The Ruined Cities of Zululand. Hugh Mulleneux Walmsley
brig found herself, when morning dawned, seventy miles from the scene of the late disaster. The horizon was clear, not a sail being in sight; the whistling of the wind, the scream of the gulls, which were now wheeling round the brig, showing the proximity to land, those and the whish of the breaking wave being the only noises heard. The decks had been holystoned, the sailors were busy coiling down spare ropes or cleaning the brasswork, which was already as bright as could be, and the regular step of the officer of the watch could be heard as he paced the quarter-deck by those below.
The party in the cabin consisted of Captain Weber, his first officer, his passenger, and the master of the “Argonaut,” the ship which had been burned at sea the previous night. Of the whole crew the captain and one seaman only had been saved.
Sad enough he looked as he sat at the well-furnished breakfast-table, his hair singed with fire, and his right arm in a sling.
“We were bound for England, and our cargo consisted of five hundred barrels of naphtha,” he said, in reply to a question addressed to him by the first officer of the “Halcyon.”
“Why were you lying to when we first sighted you?” asked Captain Weber, “I thought our cargo had shifted a little in the late gale, and I had been overhauling it. That night I was seated with my first mate in the cabin when a furious explosion shook the ship. I was thrown down, and how long I remained insensible I don’t know. When I did come to I found myself surrounded with wreck, everything smashed, the bulkheads driven in, and the ship split in her waterway. Hardly had I realised the extent of the misfortune when the cry of fire was heard. In a moment the remainder of the naphtha was in flames, and I had hardly time to get on deck.”
“And the boats?” asked Captain Hughes.
“Blown to chips,” was the reply. “I ordered the mainmast to be cut away, but the flames were too quick for us, and all we could do was to cut adrift the mainboom. I and Miller managed to reach it. The ship was now burning fore and aft, and presently, as you saw, went down bodily, the whole of the naphtha rising to the surface in a sea of flame. I saw many of my poor fellows swim in this bath of fire. My mate and steward went down beside me. The cook had lashed himself to a piece of wreck, and for a quarter of an hour I heard his cries, then they ceased suddenly. The rest you know.”
A bustle on deck, a loud shout, and then a voice repeating the welcome words, “Land ho!” disturbed the breakfast party, who hurried up the hatchway, the poor, spirit-broken master of the “Argonaut” alone remaining below. What to him was land? He had no ship, no crew to care for. The fierce flame and the seething ocean had brought him ruin.
The wind was now well abaft the beam, and even to those on deck the long cloud-like outline of land was soon, visible, as, every sail set that would draw, the brig worked her way on, rising and falling on the long seas, now rolling heavily to leeward as she sank in the green trough, now lifting on the surging wave and heeling over as her loftier canvas felt the full force of the breeze, until she showed her bright clean copper nearly to her keel, only the next moment to dash her wedge-like bows into the foam, sending the glittering particles high into the air, deluging the forecastle with green water, as she drove onward towards land. Above, the bright clear sky of an African day; the gulls and the Mother Carey’s chickens wheeling and circling round the masts. Captain Weber, proud of his brig, felt she was doing her best, while by his side walked the captain of the “Argonaut,” sad and dispirited, his one hand thrust deeply into his pocket, the other supported by a sling, his burned hair and scorched face looking melancholy even beneath the bright sunshine. To Captain Hughes, the long cloud-like line of the coast was a promised land, where the mighty elephant, the lordly lion, and the fierce rhinoceros waited him; and so the day wore on, and afternoon came.
“Watch and idlers, shorten sail! In royals, start tacks and sheets!” and soon the fore and main-royals were flying loosely in the wind, and the ready seamen busy securing the flapping canvas.
Broad on the port bow the high land of Cape Colato could be seen, as well as a lower bluff stretching away as it were to meet it, but failing in its object, leaving an opening between the two headlands, thus forming the harbour called Delagoa Bay, for which port the “Halcyon” was bound.
On she flew, the wind freshening and the green waves seeming to lift the brig forward on her ocean path. “Let fly the top-gallant sheets,” and soon the yards slowly settled down. “Take the foresail off her, Mr. Blount. Forward there, see the anchor all clear.” The cheerful “Ay, ay, sir,” came back in reply to the loud tone of command from the quarter-deck; for much as a sailor loves his ship, he is always pleased at the sight of the port for which that ship is bound; and now the small island of Inyak, nestled within the bay, and the houses of the town, with their light verandahs and white walls, were seen plainer and plainer, seeming to rise like a mirage from the sea, as the entrance to the bay was opened. The brig’s helm being jammed hard down, the graceful craft flew up into the wind with a broad sheer, and soon she rose and fell on the waves under her main-topsail, jib, and boom-mainsail, her foresail hanging in the brails, and her foretopsail still flying loose. A puff of white smoke from her bows followed, and a small flag run up in the shape of a ball, and only breaking when it reached its position aloft, was the signal for the pilot, which was soon answered: a minute black speck, now mounting on the seas, now disappearing in the deep trough, telling of the signal being seen and complied with.
Glad to reach the land he had so long looked forward to, and yet at the same time sorry to leave companions whose life, perils, and pleasures he had shared for two months, Captain Hughes stood watching the shore-boat as it pulled towards the ship.
“You’ll be glad to land, Captain,” said a voice by his side, and as he turned, he saw close to him, leaning over the bulwarks, the melancholy-looking master of the burned ship.
“Well, yesterday I would have said ‘Yes,’ and somehow to-day I must say ‘No’,” replied Hughes.
“Ay, ay,” struck in Captain Weber, as he passed in his quarter-deck walk, taking off his seaman’s cap and pushing back the long white hair from his weather-tanned forehead, “you are as much a sailor as you are a soldier. Well, I shall work the old bark up the coast, trading here and there, I have still some months to spare, for mine is a three-year voyage, and if you are for a passage home before we leave, look out for the ‘Halcyon.’ ”
“I’ll land here, and work my way to London,” said the captain of the “Argonaut.”
“No, no, old fellow, we must not part so, I picked you up floating on a loose spar, and I am not going to cut you adrift. Take share and share with me, and our return voyage will be all the merrier.”
The old man shook his head, for the loss of his ship and the fearful fate of his crew, who had perished before his eyes by a death so terrible and so totally unforeseen, had shaken his intellects, and from a bold, daring seaman, he had in one night become completely changed.
Captain Weber saw this, and with his usual kindness of heart pitied his less fortunate brother, as, taking his arm, he led him away, the two diving below to seek consolation in the seaman’s universal panacea—a glass of grog, leaving Captain Hughes gazing over the sea, and wondering why he was not pleased to land.
The creaking of the oars in the rowlocks was soon heard, as the shore-boat, impelled by the efforts of four powerful men, came sweeping up on the brig’s quarter. A rope was hove, and a half-naked Malay catching at the lee shrouds, as the “Halcyon” heeled over, swung himself on board, losing as he did so his high conical hat, which, with a scanty covering round the waist, formed his only clothing.
“Up with the helm, ease off the jib sheets, fill the main-topsail,” were the words of command given the moment the Malay pilot touched the deck and walked aft. The brig’s head paid off, her sails filled, and, gathering headway, she once more surged through the seas, running slowly into the bay, and ultimately dropping her anchor not more than fifty yards from the town, where she was quickly surrounded by a whole fleet of shore-boats, eager to sell fresh vegetables, bread, or anything else saleable.
The Lioness of Zoutpansburgh.