Fritz and Eric Part 18

"Well, it's a long story to tell, brother," replied Eric, as soon as he could speak calmly, putting his arm through that of Fritz and drawing him towards a sort of long sofa, like a divan, which stretched across one side of the wide apartment where they had so strangely encountered-- the other and opposite side of the room being occupied by the usual long hotel "bar," common in most American towns, in front of which various little detached groups of people were standing up, drinking and chatting together. "Suppose we come to an anchor here awhile, and I'll reel you off a yarn about all that has happened to me since I left Lubeck."

"All right, we may as well sit down, at all events," said Fritz. "They won't charge us for that, eh?"

"Oh no, I guess not," answered Eric, with that old light-hearted laugh of his, which his brother had never thought he should ever hear again.

"This is a free country, they say, you know!"

"Now tell me all about yourself," said Fritz, when they had ensconced themselves comfortably in the furthest corner of the divan, or settee, which they had pretty much to themselves. "I'm dying to know how you were saved!"

"Right you are, my hearty," replied Eric, in sailor fashion. "Here goes for the log of my cruise in the poor old _Gustav Barentz_!"

"Fire away!" said Fritz; and then, the lad thereupon began his story.

The ship, Eric declared, was found to be terribly leaky almost as soon as they had started on the voyage, and this necessitated their having to put into Plymouth for repairs, which detained them a considerable time.

Indeed, it was as much as they could do to patch her up at all; for, her timbers were so rotten and the vessel had been strained so much from overloading that she was really unfit to be sent to sea. However, as Fritz already knew, the _Gustav Barentz_ managed to clear out of the Channel, reaching the lat.i.tude of the Cape de Verde Islands all right, and it was shortly after pa.s.sing Teneriffe that Eric had been enabled to forward that letter of his which had so gladdened his mother's heart, to Lubeck by a homeward-bound ship. After that, however, all went wrong with the ill-fated vessel. She had knocked about in the doldrums for weeks; and, after making a long leg over to the South American coast, had succeeded at last in getting round the Cape of Good Hope safely-- although taking a terrible time over it, and dragging out a most tedious pa.s.sage from Plymouth--when she met a south-east gale, just as she had entered the Indian Ocean and was shaping a course towards the Straits of Sunda, so as to fetch Java.

Leaky and strained and overladen as the ship was, she was in no condition to fight the elements on fair terms; so the result of it was, that, after being buffetted by the gale for some four days and then, finally, p.o.o.ped by a heavy following sea as she tried to run before the wind, it was discovered that she was making water too fast for the pumps to be of any avail. Consequently, as nothing further could be done, it was determined to abandon her. Accordingly, the jolly-boat and pinnace were provisioned and launched over the side, the crew being divided between the two, under the direction of the captain and chief officer; and they had hardly time to get into these frail craft, to encounter once again on worse terms the perils of the ocean that had already proved too strong for their vessel, and push off from her side, when they saw the old _Gustav Barentz_ go down before their eyes--foundering almost without a moment's warning.

"It was terrible for you all to be left tossing about on the raging sea in a couple of open boats!" said Fritz sympathisingly, pressing his brother's arm,--"worse than being in a leaky ship, I should think."

"Yes," answered Eric; "but we kept up our courage well, the captain sustaining us with brave words, saying that, as we were not many miles south of Cape Arguilhas and had the wind blowing right on to the land, we must soon reach sh.o.r.e. But, I don't know, I'm sure, how he came to place the ship where he did; for, according to my reckoning, we were several degrees, at the least, to the eastward of the Cape. However, I suppose he said what he did to prevent our giving way to despair, which, perhaps, we might otherwise have done, eh?"

"Most probably," said Fritz, agreeing with his brother. "It would be very unlikely for the captain to make so great an error in his calculations as that. He was esteemed a good navigator, you know, by Herr Grosschnapper."

"Well, anyway," continued Eric, without waiting to argue this point with his brother, "we did not reach land that day, which some of the men expected from his words; nor did we the next morning, although, then much to our sorrow, we could see the pinnace no longer near us, she having parted company in the night time and gone to the bottom, as we thought."

"You were wrong," interrupted Fritz; "the boat was picked up by an Australian ship, the survivors being taken on to Melbourne. It was through these that we heard later on of the loss of the _Gustav Barentz_; and naturally, as you had not been rescued at the same time, we all gave you and the captain's party up."

"Oh, indeed!" said Eric. "I'm right glad to hear that! Why, we thought that they were the lost ones, not us, lamenting them much accordingly!

That Groots, the first mate, was a capital chap, as fine an officer as ever stepped aboard a ship; so I'm pleased to know he's safe. But, to go on with my yarn, there we found ourselves alone in the morning on the wild waste of waters, dancing about in an angry sea that threatened every moment to overwhelm us, and with the gale increasing instead of having blown itself out, as we hoped. We didn't feel very comfortable, I can tell you, Fritz."

"I should think not," responded his brother.

"No; for it was as much as we could do to prevent the boat from filling every moment, the waves were breaking over her so continually. It only escaped sinking by constantly baling her out with our boots and keeping her head to the wind with a floating anchor, which we rigged together out of all the spare oars and spars we had aboard, veering the little craft to leeward of this by the painter. All that day, too, the gale kept up; and the sea, you may be sure, did not calm down, rolling mountains high, as it seemed to us just down to its level in the jolly- boat! So it was the next night, there not being the slightest lull, we having to ride it out all the while; but, on the third morning, the gale moderated sufficiently for us to be able to scud before it in the direction of the Cape. It was lucky for us that the wind, by the way, did not shift once while we were lying-to, blowing steadily from the same quarter it began in, from the south-east. If it had changed at all, especially during the night at any time, it would have been all up with us!"

"Yes?" said Fritz interrogatively.

"Why, of course it would, for it was as dark as pitch, so that you could not see your hand before your face; and if the wind had chopped round, bringing us athwart the heavy rolling sea that was running, we should have been swamped in a moment, without the chance of saving ourselves by turning the boat's head so as to meet the waves; do you see now?"

"I see," said Fritz, with a shudder. "It was bad enough to confront your peril in daylight, but it would have been awful to have been engulfed in the darkness!"

"That was what was in our minds," proceeded Eric; "at least, I can answer for my own thoughts. However, on the morning of the third day, as I've told you, the wind slackening down somewhat, although still blowing steadily from the south-east, we hauled up to our floating anchor, which we quickly proceeded to take to pieces, hauling on board again the oars and old boat-stretchers that had composed it, and which had served the purpose of fending off somewhat the rollers, these breaking over the spars, under whose lee we had comparatively still water. We then, with a great deal of difficulty, as it was a dangerous operation on account of getting broadside on to the waves, managed to slew the jolly-boat's head round; when, rigging up a sc.r.a.p of a sprit- sail amidships, so as not to bury the little craft's nose, which might have been the case if we had tried to step our proper mast more forward, with the captain steering with an oar out to windward to give him greater command of her than the rudder would have done, we scudded away towards the African coast, giving up the pinnace as lost, and looking out only for ourselves."

"You had plenty to do," said Fritz, "without thinking of any one else."

"Yes," replied Eric; "but still, we could not forget them so easily as all that. Sh.o.r.e folk think sailors are heartless, and that when a poor chap is lost overboard, they only say that 'So-and-so has lost the number of his mess!' and, after having an auction over his kit in the fo'c's'le, then dismiss him from their memory! But, I a.s.sure you, this is not always the case. You see, a ship is a sort of little world, and those on board are so closely bound together--getting to know each other so thoroughly from not having any others to a.s.sociate with--that when one is taken away from amongst them, particularly by a violent death, his absence, cannot but be felt. A sailor often misses even a messmate whom he may dislike. How much the more, therefore, did we feel the loss of the whole boat's crew of the pinnace, every man of whom was almost as much a brother to me as you!"

"I beg your pardon if I spoke thoughtlessly," said Fritz; "but I should have imagined that being in such imminent danger, you would not have had much time to mourn your lost comrades."

"Nor did we," continued Eric, "so long as we had something to do, either in helping to bale the boat out or keeping her head to wind; but, when we began to run before the gale, the men stretched out in the bottom and along the stern-sheets, doing nothing,--for there was nothing for us to do,--we began to think of the poor fellows. This was only for a short time, however, as presently we had a more serious consideration on our minds than even the fate of the others. During all the strain on us, when we were in such danger, none of us had thought of eating or drinking; and, consequently, we had not examined the provisions--put hastily on board as we were leaving the sinking ship. But, now, feeling almost famished, on proceeding to overhaul the lockers, we found to our dismay that the sea water had spoilt everything, our biscuit being paste and the other food rendered unfit for use."

"What a calamity!" exclaimed Fritz.

"Yes," said Eric, "it was. Fortunately, we had some water, although our two barricoes did not contain an over-abundant supply for seven men as there were of us in the jolly-boat all told, including me. The captain, too, had stowed away a bottle of rum in the pocket of his pea jacket; and this being served out all round in a little tin pannikin we had, diluted to the strength of about four-water grog, it strengthened us all up a bit, bracing up our energies for what lay before us."

"What did you do?" asked Fritz.

"Why, what could we do, save let the boat go where the wind chose to take us, and trust in providence!" said Eric, seemingly surprised at the question.

"Ah, we had an awful time of it," he resumed presently. "When you come to being five days in an open boat, with nothing to eat and only a small quant.i.ty of water to a.s.suage your burning thirst with at stated intervals, exposed all the time, too, to rough seas breaking over you-- encrusting your hair and skin and everything with salt that blistered you when the sun came out afterwards, as it did, roasting us almost as soon as the gale lessened--why it was a painful ordeal, that's all! The rum did not last out long; and soon after the final drop of this was served out, the captain succ.u.mbed to weakness, having been dying by inches, and the stimulant only sustaining him so long. We kept him a couple of days, and then flung the body overboard, along with those of two other men who had died in the meantime from exposure and want of food; thus, only three others were now left in the jolly-boat besides me."

"And then?" interrupted Fritz anxiously.

"I don't know what happened afterwards," said Eric. "I got delirious, I suppose, for I remember fancying myself at home again in Lubeck, with Lorischen bending over me and offering me all sorts of nice things to eat! Really, I do not recollect anything further as to what occurred in the boat."

"How were you saved, then?" asked Fritz.

"It was that good Captain Brown there, talking to the gentleman whom you came in here with," replied Eric, pointing out the broad-shouldered, jolly-looking, seafaring man whom Fritz's friend, the deck hand of the steamer, had accosted and was now conversing with, close to where the two brothers were seated on the divan.

"Oh, he rescued you!" said Fritz, looking at the seafaring man with some interest. "I should like to thank him."

"Yes; he's a good fellow," Eric went on. "The first thing I saw when in my right senses again, I think, after we had heaved the bodies of our dead shipmates overboard the boat, was Captain Brown bending over me. I must have confused his face with that of Lorischen, whom I had been dreaming of, for I thought it was hers, and called the captain by her name."

"You did?"

"Yes; I remember his laughing and saying, 'poor little chap,' meaning me. He took care of me well, though; and it was only through his kind care that they were able to bring me round again. They told me afterwards that I was in a most pitiable state of emaciation--a skeleton, they said, with only fragments of burnt, blistered skin covering my poor bones!"

"And the others," inquired Fritz,--"did they recover too?"

"No; not one of the three was alive when Captain Brown's ship came across our boat. I was the only one who had any life remaining. They thought me a corpse, too, and would have left me to die with the rest, if it hadn't been for the captain, who declared there was breath still in my apparently dead body, and kindly had me hoisted on board and attended to."

"But how was it you never wrote home?" said Fritz after a bit, the recollection of what he had gone through overcoming Eric and making him silent for a moment.

"How could I, when the first land I touched, since I was picked up in the ocean south of the Cape, was when I stepped ash.o.r.e here last week!"

"I can't make that out," said Fritz, puzzled at this.

"Why," replied the other, "you must know that Captain Brown's ship, the _Pilot's Bride_, is a whaling vessel; and she was on her usual cruise for her fishing ground in the Southern Ocean, when I was rescued. If there had been a boatload of us, or had our skipper been alive, perhaps Captain Brown would have put in to the Cape to land us and so give news of the loss of our ship; but, as there was only me, a boy, and I was for days insensible and unable to give him any particulars about the vessel I belonged to, of course he continued his voyage. When I came to myself, he promised to put me on board the first home-going ship we met; but, as we were far out of the track of these, we never came across a sail. We did land at Tristan d'Acunha, about which I'll have to tell you something bye-and-bye as to a plan I've got in my head, however, as no vessel with the exception of ourselves had been there for six months, there was not much use in my leaving a letter to be forwarded home, on the chance of its being called for, was there?"

"No," said Fritz, laughing. "A bad sort of post office that!"

"So," continued Eric, "I had to wait till I landed here last Friday, when I wrote at once to dear mother and you, whom I thought would of course still be at Lubeck."

"Ah, you don't know all that has happened since you left," said Fritz solemnly.

"Nothing is the matter with mother, dear mutterchen?" asked Eric in a frightened voice.

"No; she's quite well, thank G.o.d," said Fritz, who then proceeded to give his brother a history of all that had transpired in his absence-- the account taking all the longer from Eric's ignorance of the war and everything connected with it, he not having seen a newspaper from the time of his leaving home until his arrival at Rhode Island, when, the events of the past memorable year being of course stale news, they had no chance of being communicated to him.

"And now," said Fritz, when he had made an end of his confidences in return for his brother's story, "I want to know Captain Brown, and thank him for all his kindness to you, Eric."