The Strange Adventures of Eric Blackburn | Page 8

at night, the can containing the
supply of lamp oil seeming to have gone adrift when the boat was
capsized. I was therefore compelled to steer entirely by the stars, and I
was sometimes disturbed by an uneasy doubt as to whether I might not

occasionally have deviated slightly from my proper course by holding
on to one particular star for too long a time. In all other respects I did
splendidly.
The morning of the tenth day of this remarkable but, on the whole,
uneventful voyage of mine in the life-boat dawned auspiciously, and
the daily routine into which I had settled began. I went aloft for a look
round, and then, the horizon being empty, I had breakfast; after which,
with the boat steering herself, I stretched myself out for a short sleep.
I must have slept for perhaps two hours when some mysterious
influence awoke me, and I started up, gazing eagerly about me. There
was still nothing in sight from the low elevation of the boat herself, but
being awake I decided to have a look round from aloft. In another
minute I was straddling the yard of the main lug, from which position,
as the boat floated up on a ridge of swell, I caught a momentary
glimpse of something gleaming white in the brilliant sunshine right
ahead. It could, of course, be but one thing, namely, the upper canvas
of a sailing craft of some sort. I remained where I was, intently
watching that gleaming white speck until it had grown into the
semblance of a royal and the head of a topgallant sail. From time to
time I also got occasional glimpses of the upper part of another sail
which I could not for the moment identify; but ultimately, as I watched,
the strange craft seemed to alter her course a little, and then I made out
the puzzling piece of canvas to be the triangular head of a gaff-topsail;
the vessel was therefore, without a doubt, a brigantine. What I could
not at first understand, however, was the way she was steering; at one
moment she would appear absolutely end-on, while a minute or two
later she would be broad off the wind, to the extent of four or five
points. It was exceedingly erratic steering, to say the least of it, and I
was tantalised too by my inability to determine whether she was
heading toward or away from me; but eventually I decided that, since
her masts had hove up above the horizon just where they were, she
must be heading toward me. The only argument against this assumption
was that she did not appear to be rising rapidly enough to justify it; but
she certainly was rising, although slowly, and that was enough for me
in the meantime. Without further ado, therefore, I slid down from aloft,

went aft, and seized the yoke-lines, saying to myself:
"I believe it's going to be all right this time. She is a sailing craft and I
am raising her, although very slowly. It will be afternoon before I can
get alongside her, but, please God, there will be no more open boating
for me after to-day."
That the craft in sight was indeed a brigantine became unmistakable as
I stood on, slowly raising her canvas above the horizon; and later on in
the day I made two further discoveries, of a rather peculiar character, in
connection with her. One was, that she was hove-to; the other, that she
was flying her ensign upside-down at the peak of her mainsail, the
latter circumstance indicating that she was in distress or required
assistance of some kind.
It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when the life-boat crept up
near enough to the brigantine to enable me to distinguish details; and
the first thing I observed was that a group of five or six men--
apparently forecastle hands--were grouped aft, curiously inspecting the
boat through a telescope as I approached. A little later, when I arrived
within a few fathoms of her, I learned, from the inscription in white
letters on her stern, that the craft was named the Yorkshire Lass, and
that she hailed from Hull.
As I drew up within hail I put my hands to my mouth, trumpet-wise,
and shouted:
"Yorkshire Lass ahoy! I am a castaway, and have been adrift in this
boat ten days. May I board you?"
To my amazement, instead of replying, the group of men clustered on
deck aft turned to each other and seemed to hold a brief consultation.
Finally, after a short palaver, one of them hailed:
"Boat ahoy! I say, mister, are you a navigator?"
"Yes, certainly," I replied, much astonished at having such a question
addressed to me by a British seaman, instead of--as