But, although the danger was so imminent, not a man flinched or gave way to fear, and Nux and Bryonia performed their duties as calmly as if the sea were smooth. The vessel was staunch enough, so far; but it pitched and tossed so violently that even burly Doc Acker was obliged to crawl into the cabin on his hands and knees to get his meals.
We fled before the wind until the third night, when the rudder chain broke and the helmsman was thrown, crushed and bleeding, against the lee bulwarks. The “Flipper,” released from all control, swung quickly around, and the big mainmast snapped like a pipe–stem and came tumbling with its cordage to the decks, where our brave sailors rushed upon it and cut it clear. I thought the ship would never right again, after the careening given it by the fallen mast; but, somehow, it did, and morning found us still afloat, although badly crippled and at the mercy of the waves.
As if satisfied with the havoc it had wrought, the gale now abated; but the waves ran high for another forty–eight hours, and our crew could do nothing but cling to the remaining rigging and await calmer weather.
Fortunately our ballast and cargo held in place through all, and the hull showed no sign of a leak. When the sea grew calmer we floated upright upon the water and it was found our straits were not nearly so desperate as we had feared.
Yet our condition was serious enough to make me wonder what was to become of us. The rudder had been entirely washed away; the mainmast was gone; the mizzenmast had broken at the head and the foresail royals were in splinters. All the deck was cumbered with rigging; the starboard bulwarks had been stove in by the fallen mast, and our crew was lessened by three able seamen.
But Captain Gay, no less dismal than before, you may be sure, promptly began to issue orders, and the men fell to with a will to repair the damage as best they might. First they rigged up a temporary rudder and swung it astern. It was a poor makeshift, however, and only with good weather could we hope it would steer us to the nearest port.
While the men cleared the decks and rigged up a jury mast under the supervision of the mate, Captain Gay took our bearings and ascertained that we had not departed so greatly from our course as we had feared. Yet it was impossible to make the mouth of the Yukon in our present condition, or even to reach a shelter in Bering Sea. It was found, however, that the Alaska peninsula was not far away, so we decided to draw as near to that as possible, in the hope of meeting a passing vessel or finding a temporary refuge on some one of the numerous islands that lie in this part of the North Pacific.
For four days we labored along, in our crippled condition, without sighting land; but then our fortunes changed. During the night a good breeze from the southwest swept us merrily along, and when daylight came we found ourselves close to a small, wooded island. It lay in the form of a horse–shoe, with a broad, protected bay in the center, and Captain Gay, anxious to examine his ship more closely, decided at once to enter the harbor and cast anchor.
This was by no means an easy task, for long lines of reefs extended from each point of the shore, almost enclosing the bay with jagged rocks. But the sea was calm and the position of the reefs clearly marked; so that by skillful maneuvering the “Flipper” passed between them in safety, and to the relief and satisfaction of all on board we dropped our anchor in the clear waters of the bay.
Chapter VI
Captain Gay examined his chart with minute care, and solemnly shook his head.
The island was not there. Either the chart was imperfect, or we had reached a hitherto undiscovered land. The latter conjecture was not at all unreasonable, for so many islands lay in this neighborhood that even when sighted by chance an outlying islet was little liable to tempt one to land upon it. This was doubtless one of the numerous group lying to the south–east of the Alaska peninsula, which are of volcanic origin and as a rule barren and uninhabited.
I have said this island was well wooded, but not until we were opposite the mouth of the natural harbor did we observe this fact. From the sea only a line of rugged headlands and peaks showed plainly, and had we not been in distress we should never have thought to stop at this place. Once within the harbor, however, the scene that met our view was not unattractive.
Bordering the bay was a sandy beach a full hundred yards in width, broken only by an inlet toward the left, or south, which seemed to lead into the interior of the island, winding between high and precipitous banks and soon becoming lost to sight. Back of the beach was the clean–cut edge of a forest, not following a straight line, but rising and falling in hills and ravines until it seemed from the bay to have been scalloped into shape by a pair of huge scissors. The woods were thick and the trees of uniform size, and between them grew a mass of vines and underbrush that made them almost impenetrable. How far the forest extended we were unable to guess; nor did we know how wide the island might be, for back of the hills rose a range of wooded mountains nearly a thousand feet in height, and what might lie beyond these was of course a matter of conjecture. Uncle Naboth, however, advanced the opinion that the island ended at the mountain peaks, and dropped sheer down to the sea beyond. He had seen many formations of that sort, and supposed we had found the only possible harbor on the island.
There was no apparent indication that the island had ever before been visited by man. Even signs of native occupation were lacking. But Captain Gay decided to send a small boat ashore to explore the inlet before we could relax all vigilance and feel that we were not liable to attack or interruption.
So the gig was lowered, and four of the crew, accompanied by Bill Acker, the mate, set off upon their voyage of discovery. They rowed straight to the inlet, which proved to be navigable, and soon after entering it we lost sight of the boat as it wound between the wooded cliffs.
We waited patiently an hour; two hours; three hours; but the boat did not return. Then patience gave way to anxiety, and finally the suspense became unbearable. After the loss of our three sailors during the storm we were reduced to eleven men, besides Uncle Naboth and myself, who were not counted members of the crew. Thirteen on board was not an especially lucky number, so that some of the men had been looking for disaster of some sort ever since we sighted the island. Those now remaining on the “Flipper” were the Captain, Ned Britton and two other sailors, Nux and Bryonia, my Uncle and myself; eight, all told. To send more men after the five who were absent would be to reduce our numbers more than was wise; yet it was impossible for us to remain inactive. Finally, Ned Britton offered to attempt to make his way through the woods, along the edge of the inlet, and endeavor to find out what had become of Acker and his men. He armed himself with two revolvers and a stout cutlass, and then we rowed him to the shore and watched him start on his expedition.
Not expecting that Ned would be long absent, we did not at once return to the ship. Instead, the Captain backed the boat into deep water and lay to, that we might pick up our messenger when he reappeared.
It had been agreed that if Ned came upon the mate he was to fire two shots in quick succession, to let us know that all was well. If he encountered danger he was to fire a single shot. If he wished us to come to his assistance he would fire three shots. But the afternoon passed slowly and quietly, and no sound of any kind came from the interior to relieve our anxiety. The boat returned to the ship, and Bryonia served our supper amid an ominous and gloomy silence on the part of those few who were left.