ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.Rocked in the cradle of the deep,I lay me down in peace to sleep;Secure I rest upon the wave,For Thou, O Lord, hast power to save.I know Thou wilt not slight my call,For Thou dost mark the sparrow’s fall;Then calm and peaceful shall I sleep,Rocked in the cradle of the deep.
ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.Rocked in the cradle of the deep,I lay me down in peace to sleep;Secure I rest upon the wave,For Thou, O Lord, hast power to save.I know Thou wilt not slight my call,For Thou dost mark the sparrow’s fall;Then calm and peaceful shall I sleep,Rocked in the cradle of the deep.
ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.
Rocked in the cradle of the deep,I lay me down in peace to sleep;Secure I rest upon the wave,For Thou, O Lord, hast power to save.
I know Thou wilt not slight my call,For Thou dost mark the sparrow’s fall;Then calm and peaceful shall I sleep,Rocked in the cradle of the deep.
In the next verse Sandie got mixed.
The first thing he was conscious or semi-conscious of was a dream, that seemed very real, of wandering by the side of the romantic Don, fishing-rod in hand, sweet Maggie by his side.
“You laziest of lazy lads, can’t you wake? Bath’s all ready, and I can smell breakfast. Turn out. What are you talking about? There is no Maggie May here.”
It was Willie who was shaking his friend by the shoulder.
That plunge in the marble cauldron of cool sea water was glorious, and by the time he had finished towelling, Sandie felt downright hungry.
Willie had already had his plunge, and so both were soon dressed and on deck.
“Ha! good morning, lads. I declare you both look as healthy and happy as a couple of skip-jacks.”
It was the captain who spoke.
They had ten minutes walking on the weather side. She was on the port tack, the wind well a-beam. Not a deal of it, but quite enough to make that bonnie clipper barque dance and bound over the rippling water as if she really were a thing of life. The sun was already pretty high in the heavens, and every waveletsparkled so brightly in his beams that it dazzled the eyes to gaze eastwards.
“Look there!” cried Captain D’Acre, pointing away aloft. “Ever see such a sight? Got ’em all on, eh!”
And the good captain rubbed his hands and chuckled with glee.
Certainly our heroes had never seen such a spread before.
Sail after sail towering skywards, the highest seemingly no bigger than a baby’s bib.
“Why,” said Sandie, “I couldn’t even name them; I could go no farther than the royals.”
“Oh, but we have got moon-rakers, and star-gazers, and sky-scrapers above them, and——”
Ring—ding, ding, ding, ding.
It was the steward’s breakfast-bell.
“Ah! what a glorious sound,” said the good skipper. “Come on, boys, and see me make the fish fly.”
. . . . . .
It appeared that this would be an idyllic voyage all through. The good old skipper himself averred that our heroes had brought him good luck, for a fair wind held until the barque got into the trades; and although the vessel was becalmed for about three weeks near the tropics, lying like a log on the water, with idle flapping sails, rolling from side to side on the glassy mountain waves with a motion that was terribly tiresome, this was only what was to be expected. Everybody was rejoiced, nevertheless, whenthe trades were once more made, and theBoo-boo-booshook herself, as it were, and prepared for solid sailing after her long and irksome inactivity.
There is no doubt that before he left home Sandie had been threatened with that scourge of our islands, phthisis or consumption, and that had he remained in our fog-girt island another winter, he might have succumbed. But the balmy ozonic breath of the ocean had already done wonders for him. His cheeks had filled out, his voice was so far from weak that he could sing old-fashioned Scotch songs, like “Annie Laurie” and “Afton Water,” to Willie’s accompaniment. He slept sound at night, and was calm and contented by day.
There was no lack of recreation or enjoyment on board, independent of music. The saloon library was really a very excellent one, and contained the best novels of Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, and Bulwer, besides a score of volumes of Blackwood’s Magazine, and nearly all the standard poets.
There were games—chess, draughts, &c.—below for evening enjoyment, and there were games for daytime also on the upper deck, peg on the ring, sea-quoits, and several others that helped to while away the time.
The first mate, second mate, Willie, and Midshipman Murray played at leap-frog. Sandie, too, would fain have given a back, and taken one also, but the skipper would not permit him.
Nor did he allow him to engage in a mad harum-scarum game of football, that young Murray hadinvented, and which really caused no end of fun and amusement, to say nothing of barked shins and a sprained ankle or two.
Sandie used to delight to watch the sea-birds that, the ship being well on towards the east shores of America, came floating or hovering round the ship. The two most remarkable were the frigate-bird and the albatross. It is supposed that either bird can fly hundreds of miles an hour. The frigate-bird really can go to sleep in the air, and for days and weeks it never alights. Far away on some solitary rock or island, in the spring season, the female bird, and at times the male, sits on their single egg, and at this time they are so tame that the natives can catch them with the hand.
But what shall we say about the albatross, or how describe that great eagle of the sea? The powers of flight of this wondrous bird are marvellous in the extreme. No golden eagle in Scotland ever swept down from the sky with more arrow-like speed than does the albatross on a ship; then he goes sailing round it and round it, apparently without effort, hardly a wing moving, hardly a feather, but the great head, with its weird wild eye, keenly alert all the time. Next moment, in the very teeth of the wind, he goes dashing off, and is seen like a lark against the clouds miles and miles astern. The wind is this bird’s slave; it obeys him, carries him hither and thither with lightning speed, and seems ever ready at his beck and call. Truly a marvellous bird is the albatross!
But there were strange fishes and creatures in the sea that Sandie delighted to watch as well. Sometimes they saw a great lonesome whale ploughing his way through the vastness of the mighty deep, going straight as an arrow, but whither and how guided no one ever could tell. At other times and frequently a shoal of dolphins would cross bows or stern. They took no notice of the brave barque; they had their own life and business to attend to. But surely a right merry life it was, seeing the way they jumped and plunged, even cooing in their glee, and turning somersaults in the air.
Then there was the barracuta, a fish of immense size, not unfrequently observed. He too used to leap out of the water, but with no apparent sense of enjoyment.
The skip-jack leapt from wave-top to wave-top, as if he was learning to fly, and might in course of time become a bird.
The flying gurnet had already learned to fly, and could support himself quite a long time in the air.
At night the men hung lights about the bows, and these flying-fish flew on board and flopped about the decks in desperation, till caught and killed. The wings were kept by the men as souvenirs of the voyage, but the fish was always fried for the saloon breakfast; and very delicious eating they were, in flavour not unlike herring, or even salmon trout, but much more delicate than either.
TheBoo-boo-bootouched at Rio, to land some cargo and take in fresh meat.
Sandie and Willie marvelled much at the romantic beauty of the bay or harbour, with its surroundings of green and rugged mountains. But when they landed they marvelled more. Everything strange, everything wonderful, oceans of fruit and flowers, and the people, whether inky-black or nearly white, all as contented with their lot as doves in a tree, and all chattering away as merry as monkeys.
The next halting-place was Sandy Point, inside the Straits of Magellan, through which they meant to pass.
But now the weather had got black and stormy; the idyllic portion of the voyage was over; all the danger and difficulty was to come.
People cannot tell what is before them. This is a merciful dispensation of Providence.
Itwas the dead of a dreary winter in the Straits of Magellan, about the beginning of July—the seasons, as I need hardly tell my young readers, being quite the reverse of ours—the dead of a dreary winter; and no one who has ever traversed this region of fogs and storms in a sailing ship at such a time will be likely to forget the feeling of gloom that often settles down on board, both fore and aft. The men try hard to fight against it. They smoke, they sing, they fiddle, they dance—on every available excuse the captain may even splice the main-brace; but all pleasures are transient, and do not come directly from the heart.
This was the case now on board the good barqueBoo-boo-boo. Willie and Sandie felt depressed; even Tyro the collie seemed in low spirits or out of sorts.
At times the days would be bright and clear enough, and with probably a strong wind blowing, and a white and chafing sea, the rugged rocks and mountains would be seen on the distant horizon like threatening storm-clouds.
Even pieces of ice were not unfrequently met with;but strangest sight of all were the half-naked savages in their queer little boats that crossed the barque’s hawse, or, hanging on to her sides, begged for alms.
These were Firelanders, or Terra del Fuegians.
“And,” said Captain D’Acre, “mild and cringing though they now appear, they are among the most implacable savages in the world, and cannibals to boot. Heaven help the merchant ship that runs on shore on their inhospitable coast; unless they can defend their lives, a short shrift is theirs. They are killed, and eaten afterwards.”
Sandie shuddered.
“I could tell you some terrible stories connected with these Firelanders, boys, but the weather is depressing enough. No need to sink your spirits to zero. Besides, we are still among them. We must not hulloo till we are out of the wood.”
Very little sail, comparatively speaking, could now be carried, for to a sailing ship the passage of the Straits presents dangers innumerable.
But to those days, so bright and clear, succeed nights of inky darkness and silence, a darkness that the light streaming from the binnacle, or upwards from the dead-lights, seemed to pierce as with arrows of gold.
There was a mystery, nay, even a strange fascination to Sandie—who was deeply imbued with romance and superstition—in nights like these.
Perhaps even the men felt something of this as well,for hardly would they speak above a whisper, and even walked along the decks in silence, as if dreading to wake an echo. But Sandie would lean over the bulwarks, and peer into the intense black darkness, listening breathlessly, as if he expected some voice to hail him from the inky deep.
Sometimes his heart almost stood still with a nameless dread, as near by he could hear a sullen plash and boom. What was it? He could never even guess.
No one was ever sorry when the long dark nights wore away, and the cheerless dawn came slowly creeping over the sea from a lurid yellow horizon, flecked with ugly clouds, like the wings of demon bats.
On the 7th of July, early in the morning, a sudden storm arose, accompanied by sleet and hail, that there was no facing. The cold was intense. Yet bravely theBoo-boo-bookept as near to the wind as ever barque could do.
It ended, however, in her being blown very considerably out of her course.
Towards afternoon the wind went down as quickly as it had arisen, and very uneasy indeed did the captain feel, not only on account of the dead calm that ensued, but because pine-clad hills and rocks were within a measurable distance, and because he knew that another black dark night would succeed the stormy day.
Aberdeen men are noted for their forethought, or canniness, and Captain D’Acre was no exception.
About three o’clock he called a council. All hands,officers included, were had aft, and then the skipper addressed them.
“Men,” he said, “we’re not cowards. Cowards don’t grow in Bonnie Scotland. But I confess to you that I feel uneasy. We are not far off a shore that is infested—haunted, you may call it—by fierce and implacable savages. They will attack us to-night, if they think they can capture the ship. It is best to be prepared. (‘Hurrah!’) Well, we have plenty of arms. We shall get them up. Luckily, pistols and rifles and ammunition are part of our cargo. But there is another thing to take into consideration: we shall not know at what part of the ship, bow, or stern, or quarter, these fiends shall board. Therefore, I propose to get up the sheep-netting. It is strong enough to repel boarders, if placed double all round, on top of the bulwarks. See that done, mate. Moreover,” he continued, “we have oceans of lamps. Let them be all trimmed and lit, but covered up. They should be placed here and there on deck, so as to light us up fore and aft when the enemy comes, by simply hauling off the tarpaulin. Men, I shall not splice the main-brace now, but when the danger is over, when the long black night has worn away, and daylight finds us far from danger, then I’ll splice it twice.”
The men cheered. The mate ordered them forward, and work was commenced at once.
The sheep or calf netting was got up, and all along the bulwarks fore and aft, port and starboard, abarricade erected that it would take savages some time to cut through.
There was a sword or cutlass for every man and a good revolver also.
By the time everything was finished and the lamps lit and covered, black night had fallen.
The barque was uncomfortably near to the shore, and there was not a breath of wind, though the sails hung there ready to catch it when it came.
Coffee and biscuits, with cold meat, were served out to all hands about nine o’clock; then came the long dreary spell of waiting—waiting for a horror to come—waiting for something awful to happen—the very uncertainty as to the shape that something might assume making the waiting all the worse to bear.
High above them on a hill-top, about eleven o’clock, they noticed a fire suddenly spring up. It cast a ruddy glare across the waters, a blood-red path in the pitchy darkness, that was terrible to behold.
In a short time fire after fire shone out on the hill-tops all along the coast.
“You see those fires,” cried the captain to his men. “They are to summon the black and infernal clans. We’ll have them here in hundreds in another hour.”
“We’re ready,” cried a bold voice from among the men. “Never fear, sir. We’ll show them Glenorchy.”
“Hurrah!” cried the others.
The mate now approached the captain, evidently with a proposal.
“Yes, why shouldn’t we?” replied D’Acre; “everything is fair in love and war, especially against such demons as these. Do so, by all means.”
The proposal was to get up steam in the engine used on board for making soft water from salt, and if the worst came to the worst, and the savages obtained a footing on board, to turn the boiling hose upon them. It seemed very dreadful, but life is sweet.
Another long hour of suspense and waiting passed slowly, drearily away. The fires had died down on the hills and gone out, and the silence was intense.
Sandie was leaning over the bulwarks as usual, gazing into the mysterious blackness. Near him was Tyro.
Suddenly, without warning of any kind, the dog placed his forepaws against the bulwarks and barked loudly, fiercely.
“Good dog!” said the captain.
“Men, be ready; they are coming!”
“Uncover the lamps!”
This was done, and instantaneously the ship’s deck and every spar and rope was revealed in a light almost as bright as day.
At the same time a yell rang up from the water, so savage, so demoniacal, that it almost paralysed the nerves of those who heard it.
It was answered next moment, however, by a truly British cheer.
The Firelanders had chosen the bows at which to board. The boarding-netting, however, was somethingthey had not reckoned for. They could be seen in scores, like demons, hacking at it with their knives from the outside.
But volley after volley was poured into them from the revolvers. Then a charge was made with swords.
Sandie had no fear now, and his good sword thrust more than one savage wounded to the water beneath. The fight was a terrible one while it lasted, and it really seemed that for every cannibal killed two more appeared.
If they should once gain a footing on board, then well those brave men knew that the brave barque would be at their mercy.
Every revolver was now empty, and there was no time to reload.
It was a case, therefore, of cut and thrust; but it soon became evident that the white men’s arms were getting tired battling against such terrible odds.
But now the captain’s voice was heard high over the din of battle and the yells of savage strife.
“Give ’em the hose, mate. Fetch it along. Be calm. Cheerily does it.”
Three or four blacks had already reached on board, and more than one white man fell stabbed to the heart.
But now the mate dashes forward with the hose.
How shall I describe the scene that followed, or the sickening yells of those now terror-stricken savages?
They tumbled backwards into the sea, or down with fearful thuds on top of their frail canoes. Mercy, I fear, this swarthy mate knew not. Nay, he even commanded lights to be held overboard, that he might play on the laden canoes; but these were speedily deserted, as, leaving their arms, the cannibals leapt wildly and shrieking into the sea, and commenced swimming shorewards through the blackness and the darkness of this fearful night.
The whole battle had not occupied over half-an-hour, and though the savages must have suffered terribly, it was found that theBoo-boo-boohad only two men killed and three wounded.
Just an hour afterwards, greatly to the joy of all on board, a light breeze began to blow off the shore; the sails no longer flapped, but filled, and the brave barque was soon standing steadily out to sea, and away from that blood-stained cannibal isle.
. . . . . .
It was nearly a whole week after the above adventure before theBoo-boo-boogot quite clear of the straits, and turned her jibboom to the nor’ard and west.
Hopes began to rise high now in every breast. Surely the worst of their dangers were past and gone.
The wounded were doing well.
The two poor fellows who had been slain were buried at daylight next morning, the captain himself conducting the burial service.
The bodies were placed side by side on a grating.Each was sewn in a hammock, which was weighted with iron.
The service was most impressive, and as the captain prayed and gave out a hymn to sing, it is no departure from the truth to say, that tears chased each other adown many a brave and weather-beaten face, tears the men strove in vain to hide.
“We commit these bodies to the deep.”
Here the grating was tilted, and with a dull and sullen plash the bodies sank, to appear no more till the sea gives up its dead.
“We commend their spirits to the living God who gave them.”
. . . . . .
The captain had closed the book, and a few minutes afterwards the men were going about their duties, as if there was no such thing as death and sorrow in the wide wide world.
I wish I could say that all the troubles of the good barqueBoo-boo-boowere now over and done with. I wish it for this reason, that I am no lover of horrors. I neither like to read about nor to write about them. But I have an “ower true” tale to relate, and I am the last person in the world, I trust, or one of the last persons, to shirk a duty.
For a day or two, then, all went well. The wind blew fair, the waves sparkled and shone in the sunshine, as if elfin fingers were scattering their sides with diamonds.
Then suddenly the wind veared round to the west, but fell considerably.
Except on tack and half tack there was no way of making headway against it.
But to make matters worse, a fog came down upon the ship so dense that the jibboom could not be descried from the binnacle, and the men, even by the foremast, loomed out like tall and ghastly spectres.
This was themusgo, so much dreaded in these regions.
But nobody thought even now that theBoo-boo-boowas a doomed ship.
Read on, and you shall learn the terrible truth.
Allthat day themusgolasted. The night closed in early. It closed in so pitchy dark and gloomy, that even Captain D’Acre himself was fain to confess he had never seen anything to compare with it.
It lacked to some extent, however, the strange mystery associated with the deep silence of the black nights they had experienced in the straits. It was not silent to-night, for the head wind continued to blow, and great seas, houses high, rolled in from the west, making the motion of the vessel when tacking very disagreeable.
It might have been about four bells in the morning watch when a wild shout arose from the men, who, more for custom’s sake than any use they could be, were stationed at the bows to look out.
“Keep her away, keep her away, for God’s sake.”
“Port your helm—hard a port!”
Even against the blackness of the night, they had seen a monstrous shape, dark as Erebus, bearing down upon them.
The helm was put hard a port, but alas! it was toolate. Next moment down with the send of a great sea came the shape. There was a crash amidships, as if theBoo-boo-boohad been blown broadside on to a rock. She heeled over till her starboard-yard ends almost touched the water. No one on board expected she could right herself again, yet slowly she did so, and was once more upon an even keel.
The pumps were now got to work; the barque was badly stove, and filling fast.
By those of the crew not engaged pumping, an attempt was made, under the supervision of the mate, to rig a device, with the aid of poles, blankets, and tarpaulins, to stop if possible the terrible leak. This was lowered over the side, and was far more successful than could have been expected.
But it was evident to all that the ship could not be kept long afloat, so all haste was now made to get the boats ready, and to provision and arm them.
Before this business was completed daylight began to glare, yellow and grey, through the fog; but the fog by itself was evidently thinner, and presently it lifted entirely, and went rolling away like a tall black wall to leeward. Then the sun shone over the sea with a brightness that was quite dazzling.
“Look!” cried the mate to the captain, “what is that down to leeward? A ship, sir?”
“It is a ship,” replied D’Acre gloomily; “she is doubtless a derelict, and she it was who worked our ruin.”
“A derelict, sir?”
“Yes, mate; there are many of them in these seas, and they constitute a danger against which the mariner is powerless to guard himself.”[8]
“But come,” he continued, “we will put about and bear down towards her. She is high out of the water, and still has one mast and her jibboom standing. She cannot have been abandoned long.”
“Ready about!” shouted the mate. “Tacks and sheets!”
The vessel’s course was now altered and though she yawed about in a disagreeable and even alarming manner, she made fair progress down towards the derelict vessel.
Captain D’Acre laid her right alongside and grappled, or secured, the two vessels together.
Then the captain, with Sandie and Willie, scrambled on to the deck of the forsaken ship.
Their feelings as they did so may be better imagined than described. Curiosity, perhaps, was upper-most in their minds, but it was a curiosity mixed with awe.
What was the mystery? they wondered. Ah! the sea hath many mysteries, and here was one of them, yet it seemed one that was not inexplicable, not impossible to ravel.
The deck was hampered with a litter of wreck, fallen spars and rigging. There were no boats to be seen. It seemed evident that the ship had been taken aback or struck by a sudden squall, and that, believing she was sinking, a panic had seized upon the crew and they had left in the boats. There was every appearance of a hasty exodus, for stores lay about the deck where they had fallen, tinned meats, and even bottled beer.
But there was now no living thing on board.
Yes, there was though; for while they were yet gazing around them in surprise and wonder, a beautiful young tom-cat made his appearance, a red tabby he was, and commenced singing aloud as he rubbed himself against Sandie’s leg.
Sandie took the poor puss up in his arms, smoothed it and spoke kindly to it.
“Jump on board theBoo-boo-boo, Willie, and fetch the poor creature a bit of meat.”
THE ONLY LIVING THING ON BOARD.—Page 270
Willie was off in a moment, and soon returned with a plate of food, which the cat ate ravenously.
It surely spoke well for the goodness of those young men’s hearts that, in the midst of their own sore trouble and danger, they could think about a cat.
. . . . . .
The mate and captain now held a consultation, and the derelict was thoroughly examined. There was a considerable amount of water in her hold, and she was leaking badly, but with care she would float a week, while, alas! the poorBoo-boo-boomight sink at any moment, and certainly would go down in a few hours.
It was determined, therefore, to take possession of the derelict, and with this view theBoo-boo-boo’sboats, spare spars, water, provisions, with everything useful, were transferred on board her.
There was hurry, certainly, for there was no time to lose, but there was no confusion.
As soon as everything was done, it being evident theBoo-boo-boowas going fast, all hands got out of her and she was cut adrift. At the same time sail was made on the foremast—the only remaining one—and jibboom of the derelict, and she was soon well off from the doomed and sinking barque.
None too soon. Her end came with a rapidity that was extraordinary. The tarpaulin arrangementhad doubtless shifted from her side, and the water rushed in.
Her whole fore part rose for a moment and trembled in the air. Next minute, she went down with a fearful sounding plunge, stern first. The frothy bubbling waters closed over her, and this was the last of the brave barqueBoo-boo-boo.
Howstrange it all seemed! And how unreal! Only yesterday bounding along in their own good barque, their home on the ocean wave, filled with hope, and even happiness. To-day, afloat on a derelict ship! There were times when Sandie was not quite sure whether or not he was awake, whether all he saw around him was not merely the phantasm of an ugly dream.
Alas! it was all too real.
The deserted ship was, like the lostBoo-boo-boo, a barque, but not of the same dimensions by a long way.
What had been her trade or calling? Well, Captain D’Acre and his mate had not much difficulty in determining this. First and foremost, she was exceedingly light in the water—almost empty, in fact. It was evident, therefore, that she had not yet taken her cargo on board. Down below in the hold, and ’tween decks, were found large quantities of rice and many barrels of water. There was also ample provision for cooking this rice at the large galley.
“Do you begin to smell a rat, sir?” said the mate.
“I do, my friend, I do.”
“And see, sir, what we have in this corner!”
As he spoke he hauled out a long strong iron bar, to which leg irons were attached, and a padlock fastened to the end.
“Now,” said the skipper, “we can not only smell the rat, but see it.”
“Blackbirders!”
“Blackbirders,” repeated D’Acre, “evidently.”
For the benefit of the uninitiated, I beg to say that in some parts of Australia—Queensland, in particular, I think—black labour is hired from the islands of the South Pacific. The natives—call them savages, if you please—who “volunteer,” are offered good wages and a free and safe passage back to their own homes. It is almost needless to say that they seldom see those homes again.
But the men engaged in this nefarious trade are called Blackbirders, and as a rule the business resolves itself into one of kidnapping the blacks, oftentimes associated with the most shocking atrocities and cruelties that can be imagined.
As long as Blackbirding is suffered to exist, slavery of the basest sort must be supposed to flourish. I know there are people even now that deny the existence of Blackbirding, or that it ever did flourish in cruelty and tyranny. Proofs are all against these people, and many a burned and blackened island, many a desolated village, and many an ant-cleaned skeleton lyingunburied and bleaching in the sun, shall testify to what I say.
“Yes, she is a Blackbirder, right enough, mate. Perish the fiends! But what fools they were to leave their ship!”
“As a rule,” said the mate, “the cruel are cowards.”
“Well, mate, I don’t hold with you altogether there. I have known fiends in human form who were very far indeed from being cowards. But come now, mate, we’ll go on deck, and begin making the ship as snug as ever we can.”
“Well, sir, there is one thing sure enough, we must make the best of our way towards some island. The ship won’t float a week.”
“Think not?”
“Sure of it, sir. Collision with us didn’t improve her. No, she won’t float.”
“Well, we must beach her.”
“Yes; that is, if we can fall in with an island to beach her on.”
“Another thing is this, mate, we must try to keep in the track of vessels, outward or homeward bound.”
“Yes, captain, that’s our only holt.”
“You see, mate, if we strike some lonely out-of-the-world island, we run the chance of lying there till we rot, even if our bones are not picked by hostile natives.”
“True, sir, true.”
“Well, in the route from China to England round the Horn there are many islands, so there are in theroute ’twixt Sydney and England viâ Panama. Our plan will be to repair ship, and bear up for some of these. With God’s good help, I think we may reach an island in safety. If the worst comes to the worst, we have still the boats.”
“Good, sir, good! Ah! excuse me, sir, but your head is screwed on with the face to the front.”
The kindly old captain laughed, then both went on deck.
All hands were now called, and work was commenced at once.
The skipper first, however, made his men a little speech, explaining the discoveries they had made below, and his intentions of trying to beach the sinking derelict on some island in the track of trading ships.
After this the men set to work with a will, cheering each other with chaffing, and laughing, and talk, and even with snatches of song.
In a very short time the wreck was cleared away, all that was useful being retained, and mere lumber bundled overboard to amuse the sharks.
The mainmast had gone, but not quite by the board, so that it was easy to rig a jury, and set thereon a huge trysail. With her square sails on the fore, and jibs set, and the wind being now on the quarter, thePeaceful, for that was her name, which must have been given by way of a grim joke, seemed to feel herself once more, and fancy herself also, lifting proudly to every wave, and coming down again with a saucyplunge that sent the spray flying inboard over the bows.
On the heaving of the log, it was found that she was making the highly respectable progress of seven knots an hour.
This was increased to eight after the pumps had been rigged and the water lowered in the hold.
This pumping, it was found ere long, was work that must be kept up for over two hours in every watch, else thePeacefulwould soon follow the example of theBoo-boo-boo, and sink to rise no more.
Sandie soon came to the conclusion, that what he saw around him did not belong to the realms of dreamland, but to those of stern reality.
He could not tell what dangers or difficulties were yet to be encountered, but he had the most perfect confidence in the skill and ability of that white-haired old skipper to do whatever was for the best. And he had, moreover, faith and trust in God, who rules all, and who can hold the ocean in the palm of His hand.
Tyro, the collie, had entered into relations of the most friendly character with the young red tabby cat, and the two were romping together on the quarter-deck, as if there was no such thing as death or danger in the universe.
The course now steered was as nearly nor’-west as possible.
Captain D’Acre really entertained some hopes thathe might meet some homeward bound steamer, or be overtaken by one that was outward bound.
But one never knows how vast the ocean is until he is sailing on its heaving breast. Ay, and you may sail for weeks in an ocean highway, and never meet or see a ship, only the great silent wondrous world of waters, for ever moving and heaving around you.
. . . . . .
With varying fortunes as to wind and weather, the sadly-stricken barque,Peaceful, sailed on and on and on.
It was now very warm on deck, not to say broiling hot. The pitch boiled in the vessel’s seams, and Tyro’s bonnie white paws were sadly soiled and blackened. The sun all day blazed in a sky of lightest blue, only down along the horizon, great rock-looking clouds were banked up, behind which every night summer lightning gleamed incessant.
It was about three bells in the morning watch one night, but still inky dark, when the first mate, lamp in hand, entered the captain’s cabin, and touched him on the shoulder.
The skipper was but a light sleeper, and so raised himself from his cot at once.
“Anything wrong, mate?”
“I fear, sir, there is something very much wrong indeed. We seem to have sprung an ugly leak all at once. The water is gaining on us fast, though we’re pumping all we can.”
“Bless my soul, mate!”
“If we can keep her afloat for six hours, sir, I think it will be all we can do.”
“Well, in three hours, my friend, we can easily arm and provision boats.”
“Yes.”
“Better call all hands, then.”
“I’ve done so an hour ago, sir.”
“Tell the steward to splice the main-brace immediately after the men have had their coffee and biscuit.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“What time did you say it was?”
“About three bells and a quarter. The sun will be up in a short time.”
“Good! I’ll be on deck in a brace of shakes.”
Sandie and Willie had been aroused by the shouting and trampling of feet, and dreading something unusual had happened, they had quickly dressed and gone on deck.
On learning what had happened, both heartily volunteered to lend a hand at the pumps, and so the work went merrily on.
Soon the sky assumed the most glorious colours, with flushes of gold and cloud stripes of purest amber and crimson.
Next, there hung low down on the horizon a short bright blood-red line, which got bigger and more definite in shape every moment, till at last up leapt the sun, and a triangular bar of bright ensanguined waterstretched right away to the very hull of the sinking ship herself.
Higher and higher mounts the sun, paler and clearer become its beams. And now, to the joy of all, there is visible, not many miles away, a green island.
It is like a veritable fairyland, for it does not appear to be in the sea at all, but afloat in the ambient sky.
“Can we make it, sir,” asks Sandie, “before the vessel sinks?”
The captain’s glass was turned towards the island. He could see its golden sands, see the long white line the breakers made as they broke lazily on its beach, and see behind tall cocoa-nut trees and banks of waving palms.
“We can make it, my young friend, if——”
“If what, sir?” said Sandie, feeling somewhat uneasy at the captain’s manner.
“If, Sandie, itbe an island, and not a mockingmirage.”
Butthat island was no mirage. Of this all hands were speedily convinced, and redoubled their efforts to pump the vessel and keep her afloat until they could reach it. Breakfast of biscuits steeped in coffee was partaken of on deck, then the steward spliced the main-brace.
Hardly half a mile now intervened between thePeacefuland the island, but her rate of sailing was very slow, and she yawed about more than was agreeable.
It must be confessed that the danger was now extreme. The ship might sink at any moment, and in a moment, with all on board. Yet the captain and crew determined to stick to her.
And they did. Ah! there is no sailor in all the wide world like the British Jack-a’-tar, whether he treads the decks of a man-o’-war or hoists sail on a merchant vessel.
Death was staring those men in the face. In another minute they might all be in eternity, yet hear them sing as they work the busy pumps. Oh, only sailors’ doggerel, with no sense in it, bar that it chimes in with the motion and sound of the levers, and the gush of water that flows over the side—