Captain Blyth had already thought out his plans in this direction. And when it was reported to him that the barque could part company at any moment he went forward, and, mustering the steerage passengers, told them he had not only observed their efforts to make themselves useful on board, but had also noticed that those efforts had been crowned with a very fair measure of success; he would now, therefore, ship the whole of them for the passage, if they chose, paying them ordinary seamen’s wages from the commencement of the voyage. So good an offer was not to be lightly refused; and, after a few minutes’ consultation together, the men unanimously declared their willingness to accept it. This made the rest of the business quite plain sailing for the skipper; and, closing with the Umhloti, he hailed Mr. Bryce to say that he intended to send him home in charge, and that he was to ascertain how many of the men then with him would volunteer to return to England. A crew of fourteen hands, all told, was soon made up, Tim Parsons and two of the apprentices being of the number; and just as night was closing down the two vessels parted company, Captain Blyth, Ned, and the saloon passengers taking advantage of the opportunity to send home letters to their friends, the skipper taking the precaution to enclose them all in his dispatch to his owners, lest Mr. Bryce, in his indifference, might neglect to post them. It may as well be mentioned here that the Umhloti arrived safely in England about a fortnight later than the passengers and crew who had abandoned her; and that the letters she carried duly reached their destination.
The changes rendered necessary by this drafting off of so large a proportion of her crew involved certain promotions on board the Flying Cloud, in which promotion Ned, to his intense gratification, was made a sharer, he being appointed acting second-mate vice Mr. Willoughby, who was promoted to the post of chief, whilst Williams was made boatswain’s-mate.
The ship being now once more close-hauled, with the south-east trade-wind blowing steadily, and only a very moderate amount of sea running. Miss Stanhope regarded the occasion as propitious for the perfecting of herself in the art of steering; and she accordingly practised with great assiduity. Ned, of course, by virtue of his promotion, was no longer required to take his trick at the wheel—he was now the officer in command of the starboard watch—but Sibylla did not allow that circumstance to interfere in the least with her plans; on the contrary, she rather made it subservient to them. For, whereas she had before been obliged to wait for her lesson until Ned’s trick came round, she now simply watched her opportunity, and whenever she saw that the young man had nothing very particular to do, she would go up to him and say, “Mr. Damerell, is it convenient for you to give me a steering-lesson?” Whereupon Ned would make a suitable response, and, accompanying the young lady aft, would say to the helmsman “Here, Dick, or Tom, or Harry”, as the case might be, “go forward and do so and so; Miss Stanhope wishes to give you a spell. When she is tired I will let you know, and you can come aft again and relieve her.” Upon which the seaman, with an inward chuckle and much carefully suppressed jocularity, would shamble away for’ard, fully convinced by past experience that he need think no more about the wheel until his trick should again come round. By the time that the ship had run through the south-east trades, Sibylla could steer her, when on a wind, as well as the best helmsman on board; and, proud of her skill, she then began to long for the opportunity to try her hand with the ship when going free. This opportunity came, of course, in due time; and, though the fair helmswoman at first found the task far more difficult that she had ever imagined it could possibly be, she soon developed such extraordinary skill that Ned’s prophecy at length became literally fulfilled, Captain Blyth gradually getting into the way of turning to Miss Stanhope when any exceptionally fine steering had to be done—as, for instance, when some contumacious craft ahead persistently refused to be overhauled—and saying, “I am afraid there is no resource but to invoke your aid, my dear young lady; we shall never overtake yon stranger unless you will oblige us with a few of your scientific touches of the wheel.” Whereupon Sibylla, looking very much gratified, would make some laughing reply, and forthwith take the wheel, keeping the bows of the Flying Cloud pointing as steadily for the strange sail as though they had been nailed there, always with the most satisfactory result.
It was perhaps only a natural consequence of Ned’s assiduous “coaching” of Miss Stanhope in the helmsman’s art that the formal relations usually subsisting between passengers and officer should to a certain extent have given place to a kind of companionship, almost amounting to camaraderie, between these two young people. The seamen were almost, if not quite, as quick as their skipper in detecting what was going forward; and it is not very surprising that, with their love of romance, they should forthwith regard the handsome young mate and his pupil as the hero and heroine of an interesting little drama. This view of the affair afforded the men for’ard intense gratification. Ned was exceedingly popular with them; and the tars regarded the conquest with which they so promptly credited him almost as a compliment to themselves, and a triumph to which each might claim to have contributed, even though in ever so slight and indirect a way. It will be seen later on that this fancy on the part of the crew was the means of placing Sibylla in a most trying situation.
A few days later a sad fatality occurred. The ship was somewhat to the eastward of the Cape, going nine knots, with her topgallant-sails furled, the wind blowing very fresh from the northward, and a tremendously heavy swell running. Captain Blyth, the mate, and Ned were all on the poop, busy with their sextants, the hour being near noon, when, the ship giving a terrific lee-roll, Mr. Willoughby lost his balance, and, gathering way, went with a run to leeward. Whether the accident was due to the poor man’s anxiety to preserve his sextant from damage or not can never be known, but certain it is that, from some cause or other, he failed to bring up against the light iron protective railing which ran round the poop, overbalancing himself instead, and falling headlong into the water.
A shriek from the ladies, who witnessed the accident, and the shout of “Mate overboard!” from the helmsman caused the skipper and Ned to lay their instruments hurriedly down on deck and run aft to the lee quarter, where the first thing they saw was the unfortunate man’s hat tossing on the crest of a sea about a dozen yards astern.
“He can’t swim a stroke,” exclaimed Ned to the skipper; and then, before the latter could stop him, the gallant fellow took a short run, and plunged headlong into the foaming wake of the ship.
“Down helm!” exclaimed the skipper to the man at the wheel, springing at the same time to the lee main-brace, which he let fly. The men forward, meanwhile, having heard the cry of “Mate overboard,” rushed aft to the braces, and in another minute the ship was hove-to, with her mainsail in the brails.
This done, Williams, who was perhaps the keenest sighted man in the ship, sprang into the mizen-rigging, and, making his way with incredible rapidity into the top, stood looking in the direction where he expected to see the two men.
“D’ye see anything of them, Williams?” shouted the skipper.
“Yes, sir; I can see one of them,” was the reply; “but which one it is I can’t tell. It must be Ned though, I think, for he seems to be swimming round and round, as though looking for the mate.”
“Keep your eye on him, my man; don’t lose sight of him for a single instant!” shouted the captain. Then, turning to the men, who were clustered together on the poop, he exclaimed: “Now then, men, what are you thinking about! Out with the boat, my hearties; and be smart about it!”
The men moved to the tackles and threw the falls off the pins down on to the deck, talking eagerly together meanwhile; then one of them turned, and, stepping up to the skipper, said:
“Who is to go in the boat, sir? I must say I don’t care about the job; and the others say the same. We don’t believe we could get away from the ship’s side in such a sea as this.”
Captain Blyth