Chapter 22

THE HIGHLANDER PASSES A WRECK

We were still on the Banks, when a terrific storm came down upon us, the

like of which I had never before beheld, or imagined. The rain poured

down in sheets and cascades; the scupper holes could hardly carry it off

the decks; and in bracing the yards we waded about almost up to our

knees; every thing floating about, like chips in a dock.

This violent rain was the precursor of a hard squall, for which we duly

prepared, taking in our canvas to double-reefed-top-sails.

The tornado came rushing along at last, like a troop of wild horses

before the flaming rush of a burning prairie. But after bowing and

cringing to it awhile, the good Highlander was put off before it; and

with her nose in the water, went wallowing on, ploughing milk-white

waves, and leaving a streak of illuminated foam in her wake.

It was an awful scene. It made me catch my breath as I gazed. I could

hardly stand on my feet, so violent was the motion of the ship. But

while I reeled to and fro, the sailors only laughed at me; and bade me

look out that the ship did not fall overboard; and advised me to get a

handspike, and hold it down hard in the weather-scuppers, to steady her

wild motions. But I was now getting a little too wise for this foolish

kind of talk; though all through the voyage, they never gave it over.

This storm past, we had fair weather until we got into the Irish Sea.

The morning following the storm, when the sea and sky had become blue

again, the man aloft sung out that there was a wreck on the lee-beam. We

bore away for it, all hands looking eagerly toward it, and the captain

in the mizzen-top with his spy-glass. Presently, we slowly passed

alongside of it.

It was a dismantled, water-logged schooner, a most dismal sight, that

must have been drifting about for several long weeks. The bulwarks were

pretty much gone; and here and there the bare stanchions, or posts, were

left standing, splitting in two the waves which broke clear over the

deck, lying almost even with the sea. The foremast was snapt off less

than four feet from its base; and the shattered and splintered remnant

looked like the stump of a pine tree thrown over in the woods. Every

time she rolled in the trough of the sea, her open main-hatchway yawned

into view; but was as quickly filled, and submerged again, with a

rushing, gurgling sound, as the water ran into it with the lee-roll.

At the head of the stump of the mainmast, about ten feet above the deck,

something like a sleeve seemed nailed; it was supposed to be the relic

of a jacket, which must have been fastened there by the crew for a

signal, and been frayed out and blown away by the wind.

Lashed, and leaning over sideways against the taffrail, were three dark,

green, grassy objects, that slowly swayed with every roll, but otherwise

were motionless. I saw the captain's, glass directed toward them, and

heard him say at last, "They must have been dead a long time." These

were sailors, who long ago had lashed themselves to the taffrail for

safety; but must have famished.

Full of the awful interest of the scene, I surely thought the captain

would lower a boat to bury the bodies, and find out something about the

schooner. But we did not stop at all; passing on our course, without so

much as learning the schooner's name, though every one supposed her to

be a New Brunswick lumberman.

On the part of the sailors, no surprise was shown that our captain did

not send off a boat to the wreck; but the steerage passengers were

indignant at what they called his barbarity. For me, I could not but

feel amazed and shocked at his indifference; but my subsequent sea

experiences have shown me, that such conduct as this is very common,

though not, of course, when human life can be saved.

So away we sailed, and left her; drifting, drifting on; a garden spot

for barnacles, and a playhouse for the sharks.

"Look there," said Jackson, hanging over the rail and coughing-"look

there; that's a sailor's coffin. Ha! ha! Buttons," turning round to

me--"how do you like that, Buttons? Wouldn't you like to take a sail with

them 'ere dead men? Wouldn't it be nice?" And then he tried to laugh,

but only coughed again. "Don't laugh at dem poor fellows," said Max,

looking grave; "do' you see dar bodies, dar souls are farder off dan de

Cape of Dood Hope."

"Dood Hope, Dood Hope," shrieked Jackson, with a horrid grin, mimicking

the Dutchman, "dare is no dood hope for dem, old boy; dey are drowned

and d .... d, as you and I will be, Red Max, one of dese dark nights."

"No, no," said Blunt, "all sailors are saved; they have plenty of

squalls here below, but fair weather aloft."

"And did you get that out of your silly Dream Book, you Greek?" howled

Jackson through a cough. "Don't talk of heaven to me--it's a lie--I know

it--and they are all fools that believe in it. Do you think, you Greek,

that there's any heaven for you? Will they let you in there, with that

tarry hand, and that oily head of hair? Avast! when some shark gulps you

down his hatchway one of these days, you'll find, that by dying, you'll

only go from one gale of wind to another; mind that, you Irish cockney!

Yes, you'll be bolted down like one of your own pills: and I should like

to see the whole ship swallowed down in the Norway maelstrom, like a box

on 'em. That would be a dose of salts for ye!" And so saying, he went

off, holding his hands to his chest, and coughing, as if his last hour

was come.

Every day this Jackson seemed to grow worse and worse, both in body and

mind. He seldom spoke, but to contradict, deride, or curse; and all the

time, though his face grew thinner and thinner, his eyes seemed to

k****e more and more, as if he were going to die out at last, and leave

them burning like tapers before a corpse.

Though he had never attended churches, and knew nothing about

Christianity; no more than a Malay pirate; and though he could not read

a word, yet he was spontaneously an atheist and an infidel; and during

the long night watches, would enter into arguments, to prove that there

was nothing to be believed; nothing to be loved, and nothing worth

living for; but every thing to be hated, in the wide world. He was a

horrid desperado; and like a wild Indian, whom he resembled in his tawny

skin and high cheek bones, he seemed to run amuck at heaven and earth.

He was a Cain afloat; branded on his yellow brow with some inscrutable

curse; and going about corrupting and searing every heart that beat near

him.

But there seemed even more woe than wickedness about the man; and his

wickedness seemed to spring from his woe; and for all his hideousness,

there was that in his eye at times, that was ineffably pitiable and

touching; and though there were moments when I almost hated this

Jackson, yet I have pitied no man as I have pitied him.