Nameless Island

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2. Aground



For a brief instant Ellerton hesitated; ought he to return to his friends or make his way for'ard? The San Martin, losing steerage way, was rolling horribly in the trough of the sea; any instant she might turn turtle.

There was a rush of terrified firemen from the grim inferno of the stokeholds; the engineers, having taken necessary precautions against an explosion of the boilers, hastened to follow their example, scrambling in a struggling mass between the narrow opening of the partially closed hatchway.

Clearly Ellerton had no means of gaining the deck in the rear of that human press; so lurching and staggering along the alley-way he made his way aft, where he met Mr. McKay, who, assisted by Andy, was about to go on deck. Terence, looking a picture of utter misery in the yellow light of the saloon, and Quexo, his olive skin ashy grey with fear, had already joined the others.

"Come on, Hoppy," shouted Andy cheerfully. "Give me a hand with the governor. Terence, you had better stay here." Carefully watching their chance, the two lads managed to help Mr. McKay to the shelter of the poop deck-house, and they were about to return for Donaghue and the mulatto when they encountered Captain Perez and the first mate. Both were in a state bordering on frenzy, the captain rolling his eyes and calling for the protection of a thousand saints, while the mate was mumbling mechanically the last compass course, "Sur oeste, cuarto oeste" (S.W. by W.).

The cowardly officers had deserted their posts!

In an instant Fanshaw Ellerton saw his chance--and took it.

"Stop him, Andy!" he shouted, setting the example by throwing himself upon the Peruvian skipper.

The man did not resist; he seemed incapable of doing anything.

"Don't bother about the other," hissed the apprentice. "Make this chap come with us to the bridge. I'll be the skipper and he'll be the figurehead."

The two chums dragged the captain across the heaving deck, up the swaying monkey-ladder, and gained the lofty bridge.

Ellerton glanced to windward. His seamanship, poor though it was, began to assert itself. The wind was going down slightly, but, veering to the nor'ard, was causing a horrible jumble of cross-seas--not so lofty as the mountainous waves a few hours ago, but infinitely more trying.

The San Martin, swept on bow, quarter, and broadside, rolled and pitched, the white cascades pouring from her storm-washed decks; yet Ellerton realised that she possessed a considerable amount of buoyancy by the way she shook herself clear of the tons of water that poured across her.

The wheel was deserted. The steersman, finding that his officers had fled and that the vessel carried no way, had followed his superior's example.

Cowering under the lee of the funnel casing were about twelve of the crew, including the bo'sun and quartermaster.

"Tell the captain," yelled Ellerton to his chum, "to order those men to set the storm staysail, if they value their hides."

Andy interpreted the order, which the captain, gaining a faint suspicion of confidence, communicated to the bo'sun.

The bare chance of saving their lives urged the men into action. Unharmed, they succeeded in gaining the fo'c'sle, and in less than ten minutes the stiff canvas was straining on the forestay.

Gathering way, the San Martin, no longer rolling, pounded sluggishly through the foam-flecked sea.

Ellerton would not risk setting any canvas aft; he was content to let the vessel drive.

"Ask him whether we have plenty of sea room--whether there is any danger of running ashore during the next hour or so?"

Andy put the question.

"No, señor; there is plenty of sea room."

That was enough. The apprentice cared not what course he steered, so long as he kept the waves well on the quarter. When the hurricane was over they could carry on till they fell in with some passing vessel and got a tow into port.

"That's right. Tell him to take his watch below," continued the apprentice. "And you might get hold of some oilskins, Andy."

Obediently the skipper left the bridge, and, steeling himself for a long trick at the helm, Ellerton grasped the spokes of the wheel with firm hands.

At length the day broke, and with it a regular deluge of rain, pouring from an unbroken mass of scudding, deep blue clouds. The rain beat down the vicious crests, but the sea still ran "mountains high."

About noon Mr. McKay expressed his intention of joining Ellerton on the bridge, and assisted by his son he left the shelter of the poop.

From the foot of the poop-ladder to that of the bridge a life-line had been rigged to give the protection that the shattered bulwarks no longer afforded.

When midway between the two ladders, a roll of the vessel caused Mr. McKay to lurch heavily towards the rope. His wounded limb proved unequal to the strain, and falling heavily upon the main rope his weight broke the lashings that held it to the ring-bolt. Before Andy could save him, Mr. McKay had crashed against the main hatchway. "Hurt?" asked Andy anxiously.

"I'm afraid so," replied his father, manfully suppressing a groan. "My leg is broken."

By dint of considerable exertion the sufferer was taken back to the saloon, and the ship's surgeon, who had been routed out of his cabin, pronounced the injury to be a double fracture.

Ellerton, his whole attention fixed upon keeping the vessel on her course, had neither observed nor heard the noise of the accident, and great was his concern when Andy mounted the bridge and informed him of the catastrophe.

"I think I can leave the command," he remarked. "No doubt that yellow-skinned johnny has recovered his nerve by now."

Five minutes later Captain Antonio Perez gained the bridge. He had lost his suave, self-confident manner, and his general appearance showed a change for the better in his moral and physical condition. Yet, without a word of thanks to the English lad who had saved the situation, he called up two of the seamen, and placed them at the wheel.

"He might have been a bit civil over the business," remarked Andy.

"Poor brute! I dare say he feels his position pretty acutely. I only hope he won't break down in a hurry," replied Ellerton.

For the next two days the San Martin fled before the storm, the trysail keeping her steady and checking any tendency to broach-to. The wind had increased to almost its former violence on the evening of the first day, but the vessel was then close on the outer edge of the storm-path.

Mr. McKay, who was suffering considerably, bore his injuries gamely, while Terence, who had recovered from his bout of sea-sickness, began to take a new interest in life. Quexo, however, still lay on the floor of the stateroom, refusing to eat or drink, and groaning dismally at intervals.

"I reckon he's sorry he followed the Americanos across the wide river that tastes of salt," said Terence, quoting the Nicaraguan way of speaking of the sea. "Even I can feel sorry for him."

"That's a good sign," remarked Andy. "Yesterday you hadn't the pluck to feel sorry for yourself."

On the morning of the fourth day of the storm the wind piped down considerably, and the Peruvian captain ordered the fore and aft canvas to be set. The engine-room staff also began to take steps to attempt the temporary repairing of the shafting, and had already removed a considerable portion of the plating of the tunnel.

As yet the sky was completely overcast. At noon the officers, sextant in hand, waited in vain for an opportunity of "shooting the sun." Where the ship was, no one on board knew, though it was agreed that she was driven several miles to the south'ard of her proper course.

The weather began to improve as night drew on. The setting sun was just visible in a patch of purple sky, showing that fine weather might be expected from that quarter. The glass, too, was rising; not rapidly, but gradually and surely.

"Now for a good night's rest," exclaimed Andy, for throughout the gale the lads had turned in "all standing."

But Andy was doomed to be disappointed, for at four bells in the middle watch (2 a.m.) a sudden crash roused the sleepers from their berths. The San Martin was hard and fast aground.