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The Ghost Ship. John Conroy Hutcheson
Читать онлайн.Название The Ghost Ship
Год выпуска 0
isbn 4064066432546
Автор произведения John Conroy Hutcheson
Жанр Документальная литература
Издательство Bookwire
“Good heavens!” exclaimed the skipper. “How did the accident happen?”
“They were searching under the stoke-hold plates to get out some cotton waste that had got entangled about the rosebox of the suctions, which, as we found out, prevented the bilge-pumps from acting, when, all in a moment, just when all the stray dunnage had been cleared out, the ship gave a lurch and the plates buckled up, catching the lot of them, Mr. Stokes and all, in a sort of rat trap. Mr. Stokes tumbled forwards on his face in the water and was nearly drowned before Stoddart and I could pull him out, the poor old chap was so heavy to lift, and he nearly squashed Blanchard, the stoker, by falling on top of him as we were trying to raise him up, cutting his head open besides, against the fire bars. Poor Jackson, however, the other fireman, was gripped tight between two of the plates and it was all we could do to release him, Stoddart having to use a jack-saw to force the edges of the plates back.”
“My God! horrible, horrible!” ejaculated the skipper, terribly upset and concerned. “Poor fellows; Jackson, too, was the best hand Stokes had below!”
“Aye, sir, and as good a mechanic, too, I’ve heard them say, as any of the engineers,” agreed Mr. Fosset, with equal feeling. “But, sir, I’m losing time talking like this! I only came up for assistance for the poor fellows and the others who are wounded. Where’s Garry O’Neil?”
“Why, he was here under the bridge a moment ago,” cried the skipper eagerly. “Hullo, O’Neil? Pass the word up, men, for Mr. O’Neil. He’s wanted at once! Sharp, look alive!”
Our second officer, it should be explained, was not only a sailor but a surgeon as well. He had run away to sea as a boy, and, after working his way up before the mast until he had acquired sufficient seamanship to obtain a mate’s certificate, he had, at his mother’s entreaty, she having a holy horror of salt water, abandoned his native element and studied for the medical profession at Trinity College, Dublin. Here, after four years’ practice in walking the hospitals, he graduated with full honours, much to his mother’s delight. The old lady, however, dying some little time after, he, feeling no longer bound by any tie at home, and having indeed sacrificed his own wishes for her sake, incontinently gave up his newly-fledged dignity of “Doctor” Garry O’Neil, returning to his old love and embracing once more a sea-faring life, which he has stuck to ever since. He had sailed with us in the Star of the North now for over a twelvemonth, in the first instance as third officer and for the last two voyages as second mate, the fact of his being a qualified surgeon standing him in good stead and making him even a more important personage on board than his position warranted, cargo steamers not being in the habit of carrying a medical man like passenger ships, and sailorly qualities and surgical skill interchangeable characteristics!
Hitherto we had been fortunate enough to have no necessity for availing ourselves of his professional services, but now they came in handy enough in good sooth.
“Mr. O’Neil?” sang out the men on the lower deck, passing on his name in obedience to the skipper’s orders from hand to hand, till the hail reached the after hatchway, down which Spokeshave roared with all the power of his lungs, being anxious on his own account to be heard and so released from his watch so that he could go below. “Mr. O’Neil?” he again yelled out.
Spokeshave must have shouted down the Irishman’s throat, for the next instant he poked his head up the hatchway.
“Here I am, bedad!” he exclaimed, shoving past Master “Conky,” to whom he had a strong dislike, though “Garry,” as we all called him, was friendly with every one with whom he was brought in contact, and was, himself, a great favourite with all the hands on board. Now, as he made his way towards the bridge, where some of the men were still singing out his name, he cried out, “Who wants me, sure? Now, don’t ye be all spaking at once; one at a time, me darlints, as we all came into the wurrld!”
“Why, where did you get to, man?” said the skipper, somewhat crossly. “We’ve been hunting all over the ship for you!”
“Sure, I wint down into the stowage to say if the yolklines and chains for the wheel were all clear, and to disconnect the shtame stayrin’ gear,” replied our friend Garry. “But you’ll find it all right now, with the helm amidships, and you can steer her wheriver you like; only you’ll want four hands at least to hauld the spokes steady if she breaks off, as I fear she will, in this say!”
“That’s all right,” cried the skipper, appeased at once, for he evidently thought that Garry had gone back to his cabin and left us in the lurch. “But I’ve bad news, and sorry to say, O’Neil, we want your services as a doctor now. There’s been a bad accident in the stoke-hold and some of the poor fellows are sadly hurt.”
“Indade, now!” ejaculated the other, all attention. “What’s the matter? Any one scalded by the shtame, sure?”
“No, not that,” said Mr. Fosset, taking up the tale. “Mr. Stokes has had his arm broken and another poor fellow been almost crushed to death. He’s now insensible, or was when I came on deck so you’d better take some stimulant as well as splints with you.”
“Faith, I understand all right and will follow your advice in a brace of shakes,” replied the second mate, as he rushed off towards the saloon. “You’d better go on ahead, Fosset, and say I’m coming!”
With these parting words both he and the first officer disappeared from view, the latter hastening back to the engine-room, while the captain slowly mounted the bridge-ladder again and resumed his post there by the binnacle, after placing four of the best hands at the wheel amidships with old Masters, the boatswain, in charge.
“Ah, what d’ye think o’ that now?” observed the latter to me, as I stood there awaiting my orders from the skipper, or to hear anything he might have to say to me. “I said as how summut was sure to happen. That there ship—the ghost-ship—didn’t come athwart our hawser for nothink, I knowed!”
Just then there was a call up the voicepipe communicating between the wheel-house on the bridge and the engine-room.
The skipper bent his ear to the pipe, listening to what those below had to say, and then came to the top of the ladder.
“Below there!” he sang out. “Is Mr. Spokeshave anywhere about?”
“No, sir,” I answered. “He went off duty at eight bells.”
“The devil he did, and me in such a plight, too, with that awful accident below!” cried Captain Applegarth angrily. “I suppose he’s thinking of his belly again, the gourmandising little beast! He isn’t half a sailor or worth a purser’s parings! I’ll make him pay for his skulking presently, by Jingo! However, I can’t waste the time now to send after him, and you’ll do as well, Haldane—better, indeed, I think!”
“All right, sir,” said I, eager for action. “I’m ready to do anything.”
“That’s a willing lad,” cried the skipper. “Now run down into Garry O’Neil’s cabin and get some lint bandages he says he forgot to take with him in his hurry, leaving them on the top of his bunk by the doorway; and tell Weston, the steward, to have a couple of spare bunks ready for the injured men—in one of the state rooms aft will be best.”
“All right, sir,” said I, adding, as he seemed to hesitate, “anything else, sir?”
“Yes, my boy; take down a loose hammock with you, and some lashings, so as to make a sort of net with which to lift and carry poor Jackson. He’s the only chap badly hurt and unable to shift for himself, so O’Neil says. Look sharp, Haldane, there’s no time to lose; the poor fellow’s in a very ticklish state and they want to get him up on deck in order to examine his injuries better than they can below in the stoke-hold!”