THE WRECK

Otago Witness, Issue 3102, 27 August 1913, Page 81

THE WRECK

By Herbert Rdssell, author of “True Blue,” “The Longshoreman,” “My Atlantic Bride,” etc. “It would be a pretty morning for a sail on the sea,” said Mrs Chollop, clearing away the breakfast tilings, and gazing out of the parlour window at the little wedge of blue water that was visible down an opposite side street from her icasonably clean and not more than usually dear lodging-house. “ Not- a bad idea, upon my word,” said I, leisurely filling my pipe. “There was a wreck on the Breaksea Reef a few days ago. Worth going out to look at, Mr Chollop was a-saying.” 1 took my hat and left the room. A stroll of three minutes brought me down to the beach—a long expanse of billowy shingle embraced within the moss-green headlands of a haif-moon-shapcd bay, with a spidery jetty sinking out nearly in the middle of it, and a little stone camber, dignified by the name of a harbour, crouching under the cliff just where the town seemed to stop abruptly. It was u. fine August morning, with* a pleasant salt breeze piping in a low r , droning song from out of the west, chased by a leisurely procession of curiously white clouds, which looked more like puffs of steam, trailing across the blue. 'lhe sea was crisp with ripjoles and foam-flecks, swimming away into a vague horizon, which I put down as meaning heat. “Have you got a small sailing-boat to let?” I asked, in reply to a waterman’s stereotyped croak about a lovely" day for the water.

“ You come along o’ me. Want her by yourself, or’ll you take a man with you?” “To take a mam at this time of the year usually means to buy him outright—guernsey, fearnoughts, sea-boots, and all. I’ll go alone.” “ Know how to handle a boat, I s’pose?” “Seven years at sea,” I answered, laconically.

We stopped abreast of a shapely little varnished craft, resting upon her bilge on the brow of the beach. She was somewhere about eighteen feet long, beamy, and chubby. We haggled a little over terms, then together ran the boat down the slope. 1 tumbled in over her bow, and she went curseying out through the surf that fringed thV beach.

1 shipped the rudder, stepped the mast, and hoisted the little lug, eyed most critically by the proprietor as I trimmed the sheet and sat down to the tiller. The Breaksea Reef lay about six miles away, hidden from the town behind the southern limb of the bay. When I had tacked dear of this headland I knew 1 could lay a straight course for it; and more by way of an object than because J was particularly anxious to see the wreck of a coaster, I resolved to make for the shoal. The boat .slipped quickly through the water, the hum of the life ashore dying out in Lilliputian echoes. I headed the boat straight for the stranded vessel. She lay well dear of the creaming play of broken water, which 1 knew to be due to the fact that it was very nearly the top of high tide. As 1 came up with her I could see by the play of her masts against the sky that her hull was all a work upon the sand, swaying regularly to the light heave of the s-a. Two conclusions entered my mind from this fact: First of all, that she could not have much water in her ; secondly, that the prospect of getting her off the shoal appeared to offer such little difficulty that 1 was surprised not to find any diorts at salvage in progress. She was a topsail schooner of about two hundred tons, and her name stood out in garish yellow letters upon the Hat of her transom—" Polly—Runcorn.” Aloft, with the exception that her square sails had been blown away, her foretopmast badly sprung, and most of her running rigging hanging away all adrift, she was intact. Her anchor had evidently been let go before she struck, to try and save her, for the chain cable stretched out from her hawsepipe, bar tight, showing- that she had dragged ashore.

The etui of tlie fore-brace, dangling in the water abreast of the main shrouds, offered an easy opportunity for boarding the vessel. I took in the sail, unstepped the must, and put Out the oars, i was within a few fathoms of the spot 1 was aiming for, when I was arrested by the sound of a voice, and, as it seemed to me. a woman's voice. What it said I could not catch, hence my uncertainty; where it came from was my immediate source of wonderment. Nothing was in sight —that is to say, anything like within earshot. There was a muffled, eerie note about the sound, and yet a distressful, urgent character in it too. Then, even as I hung for a brief instant upon my poised paddles, the perception flashed upon me that the voice must come from within the wreck.

I gained the dangling rope, took a “slippery hitch” around the boat’s forethwart, and, awaiting my chance, as the swell lifted the little craft,. planted my foot upon one of her chain-bolts, and so swung myself on to the rail, carrying the end of the painter with me. * Here I paused, with my arm around a shroud, to take a survey. The sea had played con siderable havoc with the vessel’s deckwork. Most of the fittings were etove and splintered; the caho had been wrenched bodily from its place, and lay on top of the scattered remains of the ship’s boat; the deck planks themselves were bleached with dried salt, and glistVied dully in the sunshine.

“Anybody about here?” I shouted' jumping down on to the deck.

Almost immediately the mysterious voice answered: “Yes, yes! Oh, do coma and help me!”

The voice seemed to come up through the companion-hood—Or, rather, what remained of it. I ran to this, leant over, and looked down. The combing was broken and the Ladder gone. On the cabin floor directly beneath was a young woman in a sitting position with her face upturned. She was fully attired, even to her hat, which, being large-brimmed, Over* shadowed hea - features, so that in the poo* light down there I could not make much of them.

"What is the matter?” I asked. “Wha4 on earth are you doing here?” “I have twisted my ankle pretty badly, and bruised myself a lot, although I oan stand, ’ suiting the action to the word in a staggering, clutching manner. “When f was coming down here the ladder brok<| and threw me. I could not get out of th< place. ”

'‘How long have you been here?” “Since yesterday afternoon—a- whols eternity it has seemed. I rowed over hera from Rockend to have a look at the wreck. My people will be wild with anxiety, fo< nobody knew where I was going. Hav< you heard anything on shore?” “Nothing. What has become of youf boat? There are no signs of her along side.”

“1 tied her to the ship.” “Well, she has gone. Maybe you madf her fast to something which the sea hac already done f<ir, so that when she puf any strain on her painter it broke and away she went. Now. wait a minute and I will see what we ca.n do.”

Having been a sailor, I was not at a loss under such circumstances. 1 knew that there would be a ladder 'leadinp from the forehatch to the forecastle. This I found to be in its place, and all right. I carried it aft, lowered it through tha companion till the end rested cm the thx>r, and then descended.

It was not so dark below as appeared when peering down the hatch, for on® naturally intercepted the main source of light in such a poeture. The girl moved to one of the lockers which flanked a larg® flap table in the centre of the cabin, and sat down. Xo need that I should attempt, to draw you a picture of her, which must still leave the living reality as much & matter of your fancy as if I merely tell you that she was tall, dark, of the type with which one associates the word handsome rather than pretty, and about twenty years of age.

“I do hope you are not suffering much?” said t, removing my cap. “ Not much pain, except when I try to move about,” she answered. “I am getting pretty hungry, though,” she added with a laugh. ‘‘l will see whether T can discover anything eatable on board,” said I. Pushing open a sliding door in the fore bulkhead, I explored for a short time, and then cam® upon the vessel’s pantry. It did not yield much, however—a great hunk of meat that might have been anything so disguised was it in brine, a- whole Hutch cheese, some stale loaves, and a hag of captain’s biscuits. I further found some kitchen knives, one fork, plate, and a bottle of rum.

“ Thin is regular shipwreck fare,” said I, spreading the provender on the table, “ However, you may get a snack out ol

She fell-to in (juite a businesslike way, “Tell me,” said I, “have you noticed this ship moving at all since you have been in her?” “Oil, yes! During the evening shf rocked quite a lot. I wonder somebodj does not try to save the ship,” said the girl. “Surely she is worth it?” “Just what I was thinking, Miss— Miss ” “ Fraser —Constance Fraser. Yon would get money, I suppose, for salvage?” “ Oh, yes. The cargo is probably only clay, or slate, but I should think the salvage money would certainly run into soma hundreds of pounds.” * “ Why not let us try, since we ara here?” said she. “Rather a tall proposition for two people, whereof one is a lady scarcely abla to walk,” “ It would lie a hit of a feat unde>r such conditions, I suppose.” She pushed away the food from in front n? her, and 1 filled and lit my pipe. “Wait whilst I go and have a look around, and I will ieli you what 1 think about it,” said I. and with this T scrambled on deck. The haze had thickened into a light, silvery sea-fog, which entirely obscured the coast. The wind seemed to have a little more weight; hut this was possibly due to the damp edge that had come with it. The direction of it brought the stranded schooner on the lee side of the reef —a point of no small importance in my embryo plans. The tide was steadily

creeping up the vessel’s side, lifting her to very nearly a level keel. “Do you think you could get on deck if I help you?” I exclaimed, putting my head into the companion-way. “ J believe I could. Let me try, answered the girl, and with a good deal of pulling and lifting and ejaculation she soon after stood on deck.

“Good! Now I am going to set some of the head-sails to the best of my singlehanded ability. By the feel of the vessel, it is my opinion that she is only aground aft. If* she is alie for’ard, the pressure of her canvas may cause her to drag afloat. I cast adrift the lashings of the foretopmast staysail and the inner jib, and ran these sails up. I then, by alternately dragause on the main and peak halbards, mAapd to get the gaff-foresail about two-thirds of Hie way up the mast; but beyond this my utmost exertions would not budge it. about the decks, I found what I wanted in the shape ot a noil of stout grass rope. This I bent on to the cable that was out ahead close to the hawsepipe. The other end i Je through a fairlead on the sdhooncr s quarter, taking several turns round tue capstan. There was a shackle m the cable just abaft where it was stoppered around the bitts. After a brief un found some tools, which enabled me to g«t this adrift, and I then slipped the end of the chain through the hawsepipe. i a ext bore as big a strain as I could throw ajco the quarter-rope leading to the capB *By the time I had flung my last effort upon the capstan bar, I was bathed m perspiration and panting liKe a dog. “X can feel the ship trembling just like a hound expecting the leash to be slipped, .aid the girl. “What an exciting advenfawa if we get her off—or you get her off, I should say, for I am as useless as a drnnmy!” , . , , “Companionship counts for a great deal ti a situation of this sort. I should proIttbly be on ray way home now without any thought of trying to salve the Schooner had I not found vou here. In this wise we chatted for a while. Meanwhile I took note that the fog was gradually increasing in density, and the wind correspondingly gaining m weight. However, there was nothing in the shut-ting-in of this sea-fret to perturb me, lor even if it became necessary to abandon the schooner, the wind blew directly oft tie coast, which meant smooth water to •whatever extent it might increase shor of actually growing wild, which I did not anticipate at this season of the year. I was just remarking that the canvas was pulling a good strain upon the sheets ■when the grass-rope, stretching rigid from the'quarter, gave' a sudden harp-like twang, and sagged into the water. I thought for an instant it had pa. ted But almost simultaneously the hull ga\e a faint, sluggish heave, quite different -n sensation from the tremulous swaying which tide and swell caused whilst her keel rested upon the sand, and Miss Fraser cried, with a note of excitemeru, “Why, 1 believe we’re off!” “She’s afloat!” I ejaculated. “What fun!” cried the girl, ber fine dark eyes glowing. “What will you do now?” , ~ e “Let her draw well away from the reet. X shall have to slip the rope and lose the anchor and chain, which I don t quite like, for I can never get the other anchor over the rail single-handed. However, there is no alternative.” X let go the rope, which slipped off around the capstan and went overboard. The schooner did not touch the sand again. I felt hex anxiously with my feet, to use what to a landsman >vill undoubtedly seem an Irishism, for there is no surer way of judging whether a vessel has much water fn her hold than the dull drag of her as she is upborne t>n a wave. There was scarcely enough to rise and fall m the swell to give a definite sensation; but such as it was, there was sufficient assurance of buoyancy to satisfy me. She certainly showed but a very slight freeboard now that she was well a-fleet; but then I knew that they loud these coasters so deep as to make the Blimsoll mark a mere travesty—which apparently never occurred to that excellent chbmpion of sailors’ wrongs when he gPt Parliament to legislate for a load-mark on every ship, without determining where it should he fixed. I stood for a few minutes by the side of the girl, who had risen to her knees and leant upon her folded arms over the bulwark rail, watching the acting of the schooner. Under the pressure of her head canvas she gradually fell-off before the wind. I did not want her to run away in this fashion, because such a course would be taking her directly seawards. So I went to the tiller and put it down ; after which I hauled the jib and stay-sail sheets to windward, and so hove the ship to after a fashion.

“That is all I can do at present,’’ said I to Miss Fraser. “It is a great nuisance that the compass is gone, with this blessed fog hiding everything to within half a mile away. The schooner will range ahead slowlv on a course about parallel with the land. We shall pick up help presently ; meanwhile you and I have got her off the Breahsea, Miss Fraser, and it is our salvage job.’’ She laughed, then suddenly grew grave and wondered what her people would be thinking all this time—how terribly Worried they would he, and so forth. T led her on to talk about herself —up subject then could have interested me more. Set father. I gathered, was a retired navy captain, and she was the only daughter; ber mother was dead, but two brothers lived at home. They possessed a fine motor boat, which she anticipated would bo out scouring the sea in search of her. Somewhere about one oc’lock the fog showed signs of breaking up. It opened into wavering lanes and ravines, wreathing upwards like the folds of cordite vapour from a battery of artillery._ I dropped the foghorn I had been occasionally blowing, and rose to my feet to stretch my Kmbs.

“I wonder if I could stand up and move about,” said Miss Fraser; and before I

could reach her to offer my arm she was on her feet.

What followed happened in an instant. The girl afterwards told me *ha>t when she brought her weight to bear suddenly upon her injured foot the pain was so severe that she instinctively flung her balance on to the other foot. In doing this she staggered against the bulwark, which a,t this place was not above three feet high, aidde probabyl by a slight lurch of the hull. One fleeting glimpse I had of her arms, extended in a wild, clutching manner, and then, with a little cry, she soused into the water. I do not take credit for particular presence of mind; but just as I was about to dive headlong after the girl, it flashed through my brain that this course would probably end in drowning us both. For, slowly as the schooner was fore-reaching, it was impossible that, burdened with the weight of the girl—l took it for granted that she could not swum —I should ever overtake her. Spinning round, I bounded to where the painter of the boat was made fast, cast it adrift, noting that the end of the forebrace was also free, and then made my plunge. The girl lay upon the surface, splashing like a porpoise disporting. A few strokes brought me by her side. “ Can you swim?” I cried.

“Yes,” she puffed, blowing the water from her mouth. “But this hobble skirt won’t let me.”

I could not forbear a laugh, in which there was a note of relief, too. For I knew that there would be no frenzied clutching of me—-no risk of a life-and-death struggle, which is so often the penalty of trying to rescue a drowning person. We were both lightly clad, in summer attire, which, of course, rendered things very much easier. “I will support you,” said I. “Do what you can to help yourself. We have only to reach the boat.” She rested her figure upon rny right shoulder, breasting the water with one arm, whilst I swam with slow, regular strokes. We were soon alongside the boat. I told her to hold on to the gunwale whilst I got into the little craft. But this cost me a pretty little tussle; none but those who have tried it can realise what an effort it is to drag oneself in sodden clothes over the side of a boat.

It was an easier matter getting Miss Fraser inboard. I clasped my arms around her, and then raised her until she could sit upon the gunwale, whence she easily contrived to slip down into the sternsheets. The effort cost iier some pain, as I knew by the grimace she made. But she merely panted some words of thanks, and then proceeded to unpin and remove her big hat and let down a wonderful luxuriance of black hair, that it might dry. “ Our adventure is developing,” said I, wringing my coat without removing it. “Now let us try and recaptureour prize.” The schooner had not gone very far. I threw over the paddles, but was so “puffed” that I could mot put much energy into my rowing. However, we were not very long in regaining the vessel, and I made the boat fast to the mainrigging, so that she could tow alongside. “ I shall never be able to get up on board,” said Miss Fraser. “It would be a very poor sailor who could ‘not overcome such a trifling difficulty,” said I. “A far more serious trouble from my point of view is that I have swamped my tobacco and matches, and cannot get a smoke. Sit where you are for a few minutes.” I clambered aboard, and, descending into the forecastle, where I -had previously discovered la variety of ship’s stores, soon returned with a bo’sun’s chair. This is nothing more than a sliort plank, slung with ropes, for hoisting a man aloft. Overliauling the main-halliards, I made the end fast, and then dropped into the boat, carrying the gear with me.

“Now, Miss Fraser, seat yourself on this board —so ! Let me pass these ropes over your head —that is all right. Put your arms around tire slings. Sit tight, and hold on.’’ I jumped back on to the schooner’s dock, and began steadily to pull down on the fall of the halliards. The blocksheaves creaked, the girl laughed heartily as she soared and spun round in the air, and in the space of a few seconds 1 had lowered her safely alongside the mast. “I am afraid we must be content to let the air dry us,” said I. “Even a sea fog cannot take all 'the power- out of the August sun. But see, the mist is going to clear away altogether before long; yonder is the coast.” I pointed to a distorted blue shadow, looming in exaggerated proportions, and yet looking infinitely remote, upon our starboard beam. As I gazed a faint glint, like a dim spangle upon the water, caught my eye. It vanished, but almost immediately winked forth again. Straining my vision, I made out the shape of a email white craft, almost merged in the steamlike atmosphere. I could see no sails, and yet the hull was manifestly moving along the same course at our own. A sudden idea flashed across my mind. “Have you good sight, Miss Fraser?” “Pretty good, although the salt in my eyes is smarting now.” “Well, have a look at that boat, yacht, or whatever else she may prove to he, over there,” said I, pointing, “ and tell me what yon make of her.”

She peered earnestly, and then burst out: ‘Why—why—l do believe —yes, I am sure, that is the Onyx—our motor launch !”

“It sounds too much like the ‘Dens ex machina’ altogether. And yet, why not? She is altering her course towards us. We shall soon know, anyhow.”

And very soon we did know. It turned out to be Onyx, with the two brothers and a seafaring man on board. They came alongside. The brothers scrambled on hoard, and, needless to say, there was a long palaver. When explanations were finished with, I said: “Your boat is

powerful enough t-o tow the schooner into tho harbour. She is worth salving.” “Why, yes, the Onyx would tow her all right,” answered the elder brother. “But my father is in a dreadful state of anviety, as you may suppose. I think we ought to dash off home and set his mind at rest.”

“As you please,” said I. “For my own part I shall remain here and see this thing through.” “If you stop I stop,” answered the girl. “You have saved my life, and I do not leave this ship until you do. Father must possess himself in patience for a little longer. We are not going to leave our prize, are we?” she said, extending her hand to me with a sweet smile. “Wa are partners.” “Partners I” I echoed, squeezing her fingers with a fervour that blazed up in response to the unspoken and involuntary meaning lurking in her eyes The brothers exchanged looks, and returned t otho motor boat ■without a word. Then the elder one said; “Pass us your tow-rope. And as Constance won’t leave the wreck until you do, tell her to wrap herself in these rugs to prevent risk of a chill. A smoke, d’ye say? Certainly. Catch!”