Swept Out to Sea Part 19

Ben, however, was the skipper's own flesh and blood--his sister's child.

He couldn't face that sister (she was a widow) if he brought Ben back to New Bedford a cripple for life. And the whale had certainly smashed him up badly.

"Clint Webb," he said to me, in a most serious tone, when he had made his examination of the poor fellow, "we are in a bad hole. It'll take a week o' fair weather for the carpenter to make us all tight again--and we ain't even sure of the weather. Then, there's the three whales alongside. We can't throw them away. The crew would have cause to complain. But this boy ought to have doctor's care."

I agreed with him, but had nothing to offer.

"I couldn't sail for the Plate now," he ruminated, "if I wanted to.

Repairs of the ship must come before repairs of the boy. Webb! it's a good season, and the winds are fair. Would you make an attempt to get Ben to Buenos Ayres in that sloop of yours?"

"In a minute!" I declared, quickly, for the suggestion went hand in hand with the desire I had been milling in my mind for days.

"I'll mark you a chart. You can't miss of it. Anyhow, you'll hit land if you keep on going. There are fine hospitals at Buenos Ayres. I'd feel more as though I'd done my duty by Ben if I got him there. I'll find you a man to go along. Two of you can work that sloop prettily."

"Aye, aye, sir," I agreed.

He bustled away and brought back old Tom Anderly. I couldn't have wished for anybody else. In a quarter of an hour we had agreed on everything. Tom and Ben were to stick around Buenos Ayres until they heard from Captain Rogers, or the Scarboro put in for them. Of course, I would be free once I got to land, unless I wanted to stick the voyage out and claim my lay at the end. However, I was to have one hundred dollars in gold from the captain, and the sloop, whichever way I decided.

Captain Rogers had set Ben's arm and dressed his other wounds. Ben was conscious, but in great pain from the broken ribs. He knew what we were going to attempt, and he was willing to trust himself to old Tom and me.

And the next morning, as soon as it was light, the Wavecrest was slung over the side, her mast stepped, and the riggers got to work on her. By noon she was provisioned and everything was ready for our cruise.

Ben Gibson was let down into the c.o.c.kpit of the Wavecrest on a mattress and was got comfortably into the cabin without any trouble.

There was a steady breeze, but the sea was calm. The crew bade us G.o.dspeed and the skipper wrung my hand hard; but only said:

"Do the best you can for him, Webb. I'm trustin' to you and Tom to pull the lad through."

We got the canvas up and sheered off from the Scarboro's side. We could hear the m.u.f.fled hammering of the carpenter and his mates inside her wounded hull. They were fighting to keep the old hooker above the seas.

As we drifted away from the whaling bark I was not at all sure that we should ever see her above the seas again.

Our canvas filled and the sloop got a bone in her teeth and walked away with it just as prettily as ever she had sailed in Bolderhead Harbor.

"She's a beauty boat, lad," growled old Tom Anderly. "And she's taking us out o' range o' them carca.s.ses--Whew! they sartainly do begin to stink. I don't begredge the boys their job of cutting them whales up when they git at it."

We left the gulls and the sharks behind, with the bark and the rotting whales, and soon they were all far away--mere specks upon the horizon.

CHAPTER XXII

IN WHICH WE SAIL THE SILVER RIVER AND I SEE A FACE I KNOW

I had covered, perhaps, almost as much open sea when I was blown out of Bolderhead in the sloop, as now lay between the Scarboro and Cape St.

Antonio. But, as you might say, I had taken that first trip blindly.

This time I had my eyes open and all my wits about me--and I knew that we had taken a big contract. The Wavecrest was a mere c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l in which to cross such a waste of open sea as that which lay between us and the mouth of Rio de la Plata.

But the Wavecrest was a seaworthy craft, and that indeed had been proved. She had been freshly caulked while she lay on the deck of the Scarboro, and her seams did not let in enough water to keep her sweet.

She sailed well in either a light or heavy wind and I really had no fear that we should not make the great seaport of the Argentine Republic all in good time.

It was bad for poor Ben Gibson, however. The sun was hot and in the cabin the atmosphere was sometimes stifling. However, the captain had warned me to keep the fellow as quiet as possible and not to move him if it could be helped before we reached our destination.

Old Tom sailed the sloop most of the time, and I gave my attention to the wounded youth. But we tried to keep something like watch and watch.

We only slept by s.n.a.t.c.hes, however, and never a cloud appeared in the sky as big as a man's hand that we did not watch it cautiously. As for sail, or steam, we saw neither till we raised the cloudy headland that marked Cape St. Antonio on the skyline.

It was a pretty tame cruise to write about, for nothing really occurred.

We were only on the watch for some untoward happening; that made it nerve wracking. But even when we sighted the spur of land which we knew marked the southern boundary of the de la Plata--the widest mouth of any river on the globe, for it is not masked by islands at all--we were not out of danger. The peril of gales still menaced us. We had many miles to sail yet before we reached Buenos Ayres.

Indeed, we got a stiff blow before sighting Point Piedras; but it favored us after all, and the Wavecrest ran before it at a spanking pace. We had sighted plenty of other craft now--both sail and steam. One great, red-funneled steamship came in behind us, and at first we thought it was making for Montevideo, which is on the northern side of the river; but finally old Tom made out the steamer and what she was.

"It's one of the Bayne Line steamers from Boston," he declared. "I know them red pipes. They touch at Para, Bahia, and other ports. She's bound for Buenos Ayres now--no doubt of it."

The little squall that had kicked up something of a sea had now pa.s.sed.

The great steamship overhauled us rapidly. I chanced to be at the helm and I kept my head over my shoulder a good deal of the time, watching the approach of the great, rusty-hulled craft. Somehow I felt as though I had some connection with the boat. A foolish feeling, perhaps; yet I could not shake it off.

The Wavecrest was bowling along nicely so I could give my attention to the big ship, which I soon made out to be the Peveril. Old Tom was right. She was one of the Bayne Line ships, coming from Boston--coming from home, as you might say! To tell the truth, I was a good bit home-sick.

I let my mind wander back to Bolderhead. Circ.u.mstances had made it possible for me to leave the Scarboro, and I was now nearing Buenos Ayres where I had written my mother to cable me money at the American consul's bureau. I had got enough of whaling. Adventure and travel is all right; but I had had a taste of it, and found it to be merely an alias for hard work!

"It's me for home on the first steamship going north," I told myself, wisely. "I've had adventure enough to last me a while."

I was sailing on the Silver River, as the exploring Spaniards had first called this n.o.ble stream, and there might be a lot of fun and hard work ahead of me if I remained with old Tom and Ben Gibson until they rejoined the Scarboro. But I wasn't tied to them. I'd probably have plenty of money with which to pay my pa.s.sage home; and just then I wanted to see my mother, and Ham Mayberry, and lots of other folk in Bolderhead, more than I wanted to be knocking about in strange quarters of the world.

I glanced around at the steamship again. She had almost caught up to us, for although the sloop had a fair wind, the Peveril was sailing three lengths to our one. On and on she came, the smoke pouring from her stacks. Her high, rusty side loomed up not more than a cable's length away. I could see the pa.s.sengers walking on her upper decks, and the officers on her bridge. Below, the ports were open, their steel shutters let down on their chains like drop-shelves.

Some of the crew were looking out idly upon the Wavecrest as the steamship slipped by. A cook in a white cap came to one port and threw some slop into the sea. As he emptied the bucket my eyes roved to the very next port aft. There somebody sat peeling vegetables. I could see the flash of the knife in the sunlight, and the long paring of potato peel curling off the knifeblade.

It was an idle glance I had turned upon the vegetable peeler. He was only a cook's apprentice, or scullion. There was no reason why my gaze should have fastened upon him with interest. Yet my eyes lingered, and suddenly the fellow raised his head and his face was turned toward the open port.

The mental shock I experienced made me inattentive to my helm and the Wavecrest fell off. Old Tom sang out to know what I was about, and silently I brought the sloop's nose back again. The steamship had slipped by us and the wake of her set the little craft to jumping.

My mind was in a fog. I steered mechanically. The face I had seen at the open port of the Peveril was still before me, as in a vision. I knew I had not been tricked by any hallucination. I had not even been thinking of the fellow at the time. And I was sure that the cook's a.s.sistant aboard the Peveril had not seen and recognized me.

But I could not be mistaken in my identification of that face at the port. It was that of my cousin, Paul Downes--Paul Downes, here on the de la Plata, thousands of miles from home, and evidently working in the menial position of cook's helper on the steamship, Peveril! Is it to be wondered that I was amazed?

CHAPTER XXIII

IN WHICH I BEGIN TO WONDER "IS IT ME, OR IS IT NOT ME?"

I had told n.o.body aboard the Scarboro the particulars of my home-life, or the incidents leading to my being swept out to sea in the Wavecrest. Had Ben Gibson been my mate in the crew instead of holding the position of second officer, undoubtedly he would have had my full confidence. As things stood, I had no desire to take either Ben or the old sailor into closer communion with my thoughts.

The great steamship pa.s.sed us and swept up the Silver River, leaving the Wavecrest far behind. She would reach Buenos Ayres fully twenty-four hours before the sloop could make that port. But this delay did not trouble me at the time. I wanted to think the situation over, anyway.

At the start I was pretty sure that Paul Downes had not come down here on my account. He wasn't looking for me. Nor did it seem that he had left home under very favorable circ.u.mstances. Otherwise he would not be peeling vegetables for the cook of the Peveril.