THE CRUISE OF FYING FISH

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 256, 26 October 1907, Page 14

THE CRUISE OF FYING FISH

BY OWEN HALL.

CHAPTER XTV. THE END OF THE CRUISE. " I ain't a-sayin' but what I expected it," was Cape'n Bill's cool remark, as he glanced upward at our sails, now beginning to strain with the increasing force of the breeze. I had been watching for it. but no sign of a shot had shown itself on the water. After perhaps two or three minutes had pasesd, I saw the cloud of canvas behind us swerve and grow larger as the ship changed her course, till the long line of her hull swept into view. Th<u there came a flash, followed a second or two later by the boom of a report. But this time there was more. Something struck the water then rose and struck it again, in a shower of spray that sparkled in the sunshine about two-thirds the distance between us. I turned to look at Cap'en Bill, standing like a statue beside the man at the wheel, and I noti.-ed that he smiled; he was satisfied. The ship bore up into the wind again, and again I could only see a single pyramid of white canvass; the stranger was giving chase. suspense of the calm had been hard to bear, but this was worse- Hour after hour, while the sun sank slowly to the •western horizon—the breeze fresh; the water curling into blue ripples that gradually swelled to waves; the dash and rush of the sea as it broke away from our bows growing louder and louder ■ —everything moving and changing, except that white phantom in our wake. To watch, only to watch with straining eyes.and to weary oneself in one long guess as to whether we were winning or losing in the long race. Every man on board knew that it was a matter of life or death, and everything seemed to have been done that was possible to increase our speed, and yet our pursuer seemed able to do as much, for the most experienced sailor on board could not have told whether or not we were holding our own. At last the sun went down, and night settled on the sea. A strange quietness had fallen on the schooner. The only sounds, beyond the creaking of a boom, the straining of a rope or the occasional shiver of a sail, was the roar of the water as the schooner burst through it, with great sweeps like the darting of a Ewallow, and the monotonous tread of Cap'en Bill as he walked the deck. I don't know how long I had sat crouched together beside the bulwark in the darker shadow of the straining foresail. ■when I heard the heavy footstep of Cap'en. BUI halt, close beside mc; in another moment his hand rested on my shoulder, and his half amused voice to .which I had gTown so accustomed Bounded in my ears. " Well, now, I ain't a-sayin' but what yer bunk's rthe ; best place for you, Sonny." " Oh, but I couldn't sleep," I exclaimed, looking up into the face dimly outlined in the darkness. ' Coudn't ye, now, Sonny ? Well, I ain't a-sayin' but what theer was a time ■when I'd a thought the same, only I'd 'a been wrong, same as you are. You go an' hey a try, Sonny; this 'ere game may last for days, an' don't you forget it." "For days? Won't she catch us before that?" "She might an' she mightn't, Sonny," he said, with a short laugh," but you can take it from mc, the Flying-Fish ain't caught yet; no, by fathoms she ain't. Look 'ere, Sonny; you go lo sleep. I said I'd take ye back to isungaree, an' 1 ain't changed my mind, neither. That's the sort o' hairpin I am, an' don't you forget it." I crept to my bunk, feeling as I did so how impossible it would be to sleep, with that great ship tearing after us through the darkness. These were my thoughts as I lay down; somehow they were the last—l fell asleep. I suppose I was excited when I woke in the morning, but it was no longer the kind of excitement I had felt over night. We ■were still engaged in a race, but now the possibility of our losing it scarcely occurred to mc. It was the more easy to feel this, because she had certainly gained nothing so far. The ■wind held steady from the nor'-east, and grew a little fresher as the long hours crept by. By sunset of the second day it was all we could do to carry all sail, and when I came on deck on the third morning I could see that both the main and foresails had been close reefed, and yet we were carrying all the sail we could. It was blowing hard, and this, no doubt, encouraged the larger vessel to keep up the chase. Both ■vessels were flying before the wind, which was a little on our quarter, but from the way the sailors were looking at the other ship I could see they thought she had an advantage from the increasing gale. Cap'en Bill was the only man who iseemed cool and unconcerned as he walked the deck, glancing now and then at the ship astern, and then at our own •masts and sails. I overheard a sailor say she had been gaining on us for an hour, and even my eyes seemed to notice a difference. Cairen Bill, however, 'looked quite unconcerned. The Frenchmen for whom we had ventured so much crouched on deck near the stern, and once or "twice I thought Cap'en Bill'a eyes rested on them, and a grim smile crossed his face. It was strange—and yet. after all,, it was hardly strange — to see how every eye on board turned to him as he passed. Sam Morgan, and the oldest sailors, as well as the shivering Frenchmen and myself, seemed hardly able to keep their eyes from following his great figure, as he paced the deck, and each one of us, I feel sure, gained fresh courage from looking at him. Suddenly he stopped near where I was standing, just where he could get a view over the bows clear of the foreBail. "Here, sonny," he shouted, "you bear a hand and fetch the glass out of my bunk." I didn't pause to think what he could want it for, but in another minute I had brought it. I noticed a curious half smile on his face as he took it and pointed it in the direction in which, he had looked before he spoke to mc. I tried to look in the same direction, but the mist of spray thrown up from our bows made everything indistinct. For a minute or two he looked steadily through the telescope; then he turned with a laugh to look at the French man-o'-war. "No, ye don't, Froggie," he exclaimed, in a tone of triumph. "Leastways not this time, yo don't." Then suddenly lifting his hand to Ms mouth he shouted in a voice- which seemefl for the moment to master the whistling of the gale, "Land ho!" There 1W33 a, gnick movement on deck, and

every eye was turned to him. "Australy, lads; an' don't you forget it, neither." A hoarse shout answered the words, and there was a general rush to every poxnt from which a glimpse of the land was at all likely to be obtained. There was little enough to be seen. By straining our eyes to the utmost, indeed, we could make out a dim gray irregular line that bounded the view ahead—but even that was enough. It was the Australian land. Every man on board, except the Frenchmen, of course, felt that it was home, and looked with a new feeling of easy defiance at the big ship that plunged and rolled in our wake like some eager living thing. Cap'en Bill looked at her and smiled; then he turned away and watched the land rising slowly from the sea. He took one long look to windward, am; then he went below. Every eye on deck was fixed either on the land in front or on the pursuer behind us. For my own part I felt most interested in seeing what effect the sight- of land would have on the people aboard the French ship, and I wasn't disappointed. As 1 watched her she seemed to hestiate, then to swerve from her course; then slowly, aDd as it seemed reluctantly, to come up into the wind with a shiver. \ I leapt to my feet with a shout—"Hurrah! She's given in—hurrah!" The shout was taken up by the crew, and a peal of defiance was hurled with our united force into the teeth of the wind. The big ship went slowly round, and stood off on the other tack, and we were "watching her in triumph when Cap'en Bill came on deck. A. single glance around told him what had happened, and next moment the three Fienchmen surrounded him with gestures eloquent of their gratitude. He turned from them almost impatiently, and, stepping forward, he swept the misty horizon for several seconds with his glass. Then for the first time 1 saw him give free expression to his feeling?. He turned, and, shaking his fist at the French ship, now scarcely visible to windward, he exclaimed: "Well, I ain't a-sayin' but what it would 'a been a pleasure to 'a took ye along wi' us, ye bloody Froggie, but I'm afread ye've seen it in time." We stared from Cap'en Bill to the ship, and back again, but I don't think any of us understood what he meant. In another moment he had closed hia telescope with a quick snap, and had given sharp and peremptory orders to bring the schooner round. Till then I had no idea how strong the wind was, or how high the sea was running. As she came to, the water dashed over her from stem to stern in great sheets of spray, and washes of sea that were almost enough to sweep us overboard. We did our best, and I'm sure no vessel could have been better handled, and yet little by little the land seemed to come nearer. Every blow struck by the waves drove us out of our true course, till I felt myself shrink from them as if the blow had struck mc instead of the schooner. At last the grey wall, which had stretched between us and the land, thinned and broke, and we could see that we were hemmed in. I could only cling to the windward shrouds and gaze at the shore as it seemed to creep nearer every minute, and yet, I think, I was more benumbed than frightened. The Flying Fish made a gallant fight for her life. Again and again we tacked and fought our way off shore with desperate efforts—but it was all in vain. Nearer and nearer ut each tack—always nearer and nearer —till the crash of the waves on the shore drowned even the howling of the wind. I don't know how it happened at last, for I think I had grown stupid, but I remember looking up and seeing Cap'en Bill's face looking down at mc. "Now, Sonny," he shouted, though even his voice sounded weak through the roar. "Time's up. You hold on to mc. I ain't a-sayin' as how I'll get ye ashore, but I'l make a try for you an' Froggie—an' don't you forget it." He laid a hand on my arm as he spoke, and at the same moment there came a shock and a crash. I grasped convulsively at his arm, and as I seized it we seemed to be swept away. I heard cries, and the crashing of timber, mingled with the roar of sea and wind; tlien I heard no more. When I came to myself I was lying on the beach out of reach of the water. For a minute or two I stared upwards at the rack of hurrying clouds overhead, and then I remembered. I moved, and sat up. A few away several men were standing, gathered, apparently, round something on the sand. After a few moments spent in making sure that I had suffered nothing worse than a few painful bruises, I struggled to my feet and joined them. There were three of the sailors from the Flying Fish and the Frenchman Pierre, and. resting against a rock that jutted out of the sand, was Cap'en Bill. His eyes were closed; and his face was strangely pale, but as I looked at him he opened his eyes, and the old half-amused expression crept over his face once more. "Well," he muttered, feebly, "I ain't a-sayin' but what I'm glad "to see ye there. Sonny. I brought ye back safe, after all—you an' Froggie here—an' don't you forget it." They were the last words of Can'en Bill. (The End.}