CHAPTER XXIII
In Which We Face Death by the Breadth of a Hair
I had walked forward, anxious over the situation of the sister ships. Tom Thornton was right by my side, for Mr. Barney had taken the wheel himself.
“In case of doubt,” I asked Tom, “who gives way—the Seamew or the Gullwing?”
“Why, the Seamew, of course,” growled Tom.
“Are you sure?”
“I be,” he said, emphatically. “No gittin’ around it. It has to be her gives way—not us. Both of us are close-hauled, that’s a fact; but we on this tack has the right of way. The Seamew’s got to come about and give us the road.”
“She don’t look like she would,” I said, gravely.
“Of course she will!”
“Then she’ll miss meeting the other tug this time. It will give us a big advantage.”
“Don’t ye suppose our skipper knows that?” returned Tom, with a wide grin. “That’s what he aimed to do. Oh, Cap’n Joe is a cleaner, now I tell ye!”
It did look to me as though the two great ships were rushing together. If they had been two old-time frigates, aiming to come to a clinch and the crews ordered to “board with cutlass,” the appearance of the two could have been no more threatening.
The Seamew’s men were grouped along her rail and swinging in her lower shrouds, watching us; and every person aboard the Gullwing, including the cook, was on deck. I heard Captain Bowditch growling to himself:
“What does that lobster mean? Ain’t he goin’ to give us no seaway?”
Mr. Barney had taken the wheel of the Gullwing. I saw that his brother was already glued to the spokes of the Seamew’s wheel.
“’Ware what ye do there, Mr. Barney,” sang out Captain Bowditch.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Keep her steady.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
I caught old Tom by the sleeve of his jumper again.
“Cap’n Si don’t mean to give way!” I gasped.
“Wal,” said the old seaman, reflectively, “it’ll be up to him if he doesn’t.”
“But——”
“It ain’t our place to give that blamed Seamew the whole ocean.”
“But if the Seamew won’t give way?” I repeated, vainly.
“What! Not give way! That’d be foolish,” growled old Tom. “A man can go bullying his way ashore, pushin’ folks inter the gutter and all that, if he’s big enough—like Bob yonder. But a captain can’t do that at sea. He’d only git what’s due him. He’ll have to give way.”
Yet no order was given from the Seamew’s quarter; nor did our skipper say a word. I could not believe that Captain Bowditch, even with the sea-law on his side, would risk his beautiful ship and the lives of her crew. Yet if the Seamew continued to run in on us much longer we would have to fall off, or collide with her.
Little Phillis was sitting calmly under her awning, busied with some pieces of sewing—for she was a housewifely little thing. It struck me that an awful death was threatening the innocent child, and I moved toward her. Thankful Polk was working his way along the deck in the same direction, too.
Captain Bowditch glanced at the child under the awning. If he had had any desperate intention of keeping on, whether or no, so as to pick up his tug ahead of the Seamew, I believe the presence of Phillis Duane restrained him. His hard old face changed.
The Seamew was holding on. She was going to force us. The old man jumped to the rail and motioned with his arm for the helmsman of the Seamew to keep off. But Mr. Alf Barney’s gaze rested only on the face of his brother at our wheel; and Captain Somes never gave an order.
Captain Bowditch turned and yelled:
“Keep off! keep off, I say! D’ye wanter wreck us?”
He started for the wheel. I do not know whether our Mr. Barney obeyed the order—or tried to obey it. The two great ships, their canvas bellied with the strong gale, seemed to sweep together as though they were magnetized!
It may have been explained by the fact that we were so near each other that one took the wind out of the other’s sails. At least, the two huge ships were no longer under control.
“I’m hanged if she ain’t got away from him!” I heard Tom Thornton yell; but which ship he meant I did not know.
The Gullwing took a shoot. The Seamew took a shoot. Then the two ships clinched!
Talk about a smash! It was the most awful collision one could imagine. Two express trains on the same track, coming head-on, could have made no greater explosion of sound. And it did seem as though no other kind of a collision could have resulted in so much wreckage.
I grabbed up Phillis just before the ships came together, and dashed for the companionway. But as I gained its shelter I saw the spars raining from aloft on both vessels, with the canvas and cordage in a perfect jumble.
It fairly shook the spars out of the Seamew. I believed, at the last moment, that the Gullwing had sheered off. At least, she had taken the blow on more of a slant. The wire stays upon our sister ship had been torn away and her foremast came down and hung over the rail a complete wreck.
Her other masts wavered. I could see that she was shaking like a wounded thing; I believe she was settling even then. She had opened a great hole in her hull forward. I could see the ragged, splintered ends of the planks.
Our own damage and peril I could not gauge until I had set Phillis down and rushed back to the deck. The old Gullwing was hobbling away from her sister ship. Captain Bowditch was bawling orders from the bridge; but I heard nothing but screams of rage and fear from the Seamew. And Captain Si Somes was no longer in sight.
“Axes, men!” roared our skipper. “Get aloft there! Cut away wreckage! Clew up everything that ain’t torn away. Look alive, up there, Mr. Gates.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” responded the mate from forward.
“Keep her steady, Mr. Barney!” commanded the captain.
I heard no response. I glanced aft as I worked my way up the backstays. Mr. Jim Barney still stood at our wheel. He hung to the spokes and held the ship steady. But a whiter face and a more miserable face I had never seen upon mortal man.