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CHAPTER XIX
THE “BARLEY RIG.”
It was with Captain Hoeseason of the trawler Barley Rig that the boys finally succeeded in striking a bargain to land them in Antwerp. The captain of the craft, who was also her owner, was a giant of a man, more than six feet tall in his great sea boots and dressed in rough fisherman’s garb. The boys found him in a small, waterfront inn, with a thatched roof and red window curtains which bore the sign of the Magpie and Shark, apparently, in the owner’s estimation, a happy combination of land and sea.
Captain Hoeseason declared that he knew the North Sea like a book and that there would be no danger of encountering mines if they sailed with him. His craft would be ready at the long fish dock at six the next morning, he declared, and at that hour the boys presented themselves.
The crew of the Barley Rig were a rough, weather-beaten looking set of men, and almost immediately, upon the boy’s arrival, they set to work, under the hoarsely bawled orders of Captain Hoeseason, setting the fisher craft’s great red sails. At last all was ready. Under a brisk breeze, that momentarily grew stronger, the trawler slipped out to sea.
“They’re a rough-looking lot on this craft,” observed Jack to Bill, as the Barley Rig began to toss about in a way that would have been trying to less experienced sailors.
“Yes, I’m glad you’ve got that money in your money-belt,” said Bill, referring to the American gold they carried. “They have none of them seen it, thank goodness, or we might have cause to worry.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” declared Jack. “They may be honest enough for all their rough looks. I imagine that the North Sea fishery doesn’t tend to make men very refined looking.”
“At all events it hasn’t had that effect on this crew,” laughed Bill.
At noon they were summoned, by the cook’s beating on a tin pan, to a dinner of fried fish and boiled potatoes. The little cabin where they ate it reeked of the fish that for years had formed the Barley Rig’s cargo, and was lighted, for it had no openings but the companionway above, by a swinging, smoking lamp of what was known among the fishermen as the “pot” variety. But it would have taken more than this to dull the keen edges of the boys’ appetites, whet to razor sharpness by the freshening wind.
The cook, an old, bent man, with a wild blue eye, stood by his rusty stove watching as they devoured what was set before them. Overhead they could hear the trample of feet and the occasional impact of a big wave as it broke in spray over the bow.
“It’s getting rougher,” remarked Jack.
“Seems to be,” agreed Bill; “this is a small boat to be out in a storm.”
“They say that the trawlers are fine sea boats,” declared Jack.
There was no doubt that it was getting rougher. By mid-afternoon the green seas with breaking, white tops, were leaping mountainously under a scudding gray sky. Still, the captain of the Barley Rig did not take in a reef of his sails. He stood beside the tiller, which was gripped by a young giant of a fisher in jersey and boots, giving an occasional order and puffing vigorously at his stubby clay pipe.
Beside an occasional gruff word, Captain Hoeseason did not have much to say to his passengers, but they noticed that his eyes followed them constantly.
“I can’t shake off an idea that the fellow has some mischief in mind,” declared Bill, after he had noticed the furtive scrutiny the skipper of the Barley Rig was bestowing on them.
“Nonsense,” declared Jack. “I made a few inquiries about him and he appears to bear a good character. Anyhow, we are going among dangers beside which this trip won’t appear as anything, so don’t get nervous at the start off.”
As dusk began to settle down, it showed a wild scene. The trawler appeared to be alone on the troubled ocean; at least, no other craft was within sight. The wind howled dismally through the cordage, and the reefed sails tore at their ropes as if they would part at any moment.
“Bad weather, Captain,” said Jack, as he and Bill stood bracing themselves against a back stay.
“Oh, aye,” rejoined the captain, taking out his pipe like a stopper to permit himself speech, “but she’ll be worse afore she gits better.”
He was right. By nightfall, it was blowing a gale, and the big seas were breaking over the Barley Rig, drenching everything. Water fell in cataracts down the cabin companionway every time the hatch was opened. Cooking was impossible, and the boys made their supper on hard ship biscuit and water while a small flood washed about their feet.
“This is awful, Jack,” remarked Bill after a lurch that had sent him sliding across the cabin.
“Cheer up, old fellow, it might be worse,” retorted Jack cheerily.
Bill gave a groan.
“I don’t see how it could be, unless we go to the bottom,” Bill grumbled dismally. “You don’t think there’s any danger of that, Jack, do you?”
“Not a bit of it. This craft has weathered many a storm as bad or worse than this, I don’t doubt,” declared Jack stoutly, although the laboring of the storm-stricken Barley Rig was beginning to get on his nerves.
Not long after the completion of their scanty meal, the captain came below and snatched a bite. He was dripping from head to foot and reported the gale as increasing in violence.
“My advice to you younkers is to turn in,” he said. “You can have my bunk – that one yonder. I’ll be on deck all night and so will ’tother lads.”
The bunk in question was not much more than a shelf with some very dubious-looking blankets piled untidily on it. But the boys were tired, and so they clambered up and composed themselves to rest with the deck within a foot of their faces, so low was the cabin ceiling.
For a time sleep was impossible. The buffeting blows that the big waves struck the laboring trawler made her shake and creak as if she would go to pieces at any moment. On deck the heavy trampling of sea boots kept up without intermission. The smoky lamp swung drearily. The motion grew so violent at times that they were almost pitched out of the bunk. In some corner into which he had dragged himself, they could hear the old cook snoring and mumbling in his sleep.
But at last, despite all this, tired nature asserted herself and they dozed off, while outside, the storm howled and shrieked like a furious and sentient creature aroused to frenzy and extermination.
CHAPTER XX
THE HIDDEN MINE
About midnight, Jack awakened with a start and a vague feeling that all was not well. The Barley Rig was still tossing violently and for a few moments after he opened his eyes, the lad who had slept on the outside of the bunk felt dazed.
Then he became aware that Captain Hoeseason was standing near to him, feeling about under the mattress.
“He’s trying to rob us,” thought Jack. “What shall I do?”
The thought flashed across him that he had no weapon, and that Hoeseason was probably armed. He was undecided whether to feign sleep or not, for the captain of the Barley Rig was apparently not yet aware that the boy was awake, when he was saved the trouble of making a decision.
He was grasped roughly by the shoulder and violently shaken. The giant captain, with an evil look in his eyes, stood above him, a huge seaman’s knife glimmering in his hand under the light of the guttering lamp.
“Now, younker,” he said, in his hoarse tones, with a ferocious look, “I ain’t goin’ ter beat about the bush. I’ve come after that money of yourn.”
“What money?” demanded Jack, deeming it wisest to “spar for time,” and see if he could not devise some way out of the dilemma.
“Now, don’t play foxey, Mister Yankee kid,” snarled the huge fisherman; “you know as well as I do. The money in that belt I heard you talking to your chum about.”
“I know nothing about it,” declared Jack. “When I paid you I gave you almost all the money I had. I am looking to get fresh funds in Antwerp.”
The man tightened his grip on the boy’s shoulder and fairly yanked him out of the bunk. He placed his knife between his teeth and compelling Jack to hold his arms above his head he searched him. Jack’s heart sank. He knew the money belt was in the bunk under the pillow. Beyond doubt this desperate ruffian would search the sleeping place before very long and discover its hiding place.
“So it ain’t on you,” snarled Hoeseason, when he had finished his search, “but I’ll bet a guinea it ain’t far away. Stand where you are and don’t move as you value your life while I overhaul the bunk.”
A moment later an exclamation of savage delight burst from his bearded lips.
“Ah! Here it is. See, younker, I was bound to find it and – What the – ?”
As the giant of a man stood half-facing him, Jack gathered himself for a crouching leap. He sprang straight at the man’s legs and, catching him entirely by surprise, brought him to the floor with a crash that could be heard above the raging of the storm.
“Bill! Bill!” he shouted.
There was a stir in the bunk above.
“Help me, quick. He’ll be too much for me alone.”
“What in the world, Jack Ready – ?”
“Don’t ask questions. Come, quick!”
Bill clambered out of his bunk with alacrity as soon as he saw what was going forward. Hoeseason, who had been, luckily for Jack, slightly stunned by the fall, lay still. In his fall the knife had flown from his hand and lay half-way across the cabin.
“The knife, Bill,” panted Jack, “the knife before he comes to. I dare not take chances with him.”
Bill quickly fetched the weapon.
“So he did try to rob us after all,” he said. “The precious ruffian, I didn’t like his looks from the start.”
“Never mind about that now, Bill, but hustle and get some rope. We must tie him, for when he comes out of this he’ll be a match for the two of us.”
There were plenty of odd bits of rope lying about the cabin on lockers that ran down one side of it. Bill procured several lengths, and in a few moments, the semi-conscious giant was bound hand and foot.
In the meantime, Jack fastened the money belt round his waist once more.
“I wish we had pistols,” he said, as they stood watching the slow return of consciousness to the bound captain’s face.
“Why, this fellow is harmless now,” rejoined Bill.
“Yes, but you have forgotten the rest of the crew, haven’t you?”
“Great Scott, I had for a moment. Do you think they are in league with him?”
“I don’t know, but they are bound to find out his plight sooner or later and we shall have to reckon with them. We’re in a tight place, Bill.”
Captain Hoeseason began to stir. He rolled his eyes uneasily, and the next moment discovered that he was tied fast.
“You young imps,” he roared in stentorian tones, “cut me loose instantly, or when I do get free I’ll have such a vengeance on you as will – ”
“It won’t do you any good to rave like that, captain,” declared Jack, “and, moreover, we – ”
The sentence was never finished. The fabric of the Barley Rig seemed to heave suddenly upwards and then rush apart. There was a burst of blinding flame, and a report that drove the ear drums in. The next instant, as it seemed to them, there was an inrush of water on the tide of which the boys were swept out into the darkness of the raging seas.
The trawler vanished almost as quickly as the terrific flash of flame from the mine that she had struck, and which had ended her career for all time.
CHAPTER XXI
THE NORTH SEA
The moments that followed were the most terrible that Jack had ever known in his adventurous life at sea. Cast adrift in the dark night and wild sea, he was at first completely bewildered. The very suddenness with which the end of the Barley Rig had come had benumbed him.
But ere long, the blind instinct of life asserted itself. He struck out, hoping to find some wreckage with which to sustain himself, for in that rolling, breaking sea, he could not have hoped to remain afloat long without some support.
Wave after wave swept over the bravely battling lad, half choking him in spite of the fact that he was an experienced and powerful swimmer.
“Great Scott!” he thought with dismay. “If I can’t find some support to cling to before long, I’m a goner. This is the worst ever.”
In addition to the difficulty of fighting the baffling waves, Jack now began to experience a fresh obstacle to keeping afloat. The weight of the heavy money belt at his waist seemed to be drawing him remorselessly down toward the depths.
At first, he had difficulty in accounting for the leaden feeling that possessed him after being a short time in the water. But suddenly he recalled the money belt with its weight of gold.
“I’ll stick it out as long as I can,” resolved the boy, “and then unfasten the buckle and let the money sink.”
A section of wreckage came within his grasp at that moment. He made a wild grab for it, but a great wave swept it beyond his reach. He began to feel numb and chilled and utterly incapable of battling for his life much longer. An odd, reckless feeling of indifference came over him. His movements became automatic, no longer consciously directed.
Suddenly he recollected the money belt that dragged at his body like a leaden weight. He fumbled with the buckle with one hand while he trod water. But the strap proved obdurate. His chilled fingers could not undo it.
“It is the end,” murmured the exhausted boy. “I’m all in, and can’t keep up the fight any longer.”
A strange, dreamy sort of feeling crept over him. He felt the water closing over his head. Then, suddenly he seemed to be dragged skyward. His senses swam and he knew nothing more. When he opened his eyes, it was daylight. He lay in the bottom of a small boat that was being tossed about like a chip on the rough sea which, although it had moderated to some extent, was still running high.
“Where on earth am I and what has happened?” he wondered in the first few seconds of returning consciousness. “I remember that terrible feeling that all was over, that I was drowning and – ”
“Thank goodness you’re all right again, old fellow.”
“Bill!” cried the young wireless man wildly, as he recognized the voice, “is that really you or your ghost? Am I dreaming or drowned?”
“Neither, I hope,” rejoined Bill, helping his chum to raise himself in the bottom of the boat, “but you came mighty near being the latter if I hadn’t providentially come within reach of you just in time.”
“Thank heaven you did,” replied Jack fervently, “but tell me, how did it all happen? I don’t understand. The last I can recollect is going under and thinking that all was over.”
“Which must have been just about the time I grabbed you by the hair and got you on board somehow,” continued Bill. “I don’t know how I did it, but I succeeded.”
“But how did you come to be in the boat?” Jack wanted to know.
“Well, you see when we were both swept out of that cabin – I guess the trawler must have been broken in half by the explosion, – when we were both swept out, I didn’t know what was happening and just struck out blindly.”
“Same here,” observed Jack. “I was looking for a bit of wreckage to float on, but none came my way.”
“I don’t know, though I guess I answer that description,” chuckled Bill, regarding himself with critical eyes. He was only half dressed, and the few garments he had on, for it will be recalled that neither of the boys had had time to dress, had been almost ripped from him. Nor was Jack in any better plight.
“Anyhow,” went on Bill, “the first thing I struck was this boat. It’s the small one that hung astern of the trawler. The explosion, which struck about midships, I guess, hadn’t harmed it and it must have torn loose from its fastenings when the Barley Rig sank. I clambered into it and found it was half full of water. I managed, with an old tin bucket, which luckily, hadn’t been washed overboard, to bale it to some extent, and – and then I heard you yell – ”
“I don’t remember crying out,” interrupted Jack.
“Well, anyhow, you gave a good husky yowl and I glimpsed your head just alongside. I hauled you aboard and laid you in the bottom of the boat but I had not the least idea that it was you that I had the good fortune to rescue till daylight. You can imagine how glad I was.”
“But what are we going to do now? Have we oars?”
“No.”
“Water?”
“No.”
“Nor food?”
Bill shook his head.
“If we’re not sighted and picked up we’ll be in a bad fix, old fellow.”
“I’m afraid so. I guess we’re the sole survivors.”
“Yes, poor fellows. One can’t help feeling sorry even for that rascal Hoeseason.”
The boat, a small, not over tight ship’s yawl, swung on the top of a high wave. The boys eagerly took advantage of this to gaze out over the crests of the tossing water-mountains.
But the heaving, steel-gray sea was vacant of life. All they could see was a vast expanse of mighty rollers, desolate and cold under a leaden sky. They exchanged blank looks.
“Bill, old fellow, we’re up against it,” came from Jack.
“Well, I’ve known times when things looked considerably brighter,” admitted Bill dolefully.
CHAPTER XXII
A NIGHT OF ALARMS
Castaways on the open sea in a boat without water, food or oars!
It was a situation to frighten the bravest. To add to the peril of the boys’ position, they had too appalling evidence of the fact that the North Sea was strewn with floating mines which, even the impact of a small craft, like the one in which they were drifting at the mercy of the winds and waves, would serve to detonate.
Small wonder, then, that after a while conversation grew more and more desultory until at length they each sat silent, gloomily surveying their predicament. Fortunately, there was no hot sun to beat down on them and aggravate the thirst both were already beginning to feel. But even with cool weather they could not hope to fight off the agonies of thirst for long. Food, so far, was a secondary consideration.
Then, too, the frail nature of their craft gave them cause for anxiety. The gale showed as yet no signs of breaking up. From time to time the ragged tops of great waves were ripped off by the fury of the wind, deluging the boat in spray. It was necessary to keep bailing constantly if they hoped to remain afloat.
The constant buffeting to which they were subjected was dizzying and nauseating. Both lads ached in every limb. In a way they were glad to have the exercise afforded by bailing, for it went a long way to keeping their minds employed and their limbs from stiffening in the cramped, wet boat.
Yet their nerves showed no outward sign of a breakdown. From time to time they exchanged sentences intended to be cheerful; but it was a ghastly sort of merriment of which they soon tired. Thus the hours wore away and darkness set in with a slight dimunition of the violence of the wind and signs, by the clearing of the sky, that the break of the gale was at hand.
But they dared not sleep through the hours of darkness, except in hasty snatches. Had the bailing pail been left alone for even an hour, the boat inevitably would have been swamped. By midnight, though, the sea was much smoother. Their dizzied heads, racked by the incessant tossing, became clearer. They looked about them. Suddenly Jack gave a shout.
“Look! Look yonder!”
A short distance off, and apparently bearing down on them, were the red and green sidelights and the bright white mast-head signal of a steamer!
Bill broke into a shout.
“Hurray, Jack, we’re saved!”
“Not so fast, Bill. They may not see us in the dark.”
“That’s so. I’d give a million dollars, if I had it, for a box of matches and some good dry stuff to burn for a signal.”
“Not having those things, there’s no use worrying about them,” returned Jack quietly, “but say, Bill, see here.”
His voice was anxious. He gazed nervously at the approaching lights.
“That steamer’s coming right down on us. We can see both her sidelights.”
“Well, so much the better. She’s bound to see us.”
“Haven’t you thought of another possibility?”
“What do you mean?”
“Of a great danger?”
“I don’t understand you.”
“She’s headed straight for us and we can’t get out of the way. If she doesn’t change her course, it will be a miracle if she doesn’t run us down.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Bill in sobered tones. “What can we do?”
“Nothing but to sit tight and trust to luck.”
Both lads now sat with anxious eyes fixed on the approaching lights. Nearer and nearer they came, traveling fast.
“Shout, Bill, shout with all your might,” enjoined Jack.
They began yelling at the top of their lungs. But those inexorable lights, like the eyes of some savage monster, still bore down menacingly on them. Already, in anticipation, they felt the impact of the sharp bow, the crash of smashed timbers and the suction of the propellers drawing them down to death.
“They don’t hear us,” said Jack. “If the lookout doesn’t sight us, we’re lost.”
The steamer was very close now. By straining their eyes they thought they could make out the dark outlines of her hull and spars against the clearing sky. Bill hid his face in his hands. He could not bear to look at the Juggernaut of the seas advancing to crush them. Jack, with more fortitude, sat erect with a thousand thoughts whirring through his brain.
The mighty bow loomed above the tiny chip of a boat, throwing off a great wave. The comber caught the light craft and flung it aside. What seemed like a black cliff, with here and there a gleaming light piercing its face, raced past them, and the boat, with two white-faced, shaken boys in it, was left in the wake of the fast-moving steamer, safe, but being madly tossed about by the wash of her propellers. The danger had passed, almost by a hand’s breadth, but it was some time before they were sufficiently masters of themselves to discuss their escape.
