"'Lamb's wool skies, and filley's tails,Make lofty ships carry low sails,'"
"'Lamb's wool skies, and filley's tails,Make lofty ships carry low sails,'"
and he pointed to the drifting clouds.
"That is it, is it?" said Ralph. "Are we not having rather a bad voyage, Wills? Do ships always have so much bad weather as we are meeting with?"
"No, zur, but uz sailed on a Vriday."
"What could that have to do with it, Wills? Why should that bring bad luck?"
"Can't zay, zur, but it du."
"You Cornishmen are always superstitious, aren't you?"
"Doan't knaw, your honour, as we'm more so than others. 'Tis no use to fly in the face of Providence ef He've given we the gumption to zee more'n other volks."
"Did you ever see the Flying Dutchman in these latitudes, Wills?"
"No, zur, I can't zay as I have zeed 'un, but 'tain't given to every chield to do so. I've zeed Jack Harry's Lights, though, and we wor wrecked then, too."
"Where was that?" asked Ralph with interest.
"Close to home, it wor. We heerd the bells of the old church-tower a-calling the volks to evening service all the time we was clinging to the maintop, and the gear flying in ribbons about our faces, a-lashing uz like whips, and all of uz as worn't fast tied to the mast swept away by the sea that awful Sunday night. Jim Pascoe wor lashed aside of me, and 'Sam,' zays he, 'I wonder whether my old mawther be a-praying for me at this minute, up to church.' It didn't save he even ef she wor, for a big sea rose up, and came thundering down on uz, and he got the full heft of it right upon him, so that it beat the last spunk of life out of him then and there. There wor but six of uz, out of twenty-one, brought ashore that time alive; and there wor but life, and that wor all, among some of we."
"How dreadful!" cried Ralph. "What did you think about while you stood there all that time?"
"I doan't knaw as I did think much, at all. Zemmed asef all thought wor beat out of uz. But they there seamen as wor drownded then answer to their names still on a stormy night when the wind blows strong from the west upon thiccee rocks."
"Answer to their names?"
"Ay. You may hear the roll called out, and they men answer 'Here' as plain as you can wish, at midnight, in the heft of a storm."
"Do you really believe that? Did you ever hear it, Wills?"
"Well I can't zay as ever I actually heerd 'un call them, but I knaws they as has; and why for no', Maister Ralph. Perhaps 'ee'll believe I, and find that I speak truth, when I tell 'ee this voyage is doomed to be unfortunate because we set sail on a Vriday. I telled captain it would be, but he wouldn't wait for Sunday though I did beg and pray 'un to do so."
"I can't see what difference two days could make. It would not have saved us the weather we had two days since, nor will it make any difference in whatever may come two days hence."
"Theer's a-many things as 'ee be too young to onnerstand yet, Maister Denham."
"But 'ee did ought to pay heed to 'un, maister," put in Osborn, "because 'ee be Cornish the same as we."
"I have never been in Cornwall, though, Osborn."
"No, I du knaw thiccee, more's the pity," replied the man. "But uz du mind your ma, when hur wor a mighty pretty little maid, a-dancing and a-singing about 'long shore, and a-chattering so gay. Uz du all come from the same place, zur, and we'm proud to knaw 'ee, and to have 'ee on board, ef it be but for the trip. 'Tis one and all to home, 'ee knaweth, zur."
"Yes," laughed Ralph. "I am proud enough of myCornish blood, and would like to know more of the good old county, though I fear it will be long before I shall have the chance. You know I am going to Rangoon, to push my way and try to help my mother. She does not dance nor sing much in these days. She has a lot of trouble."
"So we've heerd, zur. Poor little Miss Amy, we be main sorry to think of it. Ef Wills or me can ever be of any service to 'ee, zur, 'ee must look out for uz when thePelicancomes to Rangoon. We shall always stick to cap'n, zur, as we've done for many a day. Uz b'ain't likely to leave 'un to be sarved by any old trade picked up out of the slums."
"That is well; and if I can help either of you at any time, you may depend upon me. It is a bargain between us," said Ralph, laughing.
The appearance of fine weather was delusive, for the bright sunshine changed within a few hours to fog and rain. The wind sprang up again, and the captain was forced to order the mainsail to be hauled in, the topsails close reefed, and the top-gallant yards struck.
The mercury fell, the gale increased in force, and the sea ran extremely high. There was a sharp frost in the night, with snow, and the storm was as furious as ever next morning.
The hatches had to be battened down, and it was dreadful for Mr. Gilchrist and Ralph, wholly inexperienced in nautical matters, unable to see or understand what was going on, or what degree of danger there was, to hear the raging of the elements, while they were in the dark with nothing to distract their thoughts.
There they were, Mr. Gilchrist in his berth, coughing incessantly, and Ralph sitting beside him, listening to the tramp of hurried feet and the shouting voices overhead.The great sea would strike the poor labouring vessel with a force that caused it to shudder in every straining timber; it would seem to be tossed on high, and then plunge into fathomless deeps, as if sinking to the very bottom of the sea. Tons of water came, ever and anon, rushing overhead. Did this mean that their last hour had arrived? Were they to be drowned in this awful darkness, like rats in a hole? Were they never to see God's light of day again, or look once more over the fair expanse of sea and sky?
They grasped each other's hands at these times, for touch was the only comfort which companionship could give. They could not talk,—awe paralysed speech.
Then the volumes of water seemed to drain off in descending streams through the scupper-holes, and voices would be heard again, and a few sentences of prayer would break from Mr. Gilchrist's lips.
This lasted for two days, awful days for these poor prisoners; but the wind was in their favour, and blew them on their way, though a little too far southwards, and it moderated in course of time.
The captain had the dead-lights removed, the hatches raised, and came down to see how his passengers had fared.
"I never could have believed that light and air would be so welcome," said Ralph; "and it is but a Scotch mist yet, no pleasant sunshine."
"No," replied the captain, "but you will soon have enough of sunshine now. Perhaps you may even have too much of it one of these days. We have lost poor little Jackson," continued he, turning to Mr. Gilchrist.
"What! the boy apprentice?" asked he.
"Ay, poor child! Washed overboard in the night, and one of the seamen yesterday morning. We could not helpeither of them, the sea was running so high. Would you like to come up for a bit and see the waves for yourself now?"
But Mr. Gilchrist declined. He dreaded bringing on one of his paroxysms of cough more than the closeness and confinement of the cabin; but Ralph, shocked by his uncle's announcement, was eager to go on deck.
He was not used to death, and it was very awful to him to think that, while he sat in comparative safety below, yet fearing for his own death every moment, this boy, so much younger than himself, had passed suddenly through a watery grave to the portals of that unknown world where he must meet his God.
Where was he now? What could he be doing? He seemed as unfit for a spiritual life as anyone whom Ralph had ever met. A mere troublesome naughty boy, of the most ordinary type; rough, dirty, hungry,—a boy who could laugh at a coarse joke, use bad words, shirk his work whenever he had the chance, and who did nothing except idle play in his leisure time.
What could he be doing among white-robed angels, among the spirits of good men made perfect, among cherubim and seraphim, with their pure eyes, around the Father's throne? Yet had God taken him.
The mysteries of life and death came home, in a vivid light, to Ralph's soul, as he stood holding on to a rope, and gazing down on that boiling sea, whence he dreaded, every moment, to see his young companion's white face looking up at him.
Kirke came by, and Denham's good heart prompted him to turn round and offer him his hand. Little Jackson had run after Kirke like a dog, admired, followed, idolised him, and Ralph thought he must be as much impressed as himself by this awful event.
So he put out his hand, saying—
"Oh, Kirke, I am so sorry to hear about Jackson!"
"Bother you and your sorrow! I wish it had been you," replied Kirke rudely.
Ralph turned away in silence. He, too, almost wished it had been himself, not that he felt more fit to go, but that the heartlessness of this fellow struck a chill to his heart.
But Kirke was not so heedless of the event as he tried to seem, nor so wholly ungrateful for Ralph's sympathy as he chose to appear. This was the first blow which had struck home to him, and in his pride and sullen humour he was trying to resist its softening influence. Not for the world would he have displayed any better feeling at that time, though it was not altogether absent from his heart.
After this painful episode was over, amidst a succession of calms, varied by light south-west breezes, changing gradually more and more to the east, thePelican of the Northcrossed the line, and proceeded upon her way in pleasant weather.
Ralph would have enjoyed this time much but for the pest of cockroaches which now swarmed over them and their belongings. These disgusting insects were of two sorts, one of which had always been troublesome from the first, but were now supplemented by a second, not seen much except by night, but which crawled about then in such immense numbers, through the hours of darkness, as to do great damage. They ran over the cabin floors, up the walls, were shaken out in showers from the rigging when a sail was unfurled; they honeycombed the biscuit, they were found in the boots and shoes, and made life a burden to young Denham, who entertained a particular aversion to creeping insects.
"How I wish we could find anything which would rid us of these beastly things?" sighed he one day to Mr. Gilchrist, when the vermin had been seized with a literary fureur, and eaten out the ink from some notes which he had been at considerable pains to compile from a book of natural history. "Last night I thought we must havesome spiritualist on board, or ghosts, or something uncanny. I was wakened up by the noise as if everything in the cabin had taken to dancing about in a frolic, till I discovered it was nothing but thousands of these horrid creatures crawling and rustling about. Some nights I verily believe that they will eat us up bodily."
Mr. Gilchrist laughed.
"Never mind," said he, "we shall be in cooler latitudes soon, and they will become more torpid, and go back to their holes again. We are nearing the Cape."
"Shall we touch at the Cape? Shall we see the Table Mountain, sir, do you think?"
"I rather fancy not. From what the captain said the other day, I believe that there are currents there which are apt to be trying to a heavily-laden ship such as ours. Squalls are very prevalent in rounding the Cape, and I think he will give it a wide berth. We do not need water, nor have we any particular reason for delaying the voyage by putting in at Cape Town."
"We must be near land, I should think, for there are so many birds about now. Some of them are birds that I never saw before."
"Albatrosses to wit? You do not want to shoot one, do you, and share the fate of the Ancient Mariner?"
"No, not quite that, though if everyone who had done so were to be exposed to a similar fate there would be a good many phantom ships careering about the high-seas. Lots of the ships that come into Liverpool have their skins, or their bills, or something on board. I have an albatross' bill at home that a sailor gave me. I have a lot of things fastened up about the walls of my room. It is easy to get foreign curiosities in Liverpool, but I left all mine as a legacy to my sister Agnes, and promised to look out for more when I gotto Rangoon, and met with any chance of sending them home to her."
"It will be a good plan. If you have any ready in time I will take them back for you, and call to see your mother to tell her how you are getting on, what sort of lodgings you have, and all about you."
"That will be very kind, sir. In that case I will try to shoot one of those birds, for they are quite new to me. They are of a blue colour in part, with a black streak across the top of the wings."
"Those are blue petrels, I believe; birds which are only found in southern seas. We will try to preserve the skins of one or two with carbolic powder, though I fear that your friends the cockroaches will get at them."
"Ugh! Don't call them my friends! You should have seen the third mate, Mr. Kershaw, teasing the cook yesterday. Cook came up in the evening for a breath of air, and was leaning over the side looking down at the 'sea on fire' as they call it—it was splendid late last night. Mr. Kershaw came up to him and looked at him very earnestly, first on one side and then on the other, as if he saw something queer about him. Cook began to squirm about uncomfortably.
"'What is it, Mr. Kershaw?' asked he. 'Is there anything wrong about me?'
"'Oh no, my good fellow, no,' said the mate. 'It only struck me that cockroaches are a peculiar kind of pets, but it is every man's own business if he chooses to let them sleep in the folds of his shirt. Do you always keep them there?'
"'Where, where?' called out the cook, all in a hurry. 'Cockroaches on my shirt? Where?'
"He was trying to see over his shoulder in an impossible kind of way; he put his hands up to his neck and down tohis waist at the back; he shuddered, and shook himself, but could not find them; and it was not likely that he could, for there were none there to be found.
"Mr. Kershaw was pretending to help him, poking at him up and down his back.
"'Oh, I thought I had them then!—there, under your arm,—no, down your leg. Dear me! how very active they are. What remarkably fine specimens! They seem to be quite tame; how much you must know about them to live with them like this, quite in the style of a happy family. They really seem to love you. I should not like to keep them about myself though, in this manner. Do youalwayshave them upon your own person, my friend?'
"At last the cook twigged the joke, for we were all laughing so, but he was quite cross about it, and flung away muttering something about fools, and wishing to knock Mr. Kershaw's head off for him."
Ralph could not help laughing again at the remembrance of the scene, and Mr. Gilchrist joined in his merriment.
But soon there was no more time for jokes or laughter, stern reality claimed all their attention.
Mr. Gilchrist was sitting one day upon a lounging-chair, beneath the shade of an awning, when the captain approached him with anxiety plainly imprinted on his face.
"How now, Rogers?" said he; "your face is as long as from here to there!"
"And with good reason too," replied the captain; "I fear that a terrible calamity has come upon us."
"Why, my good fellow, what can be going to happen now?" cried Gilchrist, alarmed in his turn.
"Fire," said Rogers laconically, but with grave emphasis.
"Fire!" exclaimed both Gilchrist and Ralph at the same instant, staring around them in perplexity upon theplacid sea, the sunny sky, the swelling sails, the pennon idly fluttering on the breeze. "Fire! Where? How?"
For all answer the captain pointed to a few slender spiral coils of smoke, issuing from the seams of the deck where the caulking had worn away.
Mr. Gilchrist looked aghast.
"Do you mean the cargo?" he asked fearfully.
"Even so," said the captain. "It may be only heating from water reaching it during the storm. We are going to open the hatches and see if we can put it out, but I fear that the mischief was done when we loaded the coal. It was such wet weather while we were taking it on board. Gilchrist," said he, lowering his voice, "if there is anything particularly valuable among your things, put it up in small compass, and be ready for the worst in case we have to take to the boats."
"Do you anticipate such a thing?"
"It is always well to be prepared."
Mr. Gilchrist had many things—books, maps, scientific instruments, collecting cases, a costly binocular microscope with all its appliances, and other articles, nothing having been spared for his equipment; but in the shock of this surprise he forgot them all, and, springing from his chair, hurried to the scene of action.
The whole crew gathered hastily around to know the worst, and gazed with blanched faces at each other as the hatches were carefully raised.
A universal cry of horror escaped them, when such a cloud of steam and smoke, with so sulphureous a stench, rushed out, upon vent being given to the hold, that they were driven back gasping for air.
"Good Heavens!" cried Mr. Gilchrist, "there are two thousand tons of coal down there! The Lord have mercy upon us!"
"How far are we from land?" asked Ralph.
"I do not know. I suppose that it depends greatly on the wind for calculating the length of time it will take us to reach it. I believe the captain hoped to make Moulmein in about a week or ten days more."
"Where is that hose?" thundered the captain. "Bring it here at once. Douche the hold well. Mellish, we must try to jettison the cargo, and make room for water enough to reach down the hold."
"Right you are, sir!" cried the first mate. "Who volunteers?"
The hardiest men among the crew pressed forward. Two parties were quickly told off, one to relieve the other. The men flew to the pumps and hose; all was excitement and hurry—not a soul of them flinched.
"Here, give me hold of a bucket," cried Mr. Gilchrist, taking his place in a line of men hauling up sea-water to supplement the volumes from the hose.
Ralph rushed to assist at the pumps. Streams of water poured down the hold; volumes of steam arose, hissing, through the hatchways. It was long before the bravest of the men could descend, no one could have breathed in such an atmosphere; and when two leapt into the chasm at last, they had immediately to be drawn up again, fainting, scorched, choked with the sulphureous fumes.
They were laid on the deck, buckets of water dashed upon them, and they came, gasping, to themselves.
"'Tis of no use, mates," said they. "The mouth of hell itself could be no fiercer."
It was indeed like looking down the crater of a volcano to glance into that awful depth—the fire had got complete hold of the coal.
"We must take to the boats, sir," said Mellish.
"Not yet," replied the captain. "We have no securityyet from that cyclone,—did boats fall into its clutches, there is no chance for them. We may skirt it in the barque by God's providence; it blows from the west'ard quarter, and its tail may help us towards the mainland quicker than boats would take us. Batten down the hatches, but leave the hose room for entrance, and keep up the water as much as we can. Provision the boats, and have everything ready to man them quickly when all hope is over; but we stick to the old girl to the last gasp."
There were two large boats, both capable of holding ten or twelve men; two smaller ones, which could accommodate six or eight each; and the captain's gig, usually manned by a similar number.
It would require the whole five to receive all the crew, for it consisted of twenty seamen, an apprentice, Ralph, a cook, sailmaker, carpenter, boatswain, three mates and the captain,—thirty souls besides Mr. Gilchrist. Even with all the five boats there would be but little space to save much of their possessions, but there was the less demand for this as the men, taking fright at the state of the cargo, refused to go below even for their own kits. Indeed, the stench of sulphur, and rapid spread of the smother, justified them in their fears.
The cook's galley and the storehouses were on deck, the latter in the poop, close by the captain's cabin, and the former amidships; it was therefore easy to store the boats with a sufficiency of provision and water, and Captain Rogers proceeded to tell off the men for each.
He himself must be the last to leave the ship; and equally, of course, must Mr. Gilchrist be considered among the first. He must go in the first boat, commanded by Mellish; eight seamen, Kirke, and the carpenter would form its complement. But Mr. Gilchrist refused.
"No," said he. "I am an interloper here, it is rightthat I should come last, and leave these poor fellows to have first chance of their lives. Put a married man in my place, there is no one dependent upon me at home."
"Nay," said Captain Rogers, "you are my charge, I must see you safe first."
"My good fellow," replied Mr. Gilchrist with determination, "do not waste time in arguing; I go with you."
"And I too, uncle," said Ralph. "Do not ask me to part from you."
"For you, boy," replied the captain, "right and good, you are as my own, and ought to take risks with me; but for you, Gilchrist, think better of it."
"Now, Rogers," said Mr. Gilchrist, "why waste time? Don't you know when a man has made up his mind?"
There was indeed a general perception that time was short, the men worked with all their might, and the boats were stored rapidly. The three mates and the boatswain were each to command one; the coxswains were selected from the best of the seamen, and every man was given his place, to which he was at once to repair upon a given signal.
Was it wise to wait longer before embarking in them? A dead calm had fallen, an ominous stillness pervaded the atmosphere, no breeze, not the faintest sigh, was there to swell the sails, and a brassy sky in the west received the sinking sun.
And the little coils of smoke grew larger, they writhed up from crack and cranny like snakes, and span and twisted, puffed and swelled, with horrible sportiveness.
The men worked in silence, casting fearful glances on this side and that, as they trod those decks which formed so slight a protection for them from the fiery chasm beneath. They gathered in groups as the night fell with the rapidity of those latitudes, but they did not talk.
In the quiet they could hear little slippings of the coal, little reports now and then, and they fancied that a sullen roar might be distinguished, now gathering volume, then dying away.
The night was very dark,—was it the looming storm or the furnace beneath them which made the air so oppressive and close? Nothing could be done without light, and the suspense was horrible. Every now and then the captain, holding a lantern low, swept the decks, examining to see whether the smoke had increased or lessened. There appeared to be but little difference, but such change as there was lay in the direction of increase.
Thicker and thicker grew the gloom, blacker and blacker the night, heavier and heavier the sultry air. Then a faint moaning was heard among the shrouds, a hissing on the surface of the water, and the cyclone broke upon them with a cry as of demons rejoicing over their prey.
The vessel gave a shudder like a living creature, then bounded forwards, heeling over from force of the wind in the most perilous manner; every cord straining, every sail swollen to its utmost tension.
It was but the edge of the cyclone, but even that gave them enough to do. The sea boiled around them; great waves tossed the devoted ship on their crests, and buried it in their trough, driving it onward with fury all but unmanageable.
Then rose up a wall of water above their heads, it dashed down upon the decks, and rushed out from the scuppers in foaming streams; and in the next instant the mainsail was torn from its holdings, the mast gave way with an awful rending and crash, and beat about to this side and that, to the peril of all around.
"The boats! the boats!" shrieked the men.
"Take to the boats!" shouted Rogers.
They sprang to the davits to loosen the boats, and the howling wind took the gear in its teeth and wrenched its supports from their hold, whirling the two first boats away as if they had been feathers.
Floods of water poured over the decks, making their way plentifully down into the hold through a thousand clefts opened by the straining timbers, and the steam rose in thicker and hotter clouds as they washed away.
Then a lull came,—were they out of the line of the cyclone?
"Cut the ropes of the starboard boats," cried the captain. "We can hold out no longer. 'Tis life or death."
Again was the effort made,—again did failure greet the devoted men; the smaller boat was swamped at once. Better fortune served them over the others; the large one and the captain's gig were lowered safely, and the men crowded into them with headlong speed, many throwing themselves into the seething water in their haste, some to be hauled on board by their comrades, and more than one to be swept out of sight for ever.
Hardly could the united efforts of the captain, mates, and Mr. Gilchrist control the panic: they stood, silent and firm, with set teeth and blanched faces, as the seamen crushed past them and dropped over the side, only endeavouring to withhold them so as to give each his fair chance of escape. Minutes were like hours; the crowd lessened,—cries and shouts for haste rose up from the thronged boats. Captain Rogers turned, caught Ralph by the arm and swung him over the side; Mr. Gilchrist slipped down a rope and was hauled in; Mellish leapt; the captain stood alone, the last of all.
He looked hurriedly around—all were gone, his duty done, and he too threw himself into the gig.
So hampered were the rowers by the mass of livingcreatures crushed into so small a space, that they could hardly manage their oars; the boats were weighted down to the water's edge, and had not the storm spent its fury in that last awful burst, all hope of living in such a sea would have been futile.
But the hand of Providence was over them; they shook down into something like order, and rowed away from the doomed ship with all the expedition they could raise; and not one moment too soon; for, hardly were they at a safe distance, when, with an awful roar,—a splitting and crashing of timbers,—an explosion like the crack of doom itself,—the deck was forced upwards, its planks tossed high in air, as if they were chips, by the pillar of white steam that rose exultingly into the sky; great tongues of flame shot rapidly up through it, crimson and orange among rolling volumes of smoke; and the rising sun paled before the glowing fiery mass that reddened the waters far and wide ere it sank into their bosom, leaving its débris of burnt and blackened wastry floating idly on its surface.
A groan burst from the white lips of the men as the seething ruin that had been their home for so many weeks disappeared slowly from their gaze.
What were the occupants of the boats to do? What would become of them? Twenty-six men in boats only meant to accommodate eighteen at most, and these with but little food or water, no change of clothes, few comforts of any kind, an insufficiency even of necessaries,—and they were within the tropics.
The sun rose up in fierce majesty, and blazed down upon them like fire itself. Some had no hats, and suffered terribly from this cause. The sea was like molten metal heaving close around them; the crowd impeded all proper use of the oars or sailing gear. Of this last the captain's gig had none.
The men looked at each other with haggard eyes, despair in their faces. It would require but a slight touch to make them abandon themselves to hopelessness, losing heart altogether, and becoming demoralised.
They must be induced to do something, to strike a blow for their own salvation, or all would be lost.
Rogers was the right man in the right place here. Out broke his cheerful voice—
"Three cheers for the last of the oldPelican, my boys! She dies gloriously after all. No ship-breaker's yard for the gallant old girl!"
He led the cheers, which were echoed but faintly.
"'Tis well," pursued he; "'tis a crowning mercy that we are in the current which sets into the Barogna Flats. It will bear us along softly and well, barring any more cyclones, but it is not likely that we shall have another of those wild customers now. It has swept over for the time, anyhow."
"Will you not make for Diamond Island, sir?" asked Mellish, the first mate.
"By all means," said the captain, "if we are able tomake foranything. But, my good fellow," dropping his voice, "we must take our chance of gettinganywhere. In this crowd we cannot hold out long, neither can we pick and choose our course. We can practically only drift, and keep up our hearts."
"We are nearly sure to be met by some ship going into Rangoon," said Mellish, speaking with more certainty than he felt.
"There is a light on the Krishna Shoal, if we could reach that," said Kershaw, the third mate. "I was in Rangoon on my first voyage, and remember it; a thing like the devil on three sticks instead of two."
A laugh followed this description of the lighthouse which all the old salts knew.
"Ay, my lad," said the captain cheerily, "we'll make for your three-legged devil, and let him take the hindmost."
"Zur," said old Wills, touching his forelock, "there'm a lot of spars and timbers afloat, would it not be best to try and draw enough in to make a catamaran, like az we used to be teached to make for a pinch when I wor in the navy?"
"A catamaran!" exclaimed young Kershaw. "Why, man, what good would that be so far to sea? You may see them by the dozen off shore, but how do you propose to make one here?"
"From timber-heads and greenhorn, zur," replied the old fellow very demurely.
"Do you think you can?" asked Rogers, who was thinking too intently to have noticed this byplay. "The boats are of such different sizes."
"'Twon't be a fust-class affair, your honour," replied Wills. "Not az if we had her blessed Majesty's resources to hand; but Osborn here, he du knaw what I mean so well az any, and I daresay there's others too."
"Ay!" cried two or three.
"'Twould give more elbow-room d'ye zee, zur."
"It would," said the captain; "but you could not do it unless the boats were nearer of a size, I am convinced."
"Maybe not, sir," said Mr. Mellish, "but there seem to be a lot of casks among the wreckage. If we could haul in half a dozen oil hogsheads, and put them three of a side, we might contrive what would relieve both boats considerably. Then we might leave the big boat to keep that company, and push ahead with the gig to fetch help."
"Right you be, zur," said Wills.
There was a coil of rope in the large boat, they made a running noose in it, and endeavoured to fling it over some of the coveted casks; but the difficulty was enormous, partly from want of room in which to work, and partly from the danger that floating wreckage might swamp their boat, and so destroy their only chance of life.
Some spars and staves were collected, suitable to the purpose, but the sea was much agitated from the recent cyclone, and the difficulty of approaching the hogsheads was apparently insurmountable. The things might have been alive and spiteful, so persistently did they elude every wile.
Just when the men, utterly disheartened, were inclined to abandon the effort as hopeless, the noose caught,apparently more by haphazard than by skill, and a hogshead of oil was drawn alongside.
In their excitement the men nearly upset the boat, and Rogers had to repress them sternly.
"Have a care, men, have a care! look at the sharks all about us. You don't want to fatten them, do ye?"
"Broach that cask," cried one among them. "Let the ile out, 'twill calm the sea."
"Ay!" said Rogers, "let it out."
Another hogshead was brought in now, and, strange to say, the oil being emptied did make the water smoother as far as it reached around them.
While the men in one boat redoubled their efforts to obtain more of these casks, old Wills and his mate Osborn connected the two empty ones by a spar laid across and firmly affixed to each end. They did this at the imminent risk of their lives, for it was necessary to get upon the spar, in a kneeling position, so as to secure the ropes firmly, and any slip into the sea would probably have been followed by a rush of white light to the spot, and the disappearance of the man, or at least of one of his members.
Those in the boats watched anxiously the while, crying out now and then, "'Ware shark!"
As these alarms were half of them false ones, the old fellows became too well accustomed to them for more than a passing glance from their work, which became safer for them as the casks were firmly fastened.
In the meantime a third cask was obtained, but it seemed all but impossible to attach a fourth. There was one within approachable distance, but it bobbed a little farther off with each effort to cast the noose over it. Seeing the impunity which had attended the efforts of Wills and Osborn, a man called Whittingham, a strong active young daredevil, gotupon the spar, and made his careful way out to its far end, rope in hand, coiled up, ready for a cast.
He worked himself astride the spar with considerable difficulty, for the thing was up in the air at one moment, so that the lookers-on expected to see him flung backwards into the sea; then down the length would plunge, as if about to bury itself in some great green cavern, into which he must go headlong.
It was like riding a kicking horse, but the hardy fellow kept his hold, reached the hogshead farthest from the boat, flung the coil, and it fell short though actually touching the cask.
Reclaiming the length of cord, Whittingham, in defiance of all prudence, flung himself into the boiling sea and swam towards the coveted object.
"Come back, man! Come back!" shouted the captain.
"A shark! A shark!" roared the sailors.
Whittingham paid no heed, he reached the cask and got the rope around it. He had a cord passed round his waist, and prepared to be hauled back by it, when his awful shriek rent the air, and a groan burst from the white lips of his comrades.
A huge shark had rushed swiftly up, and taken the poor fellow's legs off at his middle. The sea was crimsoned with his blood, as his head was seen turned, with an agonised expression, at sight of the certain death come upon him. In another minute the tension of the strong hands relaxed, and the man's upper half also disappeared from sight.
Ralph hid his face, trembling with horror.
But the men knew well that this was the fate which awaited them all did the boats capsize before rescue arrived, and they redoubled their efforts to help themselves.
The fatal cask was drawn in, reddened still with the lifeblood of poor Whittingham, which had splashed all over it,and it enabled Wills and his assistants to construct a sort of oblong frame, supported at each corner by the buoyant empty vessels. Pieces of wood were laid athwart, the short way of the raft, which became safer with each fresh plank as it was affixed.
The chief difficulty was to obtain the wherewithal for making these planks and timbers secure. There was but very little rope, and only such nails as clung to the riven timbers, with a few which Wills, like all carpenters, happened to have in his pocket. The spars and planks were irregular in length and thickness, neither was it possible to rig up even a cord run around the raft, or any manner of bulwark wherewith to increase its safety.
It could not be navigated by any means, but it could be towed at the stern of the larger boat, and serve to reduce the crush of people there, so as give free scope either to step the mast and sail her, or for the men to use their oars.
Both boats being thus relieved, the captain's gig would then row away, with a light complement of men, and try to make Diamond Island, upon which a pilot station was well known to exist; or the Krishna Shoal, where it was probable that help might be either obtained or signalled for by those in the lightship.
With help of the current this was possible, provided the weather remained calm.
The question now arose as to who should be transferred to the raft,—who could best be spared from the boats.
Mellish must remain in command of the large boat, with Kershaw. The second mate must go with the captain. The four officers must be thus divided to ensure a head in case of accident to either one among them.
The crew of the captain's gig must also be retained. They were picked men, and the most likely to hold out in case of long-continued exertion or another gale of wind.
"Uncle," said Ralph, "I will go on the raft. I cannot help in the boat, I do not know enough, but I can make room for a better man."
"You are right, my boy," said the captain a little huskily. "You are a plucky chap, and your mother shall hear of this if any of us live."
"I go on the raft, equally of course," said Mr. Gilchrist firmly.
"Let we go, maister," proposed Wills, usually spokesman for himself and Osborn. "Uz will keep an eye on the young 'un, ef it be only because he'm Miss Amy's chield."
The captain grasped the old fellow's hand in silence, and two of the ordinary seamen, of less use than the A.B.'s, were added to the little gimcrack craft's crew.
The biscuit was apportioned out to each as far as it went, and the gig parted company from its fellows. When nearly out of sight, the men lifted their oars in the air as a farewell greeting, and the fast gathering shades of night engulfed them.
Their companions, both in the boat and on the raft, watched their disappearance in silence. They were exhausted with the emotions of the last few days, and the heavy work of the last twenty-four hours. Little could be done through the night but wait for the dawn. They set a watch, and each tried to get some rest in turn.
There had been a question as to whether Kirke should not have gone on the raft. It would have been fitter for him to have done so than for Mr. Gilchrist, who, always delicate, had recently been so ill. He was a guest, if not a passenger, and should have had the best place.
He had, however, settled the question for himself, allowing no demur, and the men were grateful to him for so doing. Most of them were married men, with young children or other helpless ones dependent upon them. The safety ofthe raft was bound up in the safety of the boat. If anything happened to swamp the boat, the raft was doomed to share the same fate; whereas, were the raft lost, those in the boat still had a chance. Those who could work the oars and sails best were the right men to remain in it.
But Kirke was not one of these; neither his strength nor his knowledge made him as useful as an O.S. would have been, but he claimed his place in the boat as an officer, and there was no time for debate. Captain Rogers let it pass,—perhaps he had his own private reasons for so doing.
The men owned no reasons, public or private, for keeping this much disliked young man among them; they would far rather have had Ralph of the two; and thought that Mr. Gilchrist should have been kept in the best place.
They murmured; they made remarks to each other aimed at the selfish apprentice, and which he perfectly understood; while Kershaw openly taunted him with selfishness and cowardice.
Kirke maintained a dogged silence, but his brow became more lowering, and his mouth more set in a kind of vicious sullenness every moment.
So night fell.
Night fell over the shipwrecked men, a strange one for the denizens of the raft.
There, at least, was peace, and a hearty determination to make the best of their position.
They had some sailcloth and a boat cloak. The men arranged the packages, which had been turned out to disencumber the boat, so as to make a tolerably comfortable back; they laid down a couple of planks close together, rolled up the sailcloth into a kind of cushion above them, and placed Mr. Gilchrist upon it, wrapped in the cloak.
That gentleman would gladly have shared these accommodations among some of them, but the men would not hear of it.
"Lord love you, zur," said Osborn, "there's enough for one, but two wouldn't zay thank'ee for a part. We'm used to roughing it. 'Tis fine and cool after all the heat and pother to-day."
Ralph, upon whom his friend urged his wishes more strongly, only laughed. He seated himself upon one leg on a packing-case, the other foot dangling; he crossed his arms on the head of the biscuit-barrel against which Mr. Gilchrist leaned, half-sitting, and, burying his face upon them, said he should sleep like a top there, for he was so tired he could not keep his eyes open.
The sailors squatted down, finding such ease as was possible, and quiet fell over all. The night was a dark one, and very still; there was not a breath of wind to fill the sail in the boat, half the men there were getting what repose they could, and the others trusted more to the current than to their oars through the darkness. Silence had fallen upon all there as well as on the raft.
But Mr. Gilchrist could not sleep. He was a nervous, excitable man, and the new and excessively perilous position in which he found himself precluded all possibility of sleep. His senses seemed rather to be preternaturally acute, and he could not even close his eyes.
The lapping of the sea against the raft, the occasional gleam of something swiftly passing, and which he believed to be a shark accompanying the crazy little craft,—for what purpose he shuddered to think,—the occasional sounds which reached him from the boat, all kept him awake.
He lay, half-reclining, with his face towards the boat, which was full in his view. He could faintly see the oars dipping into the water, keeping way on the boat, and Kershaw's slim figure holding the tiller ropes. Presently he saw the one set of men relieved by the other, he smiled to observe the mate's long arms tossed out, evidently accompanying a portentous yawn, and then he was replaced by a shorter, broader back, which Mr. Gilchrist knew must belong to Kirke.
A sort of half-doze succeeded for a short time, then Ralph changed his position, which startled him into wakefulness once more, and discontented tones reached him from the boat.
"What are you about? Steer straight. You will tip us all over. What's the fellow doing?"
"Dropped my cap overboard. I was not going to lose it. Shut up!"
A few more murmurs, then all was still again; but, was he mistaken? did his eyes, unaccustomed to judge of objects in the darkness, deceive him, or were they farther from the boat than before?
He peered anxiously into the gloom, and felt certain that the motion of the raft was changed. There was less ripple against its prow.
"Wills," said he softly to the old carpenter, who lay full length within reach of his hand,—"Wills, there is something wrong."
The man was on the alert instantaneously.
"Zur?" he asked.
"I fear we have parted the towline," said Mr Gilchrist.
Wills cautiously moved to where the rope had been fastened—it hung loose, there was no tension upon it, and he hauled it in hand over hand.
"My God!" he cried, "we are lost!"
They shouted to the men in the boat, but the distance was widening every moment between them. Kirke did not seem to hear, to understand. The men clamoured, the first mate arose, took the helm, and tried to turn her head so as to row back, but the darkness was greater than ever. Those in the raft could no longer distinguish the boat, what chance therefore existed of those in the boat seeing the raft, which lay so much lower in the water?
They raised a shout, hoping to direct their friends by means of sound, but that hope failed them. They kept it up till they were exhausted, till a long line of faint light illumined the east, till daylight leapt out of the sea and all was bright about them. A little breeze sprang up with the dawn, the water had not yet quite calmed down from the disturbance caused by the tornado; they looked north, south, east, and west, but saw the boat nowhere.
They were alone upon the sea, with but a plank between them and death; with no means of helping themselves, with only enough food for one day, and the sharks swimming around them in sure certainty of their meal sooner or later.
One of the seamen took hold of the end of the towline, and held it up for the rest to see.
It had been severed with a knife! It had not been so rotten as to give of its own accord from the strain put upon it; it had not frayed itself, or broken at any weak spot, ithad been cut.
They had been cast adrift by their own companions, of malice prepense.
"God forgive him!" ejaculated Mr. Gilchrist.
"Who?" gasped Ralph.
"The unhappy wretch who did this."
Ralph made no further remark; there was but one among the boat's crew who was malicious enough to be even suspected of such a crime, and the boy could not bear to think it of him. But thatsomebodyhad severed the rope, was beyond doubt.
The fierce sun blazed down upon the waste of water, there was nothing to be done but to sit still and bear it. Their limbs were cramped from their inability to change their positions, there was no help for that. Raging headache came on; there was a small tin pail, and Wills tried to dip up sea-water and cast it over Mr. Gilchrist's fevered brow. With the first movement such a rush of sharks was made to the place as caused them all to shudder. What had they expected that they snapped so eagerly at the pail?
The men were hungry, but thirst overpowered hunger, and they must economise their little stock of biscuit and water. For how many days would it avail to keep life in them were they not picked up?
About noon, as well as they could judge, Wills served out a biscuit each, and about a half-pint of water.
Ralph sickened at thought of eating, and laid the biscuit down.
"That won't do, Ralph," said Mr. Gilchrist. "You must take what means are in your power to keep your life, it is your plain duty. Your life is not your own, you are only placed in charge of it, and will have to render up an account of your stewardship. How can you tell for what your Master wants you? He may be preparing you by this terrible trial for the work He created you to do."
"Lord, zur, 'ee du spit it out like a buke," said Osborn admiringly. "Eat it now, Maister Ralph, do 'ee now, like a good chield."
Ralph was fain to smile, and took up the biscuit again, feeling less sick when he had swallowed it.
At nightfall another was given round, and a few mouthfuls more water; then the long hours of darkness fell again upon them, only more endurable in that they were cooler. They knew that but one more meal remained, the pangs of starvation must then be theirs. It was no wonder that they had not much to say to each other, although none slept.
They were in the track of ships going to Rangoon, that was their only hope; but so low were they in the water, so impossible was it to raise a signal in any manner, that even in broad daylight fifty ships might pass within sight of them and never perceive their extremity. But there were no ships to be seen, nothing to break the skyline, nothing of any sortuponthat wide expanse of heaving water but themselves, while—the sharks—the sharks werebeneathits surface.
Towards morning, when the light breeze brought something of coolness and refreshment even to them, a littleoblivion, a temporary half-forgetfulness of all around came over most of them, deepening into real sleep with some.
Ralph slept, and dreamed happily. He thought he saw his mother and sisters walking together. He did not think it strange that they should be walking on the sea; they were talking earnestly to each other, when his youngest sister, a pretty flaxen-headed child of three years old, popped a rosy face out of the waves at their feet, and bubbled over into such merry laughter that he laughed too, and woke himself.
"Why, Ralph!" exclaimed Mr. Gilchrist, aroused by so unexpected a sound.
"Christ Jesus!" shrieked Wills at the same moment, awakened also. "Christ Jesus! What is here?"
His yell was echoed by all the others, for a huge black mass reared itself almost above their heads, and was bearing down upon them.
With the desperation of men at their last gasp they shrieked out, "Hoi, hoi! Hallo! Hallo!"
Their voices seemed to make no noise, they raised them impotently to their own ears; but that was only the fancy of despair, they had a proper volume of sound in reality. They were heard, answered with an English cheer; English faces rushed to look over the top of that great thing; English voices clamoured; chains rattled; word of command was given; paddles splashed; a boat was lowered; men dropped into it over the side; a few strokes brought it to them; and they were taken on board, among exclamations of wonder and welcome.
So stiff and spent were they that they had almost to be lifted into the boat, and were assisted up from it into the steamer which had rescued them; but movement eased them, and the joyous excitement of all around helped to restore them.
Crew, firemen, officers, passengers, swarmed around them, to congratulate them, to shake them by the hand, to clap them upon the back. Hot coffee was brought as if by magic, and proved a wonderful restorer; wine, food, fruit, were lavished upon them; dry, comfortable clothes and beds were ready for their repose.
Oh, how exquisite to feel the cool, clean linen around them, to bathe their scorched, blistered faces in fair water, to remove the dirt of days' accumulation, to be revived with food so delicious to their palates, to feel the sweetest sleep stealing over them as they laid their heads down in security once more!
Until they had been fed, clothed, and rested, they were unable to give or understand information as to their whereabouts; but so completely had they lost their bearings, so utterly miscalculated the strength of the current, that though they had hoped to make Diamond Island, they had really passed that place, and missed all indications as to the entrance of the Rangoon river.
The Krishna Shoal had been passed unseen, the Barogna Flats unheeded. They had never perceived the lighthouse, or been aware that they were near it, but were drifting aimlessly about just beyond that place.
The steamer was taking passengers from Rangoon to Moulmein, where they were landed in the course of the next day, and carried straight into hospital in high fever.
The seamen were tough fellows, and soon recovered. Mr. Gilchrist, though considered so delicate a man, also suffered less than Ralph, who, having kept up so bravely through the whole of their trials, now proved to have received a severe shock to his constitution. His brain was violently affected, and delirium was most distressing and persistent.
For some days the doctors feared whether he would everrecover his reason even were his life spared to him; and, when the fever left him, his prostration was great.
Youth and natural good health conquered at last, and he recovered. Then he learnt that the news of their rescue had been sent to Rangoon, and joyfully received by his uncle and shipmates. Rogers had made the pilot station on Diamond Island, and been helped into Rangoon, where he was cordially received by the friends of his owners, and business connections.
ThePelican of the Northhad been insured, though the cargo was not. The Liverpool firm of Herford Brothers was a wealthy and liberal one, Rogers and the other officers were to return home in another of its ships then unloading in Rangoon; the seamen could obtain berths in any homeward-bound vessel.
But there was bad news for Ralph. The firm of rice merchants to which he was going had failed, and his hope of a situation in it doomed to disappointment.
For some time the fate of the boat remained uncertain.
While thePelican of the Northwas making this disastrous voyage, troubles had fallen thick and plenty upon the Denhams at home.
With Ralph's departure Mrs. Denham had felt herself able to take a second lodger. Mr. Benson, head book-keeper in the firm of Messrs. Herford Brothers, for whom Captain Rogers sailed, had lodged with her for some years. He was a quiet retiring man, an old bachelor, who gave very little trouble, being regular in his habits, which were simple. He occupied the breakfast-room, in front of the house, downstairs, and a bedroom, also in front, at the top of the house.
There was a good-sized room in the front of the house, above the breakfast-room, originally meant for a drawing-room, and a bedroom behind it. Mrs. Denham had occupied the latter herself, hitherto, and made a nursery of the larger apartment. These she now proposed to let; she and all the children doubling up at night in two very moderate-sized bedrooms at the top of the house, and only retaining one parlour, the large dining-room on the groundfloor.
To make the new set of apartments sufficiently comfortable to accommodate a lodger, the best furniture from all her own part of the house was collected in them; theywere repapered, repainted, and new carpets and curtains bought.
Captain Rogers had made his sister a present of money to assist her in these arrangements, but the greatest economy was necessary to make it cover these unavoidable expenses, and those of Ralph's outfit.
Jack and Reggie stained the floors brown; Agnes and her mother toiled over the upholstery and little adornments; all looked very nice when finished; but, beneath the surface, things were not comfortable. The family was too much cramped for room. A lodger was quickly found, but the work of the house was greatly increased; and the tempers of both Jack and Lisa were difficult, and caused much unpleasantness.
Mrs. Denham was glad that it was a lady who took the rooms, for she would not have liked either of her pretty daughters to help in waiting upon a gentleman except Mr. Benson, whom they knew so well; and, as her profits would not allow the keeping of a second servant, it was indispensable that they should do so.
She superintended the cooking herself, as the maid-of-all-work was but a cheap willing drudge, unequal to the preparation of any but the simplest dishes.
Mr. Benson only dined at home on Sundays, but supper was wanted for him, or chops with a late tea. The new inmate, Miss Mason, an elderly single lady, took all her meals in the house, dined in the middle of the day, and liked her food daintily served. It made heavy work, though comfort in the family household was sacrificed.
Agnes had a situation as daily governess. She went to her pupils after breakfast, dined with them, walked with them, and did not return till nearly five o'clock, except on Saturdays, when she came back earlier.
Lisa was at school. She was clever and ambitious, eagerto pass examinations so as to rise in the world. She was fourteen, and her studies took up all her time.
Jack came next to her in age; but there was a gap in the family, where one had died between him and Reggie; and a wider one, where two had died between Reggie and little Cicely, who was but three years old. The baby was nearly two, a very delicate child, a great anxiety to his mother.
Agnes came in one evening in October. It had been a pouring wet day, and was already growing dark, for she had a long walk to and from her pupils' residence.
"My dear," said her mother, who sat by a mere handful of fire, with the baby whining on her lap,—"My dear, how wet you are! You will take cold."
"It is only outside wet, mother," said she brightly; "I will change my shoes and stockings, and soon be dry."
"I am so sorry to ask it, dear," continued Mrs. Denham, "but Mr. Benson has sent up an office boy to say that he is bringing a gentleman home with him, and could he have dinner at seven instead of tea. I had a dish of rissoles for him, which will not be enough, but there is nothing else in the house. Would you mind stepping as far as the shops, and bringing in something which we could get ready in time?"
"Oh no, I can run along very quickly, mamma. What shall I bring? A fowl to roast? That could be cooked best, I suppose; and a few sausages. Any vegetables?"
"Yes, please dear, and some coffee; he will like a cup of coffee after dinner. And some tinned soup; there is no time to make any, and Monday is such a bad day on which to get fish. Will you mind bringing it all back with you, for Maria is trying to finish the washing, and the shop-people are so tiresome about sending to this distance?"
"No, mamma, I'll bring it all home."
"And a little something for dessert, Agnes."
"Could you not open some of that ginger which uncle brought home? I'll bring some nice biscuits."
"A good thought, dear."
Agnes stepped along as quickly as she could, but these errands took her a long time. The nearest poulterer had no fowls left, and the next one lived quite a mile off. The omnibuses did not help her, because only a short part of her way lay along the main road; and her gown, which she thought safely pinned up beneath her cloak, came loose, hung down behind in a festoon, which held the rain and beat around her ankles at every step which she took. Contending with a heavy umbrella through blustering wind and driving rain, laden with a cumbersome basket, it was of no use to pick her way, or try to keep herself dry, so she splashed through all the mud and puddles, and returned home, drenched, cold and wretched.
Hurrying up to put herself into dry clothes, she found Lisa in their bedroom, with books and papers all round her.
"Oh, Agnes, don't put your wet gloves down there! That is my German paper, just written. How wet you are! Where have you been? I have wanted you so badly, just to hear me say these syntax rules. And do tell me what is the passive form of"—
"Don't keep me now, Lisa, I am in such a hurry. Mamma wants me. Could you not take baby for an hour? Mr. Benson has somebody coming to dinner, and nothing is ready. There is Miss Mason's tea to be got too, and Maria not dressed, and baby poorly. Mamma is driven every way at once."
"I can't take baby, I have heaps of lessons to do. I should lose my place if they are not done. How can you ask me, Agnes?"
"Well, I must run down, don't hinder me."
"You might just stop one minute to hear me these rules."
"I really can't, Lisa."
"Ill-natured thing," began Lisa fretfully, but Agnes could not stay to hear her.
Downstairs was chaos. The washtubs and wet clothes were everywhere; the two boys clamouring for their evening meal, and stumping about in their dirty boots; Miss Mason was ringing for coals; Mrs. Denham had sent Maria up to dress, and was trying to prepare the fowl with the baby in her lap.
"Jack," cried Agnes, "you might just take up some coals to Miss Mason, to help us."
"I'm not a footboy," said Jack ill-naturedly. "Where's Maria?"
"We are particularly busy; do help," pleaded Agnes.
"Help yourself," said Jack rudely.
"I am helping all I can," replied Agnes.
"Jack," said Mrs. Denham, "do what your sister asks."
Jack did not exactly disobey his mother, but flounced off to fetch the coal-scuttle as sulkily as he could, and filled it with a tremendous clatter.
"Here, Reggie, you lazy beggar, you can carry it up; you are doing nothing."
Reggie took up the scuttle, which, being too heavy for him, upset upon the stairs, all the coals falling down with an appalling noise and dreadful mess.
"I'm so sorry," said he, looking frightened.
"Butter fingers!" cried Jack contemptuously.
Agnes set herself to sweep the stairs and hall clean, drove the boys into the parlour and shut the door on them; then hurried to set Miss Mason's tea-tray, and send it up by Maria, who now appeared in her tidy apron and cap. Thenshe laid the cloth in Mr. Benson's room, and ran down to help her mother.
"My dear," exclaimed Mrs. Denham in dismay, "I forgot all about a pudding, and I don't know what we can do!"
"I brought some tarts in, mamma; and I thought we could toss up a sweet omelette while they are having their soup and meat."
"But eggs?" said Mrs. Denham in despair.
"I bought six pennyworth."
"What should I do without you, love?" sighed her mother.
By dint of great exertion the little dinner was cooked, and served to Mr. Benson's satisfaction. He, manlike, had not the slightest idea of the difficulties which had beset his obliging landlady; or that, though the hunger of Lisa and the boys had been assuaged with thick bread and butter in the intervals of work, Mrs. Denham and Agnes had not been able to spare time for food, and were sinking for want of it at nine o'clock.
"You must have a nice cup of coffee now, mamma," said Agnes. "I made enough when I sent it up to the gentlemen. And here is a bit of fowl which I slipped into the oven to keep hot."
"You must take some too, Agnes."
"I'll have mine when I come down. Cicely has never been put to bed, she is asleep on the parlour floor."
She set her mother down by the kitchen fire to take her supper, and carried off the baby, now asleep, as well as the little girl.
Coming down from putting them to bed, she remembered that Miss Mason's tea-tray had never been removed, and stepped in to take it down.
"I am so sorry," said she, "that you should have been neglected, Miss Mason. Mr. Benson has company, andgave us very short notice of what he wanted, so we have been rather busy."
"My dear," said the kind-hearted Miss Mason, "you look fit to drop."