The Pilot’s Troubles
by
The pilot cutter lay outside, beyond the last beacon fire on the headland; the winter sun had set long ago and the sea ran high; it was the real sea with real huge breakers. Suddenly the first mate signalled: “Sailing ship to windward.”
Far out at sea, a long way off the harbour, a brig was visible; she had backed her sails and hoisted the pilot’s flag; she was asking to be taken into port.
“Look out!” shouted the master-pilot, who was standing at the helm. “We’ll have a job in this sea, but we must try and get hold of her in tacking, and you, Victor, throw yourself into her rigging as soon as you get the chance … bring the boat round! Now! Clear!”
The cutter turned and steered a course to the brig which lay outside, pitching.
“Queer that she should have furled all her canvas. … Can any one see a light aboard? No! And no light on the masthead, either! Look out, Victor!” Now the cutter was alongside; Victor stood waiting on the gunwale, and the next time she rose on the crest of a big wave, he leapt into the rigging of the brig, while the cutter sheered off, tacked, and made for the harbour.
Victor sat in the rigging, half-way between deck and cross-trees, trying to recover his breath before descending on deck. As soon as he came down he went to the helm, which was quite the right thing for him to do. Imagine how shocked he was when he found it deserted! He shouted “Ho there!” but received no reply.
“They’re all inside, drinking,” he thought, peering through the cabin windows. No, not a soul! He crossed over to the kitchen, examined the quarterdeck,–not a living being anywhere. Then he realised that he was on a deserted ship; he concluded that she had sprung a leak and was sinking.
He tried to discover the whereabouts of the cutter, but she had disappeared in the darkness.
It was quite impossible for him to make port. To set the sails, haul in the brails and bowlines, and at the same time stand at the helm, was more than any sailor could manage.
There was nothing to b0e done, then, but let the vessel drift, although he was aware of the fact that she was drifting out to sea.
It would not be true to say that he was pleased, but a pilot is prepared for anything, and the thought that he might possibly meet a sailing ship by and by, reassured him. But it was necessary to show a light and signal.
He made his way towards the kitchen, intending to look for matches and a lantern. Although the sea was very rough, he noticed that the ship did not move, a fact which astonished him very much. But when he came to the mainmast, he was even more astonished to find himself walking on a parqueted floor, partly covered by a strip of carpet of a small blue and white checked pattern. He walked and walked, but still the carpet stretched before him, and still he came no nearer to the kitchen. It was certainly uncanny, but it was also amusing, for it was a new experience.
He was a long way off the end of the carpet yet, when he found himself at the entrance to a passage with brilliantly illuminated shops on either side. On his right stood a weighing machine and an automatic figure. Without a moment’s hesitation he jumped on the little platform of the weighing machine and slipped a penny in the slot. As he was quite sure that he weighed eleven stone, he could not help smiling when the indicator registered only one. Either the machine has gone wrong, he thought, or I have been transported to some other planet, ten times larger, or ten times smaller than the earth; he had been a pupil at the School of Navigation, you see, and knew something of astronomy.