It was not fog Drew had spotted. That would have been welcome.
“Another storm front!” exclaimed Robbie. “And moving this way!”
He leaped instantly to action. It was time to lay aside any further philosophical quandaries, for the Sea Tiger was in no condition to meet another storm, even a light one. But if one was coming, he would do everything in his power to use the winds to their advantage.
Robbie quickly ordered the royals hauled in. All the other sails he left trimmed. If the rudder held, they could ride the storm, and then nothing could outrace the Tiger. They would leave Chou’s junk far behind.
The clouds had overtaken them in less than an hour. And even before that the winds had increased considerably. How long they could stay at the storm’s front was the question. For a long while the Tiger flew through the water, making a good eighteen knots. The storm was their ally, even though Robbie knew it could not go on indefinitely. He hated to drive his ship so; each groan, each straining creak of the boards sent a shudder through his body. Yet he had already felt the grand nobility in her frame. If any clipper could do it, it was the Sea Tiger—if the rudder held.
The squall belched rain from above and stirred up the sea from beneath for another full day. It was not nearly so severe as the typhoon, though in their crippled state the effect was nearly the same. The main hatch stove in and water poured in below, twelve inches deep, until the pumps finally cleared it out. The forecastle roof, which they had fixed on the island, blew completely away. But miraculously, the rudder held.
During the next night, however, the wind shifted, and then indeed might Lackey have correctly prophesied disaster. The change would not have been significant under ordinary circumstances. It was only a few degrees. But with a weak rudder having difficulty keeping the Tiger aligned properly, the sudden difference between broad reach and beam reach was enough momentarily to snap the sails back. The sharp pressure cracked the fore topmast, and with a horrifying crash, hauling sails and rigging with it, the mast fell to the deck.
So concerned with the rudder, Robbie had never expected catastrophe to strike from above. But everything had happened so suddenly that nothing could have been done to prevent it. Pike, who had been astern, hobbled quickly to Robbie’s side. Together they stared hopelessly at the wreckage. When their eyes met a moment later, Robbie perceived such a depth of despair in the old man’s sinking heart at seeing his dreams vanish before him that instantly he forgot all his animosity. He laid a comforting hand on the skipper’s shoulder.
“We’ll make it through this, Ben,” he said gently. “Come on, the men will need us. We have to clean up and make what repairs we can.”
Pike stared at him blankly, as if he had not heard such a crazy notion in all his long life. But Robbie gently urged him forward. He knew a dose of hard work would be the best medicine for the heartbroken old sailor.
Robbie fetched a box of tools, then began cutting away at the tangled mass of sail, mast, and untold hundreds of yards of rope and rigging. Suddenly an agonized gasp escaped his lips, and Robbie jumped back, staring as one looking on death for the first time.
It was scarcely any wonder that he had not first noticed the bodies, half covered as they were with sail, and with rain and wind pelting him in the face. But now that he saw them his heart suddenly went sick. He turned away and gagged violently.
Young Sammy’s foot was tangled in a coil of rope. He had apparently been part way up the rigging when Jenkins tried to free him. But he had not been in time to save either of them before the mast toppled over, taking them both to their deaths beneath it.
A half-choked, screaming sob broke from Robbie’s lips, followed by a hot rush of tears escaping from his eyes. He clenched his teeth together to try to stop, but it was no use.
“Oh, God, why! Why is life so cruel to those who deserve it least!” he yelled into the wind.
Sammy had so loved the sea, had spoken dreamily about becoming a captain one day. “But don’t worry, Robbie,” he had said. “I’ll never give up a clipper for steam!” They had laughed heartily. After all, they were true sailing men! Suddenly the boy was dead, before his first voyage was half over.
And what a good man Jenkins was! How could they possibly continue without his strength and know-how? If Robbie could have felt glad about anything at that moment, it would have been because the able sailor had died heroically. If anything could give back an ounce of hope, and could enable the men now to do what they had to do in order to keep the Tiger afloat, it would be the memory of that hero’s death, giving his life trying to save another. Therefore Robbie turned with renewed vigor to the task of clearing the deck and caring for the dead. The bodies were wrapped in canvas to await burial at sea when the weather permitted a proper service.
It took the remainder of the night to sort through and clear off the debris from the deck, while the rest of the meager crew hauled in all the sails. There would be no way they could run now, especially after Torger delivered his report that the rudder was weakening. They would have no choice but to heave to and sit the squall out.
By the first gray light of what passed for dawn, the winds had abated somewhat and the seas had quieted enough for a brief funeral.
As the dead were brought to the rails, everyone seemed to look to Robbie for some kind of eulogy. Pike, even as captain, seemed out of the question for such a role. But any words Robbie tried to force out only stuck in his throat. Could he say that their brave comrades and faithful shipmates had given their lives because of their skipper’s greed? Could he say they had given their lives for a worthy cause—shipping contraband to Chinese outlaws?
All at once something sprang into his mind. It seemed ages since he had heard the words from an old sailor; in truth, it had been only a few months since that day when he and young Andrew Graystone had walked happily along the London docks.
“They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; These see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep.”
Robbie paused. That was all the old man had said. It didn’t seem like much of a sendoff for these two shipmates. Then a quiet voice from the rear of the small group spoke, taking up the scripture where Robbie had left off:
“‘For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof. They mount up to the heavens, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit’s end. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their departed haven.’”
A great hush fell over the group when Drew stopped as quietly as he had begun. For the first time since Robbie had known him, the Vicar spoke of God with neither cynicism nor bitterness. The words of Scripture had been spoken with apparent sincerity, even if with the sincerity of a man who believes a thing though he himself cannot personally espouse it.
But as amazing as were Drew’s words and the almost prophetic look upon his face as he spoke, even more so was the sanctified hush that fell on the rest of the crew. Hardly a man of them had ever before made so much as a mention of God. Yet now even the roughest of them bore upon their tough, weather-beaten countenances a look of reverence lovely to behold.
The verses reminded them not only of the realities of the sea, but also of its mercy. They well knew what a haven, a safe harbor in a time of storm, was. And they were reminded now that death also could be a haven from the stormy cares of life. As they stood there, some of the men, in the quiet of their own hearts, found themselves repenting of past hardness, either toward God or their fellowmen. It is difficult to predict what the Vicar’s reaction would have been had he been told that his words had served to draw some of these men a few steps closer to their Maker. The lady from the mission in Calcutta had said, “Even a sailor can be used of God,” and her words must also apply to an embittered ex-clergyman.
The timing of that Godly intervention could not have been more perfect, for many of these men would very soon find either their final haven or tumult, as their hearts would reveal when the time came.
In that reverent atmosphere the bodies of the dead were discharged into the sea. Then as God had given Noah the rainbow for a sign, He seemed to give to these men a sign of His presence also. A great bright streak of light broke out above the back of the mass of gray clouds. The dawn had boldly made itself known, forcing back the darkness of the diminishing storm.
All at once the reverie ended with a shout.
“A ship!”
All eyes turned astern. There against the dark, murky horizon, where the water and sky met together in a dull blend of gray, the shadowed outlines of a ship in full sail appeared. A great cheer arose from the crew of the Tiger. Each one of them well knew they could not have gotten much farther in their condition. Even though land was only five, perhaps eight, miles west of them as they skirted the Chinese coast, without the main mast it might as well have been a hundred.
Only Robbie did not join in the jubilant cheer of anticipated rescue. He remembered, if they did not, that not all vessels met in these waters were necessarily friendly. He also vividly remembered the different look in the cut of sail between an English clipper and a Chinese junk.