Chapter 52 - Ran Away to Sea by Mayne Reid
“A raft! a raft!”
This was the cry that now echoed along the decks, while men were seen hurriedly seizing hold of spars, ropes, and axes.
But there was another cry and an angrier one. It arose from the few who had rushed towards the stern in hope of themselves appropriating the gig and whose disappointment at finding she was gone, found vent in oaths and shouts of vengeance.
They had no need to go aft of the burning cabin to make the discovery. Over the quarter the gig was seen—distinctly seen under the clear moonlight, several cable-lengths from the barque, and fast rowing away. Six forms were in the boat—six only—and the men at once knew that they were the captain, mate, and four of their favourites. No explanation was required. The behaviour of those in the gig told the tale of itself. They had deserted their companions in distress—had basely stolen away.
“Gig ahoy! gig ahoy!” was screeched after the departing boat, but to no purpose. Those in the gig paid no heed to the hail, but only appeared to row faster away. They seemed to dread being followed by the long-boat and overtaken; and well might they have a dread of it, for if the betrayed crew could have laid hands upon their ci-devant officers at that moment, they would have shown them but scant mercy.
As for the latter, they were apparently rowing with all their might—as if they wanted not only to get beyond earshot of their old associates, but out of sight altogether. Belike the ears of both captain and mate were keenly bent, and their eyes too—unfeeling as the hearts of both were, they must have been stirred in the anticipation of that awful catastrophe, which both surely expected. They might have wished for a time to be deprived both of sight and hearing.
As I have said, there was a cry of vengeance along the deck. Some, who but the moment before were skulking aft with a similar purpose, were now loud in their denunciations of the dastardly conduct of the officers; and, goaded by the two passions of disappointment and rage, shouted after them the most opprobrious epithets and bitterest threats.
But the little boat was by this far off upon the water; and the necessity for immediate action soon called the men from these idle demonstrations.
All hands set to work at the formation of the raft.
The ability and despatch with which sailors can construct a raft, would be almost incredible to a landsman who had never seen the thing done. It is not from mere concert or organisation among themselves—though there is something in that. Not much, however, for well-drilled soldiers are as clumsy at such a work as farm-labourers.
Though the principal material of a raft be timber, the sailor with his rope will far sooner bind it together than the carpenter with his hammer and nails; and bind it far safer and surer. The rope is the sailor’s proper weapon, and its use he understands better than all others. He knows at a glance, or by a touch, whether it be the thing for the purpose intended—whether it be too long or too short, too weak or too stout—whether it will stretch or snap, or if it will hold securely. He knows, as if by instinct, what sort of knot should be used for this, and what sort for the other—whether a “reef-knot” or a “bowline,” a “diamond” or an “overend”—whether a “clove-hitch,” a “clinch,” or a “cat’s paw”—all these modes of splicing and trying, with five times as many more, are secrets only known to the sailor.
And only he can rapidly cut down a mast, or detach a spar from its rigging, and get them overboard without delay. The aid of a landsman would be of little service in operations like these.
Like bees the men went to work—every one of the thirty and four. Some handled the saws and axes—some carried spare-yards and spars, some with their knives attacked the running gear and provided the ropes. All were equally busy—all equally interested in the result.
In a few minutes the main-mast came down with a crash, falling over the side, and grinding the bulwarks beneath it as if they had been hurdles of reeds; and in a few minutes more its rigging was all cut loose—both running and standing—its shrouds and stays—sheets, braces, and lifts.
The great mast, with its yards still attached, soon rested upon the water alongside the wreck—for the Pandora might now be called a wreck—and upon these, as a foundation, the raft was speedily laid. The spare spars and yards, the gaffs and booms, were thrown upon top, and soon lashed firm by those who had descended to the water, and who now found footing upon the huge floating mass of timber. Empty casks were bunged and flung overboard, and these added essentially to the safety of the structure and its capability of carrying a greater weight. Sails, too, were thrown loosely over all, and then, last of all, the biscuit and water—such quantities of each as could be found amid the confusion.
At length the raft was deemed complete. It could not have exceeded fifteen minutes from the sinking of the long-boat, until the cheering fact was announced, that the raft was ready!