The Quest Of The 'Golden Hope' Part 11

We could clearly discern the last of the villainous but unfortunate vessel. With her foremast shot away she was helpless, in spite of frantic efforts to row her seaward. As fast as the heavy sweeps were s.h.i.+pped they were shattered by the irresistible force of the waves, till, midst a turmoil of foam, the doomed s.h.i.+p struck the cliff.

"The Deadman[2] has claimed another toll," shouted Captain Jeremy in my ear. "Yon's one of the worst parts of the Cornish coast, and should a single man of her crew reach the land, he'll meet with short shrift at the hands of the wreckers and smugglers."

I had escaped my first experience of being under fire, somewhat to my regret, now that the affair was over, for I had a presentiment that 'twas but putting off the evil day. Yet I had gained some knowledge of how Englishmen behave in times of danger, and that knowledge was of no mean value.

Four hours later the _Golden Hope_ rounded the Lizard, and in a now rapidly subsiding sea entered the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.

Well before sunset I saw the lofty cliffs disappear beneath the horizon, and that was my last sight of Old England for many a long day.

[1] During the seventeenth and even well into the eighteenth century occasional raids by Algerine corsairs upon the s.h.i.+pping in the Channel were reported. In the _Naval Chronicle_ for 1807 a letter from one naval officer to another is given, under date of 1743. He describes the wreck of a disabled Algerine off Land's End, pouring out a whole torrent of abusive sarcasm upon the authorities of Falmouth for sending "pork to feed the Mussulmans, being contrary to their religion".

[2] The Dodman, a precipitous headland on the South Cornish coast, between Fowey and Falmouth, is even now familiarly named "The Deadman" by seamen. The most notable wrecks there in recent years were those of the _Thresher_ and the _Lynx_ in 1897.

CHAPTER XIII

Of the Mysterious s.h.i.+p in the Midst of the Ocean

Next morning when I came on deck I saw the man we had rescued from the Algerine vessel. He was lying on a rough couch under the lee of a cannonade, being too weak to stand. He had received a pistol shot in the left arm, so that his escape was all the more to be wondered at, although he a.s.serted that while swimming for his life he knew nothing of the matter.

He was a man of gigantic stature, broad in frame, and with muscles that stood out beneath his tanned skin like knots on the trunk of a forest oak. All this I saw in spite of his distressed condition, and should he recover, which seemed likely enough, he promised to make a welcome addition to our crew.

His name was Joe Clemens, and he hailed from East Looe, a small fis.h.i.+ng village in Cornwall somewhere betwixt Plymouth and Fowey, so that when we picked him up he was almost within sight of his native place. He had been the mate of the _Surprise_, armed trader, which had been cast ash.o.r.e on the Barbary coast, all her crew being carried into captivity.

He was the only Englishman on board the Algerine galley; and had laboured at the oar for nearly three years, sleeping and working at the rowers' bench, to which he was shackled by a chain pa.s.sed round his middle.

Our broadside severed the chain, and seizing the opportunity he sprang overboard, followed by a fellow-slave, a Sardinian. As he leapt over an Algerine discharged a pistol at him, wounding him in the arm; but such was his strength and determination that, although wearing part of the heavy chain and bleeding profusely, he managed to swim strongly till picked up. His companion had sunk, as I have already related.

For the next few days nothing happened beyond the ordinary routine on board; but on the morning of the fifth day at sea I happened to notice a man who must have previously kept out of my way. His face was partially hidden by a short, stubbly beard, in spite of which I felt certain 'twas the same man that had vied with my father in bidding for Captain Jeremy's picture.

Concealing my agitation, I sought the Captain and communicated my suspicions.

"Wrong again, lad," he replied. "'Tis Ned Slater, an old s.h.i.+pmate of mine who has fallen on evil times. Out of charity I s.h.i.+pped him aboard the _Golden Hope_."

"The same old s.h.i.+pmate who bought a dagger in Lisbon?"

"Aye, Master Clifford----"

"But, sir, you described him as being as thin as a handspike."

"So I did, lad; but he has filled out since then. 'Twas a score of years ago at least. But rest easy in your mind concerning him, for he has been to the Indies for the last four years, and only landed in Chatham a month ago, the sole survivor of the barque _Enterprise_. I know that, for I saw his papers."

With that there was no more to be said; yet, though I might be mistaken, I resolved to keep a close watch on the movements of Master Ned Slater.

Favourable winds bore the _Golden Hope_ to the Azores, where I had my first impression of foreign parts. Then, after a three days'

stay, we shaped a course for the Bermudas; but, owing to constant head winds, Captain Jeremy decided to run south, so as to pick up the north-east Trades.

For several days we sailed over a vast expanse of ocean, with never a sail to break the regular skyline. The days, too, were rapidly becoming hotter, while the hours of daylight appreciably diminished, though the nights were warm and balmy, so that keeping a watch on deck was robbed of all discomfort.

At length one morning the sun rose red and fiery, betokening a change in the weather; and barely was it clear of the horizon when the cry was heard, "Sail, ho!"

"Whither away?" asked Captain Jeremy, as he ascended the p.o.o.p, gla.s.s in hand.

"A point off our starboard bow, sir," replied the seaman who had picked up this craft.

With the naked eye we could distinguish the topsails and t'gallants of a brig, the hull being still below the horizon. Captain Jeremy clapped the gla.s.s to his eye and examined her intently.

"What's amiss with her?" he exclaimed. "She's hove-to."

"Perhaps she has sighted us, and wishes to communicate," suggested Touchstone.

"Or else she's a buccaneer," added 'Enery, as he swung himself into the main shrouds in order to get a better view from the topmast head.

"We are out of the regular cruising ground of those gentlemen,"

remarked Captain Jeremy. "But 'tis no saying what she may prove to be. Master Touchstone, will you see that the arms are served out?"

Two hours later, for the wind was still light, we were within a mile of the strange brig. She was a vessel very similar to the _Golden Hope_ in design, but with what a difference in appearance!

She was still hove-to, moving very slowly through the water. Her yards were badly squared, while her running gear seemed to be in a state of neglect, several of the sheets and braces trailing over the side. She carried four guns abroadside, and these were run out in apparent preparation to ward off an attack; while her decks were crowded with men.

"What do they think to do?" asked the master gunner. "'Tis certain they have no stomach for a fight, or else they would keep way on her."

"If they do not pay heed to their t'gallants they are lost men,"

said Captain Miles. "See, already the sky is overcast to windward.

Yet it may be but a trick, so stand to your guns, men."

In obedience to a further order, the red cross of St. George was shown from our foremast truck, for the course our vessel was taking prevented the ensign at the peak being seen by the stranger.

No ensign was hoisted in reply, and in perfect silence the others awaited our approach.

"What s.h.i.+p is that?" hailed Captain Jeremy through his speaking trumpet. There was still no answer, although the _Golden Hope_ was pa.s.sing within fifty yards of the stranger's bows. The hail was repeated, and to our surprise a l.u.s.ty voice shouted:

"Can yew give we a hand wi' this boat ov ourn, zurr?"

"If that isn't a Zummerset or Devon yokel, sink me for a landlubber!" remarked Captain Jeremy; and almost at the same moment 'Enery, who had descended to the main top, shouted, "Bless me, Cap'n, if it ain't Garge Oddicombe."

"Aye, aye, we'll send a boat," replied Captain Jeremy to the other's request; and in a very short s.p.a.ce of time twenty men, with 'Enery in charge, were making-towards the forlorn brig, I having obtained permission to accompany them.

"Look sharp!" shouted our Captain as the boat shoved off. "Make all snug alow and aloft, and keep us in company."

A strange sight met our eyes as we gained the deck of the brig, which, by the name painted on her stern, we now knew to be the _Neptune_ of Topsham.

The confusion on deck was in accordance with the disorder aloft.

Ropes, gun tackles, broken casks and planks, and torn canvas were lying about in the utmost disorder; while some hundred men, grotesquely dressed in motley costumes, gazed at us with mingled expressions of relief, curiosity, and fear. Many still wore the smocks of their native Somerset and Devon, but gone was the healthy hue of a country life. Haggard faces, unkempt hair, and beards showed that these sons of the soil had had a trying time on s.h.i.+pboard.