Parkhurst Boys Part 39

He was not a man of many words at the best of times, and just now, when everything depended on the steering, he had not one to waste.

"Stow 'em away, Ben," he said, not looking at us, but keeping his eyes straight ahead.

Ben, another of our acquaintance, dragged us up beside him on the weather bulwarks, and here we had to stand, holding on to a rail, while the boat, with her sail lying almost on the water, rushed through the waves.

We were no longer among the breaking surf through which we had had to straggle at starting, although the sea still rolled mountains high, and threatened to turn us over every moment as we sailed across it. But the gallant boat, thanks to the skilful eye and hand of the c.o.xswain, kept her head up, and presently even we got used to the situation, and were able to do the same.

Where was the wreck? I summoned up courage to ask Ben, who, no longer having to row, was standing composedly against the bulwarks by our side.

"Not far now. Straight ahead."

We strained our eyes eagerly forward. For a long time nothing was visible in the darkness, but presently a bright flash of light shot upward, followed almost immediately by a blaze on the surface of the water and a dull report.

"They're firing again!" said Ben; "we'll be up to them in a jiffey!"

"What are we to do?" asked Jack dismally.

"Hold on where you are," said Ben; "and if we upset stay quiet in the water till you're picked up."

With which consoling piece of advice Jack and I subsided, and asked no more questions.

The sight of a column of lurid flame and smoke made us wonder for a moment whether the vessel in distress was not on fire as well as wrecked. But I recollected that the "Wolf King" had burned tar-barrels all night long as a signal of distress, and this we rightly concluded was what was taking place on board "our" wreck.

Ben's "jiffey" seemed a good while coming to an end, and long before it did we pa.s.sed once more into broken water, and the perils of the start were repeated, with the aggravation that we were now across the wind instead of being head on. Wave after wave burst over us, and time after time, as we hung suspended on the crest of some great billow, it seemed as if we never could right ourselves. But we did.

"Stand by!" cried the c.o.xswain, when at last a great dim black outline appeared on our starboard.

Instantly the men were in their seats; oars were put out; the mast and sail came down, and the clank of the anchor being got ready for use fell on our ears from the bows.

The wreck was now right between us and the sh.o.r.e, we being some distance to the windward of it. My knowledge of the story of the wreck of the "Wolf King" gave me a pretty good notion of what was going on, and even in the midst of our peril I found myself whispering to Jack--

"They're going to drop the anchor, you know, and blow down on to her--"

"Hope they've got rope enough," said Jack. For in the case of the "Wolf King" it took three attempts to get within the right distance. The c.o.xswain of the "Dreadnought" was evidently determined not to fall into his old error this time, and, with her head to the wind and the oars holding the water, he allowed her to drift to within about eighty yards of the wreck. Then he shouted--

"Pay away, there!" and instantly we heard the cable grinding over the gunwale.

Would it hold? Even to inexperienced boys like Jack and me the suspense was dreadful as the cable ran out, and the rowers kept the boat's head carefully up.

The grinding ceased. There was a moment's pause, then came a welcome "Ay, ay!" from the bows, and we knew it was all right.

It didn't take the wind long to drive us back on our cable, stern foremost, on to the wreck, which now loomed out huge and ghostly on the wild water. As we drifted down under her stern we were conscious, amidst the smoke of the burning tar-barrels and the spray of the waves which broke over her, of a crowd of faces looking over her sides, and fancied we heard a faint cheer too. Our men still kept their oars out, and when, always holding on to our cable, we had drifted some twenty yards or so on to the lee side of the wreck, the order was given to pull alongside.

It was no easy task in the face of the wind; but the men who had taken the "Dreadnought" through the surf off Kingstairs jetty were not likely to fail now. A few powerful strokes brought us close under the lee of the wreck, ropes were thrown out fore and aft, and in a few minutes we lay tossing and kicking, but safely moored within a yard or two of the ill-starred vessel.

Half a dozen of our men were up her sides and on board in a moment, and we could hear the cheers with which they were greeted as they sprang on deck. No time was to be lost. The wreck was creaking in every timber, and each wave that burst over her, deluging us on the other side, threatened to break her in pieces. One mast already was broken short, and hung helplessly down, held only by her rigging to the deck. The other looked as though it might go any moment, and perhaps carry the wreck with it.

If she were to capsize now, what would become of us?

It seemed ages before our men reappeared.

One of them shouted down--

"There's twenty. Germans."

"Any women?"

"Two."

"Look sharp with them."

We could see a cloaked figure lifted on to the bulwarks of the wreck and held there. A wave had just pa.s.sed. As the next came and lifted us up with a lurch towards her, some one cried "Jump!" and she obeyed wildly-- almost too wildly, for she nearly overleaped us. Mercifully there were stout arms to catch her and place her in safety. The other woman followed; and then one after another the crew, until, with thankful hearts, we counted twenty on board.

Our work was done. No! There was a report like a crack of thunder over our heads, a shout, a shriek, as the mainmast of the wreck gave way with a crash, and swayed towards us.

"Jump!" shouted the c.o.xswain to our men, who were waiting for the next wave to bring the boat to them. "Cut away for'ard, there!"

Another moment and the mast would be on us and overwhelm us! They jumped, although we were down in the trough of the wave, yards below them. At the same moment the rope in the stern was cut loose, and the boat swung round wildly, just in time to clear the mast as it fell with a terrific crash overboard. But our men? Four of them landed safely in our midst; but the others? Oh! how our hearts turned cold as we saw that two were missing, and knew that they mast be in that boiling, furious water! We sprang wildly to the side, in the mad hope of seeing them, or perhaps even reaching them a hand but a stern order from the c.o.xswain sent us back to our places.

A minute of awful suspense followed. The oars were put up, and, still held by her stern cable, the boat was brought up again alongside. In a minute a shout from the prow proclaimed that one at least of the missing ones was discovered, and presently a dripping form clambered over the side of the boat close to us and coolly sat down to his oar, as if nothing had happened.

Another shout--this time not from the boat, but from the water. Our other man had been carried the wrong side of us by the wave, and could not reach us. But a rope dexterously pitched reached him where he floated, and we had the unspeakable joy of seeing him at last hauled safely on board, exhausted, but as unconcerned as if drowning were an ordinary occurrence with him.

How thankfully we saw the last cable which held us to the wreck cast loose, and found ourselves at length, with our twenty rescued souls on board, heading once more for Kingstairs! Little was said on that short voyage home. Sail and oar carried us rapidly through the storm. The waves that broke over us from behind were as nothing to those that had broken over us from in front. And as if in recognition of the gallant exploit of the tough old "Dreadnought," the very surf off Kingstairs beach had moderated when we reached it.

As we sighted the jetty we could see lights moving and hear a distant shout, which was answered by a ringing cheer from our men, in which Jack and I and the eighteen Germans and the two women joined. What a cheer it was! At the jetty-head we could see a large crowd waiting to receive us, and as we pa.s.sed a stentorian voice shouted, "Ahoy! Have you got them two boys on board?"

"Ay, ay!" cried the c.o.xswain; "safe and sound--the rascals!"

Rascals, indeed! As we clambered up the ladder, scarcely believing that we touched _terra firma_ once more, and found our poor old grandfather almost beside himself with joy and excitement at the top, we considered we deserved the t.i.tle.

"Thank G.o.d you're safe!" he cried, when at last he had us before a blazing fire and a hot breakfast in his dining-room. "Thank G.o.d, you rascals!"

We had done so long ago, and did it again and again, and thanked Him, not only for ourselves, but for the brave old "Dreadnought" too, so true to her name and the work she had done that night.

Before we went to bed Jack said, "Same to you, Tom." I knew what he meant. I had wished him a "Merry Christmas" at five minutes past twelve that morning, and this was his answer six hours after. What a lot may happen in six hours!

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

HANNIBAL TROTTER THE HERO--A CHAPTER OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

We know that it always is, or should be, embarra.s.sing to a hero to recite the history of his own exploits. So if this simple narrative strikes the reader as defective, he must excuse it for that reason. For I am in this painful position, that as no one else will recount my adventures for me, I have nothing left but to do it myself. It has surprised me often that it should be so, for there have been times when I have even pictured myself reading the twentieth edition of my own memoirs, and the reviews of the Press on the same. I am not offended, however, but I am sorry, for it would have been good reading.

Without appearing immodest, may I say that the reader has really no idea what a hero the world has possessed in the person of me, Hannibal Trotter? It has been my misfortune never to be anything else. How often have I sighed for an unheroic half-hour!

I was born a hero. Glory marked me for her own from the first hour of my career. I wish she had let me alone. Had I captured a city, or rescued a ship's crew, I could not have been made more of than I was for the simple exploit of being a baby. n.o.body else was thought of beside me; everybody conspired to do me honour. A fict.i.tious glory settled upon me then, from which I have never escaped. They called me Hannibal.

I was not consulted, or I should have opposed the name. It confirmed me in a false position. There was no chance of not being a hero with such a name, and I was in for it literally before I knew where I was.