The Cradle of the Deep

By Jacob Fisher

The Cradle of the Deep is an action-filled tale featuring a shipwreck, survival in a small boat at sea, and life on a small uninhabited island in the South Pacific. Although first published in 1912, the book is written in a surprisingly modern style and holds the reader’s interest as the four survivors’ struggle to reach land after the sinking of their ship enroute from San Francisco to Manila, and then to survive on their small island for over one year before a strange twist of fate enters their lives. Included are numerous realistic details of their life on the tropical island, adding to the authenticity of the novel, and a growing romance between Eleanor Channing and John Starbuck. Jacob Fisher was a pseudonym for Sabine W. Wood (1875-1932), who published a number of novels and short stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phocion Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781789129892

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Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP

An Account of the Adventures of Eleanor Channing and John Starbuck

By

JACOB FISHER

The Cradle of the Deep was originally published in 1912 by Grosset & Dunlap Publishers, New York.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I. THE WRECK

Here,—damn you, get back!

The spat of a bare fist on soft flesh accompanied the oath and was followed by the thud of a man’s body striking the deck.

"This ain’t the Bourgogne, you frog-eater. Women go first on this ship, savvy that?"

The second officer of the South Pacific liner Marquesas, San Francisco for Manila, leaned for an instant to gaze into the face of the man he had struck, but, before he had time to satisfy himself as to the extent of the damage done, another dull roar shook the ship and the deck heaved sickeningly as the whole fabric of the steamer shuddered under her death blow.

The second shock was not so heavy as the first, which had come without warning some few minutes before, when, for some reason probably never to be explained, the dynamite stored under the cargo in the forward hold had awakened the slumbering passengers with its sullen detonation. The force of the explosion apparently had torn the bottom out of her, and, though the discipline that made possible the shutting of the few compartment doors she possessed was admirable, the Marquesas was already several feet down by the head when the second shock burst the forward bulkhead and sent the water pouring into her fire-room.

To add to the predicament, the disaster came in the dark of a moonless, starless night. The flash of rockets and the glare of the Coston signals burning on the superstructure illumined the sea round about, but with the dynamo stilled and the ship’s lights out, the decks below were too dark to distinguish more than the hurrying to and fro of vague shapes, as the remnants of the crew stood to stations and the officers here and there tried to quiet the frightened passengers. The order, Stand by to abandon ship, had been given, pending an examination as to the extent of the steamer’s wounds, but now it was evident that she was doomed and that no time was to be lost in getting out of her.

Worn out as they were by a four days’ northeast gale into which the ship had run some days after leaving Honolulu, during which the starboard propeller had raced itself off the tail-shaft and one blade of the remaining screw had dropped into two thousand fathoms of water, the passengers as well as the crew were too fatigued both in body and mind to feel to its full extent the portent of this new disaster. Officers, who had hardly left the bridge during the gale, were being wearily kept on duty by the fact that the nearly unmanageable steamer had been blown far to the southward of her course, and by dead reckoning and such observations as they were able to make, was in dangerous proximity to the reefs and countless islands that dot the Pacific in the region north of the equator and to the west of the one hundred and eightieth meridian.

The full force of the first explosion, coming directly under the forecastle where most of the men except the deck watch and the engine-room force were sleeping, had killed or maimed the greater number, so that in the stress that followed, work with the boats was slow and all were undermanned though they bid fair to be filled to overburden with the passengers, of which the ship had nearly a full list. Curiously enough, with the second detonation, which increased the peril many fold, the screaming and hubbub on deck lessened, and, save for the sobbing cry of a woman here and there, order was fairly restored. Sharp and decisive now came the orders of the captain from the superstructure of the deckhouse aft, where he had taken his station since the bridge had been wrecked by the first blast.

First officer’s boat.

Ready, sir.

Lower away.

And the craft, crowded with huddled humanity, sank from the davits to the washing sea alongside. Safely launched, the boat pulled away from the ship and lay at a little distance, the crew resting on their oars.

Second officer!

Again came the high note from above and the crispness and businesslike cadence of its tone in itself inspired confidence in the throng of men and women who were awaiting their turn. But the second officer did not answer.

Mr. Steinway, called the captain to the third officer, who stood near the rail working over a jammed fall with bleeding fingers, where is Mr. Starbuck?

Haven’t seen him since the last blow up, sir.

Then take charge of his boat, continued the captain as he peered through the darkness. All clear there? he questioned as the third officer finally jerked the rope free. Then stand by to lower. Lower away, he added as the last man took his place, followed by Mr. Steinway in the stern-sheets.

The other boats followed, one by one, until six were in the water. All these were loaded deep with passengers and such of the wounded members of the watch below as had been got out of the wreck before the second explosion made further rescue impossible. The four boats that lay at the forward davits had been so badly damaged as to be useless, but by close packing the others were made to hold the ship’s company without resorting to the use of the life-rafts. Though several were overcrowded they were seaworthy enough in quiet weather and the chance that they would be lightened through the death of several of the injured men seemed almost certain. The boats in charge of the first and third officers, the chief engineer, first assistant, steward and purser all having gone, the captain looked about him.

Are all out of the ship? he bellowed to the chief, whose boat lay nearest.

I think so, came back the answer.

Have you seen Mr. Starbuck?

No, sir, not since the second explosion. He must have gone below for something and got caught.

Stagg, called the captain to the boatswain’s mate, who stood by the after gangway rail, go below and see if you can find the second officer.

The man started on his mission while the captain stood waiting, viewing for the last time the wreck of his command. No sound came save the gurgle of the water pouring through the rent forward bulkhead. The scream of exhausting steam from the open escape valve had stopped and no more than a murmur of voices rose from the nearby boats. The people in the captain’s boat sat silent, benumbed with the suddenness of disaster, waiting for whatever else should come to them. The deck sagged and rose, heavy and lifeless, and now and then the ship tossed her stern high as the sea-filled fore part settled lower.

Can’t find him, sir, came the hurried voice of the boatswain’s mate, as he appeared with a lighted engine-room torch dropped by a fleeing oiler. I’ve looked everywhere for him, he added. She won’t swim much longer, sir; the ‘midship bulkhead is goin’ soon.

Take your place then and stand by, was the captain’s order as he made his way to the boat deck.

A last glance forward, where the water was already washing over the deck with the sluggish movement of the ship, and the captain climbed over the boat’s gunwale.

Lower away, he ordered.

A moment before the second explosion the second officer, Mr. Starbuck, was leaning over the man he had knocked down. As he bent forward there came to his ears a low cry, a woman’s voice, with grief and despair in its muffled note, from somewhere below him. An open port might have carried the sound. Starbuck started as the roar of the detonation shook the steamer and leaving the Frenchman in the shadow where he lay, stepped across to where the doorway of the forward companion gaped black against the surrounding paintwork. Feeling in his pocket for matches, he groped his way to the stairs and stopped to listen. A faint sound caught his ear and he descended quickly and listened again. For a moment he heard nothing but the swash of the flooded hold and the clatter of the loose wreckage and floating cases among the cargo. Then he caught the sound again, unmistakable this time, as that of a human voice which led him quickly to the port side, forward, where the gangway past the stateroom doors ended in a jumbled mass of debris. Hurrying on, he could hear some one struggling weakly with breath coming in labored gasps. Bending low, with a lighted vesta he explored a gaping hole in the side of a stateroom and caught a glimpse of a foot, a woman’s, in motion, twisting and turning in an effort to free itself from some obstruction. With a shout of encouragement Starbuck tried the stateroom door but it was jammed immovable. With fierce blows of his feet and fists he attacked the panels of the side, the lower of which, already splintered, came easily away, leaving a hole large enough to admit his head and shoulders. Squirming through the narrow space, he lighted another match and saw, lying on the deck, a young woman, held down by a broken beam which lay across her legs. He pulled himself quickly inside, and, as he did so, the feeble struggling ceased.

Fainted, he thought, as he peered at her. That couldn’t have killed her.

Stooping, he braced himself for an effort and with all the strength in his body pitted his weight against that of the fallen beam. At first it would not give. Angered by this, Starbuck suddenly increased his effort and, with a heave, wrenched the timber upward. It came a few inches only, but it was enough, and grasping the woman by the shoulders he drew her from underneath. He could not see her features and lighted another match, looking about meanwhile for water. There was a carafe in the rack above the wash-bowl. He seized it and poured the water liberally over her face as she lay with her head on his knee. With the shock she opened her eyes, and as the circumstances came dimly back she stared at him in fright.

Are you much hurt? Can you get up? asked Starbuck, as he raised her to a sitting posture. You will have to hurry. The ship is sinking fast.

She made an effort to rise but fell back with a cry of pain.

Is your leg broken? he asked, and receiving no reply stooped to examine. Move your legs, if you can, and let me see, he ordered sharply.

He struck a match and held it up. The woman started and rose to her knees, looking at him with staring eyes.

Good, he said, you can walk well enough. You’re Miss Channing. We’ll have to be getting out of here in a hurry. Grab what you can lay your hands on and follow me through.

He made as if to’ raise her, and at last she spoke.

My aunt, she faltered, there, in the berth—I came to find her. I couldn’t see and she—I’m afraid—

Quickly he made a light, and for the first time saw the form of a woman in the berth, lying huddled as if in pain. As he looked closer he discerned a long sliver of wood from the splintered partition protruding from her breast and a heavier fragment wedged across her throat. A glance was enough, but to make sure he placed his hand on her heart.

She’s dead, he said. Come.

Seeing that the girl stood in a daze he seized her roughly by the shoulder and shook her, exclaiming as he felt the ship lurch drunkenly under his feet:

You’ve got to come quick or we’ll be caught. She’s going down any moment.

In the darkness he felt for the hole with one hand, and holding the girl with the other, squeezed himself through, pulling her after him. Outside, with his arm around her he groped to the stairway and up it to the deck. Bearing her, he swiftly made his way aft, shouting as he ran in a voice that rose to a bellow when he realized there was no answering hail. Dropping her against the rail, he sprang up a ladder to the top of the deck-house. It was dark; the ship was deserted.

He sought for a Coston light in the after signal locker but it was empty, the captain having taken the last of the rockets and torches when he left the ship. He could see the shadows of the life-rafts and of the forward boats still hanging at the davits but the latter he knew to be useless and the former no one man could handle. Back he dropped to the promenade deck and ran to the girl, who clung silently to the rail. Grasping her arm he hurried aft, and saw, swinging from its tackles, the small work boat, made ready for launching but left still above the deck. Leaping in he made sure it contained a full water breaker and the small tin case of biscuit always kept there. Oars, sail and mast, boathook and oarlocks were in their places. He hurried again to the girl.

We’re all right, he shouted. We’ve got a chance.

The sucking sound from below warned him to hurry, and dragging her to the boat’s side, he helped her in and told her to sit still. Diving into the nearest stateroom, one of the cabins of the upper tier, he was seizing the bedding when he felt something round. It was a bottle. Without stopping to learn the contents he dropped it into the pocket of his coat and made for the deck again. As he turned toward the boat his foot struck something soft, and bending down he felt the moustache and imperial of the Frenchman. The head moved. A groan of awakening consciousness and the man stirred and raised himself.

Get up, if you want your life saved, rasped the second officer, as he grasped the fallen man’s collar with his free hand. It’s lucky for you I thought of getting this stuff. Get along there.

He hauled, pushed and kicked the half conscious man into the boat, shoved the bow fall rope into his hands and hurriedly gave directions for lowering that a landsman might understand. He himself manned the stern tackle and at a word the boat slowly dropped down the ship’s lessening freeboard.

The sea was not rough and there was no difficulty in launching the light craft. When she was in the water the blocks were unhooked, and seating himself at the oars, with the girl in the stern and the man in the bow, Starbuck pulled rapidly from the steamer’s side.

Black and monstrous lay the rolling bulk, dipping farther down with each slow, lifeless heave, the water frothing about her bows as she rose and sank in the trough of the sea. They had not gone more than a hundred yards when a muffled crash told the second officer that the midship bulkhead had burst. With a giant effort the ship threw her stern high in the air, then lurched and settled, heaved again and was gone forever in the black depths. The sucking whirlpool and the tossing flotsam alone were left in the ghostly glow of the sea’s phosphorescence.

As they watched, even this faint gleam disappeared, leaving them in their frail boat, alone with the sea, rising and falling on its bosom, overwhelmed by its mystery, its treachery and its utter loneliness.

It was very dark.

II. ON THE BREAST OF THE WATERS

Starbuck, at the oars, for a time sat silent. He mechanically kept the boat’s head to the seas, which now and then lifted bubbling crests, throwing the spume over the bow as the craft danced on the rhythmic heave. The Frenchman, too far overcome by the situation for words, cowered where he had dropped down with his head on the forward thwart. In the stern the girl sat, rigid and terrified, with a hand convulsively clutching at either gunwale.

Starbuck was listening. The other boats, he knew, would lay a course to the north in an attempt to reach the steamer lane between Honolulu and Manila, from which the Marquesas had been driven by the storm, and with straining ears he tried to catch any noise of oars or voices that might be borne to him on the breeze, but the only sound was that of the wind itself and the tireless wash of the sea. Standing erect he made a trumpet with his hands and bellowed into the wind’s eye, but only once or twice for he knew it was useless.’ The steamer’s lifeboats, manned with husky rowers, loaded down though they were, could far outstrip his single-handed efforts; but he must make an attempt, he knew, to gain their company at once or the chase would be hopeless. Catching a sound from the man in the bow he turned on him savagely.

Here, you, he shouted, get up on that thwart and take an oar. You’ll have to work your passage from this out.

As he spoke he reached for the man’s collar and hoisted him from the bottom of the boat, shaking him into partial activity as he thrust an oar into his hands.

"Now you keep stroke with me, and row.

Savvy? he growled over his shoulder as he seated himself at his task.

The Frenchman made a poor oar of it, though roused by the apparent necessity of obedience he tried to do his best; but his unskilled strength was far below that of the other and the boat’s head constantly swung off. The sailor looked around in disgust.

You’re a pretty apology for a man, now, ain’t you? he sneered. Why, a wooden Injun could keep his end up better than that.

He took possession of the oar again and for the first time seemed to turn his attention to the woman in the stern.

Miss, do you think you could steer? he asked.

She started at his sudden question. I have steered boats in quiet water, she answered, but perhaps that is very different. At any rate, I could try.

That’s proper talk, was the approving answer. It’ll give you something to think about anyway.

Bending over the stern to ship the rudder he discovered, though the weather was warm, that she was shivering.

Cold? he inquired.

And, in spite of her protest that it was nervousness and excitement, he gathered up the bedding he had taken from the steamer and wrapped it clumsily about her.

Now, he continued, keep the wind square in your face. I can’t tell one point of the compass from another, but the wind ought to be about no’theast, so we’ll head that way till morning and then we’ll maybe sight the other boats. The compass of this dinghy is gone, he explained, as he settled himself at the oars again. And you, he went on, with his head half turned to get an eye on the Frenchman, if you can’t do any better, lie still and trim the boat. You’ll need your rest, too, because you don’t want to think your bein’ a land lubber is going to let you sodjer out of work aboard of this one.

With that he commenced to pull in short, regular strokes with a seemingly tireless jerk of his arms and the boat began to move, slowly, almost imperceptibly among the heaving masses of black water, but the momentary whirls of phosphorescence left by the oar blades showed progress as they slid astern, as did the faint streak of light in the boat’s wake. The steady click, clack of the oars in the row-locks, the regular dip and rise of the boat as it crossed the long, slow swells, were calming in their influence, and gradually, as the girl’s nervous tension relaxed, she found herself going back over the events that had so shaped themselves as to place her in such desperate straits.

Miss Eleanor Channing, only daughter of