William H. Macy  Source  Whalesite

"Fire!" – A mysterious craft – We board a charnel-ship – What We Found There.

      It was near midnight of a still but stinging cold night, when we were rudely awakened from sleep by the fearful cry of "Fire!" sweeping ominously past our shanty, and blending with the hurried tramping of many feet over the crisp, snowy surface. The Englishmen had discovered it, and were rushing by our door as it was thrown open.

      "Where's the fire?" was the startled inquiry.

      "Burdick's tryworks!" and a glance confirmed the statement.

      A flame was rising fiercely to the sky in that direction, and throwing a glare upon the adjacent shanty of the " Ripple," with the space immediately round it. The forms of eager men could he seen rushing to and fro, but their efforts to subdue the fire appeared to have little or no effect.

      "Burdick'll be burnt out," said Mr. Fielding, quietly, at the first glance. "He built his tryworks too near the house, but I could not make him believe it at the time. We must look out for our own quarters, McDougal, for the cinders will sweep down this way. Warner's safe enough, for he's to windward of it—and as for Burdick—we may as well make arrangements to receive him and his gang in among us, for the present."

      We had always looked upon fire as the most terrible visitation that could befall us. And it was mainly for this reason that wc had built at a considerable distance apart, instead of huddling together in a small compass. A conflagration which should destroy the whole village during the winter season, would prove certain death to most, if not all of us.

      Leaving a guard near our houses to watch the floating cinders, and to fight them with snow, if necessary, the majority of us hurried to the scene of the fire. It was a clear night, cold and dry, with a moderate breeze to fan the flame. The material from which it was fed, with all the surroundings, were highly combustible, and Burdick's men had hardly time to drag their clothes and bedding out into the snow, before their dwelling was wrapped in flames. It stood directly under the lee of the tryworks, and, as Fielding had observed, imprudently near.

      It appeared that a boatsteerer of the "Adelaide," who had been left in charge of the fires for boiling penguin oil, had suffered the pot to get too hot, and the whole contents had ignited. Water was not at hand in any great quantity, for everything was frozen. Snow was freely used, but the fire had gathered such quick headway from the caldron of blazing oil, that everyone was driven back from the spot.

      "Never mind," said the philosophical Warner. "It's well the rest of us are no nearer to you, Burdick, or we would all have been turned out of house and home together. Carry everything right to windward, up to my shanty. We'll make you snug among us until we can bring down that shell that the Cape Towners left on the hill yonder, and start you in business again. It's only wasting labor to fight the fire any more. You might as well let her burn I"

      The flaming building shed a wild light upon the scene of utter desolation round about. Everything was covered with a white, wintry mantle down to high water mark, beyond which the sea formed a dark aud striking contrast. It was always open to navigation, for the prevalence of strong gales, and the constant agitation against the shore, were unfavorable to the formation of saline ice. Some might be found, at times, in the crescent beyond the Glacier, where it was more sheltered. But the beaches of the Point were never ice-bound.

      As the roof and sides fell into the sea of fire within, a fresh spire of flame shot skyward from the whole mass, by the light of which was revealed a sight that riveted the gaze of every one, at the cry:—

      "Sail Oh!"

      The phrase, so natural to the seaman's tongue, at the first sight of a strange vessel, was, in this case, a misnomer, inasmuch as the craft had no canvas set. She was a square-rigged brig of nearly two hundred tons, drifting under bare poles, and was already within the chord-line spanning the crescent from the Glacier to the rocks off the extreme south end of the Point. She was not more than a mile from the beach in the shortest direct line, which would strike near the wreck of the "Daphne."

      "What does it all mean?" said McDougal, after we had stared at the vessel and at each other for a minute, at least. "He can't stand a great while on that tack, or he will pile himself up along with my poor brig."

      "There's nobody aboard there," answered Warner. "No live man would have his craft under bare poles such a fine night as this, or run her away in here unless he intended to anchor. They must be either dead, or dead drunk, which amounts to the same thing."

      "There's no one there that's able to take care of her, that's a sure thing," said Fielding. "Here's a case of salvage for us, I reckon; and if we can get aboard, and drop an anchor before she gets ashore, we may make a good night's work of it. Let's make a safe thing of this fire. Scrawm it out, and smother it with snow, some of ye! Come on, the rest of us, and let's get the boats ready to shove out."

      We hurried down to where the two boats were lashed side by side, and eager hands soon had them cleared away and ready to launch, despite the cold, biting air, which we hardly minded now, so great was the excitement induced by this new and strange adventure. We could see her distinctly without the aid of the firelight, for she loomed darkly against a clear sky, and we perceived that she did not set directly inshore, but, acted upon by the wind and tide at the same time, was making her drift obliquely down into the arc. She would strike the beach, on that course, three or four miles below her present position. We hoped, therefore, to find means to anchor her, and keep her afloat.

      "Now I think of it, Fielding," said the captain, as we cleared the beach and fell into a regular stroke at the oars, " that brig must have drifted here from Desolation. Most likely parted her chains while lying at anchor. You know the wind has prevailed at nor'west for several days past."

      "That would account for her having no sail set," was the answer.

      "But 'twouldn't account for having nobody aboard," interposed Warner, who was close by us in the other boat. "What vessel would be lying at anchor there with all hands out of her? Unless she was a tender left by some ship, to be used again next season. But in that case, she would have been left in Three Island Harbor, and I can't believe she ever found her own way to sea out of that snug place."

      "She must be the Phantom Ship of Good Hope," said Dave, " and has drifted off her cruising ground."

      "No, no," I replied, " you mustn't touch upon classic subjects, or attempt to spoil so beautiful a legend as that of the Flying Dutchman. You know that she is only seen in a gale of wind, and that she always carries all sail, blow high or blow low. To believe otherwise is rank heresy."

      Thus between jokes and conjectures we passed the time, as we pulled towards the dark loom of the strange craft. In drawing near, we noted that her bow and sides were much lumbered with ice that had accumulated in masses. The square sails were furled to the yards, but in a very clumsy and slouchy manner, as if she had been too short-handed to manage them. But the storm staysails and trysail had been blown away, leaving the bolt-ropes with here and there a bit of fringe adhering.

      McDougal threw a glance round at the position of the brig and the shore, and, as the oldest officer, at once assumed command.

      "Get an anchor off the bow at once, and rouse up the small lower chain," said he. "We must bring her up very soon, if we want to save her afloat."

      All could see as well as he, that it was no time to investigate the mystery now. So we turned to with a will. The chain was easily hauled on deck, but to clear the anchor and bend it was a work of some time, as everything and everywhere was so coated with ice. But all was ready at last, and the smaller anchor being dropped, was found sufficient to bring her up. The other was also cleared away, but held in reserve.

      "Now, then, boys,let's explore below the deck," said the captain, lighting a lantern which we had brought with us from the shore.

      Following his lead, we all crowded into the cabin. A cold chill seemed to strike each of us as we stepped within the door. I pushed my head forward between those in advance of me, who had suddenly stopped, gazing upon the dead body of a man which lay under the cabin table, as if it had been caught and become wedged there, after sliding from side to side by the rolling motion of the brig. The body was in a good state of preservation, owing to the intensely cold weather.

      I noticed a lantern hanging above the table, and pulled it down that we might have more light to pursue our investigations. But the little remnant of oil was congealed so as to be nearly useless. But with this lighted, I groped my way into the steward's pantry, and among the chaos of loose articles and small stores tumbled about in confusion, I found a box half full of tallow candles. Several of these were soon ablaze, and light was thrown upon the whole scene.

      The after-cabin was quite small—the vessel not being above two hundred tons, and had no stern windows. There were two state-rooms on each side, and a trap-door in the centre leading into the run or lazaretto, which stood open. As the dead man's legs were in the way of descending into it, it was necessary to draw him aside, and in doing so, his face came full into view from beneath the table. It had, apparently, undergone little or no change since his death, the cause of which was but too apparent.

      "Small-pox," said Captain McDougal, quietly. "That explains the dreadful mystery."

      There was an involuntary movement towards the deck on the part of several of our men at this dreadful word, but the captain spoke reassuringly.

      "I don't believe there's the least danger of infection, now," he said. "This brig has rode out a long and rugged quarantine since the last man died. If the poison is not all blown out and frozen out of her in this climate, it never will be. Come, let's have a look down the run-scuttle."

      Ashamed of our fears, we again pressed forward to look upon a scene yet more strange and revolting.

      Three others, evidently victims of the same disease, lay stiff and stark, wedged among boxes and barrels. A keg, with a spile in the head, which was found to contain liquor, occupied a central position between them. A tin cup, still firmly clutched in the hand of a corpse, with others lying near, told for what purpose these desperate and dying men had crawled into the run. With their last remaining strength they had sought and found oblivion from suffering in the fiery drink.

      "Let's get out of this!" said two or three voices. And as we fell back, Fielding pulled the spile and left the liquor running.

      "I think these are all the men we shall find," said Warner. "These are the last that died, and the rest have been thrown or washed overboard."

      "The last deaths must have occurred since she drifted into higher latitudes," said McDougal. "A victim of small-pox would change very quickly after death, unless it were freezing cold weather."

      "That's true. And I'm rather afraid to be poking about here and handling things, even in spite of the quarantine, which, I am afraid, hasn't been so long as we supposed."

      An exclamation from one of the men who had forced back the door of a state-room and entered with a candle, now drew us all in that direction. Another man had been found lying in his berth, but in this case decomposition had made great progress before having been arrested by the frost. He had died earlier than the others, but they, being prostrated with the disease, had been unable to remove the body. It was that of a large, heavy man, and his dress, as well as certain little matters scattered about in his stateroom, indicated that he had been a passenger. But we had seen enough, and, indeed, were rather afraid to stay longer in the little room. We opened all the sidelights, as well as the glass bull's eyes in the stern, knocked up the deck skylight, and threw everything open to the blasts of heaven and the piercing frost.

      The other rooms were tenantless, and the same was true of the little, pinched-up forecastle. The five who were found had, beyond doubt, buried the rest of their shipmates, outliving them but a short time.

      "The question is, now," said Fielding, "who or what is she? I'm rather afraid to stay here, but I would like to find that out before we leave."

      "Here's something!" said one of the men, pulling a bag out of the mate's room, from which he shook out two or three little flags. These were eagerly seized and opened, but threw no light upon the vessel's nationality.

      "Nothing but little telegraphic signals, or something of that sort," was the dissatisfied murmur. "Where's her ensign? Of course she had one."

      "She did," said Captain McDougal, with a look up the open skylight hatch. "Look up there and see the halyards, with a little strip of bunting still fast! But not enough to tell of what it was once a part!"

      It was even so. Another fearful story was told by this minute scrap of rag, the last remnant of the brig's ensign. It had been set at half-mast as a signal of distress, had remained there until no one was left to care for it, and had blown away in successive gales. The brig had no name painted on her stern, as we knew in coming alongside, nor could we find one anywhere about her. This fact alone was held sufficient proof by every one that she was some "outlandishman."

      But another raid was made by Fielding upon the mate's state-room, and he soon jerked out from a promiscuous heap of articles, a book, which he threw on the table in triumph.

      "Now we have it!" he said. "Here's her log-book!"

      But one after another glanced over its pages without being any the wiser for it. It was the log-book; we could make out just enough from its general appearance and arrangement to feel sure of it. But it was written in a language unknown to us all, while the cramped chirography indicated that the ill-fated writer was no master of his art, even in his own vernacular. The decision arrived at by us was that the brig was a Russian.

      "We can name her to suit ourselves, then,'' said Bryant. "If we knew her real name, probably none of us could pronounce it without the lockjaw."

      We adjourned to the deck, taking only the log-book with us. Daylight was breaking, and our friends on shore, wild with curiosity, were assembled near us on the Point, with torches. By the light we could distinguish Carrie standing in the doorway of the Galley; as also Burdick, who had remained behind to look after the burning ruins of his house, and was now chafing with impatience at having no boat with which to join us.

      With the day, we discovered that the vessel, above-board, was in good condition, having lost only a part of her bulwarks, and had scarcely carried away a ropeyarn aloft. Sounding the well, we found only three feet of water, and even this, we had reason to believe, had been shipped by seas dashing over her, rather than from any leak. Her cargo was various, consisting of a small quantity of almost everything. It was what we should call " notions;" and, if our conclusion was correct as to her nationality, she must have been bound to some Russian port on the Kamtschatka side. How long she had been out we had no means of knowing. Our united scholarship was not sufficient even to make out the dates in the mystic volume of scrawls.

      Despairing of learning anything further at present, and all feeling cold and hungry, we manned our boats, and joined our impatient comrades on the Point. Our prize rode safely at single anchor, but, knowing how unsafe was her position in the event of a strong wind rising, it was determined, after having refreshed ourselves, to board her in force, and, if possible, work her up to a more secure anchorage beyond the Glacier.

Source:

W. H. Macy
"Beyond Desolation - No. XV."
      Flag of Our Nation.
Vol.24, No.44, (Oct 30, 1869)
p.702.

William H. Macy  Source  Whalesite