FullReads

But before they could begin,–while there was still wind enough to curl the head of an occasional sea into foam,–a speck which had been showing on the shortened horizon to windward, when the schooner lifted out of the hollows, took form and identity–a two-masted steamer, with English colors, union down, at the gaff. High out of water, her broadside drift was faster than that of the dismasted craft riding to her wreckage, and in a few hours she was dangerously near, directly ahead, rolling heavily in the trough of the sea. They could see shreds of canvas hanging from masts and gaffs.

“Wunner what’s wrong wid her,” said the cook, as he relinquished the glasses to the next man. “Amos,” he called to another, “you’ve been in the ingine-room, you say. Is her ingine bus’ down?”

“Dunno,” answered Amos. “Steam’s all right; see the jet comin’ out o’ the stack? There! she’s turnin’ over–kickin’ ahead. ‘Bout time if she wants to clear us. She’s signalin’. What’s that say, Elisha?”

The ensign was fluttering down, and a string of small flags going aloft on the other part of the signal-halyards, while the steamer, heading west, pushed ahead about a length under the impulse of her propeller. Elisha, the navigator, went below, and returned with a couple of books, which he consulted.

“Her number,” he said. “She’s the Afghan Prince o’ London.” As the schooner carried no signal-flags, he waved his sou’wester in answer, and the flags came down, to be replaced by others.

“Rudder carried away,” he read, and then looked with the glasses. “Rudder seems all right; must mean his steerin’-gear. Why don’t they rig up suthin’, or a drag over the stern?”

“Don’t know enough,” said an expatriated Englishman of the crew. “She’s one o’ them bloomin’, undermanned tramps, run by apprentices an’ Thames watermen. They’re drivin’ sailors an’ sailin’-ships off the sea blarst ’em!”

“Martin,” said Elisha to the cook, “what’s the matter with our bein’ a drag for her?”

“Dead easy, if we kin git his line an’ he knows how to rig a bridle.”

“We can show him, if it comes to it. What ye say, boys? If we steer her into port we’re entitled to salvage. She’s helpless; we’re not, for we’ve got a jury-rig under the bows. Hello! what’s he sayin’ now?” Other flags had gone aloft on the steamer, which asked for the longitude. Then followed others which said that the chronometer was broken.

“Better ‘n ever!” exclaimed Elisha, excitedly. “Can’t navigate. Our chronometer’s all right; we never needed it, an’ don’t now, but it’s a big help in a salvage claim. What ye say? Can’t we get our hemp cable to him with a dory?”

Why not? They were fishermen, accustomed to dory work. A short confab settled this point; a dory was thrown over, and Elisha and Amos pulled to the steamer, which was now abreast, near enough for the name which Elisha had read to be seen plainly on the stern, but not near enough for the men shouting from her taffrail to make themselves heard on the schooner. Elisha and Amos, in the dory, conferred with these men and then returned.

“Badly rattled,” they reported. “Tiller-ropes parted, an’ not a man aboard can put a long splice in a wire rope, an’ o’ course we said we couldn’t. They’ll take our line, an’ we’re to chalk up the position an’ the course to New York. Clear case o’ salvage. We furnish everything, an’ sacrifice our jury-material to aid ’em.”

“What’ll be our chance in court, I’m thinkin’,” said one, doubtfully. “Hadn’t we better keep out o’ the courts? It’s been takin’ most of our time lately.”

“What’s the matter wi’ ye?” yelled Elisha. “We owe a few hundreds, an’ mebbe a fine or two; an’ there’s anywhere from one to two hundred thousand–hull an’ cargo–that we save. We’ll get no less than a third, mebbe more. Go lay down, Bill.”

Bill subsided. They knotted four or five dory rodings together, coiled the long length of rope in the dory, unbent the end of their water-laid cable from the anchor, and waited until the wallowing steamer had drifted far enough to leeward to come within the steering-arc of a craft with no canvas; then they cut away the wreck, crowded forward, all hands spreading coats to the breeze, and when the schooner had paid off, steered her down with the wind on the quarter until almost near enough to hail the steamer, where they rounded to, safe in the knowledge that she could not drift as fast as the other.