Swept Out to Sea Part 18

Ben Gibson sprang up with the bomb gun and tried to put a lance in the beast at that distance. It only scratched him, I suppose, but it _did_ seem to swerve him from his course.

Instead of striking the Scarboro, he ran past her stern and circled around her. We were s.n.a.t.c.hed after the whale at racing speed and saw the fellows aboard hanging over the rail grinning at us--like spectators at a horse race.

"Them sculpins wouldn't grin so broad if the critter had b.u.mped the Scarboro," declared Tom Anderly.

The beast lay quiet for a bit and we pulled up on him. Before Gibson could get him with the lance gun again, he sounded.

"Now, by gravy!" exclaimed old Tom, who had a wealth of expletives in him when he was excited, "look out for squalls."

"He's been squally enough already, hasn't he?" demanded our young officer.

"You ain't seen the end yet, sir," returned the old man.

"Well, I bet I _do_ see the end----"

He broke off with a sharp intake of breath. Then: "Stern all!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

Up through the green sea came a huge shadow. We could not shoot the boat back in time to clear the monster. The whale had turned and shot up under the boat!

The boat jarred as the prolonged lower jaw of the bull whale struck her keel forward. There was a mighty rush of waters, like a cataract; the whaleboat was flung aside, and Ben Gibson shot over the bow and fell right into the open mouth of the whale!

I know I screamed something--I don't know what I said. The boat was shooting back under the impetus of the oars, and we escaped overturning.

But I had seen Ben fall and saw him disappear into the cavern of the creature's mouth. I saw, too, the jaws come together once, and I swear our second mate was in the bull's mouth when it closed!

But the next moment the maw of the beast opened and in the swirl of foam and blood-streaked water I caught sight of the senseless Gibson.

"Pull!" I yelled.

And although I had no business to give a command, the men obeyed me and the boat shot forward again. I seized our second mate by his shirt collar. In a moment I had lifted him into the boat.

At the same moment Tom Anderly got forward, seized the gun which poor Gibson had dropped, and sent a bomb-lance into the whale at so short a distance that it seemed as though we might have touched him by putting out a hand.

But that fighting whale died hard. It leaped after the bomb exploded and again we were almost overturned.

"Cut loose! Let the beast go!" cried some of the men.

But Tom Anderly would not lift the boat hatchet. To cut a whale free, unless it becomes absolutely necessary, is "against the religion" of any old whaler. As for myself, I was bending over the injured second mate, trying to revive him.

Ben Gibson had been through a most awful experience. Old Cap'n Wood, of Nantucket, had been in the mouth of a whale, and lived to tell the story. I remembered of reading about his experience. But it was a most awful accident and I feared indeed that the young officer was dead.

Therefore I was not really cognizant of what was going on until half the crew of our boat began to shriek a mult.i.tude of commands and advice.

Then I looked up and saw that the bull whale for a second time was charging the Scarboro.

It was plain the old fellow realized that the bark was his enemy. He paid no attention to the boat that was tearing through the sea behind him. And we was so near the bark now that nothing could be done to swerve the the fighting whale!

Straight on dashed the big bull, at a speed that snubbed the whaleboat's nose under water, for we were close up to the beast.

Straight on, with tremendous headway and a fearful, gathering momentum, headed for the grimy, battle-scarred broadside of the old Scarboro.

Those aboard of the bark could do nothing. She was still hove to. The fighting whale had missed her by a hand's breadth once before, but this time he did not swerve.

"Cut loose, Tom!" I yelled, finally understanding--as did the other men with us--the menacing disaster. In a few seconds we would smash into the bark's hull, whether the whale dived or not.

But the bull didn't dive, and Tom swung the axe. His quick stroke severed the line and every man in our boat was awake to the impending catastrophe. Stroke sprang for the long steering oar. The rapid swing of it barely swerved the heavy boat out of the course of sure disaster.

On went the released whale. Plumb his head smashed against the hull of the big bark. The collision was a most awful shock. Consider a heavy train pushing a mogul locomotive down grade ahead of it, and the whole thing ramming another train--the result could have been no more awful.

The three-inch plank of which the vessel's side was made splintered like the thinnest veneer. The ends of big timbers in her hull were ground to pulp and matchwood. With a terrific splash of his tail, the fighting whale rolled over, after rebounding from the bark, and lay, seemingly stunned!

The bark, driven over almost on her beam ends, righted slowly. We knew the whale must be as good as dead, but we had no thought for him then.

The smashing of the Scarboro might mean torture and death to every man of her crew. We were out of the track of general steamship routes, and far, far from land. If the bark sank, we were done for!

CHAPTER XXI

IN WHICH THE WAVECREST SETS SAIL AGAIN

n.o.body gave any further thought to the whale. My own eyes were set upon that yawning wound in the hull of the old Scarboro. After the shock of the collision the bark righted slowly, and when she did so the sea rushed into the hole in a most awful fashion.

We rowed rapidly toward the bark and made fast to the hoisting tackle.

We had a sling let down for the second mate, who was still unconscious.

Before we got him on the deck and got aboard ourselves, Captain Rogers had all hands remaining aboard at work to stop the dreadful leak.

Had all six of the boats been out at this time I fully believe the Scarboro would have gone to the bottom. Or, if there had been any sea to speak of, she would have gone down inside of two hours.

But being right on the job, as you might say, Captain Hi lost few seconds in the work of seeking to save the bark--and, incidentally, all hands. He did not even take the time to see how badly his nephew was hurt just then. As our crew came over the rail he set them to work, too.

"Take poor Ben below and let cookee do what he can for him," he bawled to me. "I want you to deck here, Webb."

There was a light breeze, and he had some canvas put on her and got the old bark hove over so that the hole the whale had smashed (it was right at the water-line) was where it could be got at. Of course, it was impossible at first to do anything from inside. There were two men on the pumps and they kept steadily at work, now I tell you.

Mr. Rudd, the carpenter, was not aboard; but Captain Webb did all that could be done at the moment. He put slings under the arms of two men and let them down the canted side of the craft, on either side of the great gap. Then canvas was let down--three thicknesses of heavy, new cloth--and this was laid over the hole after the splinters were cut away, and tacked to the hull, cleats being used to hold it in place all the way around.

Meanwhile the tar-buckets had been heated up, and those fellows gave the canvas and the hull all about it a good coating of tar. We ran several miles on this tack, and until the job was completed. Then, when the men and the tar-buckets were inboard again, the Scarboro was put over on the other tack and we beat back toward the whaleboats.

I can't say that no water came in; but we could keep the water down by working steadily at the pumps; and before night we had the other boats aboard, and three whales--including the old bull that had done the damage--strung together nearby. We could do nothing toward cutting up and trying-out the whales until the bark was safe.

A sharp blow just then would have fixed us, and that's a fact. Mr. Rudd and his helpers went below and broke out enough cargo to get at the hole stove in her side. Meanwhile we had to keep the pump brakes moving and the water that flowed from the pipes and out at the hawser-holes was as clear as the sea itself. The old bark had settled a good bit, and we were by no means out of danger.

Here we were, by the Captain's reckoning, all of four hundred miles southwest of Cape St. Antonio, which is south of the huge mouth of the de la Plata. To set sail for the princ.i.p.al port of Argentina--or any other port--would not suit Captain Hiram Rogers a little bit. Nor am I at all sure that, crippled as she was, the bark could have got to land.

Mr. Rudd would be some days repairing the damage done by the fighting whale. And meanwhile, what was going to become of poor Ben Gibson?

For our cheerful, boyish second mate was badly hurt. Consider: the whale had actually shut his jaws on Ben, and that one crunch should, by good rights, have finished the young fellow.

But he was reserved for a better fate, it seemed. When the captain overhauled his nephew, he found that he had sustained, beside the scalp wound from which he bled so much, a broken arm, a lacerated leg above the knee, and several broken ribs. These ribs and possible internal injuries are what feazed Captain Hi. He was no mean "catch as catch can"

surgeon; most whaling captains have had to tackle serious medical and surgical difficulties in their careers.