THE MAST.

Otago Witness, Issue 3662, 20 May 1924, Page 74

THE MAST.

By

John K. Jameson.

(Copyright.—For the Witness.) “Pinus braechiatus. A very rare species of pine-tree found in the northern rainforests of New Zealand.” Idly the words met my eye as I casually turned the ™<ies of the popular Encyclopaedia lying on the skipper's cabin-desk. We were friends, the old gentleman and I, and as often as his ancient tramping steamer made the Pencarrow landfall and steamed leisurely to her usual berth, just as often would 1 forge a way through the grime and coal-dust of the wharves to give him welcome to our windy city. Yes, we were good friends, and over his Haig decanter—you cannot get it in New Zealand—l had listened to many a grand yarn of bygone days when men went down to the sea in real ships, as I was always assured, and the great wide oceans were not so kind to sailor folk as they are to-day. As I waited then for the return of my genial host from some stowage bother in the forehold, more or less uninterestedly I perused the rest of the short article on the bizarre pine-tree. “It is commonly held by inhabitants of the regions where it is found that this tree never dies. Even when cut down and used commercially it is supposed to give off tiny shoots in the early spring of each year, and this it does, no matter in what zone of temperature it might happen to be, though whence it could derive nourishment to accomplish this feat is a matter for conjecture. The tree is of parasitic variety, the branches attaching themselves in the manner of tendrils to whatever vegetation may be in their vicinity, ultimately killing these by a violent constriction. “It is a popular superstition among the native Maoris,* who are reputedly familiar with this arboreal curiosity, that it will sometimes attack in a like manner human beings who linger near it at certain seasons, reaching down a branch similar to the tentacle of an octapus and seizing the unfortunate victim. It has been named as above on that account.” Somewhat astonished and a trifle sceptical, I was about to close the volume on hearing the heavy tread .of the returning skipper. As he entered the cabin it came into my head that more than one tale of bis own early seafaring days had its locale along the homely coasts I knew, the stamping-ground of many a hardy sailorman when our islands were a baby country. Mayhap in his gleaning of knowledge regarding the wonders of land and sea my sea-dog friend had heard tell of this decidedly unattractive plant. I would ask him. Exhibiting the cautiouslyworded article in his much-thumbed big book, I ventured a tentative unbelief. The Skipper passed a hairy, capacious hand over his chin and mouth and smoothed his short, white beard, meantime eyeing the sceptical smile on my face, tie did not answer immediately, but proceeded to wash the dust of the forehold from his throat, motioning me to do likewise. I sensed a tale in the offing anent the “Pinus braechiatus,” and banished the smile forthwith. “Aye, laddie, there is such a tree, and a very devil’s handiwork it is. . . Often I think on’t . . . there’s something to be said for steel and iron after all. . . . Well do I mind that fearsome night—aye, and so does the good lady. . . Bo you have a bit drink now whiles I seek my slippers. Agreeably to his wish, I made all preparations to be a good listener, for well I knew the symptoms presaging a. yarn. Here then it is, told in his own quaint and inimitable fashion. “Captain Olaf Olafsson, skipper and owner of the barque ivarmoen, was as hard-fisted and hard-hearted a sea rover as ever were any of his pirating ancestors. Aye, they had it on him, those fighting Norsemen, they being a law unto themselves, though that devil of a yellowhaired giant ran them pretty close in his wild adventuring and gey grim dealings with his fellow creatures. But he loved his tail-sparred and graceful ship as a mother yearns for her first-born child. . . . He cherished it like a loved tiling in all his wanderings upon the seven seas . . . and yet he died at its hands in the end. . . . But that is the story, lad. . . . “I had come ashore from an Island trader with a newly-won mate’s ticket, and was anxious to get a taste of real authority. . . . Still a youngster, I found myself in the port of Auckland on a gale-swept night, with little money and no abiding-place. Standing in a sheltered doorway on a rickety quay lined with musty old sheds, I was much concerned in my thoughts as to my movements in the near future, when I became

aware of a tall, strong figure coming towards me along the lee of the tumbledown buildings. It was Olaf Olafsson, as I speedily came to know. Abreast of my doorway he caught a sight of me and stopped. ... I can hear the deep booming timbre of his great storm-fight-ing voice to this very day . . . and I feared it till the night I heard it breaking in his death agony . . . dying away in. gasp after sobbing gasp for breath. “ ‘Wa-a-nt t’ sa-a-il, ma-a-n . . . an’ t’-night? . . .’ So the deep voice bellowed at me. “Lad, I confess now to a sudden distaste for the sea, in company with this beared giant, come upon me. For a moment I reflected, well knowing, nevertheless, beggars couldn’t be choosers. “ ‘Ah’m Olaf Olafsson. . . . Mine is t’ Karmoen. . . .’ “The name was not unknown to me . I had heard tell of his marvellous sailing abilities with his wonderful ship . . . also his notorious reputation as a ‘bucko ’ skipper. Well, thinks I, I’ve got to have experience, t and I must get a job to have it . . so here goes, but can nil y first. . . . “ ‘ I’ve got a mate’s ticket, and I want a berth with that,’ I shouted at him. “ ‘ Sa-a-il wi’ me as ma-a-te then . . .’ says he, and strode on into the night, leaving me to follow if so I wished. And hoisting up my dunnage, 1 did. “At the foot of some weather-beaten steps a small ship’s dinghy bobbed up anc! down in the wet gloom. 1 stepped aboard, and with fast powerful strokes the big man pulled us out to where a line threemasted ship was being slowly warped into midstream. Keen and alert, now that the die was cast, I intended to make a good impression on my new skipper. . . . A seaman had come to the ship’s side on our arrival to see to the dinghy . . . so I hurried forward to where the gusty echo of Blow the man down, heigh-ho, blow the man down. Then give us some time to blow the man down. —told me of a more or less white crew, and no doubt a first mate. “Getting oar seaway that night was a long and wearisome job, and when at last we left the wide gulf to stand out past Tiri Tiri into the great Pacific the mght was far gone. I saw ♦no more of Olaf Olafsson then, but the mat© . . . a hard-bitten Yankee, very silent, of the name Gole . . . showed me to my quarters, a roomy enough deckhouse amidships. “We carried a mixed cargo, mostly merchandise, to the Bay of Islands, in those days a busy whaling station, and in the pounding northwards tasted some heavy weather through which the Karmoen came unscathed . . . her sailing qualities were grand. ... Ye note, tad, I speak of her so when ’t-is a sailing matter . . . and Olafsson handled her without a fault . . . and well might he, she being- built under his own eye, so the mate informed me. Yon was a verra dour man, Gole, but I kenned frae liis docility to Olafsson . . . rather he seemed to fear him . . . that the skipper had some hold over the mate. I well remember one afternoon going below to the big after-cabin underneath the poopdeck, u’nere Olafsson lived in solitary state—’twas a sextant I was wanting, I mind, —the sound of Goie’s voice coming up the companionway fair astonished me, so piteous was it in whining entreaty. Then there came a hoarse roar from the skipper, the sound of a heavy blow and a falling body. Hurriedly I drew back, and in a minute or so the mate appeared holding a hand to his bleeding mouth, white fear written large on his face. When eventually I entered the cabin Olaf Olafsson was stretched out on a settee half asleep. He took no notice of me as quickly I did my errand. Indeed he never spoke to me at any time during the voyage beyond an occasional curt order concerning the handling of the ship. Even so I grew more and 'more to fear and dislike him, as much for his grim, gigantic aspect as his brooding silences, the latter alternated with gusts of terrible passion when, any of the crew were slack or careless in his presence. A quick jump, a smashing close-fisted blow, and some unfortunate hand would reel, bloodyfaced, across the scrupulously clean deck. . . . Aye, lad, he was a hard yin, and kepit strict discipline forbye. Yet lie met his match in the end. . . . “In the run north I took occasion to size u*o the Karrioen. She was a bonny craft in every way, spick and span frae truck tae keelson—Olaf Olafsson and his queer mate saw tae that wi’ fierce oath and fiercer blow. I wunnert oftimes how they got a crew at all. Masts and spars were of a polished whitish timber, \ind to me seemed much too light for the amount of canvas they carried. The mizzen in particular was extremely slender, wax like in colour, and had a beautiful glossy surface ■ it bad, too, a wonderfully line graining, and above fifteen or sixteen feet above the poop -deck there was an oval knot in the grain—as large as my hand. . . . Aye, she was beautiful as an angel frae oot the pit, and gey soon 1 came to ken it. . . . “We unloaded in tiie roadstead, took on a cargo of barrelled whale-oil for transhipment, and put to sea again. A day later, tacking across to the shelter of the coast, we ran in close to (Jape Brett the weather was thick and ugly-locking. There we picked up a little fishing yawl, dismasted and leaking badly. It had been blown away from the grounds during heavy weather thereabouts. Two young Maoris (one of whom told me in broken English that they had been three days and nights at sea), an old and whitewhiskered and very broken skipper, and, strangely enough, a young strapping girl in oilskins were the only occupants. . . . Ah, laddie, she was a gey wonderful lassie, yon. . . .” And here my old friend lapsed broadly into liis native tongue, as he often did when under the stress of emotion or excitement.

“Aye, a rale sonsy lassie. ... I mind yon day weei, weei. ... All’ noo siie’s . . . But All’ll on wi’ ma story. ‘ Well, we got them aboard, but under the menacing stare of the skipper. Olaf Olafsson had evidently no mind to lay to whatever; but, he being below when the yawi was signted, I had taken it upon myself to change our course to pick tliem U P- - • ■ Aye, an’ Ah’m thankful to inis day fur ’t. He eyed the girl hardly as I helped her up the side . . . and licked his lips wickedly . . . after he looked grimly sideways at me, but did net speak though I’d expected each second to hear his thundering voice cursing me tor not consulting him. . . I think now that he must have been asleep when we lowered the barque’s dingy. “* ‘ Tab,’ below aait t girl an’ oold ma-a-n,’ he said, remounted the high poop and stood by the fife-rail on the white tapering mizzen. I followed with my two charges, and as I helped the exhausted girl up the poop-ladder l felt her cling suddenly tight, to my arm, and saw her large blue eyes open wide m fear. . , She was looking directly at the giant si kipper, who turned m our direction, stared at her with a flame nke light in his half-shut eyes. I felt a cold shiver run through me, partly apprehension and partly a helpless anger . . but what could I do? Then I saw his great hairy hands. . . The grimy fingers were clawing convulsively . . opening and shutting in animal-like ferocity. . For -a moment I felt physically sick, and my heart seemed to stand still. . . Of a sudden the girl swayed and sank into unconsciousness. . . A huge hand gripped the back of my collar, and 1 went hurtling across the deck to fetch up with a stunning impact against the starboard bollards. “ When my senses returned it was night, pitch dark, and a lialf-gale blowing white scuds of spray across our stern as we raced through the darkness . . no moon, no stars, only the piping whistle of the night wind in the rigging, and the long, smooth heave and roll of the speeding vessel. I sat up, my aching head in my hands, and was just able to discern a deserted wheel with a lashing rove through the spokes to a -ring-bolt in the deck. . . Apparently tiie Karmoen was set on a steady south-west course. Sick and dizzy as I was I sensed evil afoot . . the lashed wheel . the brutal action that had put me out of the way . . the absence of Loth Olafsson and the mate from the afterdeck . . all these and the girl below in the big cabin. Staggering to unsteady feet I took -a- step . . . and tumbled into Gole bending over a prostrate figure on the deck. . . It was that of the old, white-haired fisherman we had taken from the yawl. With a low-voiced curse the mate sprang up, put a quick hand to his belt, but evidently recognising mein the gloom withdrew it empty. He motioned me to take 'lie old nan’s feet, and I did so, thinking we were to carry him below. Dazed and shaken, 1 stooped and lifted. . . There came a quick lurching swing of the Karmoen, and Gole and I with -our burden slid across the poop to the starboard rail. . . A second later, and before. 1 realised what fell deed was intended, the mate, who held the head and shoulders of the stricken man, gave a jerk and a heave so that the body went hurtling eve the rail and down into the white-streaned darkness . . whether alive or dead l could not say to- this day. “From t-liat moment a lighting madness came upon me. . . I knew the ship Karmoen and its evil skipper for the foul things they were . . and Gole . . he crouched to spring. . I knew my turn was next. “ Berserk, I jumped for him . gripping at his throat, he tearing at my hands and lifting his knee to maim me. Grimly we fought, reeling this way and that ao the swaying deck. I was a. young and strong man, but he Was the taller and equally as strong. . . In the end he pinned me with arm and knee against the butt of the mizzen, and reached for liis knife. . . I prayed then, lad, for I felt my end was near. Then came yon fearsome deliverance frae ma plight that I’ve dreamt o’ rnuckle times syne. . . “ As he jerked the long knife from ins waist, the mate was suddenly plucked from me, and I fell in a heap on the deck; nigh unconscious with fear and exhaustion. Somewhere near in the gross darkness I could hear the sound of a fierce struggle . . a quick, gasping for breath and the jabbing blows of a unife into some soft substance . . then the awesome sound of a man screaming w-th fright . . a long-drawn, slithering noise, followed by . . well, ’ad, by nothing save the gale whistling in the rigging and the beat of the seas on jui hull. . . “ Weakly I attempted to rise, and found I could not . . instead I commenced to crawl towards the closed ;ompamonway leading to the big cabin below. . . I knew that the girl and Olafsson were down there . . grim fear i’or her —and I know not what else — led me on. Halfway to it I heard a loud thud behind me . . and the dead body of Gole came sliding on top of me as the Kormoen rolled shuddering to port on a seething white-crested comber. I hung like a leech to a deck-cleat, and saw the body strike the port-rail, Lead and shoulders jamming between he lowest rail and the planking with terrific force. . . A moment later the door oi the companionway flew open, and in the beam of light- that broke forth . J saw the terrified face of the girl in the arms of Olaf Olafsson, the skipper Whether the screaming of Gole had brought him up, or whether the idling of his ship gave him warning that the wheel was unattended, ~I never knew. It may have been that a just God judged it time to put an end to that, fiendish

man and his hellish ship . . and his ending . . ah, laddie I . . . “Weak and wretched as I was, 1 staggered to my feet, and leapt at him. Ho saw me corning, and thrust out a massive hand that gripped me by (he throat . . the girl he still held m the other arm, she straining away from 1 im with both handa, great terror-stricken eyes glaring into is bearded face. . ‘A-a-ah . . t’ woman you was want, is’t? . . . Go you then t’ hell!’ he shouted, and with a mighty heave, born of ins vast- strength, he lifted me one-handed into the air to hurl me overboard ; but . . . aye God is good, though oesperate grim whiles. A long, sinuous, arm-like thing, guttering white with slime, suddenly appeared above the head ot Olaf Olafsson, hung still a second of time, then whipped itself around his brawny neck, tightening till it quivered with the strain. Mon, ’twas an awful sight! . . . The big eyes stood out irorn his head; lie turned a grey face upwards, then his huge arms shot above his head and clutched the white tentacle. All his tremendous strength he used in frenzied effort to ward off the dreadful death awaiting him in the dark above. Loosened now, the girl and I watched in horror till the doomed man’s feet left the deck. With a low moan she turned to me, and fell senseless in my arms. Perhaps it was better so. God knows, I might have done something to help him . . . perhaps it is held against me . . . yet I stood as if fascinated with the horrible sight. Of a sudden the suspended man jerked up his legs, and braced them against the mast; using his body as a lever, he strove mightily with the grisly thing that held him. Great gasps came from his distended mouth. . . . Almost he seemed to gain the advantage. I could stand no more. Dropping the girl, I jumped to his aid; but too late ! His gumbooted feet dangled helplessly against the mast and his arms fell limp. . . . Again there came the long-drawn slithering noise, and Olaf Olafsson vanished upwards from my sight. “Benumbed with fear, a cold sweat took me, and, panic-stricken, I turned to get away . . . but the girl moved faintly on the deck, where I had hurriedly laid her. I tried to take a hold on myself. Finally I managed to get her down the ladder to the main deck, and so along to the midships-house, where I berthed. Outside the friendly dcor I brought myself to look back at that nightmarish poop. I could see naught but a black darkness. I heard only, above the sountj of wind and water, the thump of a body falling from a height. . . . After that I remembered nothing till, in the grey, fog-ridden morning, we drove headlong on to a reef just north of Poor Knight’s Island. . ■'There was little hope of the Karmoen staying afloat. A big hole must have been torn along the keel, for she commenced to settle immediately. The crew knew nothing, and I hurried them to the boats, for the sea was quiet enough now. If they were curious as to why their skipper and his mate did not appear, they refrained from asking me ; but I watched them talking among themselves, and I doubt not they were well pleased to see the last of all three. . . . “Before I left the sinking Karmoen finally, I saw the girl into a boat. We had talked together a little, and understood each other. Though she was wanfaced and shaken in nerve, she smiled as I looked down at her. . . . Then I went cautiously aft and stood at the foot of the poop ladder. . . . “Dead men both of them—Olaf Olafsson and Gole, his mate They lay huddled cm the deck; their faces I could not see, nor did I want to. The stark terror that would glare from those blind eyes would never let me sleep sound again.* Instead I looked up at the beautiful slender mizzen with its wonderful graining, its wax-like colour and glossy surface. About fifteen or sixteen feet above the poopdeck was the oval knot in the graining, as large as my hand. ... It was glistening white, and I swear on the good Book this: it pulsed and throbbed like a living thing, protruding at times several indies of slimy tentacle. . . .” My friend tire Skipper had finished his story, and as he readied for the wellknown and dimpled and brambled decanter I gingerly pushed the big encyclopaedia as far away from me as possible. The “Pinus braechiatus” left me cold, very cold. I was glad to see the old gentleman reach for my glass also. After a while I asked a question. “And the girl, who possibly was the cause of all the trouble, *no doubt she “-Nil, na, laddie. . . .1 marrit her a week later. . . .” In haste I picked up my hat and backed out- with my goou-bye, so close had 1 been saying the wrong thing.