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Voyages and Travels of Count Funnibos and Baron Stilkin, a fiction by William H. G. Kingston |
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Chapter 6 |
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_ CHAPTER SIX. When the Count and the Baron awoke, they found to their surprise that the sloop was not only afloat but under weigh, and sailing over the waters of the Zuyder Zee. The skipper, who was short and broad, had a crew of two men, who were, he assured his passengers, amply sufficient for navigating the sloop. "We shall not reach Amsterdam quite as soon as you might have expected, Mynheers," he said; "for I purpose putting in at Monnickendam for a few hours. It is not a very lively place, though it was once a wealthy city, one of the twenty great towns of Holland, but its glory has passed away." As the object of the Count and the Baron was to see the world, they willingly agreed to visit this dead city of the Zuyder Zee. They were accordingly rowed on shore in the sloop's boat. "Well, this does seem to be a city of the dead, or else the inhabitants, if there are any, have gone to sleep," observed the Baron, as he and the Count paced the streets, which were payed with yellow bricks. The houses were all red, and the Venetian shutters green--one house was almost exactly like another; not a door nor a window was open, not a face was to be seen at any of them; through the entire length of one long thoroughfare they met not a single person--not a cat, nor a dog, nor a sign of life. They went through street after street--every street was the same; only when they returned to the harbour a few people collected to inspect them, examining minutely their boots and hats, their coats and umbrellas. "Well, gentlemen," said the Baron, making them a profound bow, "you will remember us should we ever have the pleasure of paying your defunct city another visit." He and the Count stepped into the boat which was waiting to take them on board the sloop. Whatever other business the skipper transacted at Monnickendam, he had not omitted to imbibe a considerable amount of schiedam, and although when he stepped on deck he was as steady as a church steeple, there was a twinkle in his eye, and a mode of expressing himself which showed what he had been about. The Count and the Baron, however, did not at first discover this. When the sloop was got under weigh, he invited them into the cabin to partake of the dinner, which one of the crew had prepared. The wind was light, and the sloop glided steadily on. "After all, I really do think I like the sea," said the Count. "This style of navigation suits me--no trouble, no fatigue. We can eat and drink and go to sleep, and return on deck to enjoy the fresh air. When, Captain, do you think we shall reach Rotterdam?" "Reach Rotterdam, Mynheers, why when the sloop gets there," answered the skipper. "I cannot say how soon we shall reach it, the winds must know more about that than I do. We have Uitdam and Durgerdam to pass first, and the wind may fail us or become contrary. It was not in our agreement to tell you when we should get there; have patience, Mynheers, have patience; let the world go round as it likes, and have patience." This was not a very satisfactory answer, but as the Count and the Baron were tolerably comfortable they made no complaint. The skipper sat in his chair, and after he had finished dinner quaffed schiedam and water; one of the crew was engaged below in cleaning up the dishes and plates, the other was at the helm. Presently there came a loud cry, and the cutter heeled over. The Count, who was the most active of the party, jumped up to see what was the matter, while the man forward did the same. "We're run into by a big, lubberly ship," cried the man at the helm. The fact was very clear. The bowsprit of the big ship had caught the rigging of the sloop, and was bearing her over. "What is going to happen?" asked the Count, in a state of no small trepidation. "We shall be sent to the bottom if our mast and rigging are not carried away," answered the man at the helm. The crew of the big ship were rushing out to the bowsprit end to try and clear the sloop, but that seemed no easy matter. "Can't you cut the rigging, my friends?" shouted the Count, who at a glance saw that by so doing the sloop would be set free. "But we shall lose our mast if they do that," said the man at the helm. "Better lose our mast than be sent to the bottom," answered the Count. Again he shouted, "Cut, my friends, cut." The sailor who had sprung to the end of the jibboom, supposing the Count to be the captain, did as he was bid, and with a few strokes of an axe quickly severed the rigging, and the shrouds fell down on deck, while the sloop, gliding on, was quickly free of the ship. "Why didn't you keep a better look-out?" shouted the captain of the ship. "It was your own fault in getting in our way." "Ja, ja," answered the man at the helm, who like the skipper had been indulging in potations of schiedam. The skipper himself now came on deck, to which the Baron had just before made his way, and began storming and raging. The crew of the big ship only laughed at him and sailed proudly on, while the sloop lay helpless on the water. "The sooner we repair the rigging the better," observed the Count, who never put himself out, whatever happened. The only man who was capable of doing this was the one who had been forward; he at once lowered down the mainsail and saved the mast from being carried away, which it might have been had a slight puff of wind come on. "Put the vessel to rights, you lubbers," cried the skipper. "I am going below to finish my bottle of schiedam." "Ja, ja," answered the sober man of the crew. "Mynheers, will you help me, and we shall be able to do it," he said, addressing the Count and the Baron. They consented to do their best to pull and haul as much as was required. "That's all I want," he said, fixing a rope to the severed rigging and going aloft with it. Having passed it through a block he told them to haul away. When the upper end had reached the masthead he lashed it there as securely as he could. "That will do, provided we do not get a strong breeze. Now, Mynheers, help me to set the mainsail." The Count and the Baron hauled away right lustily, and the sail was soon set. "Now," said the sober sailor to the man who had been at the helm, "go forward and sleep; it is the only thing you're fit for at present." The seaman obeyed, and disappeared down the fore hatchway. The sloop sailed on and on. The Count looked into the cabin and saw that the skipper was fast asleep; the Baron went forward and found half his crew employed in the same way. "Never mind," said the sober sailor; "the wind is fair, and provided no other big ship runs us down we shall get safely to Amsterdam soon after nightfall." This was cheering news to the travellers, and they promised a handsome reward to the sober sailor if he would take them in safely. "Glad to do that for my own sake," he answered. "It won't be my fault if we do not." Still, as the wind was light the sloop sailed slowly; yet it was very evident, from the number of vessels they encountered, that they were approaching the great emporium of commerce; but the evening was drawing on, and darkness would increase the dangers of the voyage. At length they could only see lights glittering here and there, ahead and on every side, and tall masts rising out of the water. Now and then shouts warned them to get out of the way of some vessel, and the sober sailor shouted in return. "Now, Mynheers, whichever of you can steer the best take the helm, and we will bring the sloop to an anchor. We must wait till daylight to get through the outer drawbridge." "I never steered in my life," answered the Count. "Nor I either," said the Baron. "Then do one of you take the tiller and do as I tell you," said the sober sailor. "Baron, I leave that honour to you," said the Count; "I do not feel quite up to it." The Baron, who would have been ready to steer a seventy-four if he had been asked, at once took the tiller in hand, and, as the sailor sang out, "Pull the tiller towards you," or "Put it away from you," he did as he was bid. They glided on in the darkness, the lights round them twinkling like fireflies. At last the sailor hauled down the jib and foresail. "Now put it from you," he sang out, "as far as you can." Then there came a splash, and the cable ran out, and the sober sailor requested the Count and the Baron to help him lower the mainsail. "Now I have you all snug," he said, "I can put you on shore, or you can remain on board till morning if you wish it." "I think we had better remain on board," said the Baron; "I do not fancy going into a strange town at midnight without knowing an inch of my way, or what hotel to go to." "I agree with you," observed the Count, "though I cannot say that I anticipate much pleasure in passing the night in a close cabin with a tipsy skipper snoring as loud as a grampus." "Not pleasant, certainly," remarked the Baron; "and I am ready to sacrifice myself for your benefit, if our friend here will take me on shore and wait for me while I search for an hotel; whether I find one or not, I will come back to you." The Count gladly agreed to this proposal; and the sober sailor, launching the boat, at once put off with the Baron, intending, as he said, to land him at a quay at no great distance. The Count walked the deck impatiently waiting his return; and, as he heard the skipper and the man forward snoring, he began to regret that he had not himself also gone. The sober sailor and the Baron were a long time absent. "What can have become of them?" exclaimed the Count, over and over again. He had sat down to rest in the after part of the vessel, when he saw some one moving forward; and, going in that direction, he discovered the sailor who had been asleep. "What are you about there?" he asked. "Giving more scope to the cable," was the answer. "The tide has risen, and the sloop wants it." "All right, I suppose," thought the Count, and he went aft, while the sailor descended, and was soon again fast asleep. The Count heard a noise such as rope makes when running over wood. Presently he observed that the objects, dimly seen through the gloom of night, were moving. "What can have happened?" he thought. Faster and faster they moved. The vessel appeared to be in a rapid current. "Oh, dear! oh, dear! what is happening?" he cried out; and he shouted to the skipper and the man forward, but neither answered him. Presently the vessel struck against the side of a house which rose out of the water, then against a pier, then she bounded off, then once more she came with tremendous force against another house, which appeared to be a store, carrying away her bowsprit. "She will go to the bottom, and I shall be drowned," thought the Count; and he scrambled up the rigging just as the head of the mast poked its way in at a large opening in the wall. Climbing the shrouds of a vessel was a feat the Count had never before accomplished, and was very contrary to his habits; but he exerted himself to the utmost. The unpleasant recollection came upon him, as he was doing so, that these were the shrouds which had been severed when the ship ran into the sloop, and he feared, naturally, that they would give way at the very moment that he was upon them. This made him climb the faster. Now, as the vessel heeled over, his feet touched the wall of the building, and he feared that he might be jammed against it. The darkness prevented him from seeing clearly what was befalling the hull, but his impression was that it was going down into the deep canal, and that the skipper and the remaining portion of his crew would be drowned; but he had no desire to share their fate, and was utterly unable to help them. He shouted, however, loud enough to arouse them out of any ordinary slumber; but the schiedam they had drunk had so completely lulled their senses that they heard not his shouts, or the bumping of the vessel against the wall. He therefore continued his ascent till he reached the top of the mast, when, getting hold of a beam which projected from the opening in the building, he hauled himself up. Just as he did so the mast cracked; the vessel with a jerk heeled over to the opposite side; he was left clinging to the beam while she was borne away by the tide into the darkness. Again he shouted to try and arouse the skipper, but no human voice replied to his cries. _ |
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