h.i.+ng craft and his men; and as we sat watching them in the moonlight, and looking away at the schooner, which always stood out in the distance faint and misty, as if some thing of shadow instead of real, a spar was got out from where it was lashed below the thwarts, and run out over the bows, a bolt or two holding it in its place, while the stays were made fast to the masthead and the sides of the boat. Then a large red sail was drawn out of the locker forward, bent on, run up, and the boat heeled over more and more.

"Don't capsize us," said Gunson. "Can she bear all that sail?"

"Ay, and more too. If we capsized yew we should capsize ourselves too, and what's more, our missuses at home, and that wouldn't do. We won't capsize yew. Only sit well up to the side, and don't mind a sprinkle of water now and then. I'm going to make the old girl fly."

He chuckled as he saw the difference the fresh spread of canvas had made in the boat's progress, and, taking the tiller now himself, he seemed to send the light craft skimming over the sea, and leaving an ever-widening path of foam glittering in the moonlight behind.

"That's different, my lads, eh?" the master said, with a fresh chuckle.

"Yew see yew were only kind o' pa.s.sengers before--so many dollar pa.s.sengers; now yew're kind o' friends as we wants to oblige, while we're cutting yonder skipper's comb for him. Say, do yew know what they do in Cornwall in England? I'll tell yew. When they want to make a skipper wild who's precious proud of his craft, they hystes up a bit more sail, runs by him, and then goes aft and holds out a rope's end, and asks him if they shall give him a tow. That's what I'm going to do to the schooner's skipper, so don't you fret no more. You hold tight, and you shall be aboard some time."

"I hope we shall," said Gunson quietly; but I could feel that there was doubt in his tones, and as I looked at the shadowy image away there in the offing, the case seemed very hopeless indeed.

We had been sailing for some time now, but the distance from the city was not very great, the wind not having been favourable. Consequently our course had been a series of tacks to and fro, like the zigzags of a mountain road. Still we had this on our side--the schooner had to shape her course in the same way, and suffer from the constant little succession of calms as we did.

The confident tone of our skipper was encouraging, but we could not feel very sure when we saw from time to time that the schooner was evidently leaving us behind. But we had not calculated on our man's nautical knowledge, for as we got further out he began to manoeuvre so as to make shorter tacks, and at last, when the moon was rising high in the heavens, and we were getting well out from under the influence of the land, the easy way in which the course of the boat could be changed gave us a great advantage, and towards midnight our hopes rose high.

"There," said our skipper, "what do yew say now? That's a little craft to move, ain't she?"

"Move? she flies," said Gunson; "but with this wind, arn't you carrying too much sail?"

"Not enough," said the skipper gruffly. "You let me alone. Only thing that can hurt us is a spar going, and they won't do that. That there mast and bowsprit both came from up where you're going--Vancouver Island. There's some fine sticks of timber up there."

We eased off the way of the boat a little, for water was lapping over the bows, and even he had tacitly agreed that we were heeling over more than was quite safe.

"Swab that drop o' juice up," he growled; and one of the men quietly mopped up the water, of which there was not enough to bale.

"She must see us now," said Gunson, after another long interval, during which we all sat holding on by the gunwale.

"See us? Oh, she sees us plain enough."

"Then why doesn't she heave to?"

"Skipper's too obstint. Perhaps he don't think there's any one aboard, for it's misty to make anything out in the moonlight, even with a gla.s.s.

P'r'aps he knows the boat again, and won't take no heed because it's me. But you wait a bit; we're going through the water free now, eh, squire?"

"You'll sink her directly," said Esau, who had already grasped the fact that a vessel was always "she."

"Not I. I say, you didn't expect a ride like this t'night, did yew?"

"No," said Esau, whose attention was all taken up with holding on to the side.

"No, not yew. Steady, my la.s.s, steady," he said softly, as the boat made a plunge or two. "Don't kick. Say, youngster, any message for that there chap as you hit?"

"Yes; tell him I'll set the police to work if ever I come back here."

"Right. I'll tell him. I know where to find him."

"Where will that be?" I said, wondering whether he meant the very worst; and I breathed more freely as I heard his answer.

"In the hospital, lad, in the hospital. They'll have to mend the crack in his head, for I dessay your mate here hit as hard as he could."

"I did," said Esau.

And now we sat in silence gazing at the moonlit water, with its wonderful flecks of silvery ripple, then at the misty schooner, and then across at the lights of the city; while I wondered at the fact that one could go on sailing so long, and that the distance looked so small, for a mile at sea seemed to be a mere sham.

"What do yew say now?" said the master an hour later. "Shall we overhaul her?"

"Yes, we must catch her now," said Gunson, excitedly. "Don't overdo it when we are so near success."

"Yew let me alone; yew let me be," he grumbled. "I'm going to putt yew aboard that craft, first, because I think yew all ought to be helped; and second, because I want to show the schooner's skipper that he arn't everybody on these sh.o.r.es."

On we went through the silver water, with the path behind us looking like molten metal, and the wind seeming to hiss by us and rattle in the boat's sails, we went so fast. Every now and then from where I sat I could look down and see that the lee bulwark almost dipped under water, but always when it was within apparently half an inch of the surface the master eased the boat and it rose a little.

The schooner was going on the opposite tack to ours, so that when at last we crossed her we seemed so near that one might have hailed; but in obedience to the master's wish we pa.s.sed on in silence, so as to let him enjoy the triumph of over-sailing the bigger vessel, and then hailing her after the Cornwall fas.h.i.+on of which he had boasted.

"Now," he said, "we're ahead." And almost at that moment there was a loud crack, the mast went by the thwarts, and the sails lay like the wings of a wounded bird upon the silvery sea.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"IT'S THEM."

"Wal," said the master, "reckon that arn't quite such a good stick as I thout it war."

I sat looking despondently at the wreck, for the accident had happened just as I felt sure of our overtaking the schooner, which was rapidly gliding away from us again, when Esau caught hold of my arm.

"I say, arn't going to the bottom, are we?"

"All our trouble for nothing, I'm afraid, my lads," said Gunson.

"What are yew two looking at?" roared the master. "Going to let them two sails drag down under the boat? Haul 'em in, will yew!"

These words startled the two men into action, and they began to loosen the ropes and haul in the sails rapidly, prior to getting the broken mast on board.

"Wal, might ha' been worse," said the master, giving his head a scratch; "but there goes your dollars, mister, for a new stick."

"I'll pay for it," said Gunson, quickly. "Could you rig up the broken spar afresh?"

"Guess I'm going to try."

"Do you think they could hear us on the schooner if we all shouted together?"