Chapter Twenty.

Chapter Twenty.Preparations for a Long Voyage—Briant Proves that Ghosts can Drink—Jacko Astonishes his Friends, and Saddens his Adopted Mother.“WotIsay is one thing; wotyousay is another—so it is. I dun know w’ich is right, or w’ich is wrong—no more do you. P’raps you is, p’raps I is; anywise we can’t both on us be right or both on us be wrong—that’s a comfort, if it’s nothin’ else. Wotyousay is—that it’s morally imposs’ble for a crew sich as us to travel over two thousand miles of ocean on three casks o’ biscuit and a barrel o’ salt junk. WotIsay is—that we can, an’, moreover, that morals has nothin’ to do with it wotsomediver. Now, wot then?”Tim Rokens paused and looked at Gurney, to whom his remarks were addressed, as if he expected an answer. That rotund little seaman did not, however, appear to be thoroughly prepared to reply to “wot then,” for he remained silent, but looked at his comrade as though to say, “I’ll be happy to learn wisdom from your sagacious lips.”“Wot then?” repeated Tim Rokens, assaulting his knee with his clenched fist in a peculiarly emphatic manner; “I’ll tell ye wot then, as you may be right and I may be right, an’ nother on us can be both right or wrong, I say as how that we don’t know nothin’ about it.”Gurney looked as if he did not quite approve of so summary a method of solving such a knotty question, but observing from the expression of Rokens’ countenance that, though he had paused, that philosopher had not yet concluded, he remained silent.“An’, furthermore,” continued Tim, “it’s my opinion—seein’ that we’re both on us in such a state o’ cumblebofubulation, an’ don’t know nothin’—we’d better go an’ ax the cap’en, who does.”“Youmay save yourselves the trouble,” observed Glynn Proctor, who at that moment came up and sat down on the rocks beside them, with a piece of the salt junk that formed an element in the question at issue, in his hand—“I’ve just heard the captain give his opinion on that subject, and he says that the boat can be got ready in a week or less, and that, with strict economy, the provisions we have will last us long enough to enable us to make the Cape, supposing we have good weather and fair winds. That’shisopinion.”“I told ye so,” said Tim Rokens.“You did nothin’ o’ the sort,” retorted Gurney.“Well, if ye come fur to be oncommon strick in the use o’ your lingo, I didnot’xactly tell ye so, but Ithoughtso, w’ich is all the same.”“It ain’t all the same,” replied Gurney, whose temper seemed to have been a little soured by the prospects before him, “and you don’t need to go for to be talkin’ there like a great Solon as you are.”“Wot’s a Solon?” inquired Tim.“Solon was a man as thought his-self a great feelosopher, but he worn’t, he wor an ass.”“If I’m like Solon,” retorted Rokens, “you’re like a Solon-goose, w’ich is an animal asdon’tthink itself an ass, ’cause its too great a one to know it.”Having thus floored his adversary, the philosophic mariner turned to Glynn and said—“In course we can’t expect to be on full allowance.”“Of course not, old boy; the captain remarked, just as I left him, that we’d have to be content with short allowance—very short allowance indeed.”Gurney sighed deeply.“How much?” inquired Tim.“About three ounces of biscuit, one ounce of salt junk, and a quarter of a pint of water per day.”Gurney groaned aloud.“You, of all men,” said Glynn, “have least reason to complain, Gurney, for you’ve got fat enough on your own proper person to last you a week at least!”“Ay, a fortnight, or more,” added Rokens; “an’ even then ye’d scarcely be redooced to a decent size.”“Ah, but,” pleaded Gurney, “you scarecrow creatures don’t know how horrid sore the process o’ comin’ down is. An’ one gets so cold, too. It’s just like taking off yer clo’s.”“Sarves ye right for puttin’ on so many,” said Rokens, as he rose to resume work, which he and Gurney had left off three-quarters of an hour before, in order to enjoy a quiet, philosophicaltête-à-têteduring dinner.“It’s a bad business, that of the planking not being sufficient to deck or even half-deck the boat,” observed Glynn, as they went together towards the place where the new boat was being built.“It is,” replied Rokens; “but it’s a good thing that we’ve got plenty of canvas to spare. It won’t make an overly strong deck, to be sure; but it’s better than nothin’.”“A heavy sea would burst it in no time,” remarked Gurney.“We must hope to escape heavy seas, then,” said Glynn, as they parted, and went to their several occupations.The boat that was now building with the most urgent despatch, had a keel of exactly twenty-three feet long, and her breadth, at the widest part, was seven feet. She was being as well and firmly put together as the materials at their command would admit of, and, as far as the work had yet proceeded, she bid fair to become an excellent boat, capable of containing the whole crew, and their small quantity of provisions. This last was diminishing so rapidly, that Captain Dunning resolved to put all hands at once on short allowance. Notwithstanding this, the men worked hard and hopefully; for, as each plank and nail was added to their little bark, they felt as if they were a step nearer home. The captain and the doctor, however, and one or two of the older men, could not banish from their minds the fact that the voyage they were about to undertake was of the most perilous nature, and one which, in any other than the hopeless circumstances in which they were placed at that time, would have been regarded as the most desperate of forlorn hopes.For fourteen souls to be tossed about on the wide and stormy sea, during many weeks, it might be months, in a small open boat, crowded together and cramped, without sufficient covering, and on short allowance of food, was indeed a dreary prospect, even for the men—how much more so for the delicate child who shared their trials and sufferings? Captain Dunning’s heart sank within him when he thought of it; but he knew how great an influence the conduct and bearing of a commander has, in such circumstances, on his men; so he strove to show a smiling, cheerful countenance, though oftentimes he carried a sad and anxious heart in his bosom. To the doctor and Tim Rokens alone did he reveal his inmost thoughts, because he knew that he could trust them, and felt that he needed their advice and sympathy.The work progressed so rapidly, that in a few days more the boat approached completion, and preparations were being made in earnest for finally quitting the little isle on which they had found a home for so many days.It was observed by the captain that as the work of boat-building drew to a close, Glynn Proctor continued to labour long after the others had retired to rest, wearied with the toils of the day—toils which they were not now so well able to bear as heretofore, on account of the slight want of vigour caused by being compelled to live on half allowance.One evening the captain went down to the building yard in Fairyland, and said to Glynn—“Hallo, my boy! at it yet? Why, what are you making? A dog-kennel, eh?”“No; not exactly that,” replied Glynn, laughing. “You’ll hardly guess.”“I would say it was a house for Jacko, only it seems much too big.”“It’s just possible that Jacko may have a share in it,” said Glynn; “but it’s not for him.”“Who, then? Not for yourself, surely!”“It’s for Ailie,” cried Glynn gleefully. “Don’t you think it will be required?” he added, looking up, as if he half feared the captain would not permit his contrivance to be used.“Well, I believe it will, my boy. I had intended to get some sort of covering for my dear Ailie put up in the stern-sheets; but I did not think of absolutely making a box for her.”“Ah, you’ll find it will be a capital thing at nights. I know she could never stand the exposure, and canvas don’t keep out the rain well; so I thought of rigging up a large box, into which she can creep. I’ll make air-holes in the roof that will let in air, but not water; and I’ll caulk the seams with oakum, so as to keep it quite dry inside.”“Thank you, my boy, it’s very kind of you to take so much thought for my poor child. Yet she deserves it, Glynn, and we can’t be too careful of her.”The captain patted the youth on the shoulder, and, leaving him to continue his work, went to see Gurney, who had been ailing a little during the last few days. Brandy, in small quantities, had been prescribed by the doctor, and, fortunately, two bottles of that spirit had been swept from the wreck. Being their whole stock, Captain Dunning had stowed it carefully away in what he deemed a secret and secure place; but it turned out that some member of the crew was not so strict in his principles of temperance as could be desired; for, on going to the spot to procure the required medicine, it was found that one of the bottles was gone.This discovery caused the captain much anxiety and sorrow, for, besides inflicting on them the loss of a most valuable medicine, it proved that there was a thief in their little society.What was to be done? To pass it over in silence would have shown weakness, which, especially in the circumstances in which they were at that time placed, might have led at last to open mutiny. To discover the thief was impossible. The captain’s mind was soon made up. He summoned every one of the party before him, and, after stating the discovery he had made, he said—“Now, lads, I’m not going to charge any of you with having done this thing, but I cannot let it pass without warning you that if I discover any of you being guilty of such practices in future, I’ll have the man tied up and give him three dozen with a rope’s-end. You know I have never resorted, as many captains are in the habit of doing, to corporal punishment. I don’t like it. I’ve sailed in command of ships for many years, and have never found it needful; but now, more than ever, strict discipline must be maintained; and I tell you, once for all, that I mean to maintain itat any cost.”This speech was received in silence. All perceived the justice of it, yet some felt that, until the thief should be discovered, they themselves would lie under suspicion. A few there were, indeed, whose well-known and long-established characters raised them above suspicion, but there were others who knew that their character had not yet been established on so firm a basis, and they felt that until the matter should be cleared up, their honesty would be, mentally at least, called in question by their companions.With the exception of the disposition to mutiny related in a previous chapter, this was the first cloud that had risen to interrupt the harmony of the shipwrecked sailors, and as they returned to their work, sundry suggestions and remarks were made in reference to the possibility of discovering the delinquent.“I didn’t think it wos poss’ble,” said Rokens. “I thought as how there wasn’t a man in the ship as could ha’ done sich a low, mean thing as that.”“No more did I,” said Dick Barnes.“Wall, boys,” observed Nikel Sling emphatically, “I guess as how that I don’t believe it yet.”“Arrah! D’ye think the bottle o’ brandy stole his-self?” inquired Briant.“I ain’t a-goin’ fur to say that; but a ghost might ha’ done it, p’raps, a-purpose to get us into a scrape.”There was a slight laugh at this, and from that moment the other men suspected that Sling was the culprit. The mere fact of his being the first to charge the crime upon any one else—even a ghost—caused them, in spite of themselves, to come to this conclusion. They did not, however, by word or look, show what was passing in their minds, for the Yankee was a favourite with his comrades, and each felt unwilling that his suspicion should prove to be correct.“I don’t agree with you,” said Tarquin, who feared that suspicion might attach to himself, seeing that he had been the ringleader in the recent mutiny; “I don’t believe that ghosts drink.”“Och! that’s all ye know!” cried Phil Briant. “Av ye’d only lived a month or two in Owld Ireland, ye’d have seen raison to change yer mind, ye would. Sure I’ve seed a ghost the worse o’ liquor meself.”“Oh! Phil, wot a stunner!” cried Gurney.“It’s as true as me name’s Phil Briant—more’s the pity. Did I niver tell ye o’ the Widdy Morgan, as had a ghost come to see her frequently?”“No, never—let’s hear it.”“Stop that noise with yer hammer, then, Tim Rokens, jist for five minutes, and I’ll tell it ye.”The men ceased work for a few minutes while their comrade spoke as follows—“It’s not a long story, boys, but it’s long enough to prove that ghosts drink.“Ye must know that wance upon a time there wos a widdy as lived in a small town in the county o’ Clare, in Owld Ireland, an’ oh! but that was the place for drinkin’ and fightin’. It wos there that I learned to use me sippers; and it wos there, too, that I learned to give up drinkin’, for I comed for to see what a mighty dale o’ harm it did to my poor countrymen. The sexton o’ the place was the only man as niver wint near the grog-shop, and no wan iver seed him overtook with drink, but it was a quare thing that no wan could rightly understand why he used tosmello’ drink very bad sometimes. There wos a young widdy in that town, o’ the name o’ Morgan, as kep’ a cow, an’ owned a small cabin, an’ a patch o’ tater-ground about the size o’ the starn sheets of our owld long-boat. She wos a great deal run after, wos this widdy—not that the young lads had an eye to the cow, or the cabin, or the tater-estate, by no manes—but she wos greatly admired, she wos. I admired her meself, and wint to see her pretty fraquent. Well, wan evenin’ I wint to see her, an’ says I, ‘Mrs Morgan, did ye iver hear the bit song called the Widdy Machree?’ ‘Sure I niver did,’ says she. ‘Would ye like to hear it, darlint?’ says I. So she says she would, an’ I gave it to her right off; an’ when I’d done, says I, ‘Now, Widdy Morgan, ochone! will ye takeme?’ But she shook her head, and looked melancholy. ‘Ye ain’t a-goin’ to take spasms?’ said I, for I got frightened at her looks. ‘No,’ says she; ‘but there’s a sacret about me; an’ I like ye too well, Phil, to decaive ye; if ye only know’d the sacret, ye wouldn’t have me at any price.’“‘Wouldn’t I?’ says I; ‘try me, cushla, and see av I won’t.’“‘Phil Briant,’ says she, awful solemn like, ‘I’m haunted.’“‘Haunted!’ says I; ‘’av coorse ye are, bliss yer purty face; don’t I know that ivery boy in the parish is after ye?’“‘It’s not that I mane. It’s a ghost as haunts me. It haunts me cabin, and me cow, and me tater-estate; an’ it drinks.’“‘Now, darlint,’ says I, ‘everybody knows yer aisy frightened about ghosts. I don’t belave in one meself, an’ I don’t mind ’em a farden dip; but av all the ghosts in Ireland haunted ye, I’d niver give ye up.’“‘Will ye come an’ see it this night?’ says she.“‘Av coorse I will,’ says I. An’ that same night I wint to her cabin, and she let me in, and put a candle on the table, an’ hid me behind a great clock, in a corner jist close by the cupboard, where the brandy-bottle lived. Then she lay down on her bed with her clo’s on, and pulled the coverlid over her, and pretinded to go to slape. In less nor half-an-hour I hears a fut on the doorstep; then a tap at the door, which opened, it seemed to me, of its own accord, and in walks the ghost, sure enough! It was covered all over from head to fut in a white sheet, and I seed by the way it walked that it wos the worse of drink. I wos in a mortal fright, ye may be sure, an’ me knees shuk to that extint ye might have heard them rattle. The ghost walks straight up to the cupboard, takes out the brandy-bottle, and fills out a whole tumbler quite full, and drinks it off; it did, the baste, ivery dhrop. I seed it with me two eyes, as sure as I’m a-standin’ here. It came into the house drunk, an’ it wint out drunker nor it came in.”“Is that all?” exclaimed several of Briant’s auditors.“All! av coorse it is. Wot more would ye have? Didn’t I say that I’d tell ye a story as would prove to ye that ghosts drink, more especially Irish ghosts? To be sure it turned out afterwards that the ghost was the sexton o’ the parish as took advantage o’ the poor widdy’s fears; but I can tell ye, boys, that ghost niver came back after the widdy became Mrs Briant.”“Oh! then ye married the widder, did ye?” said Jim Scroggles.“I did; an’ she’s alive and hearty this day av she’s not—”Briant was interrupted by a sudden roar of laughter from the men, who at that moment caught sight of Jacko, the small monkey, in a condition of mind and body that, to say the least of it, did him no credit. We are sorry to be compelled to state that Jacko was evidently and undoubtedly tipsy. Gurney said he was “as drunk as a fiddler.”We cannot take upon ourself to say whether he was or was not as drunk as that. We are rather inclined to think that fiddlers, as a class, are maligned, and that they are no worse than their neighbours in this respect, perhaps not so bad. Certainly, if any fiddler really deserves the imputation, it must be a violoncello player, because he is, properly speaking, a base-fiddler.Be this, however, as it may, Jacko was unmistakably drunk—in a maudlin state of intoxication—drunker, probably, than ever a monkey was before or since. He appeared, as he came slowly staggering forward to the place where the men were at work on the boat, to have just wakened out of his first drunken sleep, for his eyes were blinking like the orbs of an owl in the sunshine, and in his walk he placed his right foot where his left should have gone, and his left foot where his right should have gone, occasionally making a little run forward to save himself from tumbling on his nose, and then pulling suddenly up, and throwing up his arms in order to avoid falling on his back. Sometimes he halted altogether,—and swayed to and fro, gazing, meanwhile, pensively at the ground, as if he were wondering why it had taken to rolling and earthquaking in that preposterous manner; or were thinking on the bald-headed mother he had left behind him in the African wilderness. When the loud laugh of the men saluted his ears, Jacko looked up as quickly and steadily as he could, and grinned a ghastly smile—or something like it—as if to say, “What are you laughing at, villains?”It is commonly observed that, among men, the ruling passion comes out strongly when they are under the influence of strong drink. So it is with monkeys. Jacko’s ruling passion was thieving; but having, at that time, no particular inducement to steal, he indulged his next ruling passion—that of affection—by holding out both arms, and staggering towards Phil Briant to be taken up.A renewed burst of laughter greeted this movement. “It knows ye, Phil,” cried Jim Scroggles.“Ah! then, so it should, for it’s meself as is good to it. Come to its uncle, then. O good luck to yer purty little yaller face. So it wos you stole the brandy, wos it? Musha! but ye might have know’d ye belonged to a timp’rance ship, so ye might.”Jacko spread his arms on Briant’s broad chest—they were too short to go round his neck—laid his head thereon, and sighed. Perhaps he felt penitent on account of his wickedness; but it is more probable that he felt uneasy in body rather than in mind.“I say, Briant,” cried Gurney.“That’s me,” answered the other.“If you are Jacko’s self-appointed uncle, and Miss Ailie is his adopted mother, wot relation is Miss Ailie to you?”“You never does nothin’ right, Gurney,” interposed Nikel Sling; “you can’t even preepound a pruposition. Here’s how you oughter to ha’ put it. If Phil Briant be Jacko’s uncle, and Miss Ailie his adopted mother—all three bein’ related in a sorter way by bein’ shipmates, an’ all on us together bein’ closely connected in vartue of our bein’ messmates—wot relation is Gurney to a donkey?”“That’s a puzzler,” said Gurney, affecting to consider the question deeply.“Here’s a puzzler wot’ll beat it, though,” observed Tim Rokens; “suppose we all go on talkin’ stuff till doomsday, w’en’ll the boat be finished?”“That’s true,” cried Dick Barnes, resuming work with redoubled energy; “take that young thief to his mother, Phil, and tell her to rope’s-end him. I’m right glad to find, though, that heisthe thief arter all, and not one o’ us.”On examination being made, it was found that the broken and empty brandy-bottle lay on the floor of the monkey’s nest, and it was conjectured, from the position in which it was discovered, that that dissipated little creature, having broken off the neck in order to get at the brandy, had used the body of the bottle as a pillow whereon to lay its drunken little head. Luckily for its own sake, it had spilt the greater part of the liquid, with which everything in its private residence was saturated and perfumed.On having ocular demonstration of the depravity of her pet, Ailie at first wept, then, on beholding its eccentric movements, she laughed in spite of herself.After that, she wept again, and spoke to it reproachfully, but failed to make the slightest impression on its hardened little heart. Then she put it to bed, and wrapped it up carefully in its sailcloth blanket.With this piece of unmerited kindness Jacko seemed touched, for he said, “Oo-oo—oo-oo—ooee-ee!” once or twice in a peculiarly soft and penitential tone, after which he dropped into a calm, untroubled slumber.

“WotIsay is one thing; wotyousay is another—so it is. I dun know w’ich is right, or w’ich is wrong—no more do you. P’raps you is, p’raps I is; anywise we can’t both on us be right or both on us be wrong—that’s a comfort, if it’s nothin’ else. Wotyousay is—that it’s morally imposs’ble for a crew sich as us to travel over two thousand miles of ocean on three casks o’ biscuit and a barrel o’ salt junk. WotIsay is—that we can, an’, moreover, that morals has nothin’ to do with it wotsomediver. Now, wot then?”

Tim Rokens paused and looked at Gurney, to whom his remarks were addressed, as if he expected an answer. That rotund little seaman did not, however, appear to be thoroughly prepared to reply to “wot then,” for he remained silent, but looked at his comrade as though to say, “I’ll be happy to learn wisdom from your sagacious lips.”

“Wot then?” repeated Tim Rokens, assaulting his knee with his clenched fist in a peculiarly emphatic manner; “I’ll tell ye wot then, as you may be right and I may be right, an’ nother on us can be both right or wrong, I say as how that we don’t know nothin’ about it.”

Gurney looked as if he did not quite approve of so summary a method of solving such a knotty question, but observing from the expression of Rokens’ countenance that, though he had paused, that philosopher had not yet concluded, he remained silent.

“An’, furthermore,” continued Tim, “it’s my opinion—seein’ that we’re both on us in such a state o’ cumblebofubulation, an’ don’t know nothin’—we’d better go an’ ax the cap’en, who does.”

“Youmay save yourselves the trouble,” observed Glynn Proctor, who at that moment came up and sat down on the rocks beside them, with a piece of the salt junk that formed an element in the question at issue, in his hand—

“I’ve just heard the captain give his opinion on that subject, and he says that the boat can be got ready in a week or less, and that, with strict economy, the provisions we have will last us long enough to enable us to make the Cape, supposing we have good weather and fair winds. That’shisopinion.”

“I told ye so,” said Tim Rokens.

“You did nothin’ o’ the sort,” retorted Gurney.

“Well, if ye come fur to be oncommon strick in the use o’ your lingo, I didnot’xactly tell ye so, but Ithoughtso, w’ich is all the same.”

“It ain’t all the same,” replied Gurney, whose temper seemed to have been a little soured by the prospects before him, “and you don’t need to go for to be talkin’ there like a great Solon as you are.”

“Wot’s a Solon?” inquired Tim.

“Solon was a man as thought his-self a great feelosopher, but he worn’t, he wor an ass.”

“If I’m like Solon,” retorted Rokens, “you’re like a Solon-goose, w’ich is an animal asdon’tthink itself an ass, ’cause its too great a one to know it.”

Having thus floored his adversary, the philosophic mariner turned to Glynn and said—

“In course we can’t expect to be on full allowance.”

“Of course not, old boy; the captain remarked, just as I left him, that we’d have to be content with short allowance—very short allowance indeed.”

Gurney sighed deeply.

“How much?” inquired Tim.

“About three ounces of biscuit, one ounce of salt junk, and a quarter of a pint of water per day.”

Gurney groaned aloud.

“You, of all men,” said Glynn, “have least reason to complain, Gurney, for you’ve got fat enough on your own proper person to last you a week at least!”

“Ay, a fortnight, or more,” added Rokens; “an’ even then ye’d scarcely be redooced to a decent size.”

“Ah, but,” pleaded Gurney, “you scarecrow creatures don’t know how horrid sore the process o’ comin’ down is. An’ one gets so cold, too. It’s just like taking off yer clo’s.”

“Sarves ye right for puttin’ on so many,” said Rokens, as he rose to resume work, which he and Gurney had left off three-quarters of an hour before, in order to enjoy a quiet, philosophicaltête-à-têteduring dinner.

“It’s a bad business, that of the planking not being sufficient to deck or even half-deck the boat,” observed Glynn, as they went together towards the place where the new boat was being built.

“It is,” replied Rokens; “but it’s a good thing that we’ve got plenty of canvas to spare. It won’t make an overly strong deck, to be sure; but it’s better than nothin’.”

“A heavy sea would burst it in no time,” remarked Gurney.

“We must hope to escape heavy seas, then,” said Glynn, as they parted, and went to their several occupations.

The boat that was now building with the most urgent despatch, had a keel of exactly twenty-three feet long, and her breadth, at the widest part, was seven feet. She was being as well and firmly put together as the materials at their command would admit of, and, as far as the work had yet proceeded, she bid fair to become an excellent boat, capable of containing the whole crew, and their small quantity of provisions. This last was diminishing so rapidly, that Captain Dunning resolved to put all hands at once on short allowance. Notwithstanding this, the men worked hard and hopefully; for, as each plank and nail was added to their little bark, they felt as if they were a step nearer home. The captain and the doctor, however, and one or two of the older men, could not banish from their minds the fact that the voyage they were about to undertake was of the most perilous nature, and one which, in any other than the hopeless circumstances in which they were placed at that time, would have been regarded as the most desperate of forlorn hopes.

For fourteen souls to be tossed about on the wide and stormy sea, during many weeks, it might be months, in a small open boat, crowded together and cramped, without sufficient covering, and on short allowance of food, was indeed a dreary prospect, even for the men—how much more so for the delicate child who shared their trials and sufferings? Captain Dunning’s heart sank within him when he thought of it; but he knew how great an influence the conduct and bearing of a commander has, in such circumstances, on his men; so he strove to show a smiling, cheerful countenance, though oftentimes he carried a sad and anxious heart in his bosom. To the doctor and Tim Rokens alone did he reveal his inmost thoughts, because he knew that he could trust them, and felt that he needed their advice and sympathy.

The work progressed so rapidly, that in a few days more the boat approached completion, and preparations were being made in earnest for finally quitting the little isle on which they had found a home for so many days.

It was observed by the captain that as the work of boat-building drew to a close, Glynn Proctor continued to labour long after the others had retired to rest, wearied with the toils of the day—toils which they were not now so well able to bear as heretofore, on account of the slight want of vigour caused by being compelled to live on half allowance.

One evening the captain went down to the building yard in Fairyland, and said to Glynn—

“Hallo, my boy! at it yet? Why, what are you making? A dog-kennel, eh?”

“No; not exactly that,” replied Glynn, laughing. “You’ll hardly guess.”

“I would say it was a house for Jacko, only it seems much too big.”

“It’s just possible that Jacko may have a share in it,” said Glynn; “but it’s not for him.”

“Who, then? Not for yourself, surely!”

“It’s for Ailie,” cried Glynn gleefully. “Don’t you think it will be required?” he added, looking up, as if he half feared the captain would not permit his contrivance to be used.

“Well, I believe it will, my boy. I had intended to get some sort of covering for my dear Ailie put up in the stern-sheets; but I did not think of absolutely making a box for her.”

“Ah, you’ll find it will be a capital thing at nights. I know she could never stand the exposure, and canvas don’t keep out the rain well; so I thought of rigging up a large box, into which she can creep. I’ll make air-holes in the roof that will let in air, but not water; and I’ll caulk the seams with oakum, so as to keep it quite dry inside.”

“Thank you, my boy, it’s very kind of you to take so much thought for my poor child. Yet she deserves it, Glynn, and we can’t be too careful of her.”

The captain patted the youth on the shoulder, and, leaving him to continue his work, went to see Gurney, who had been ailing a little during the last few days. Brandy, in small quantities, had been prescribed by the doctor, and, fortunately, two bottles of that spirit had been swept from the wreck. Being their whole stock, Captain Dunning had stowed it carefully away in what he deemed a secret and secure place; but it turned out that some member of the crew was not so strict in his principles of temperance as could be desired; for, on going to the spot to procure the required medicine, it was found that one of the bottles was gone.

This discovery caused the captain much anxiety and sorrow, for, besides inflicting on them the loss of a most valuable medicine, it proved that there was a thief in their little society.

What was to be done? To pass it over in silence would have shown weakness, which, especially in the circumstances in which they were at that time placed, might have led at last to open mutiny. To discover the thief was impossible. The captain’s mind was soon made up. He summoned every one of the party before him, and, after stating the discovery he had made, he said—

“Now, lads, I’m not going to charge any of you with having done this thing, but I cannot let it pass without warning you that if I discover any of you being guilty of such practices in future, I’ll have the man tied up and give him three dozen with a rope’s-end. You know I have never resorted, as many captains are in the habit of doing, to corporal punishment. I don’t like it. I’ve sailed in command of ships for many years, and have never found it needful; but now, more than ever, strict discipline must be maintained; and I tell you, once for all, that I mean to maintain itat any cost.”

This speech was received in silence. All perceived the justice of it, yet some felt that, until the thief should be discovered, they themselves would lie under suspicion. A few there were, indeed, whose well-known and long-established characters raised them above suspicion, but there were others who knew that their character had not yet been established on so firm a basis, and they felt that until the matter should be cleared up, their honesty would be, mentally at least, called in question by their companions.

With the exception of the disposition to mutiny related in a previous chapter, this was the first cloud that had risen to interrupt the harmony of the shipwrecked sailors, and as they returned to their work, sundry suggestions and remarks were made in reference to the possibility of discovering the delinquent.

“I didn’t think it wos poss’ble,” said Rokens. “I thought as how there wasn’t a man in the ship as could ha’ done sich a low, mean thing as that.”

“No more did I,” said Dick Barnes.

“Wall, boys,” observed Nikel Sling emphatically, “I guess as how that I don’t believe it yet.”

“Arrah! D’ye think the bottle o’ brandy stole his-self?” inquired Briant.

“I ain’t a-goin’ fur to say that; but a ghost might ha’ done it, p’raps, a-purpose to get us into a scrape.”

There was a slight laugh at this, and from that moment the other men suspected that Sling was the culprit. The mere fact of his being the first to charge the crime upon any one else—even a ghost—caused them, in spite of themselves, to come to this conclusion. They did not, however, by word or look, show what was passing in their minds, for the Yankee was a favourite with his comrades, and each felt unwilling that his suspicion should prove to be correct.

“I don’t agree with you,” said Tarquin, who feared that suspicion might attach to himself, seeing that he had been the ringleader in the recent mutiny; “I don’t believe that ghosts drink.”

“Och! that’s all ye know!” cried Phil Briant. “Av ye’d only lived a month or two in Owld Ireland, ye’d have seen raison to change yer mind, ye would. Sure I’ve seed a ghost the worse o’ liquor meself.”

“Oh! Phil, wot a stunner!” cried Gurney.

“It’s as true as me name’s Phil Briant—more’s the pity. Did I niver tell ye o’ the Widdy Morgan, as had a ghost come to see her frequently?”

“No, never—let’s hear it.”

“Stop that noise with yer hammer, then, Tim Rokens, jist for five minutes, and I’ll tell it ye.”

The men ceased work for a few minutes while their comrade spoke as follows—

“It’s not a long story, boys, but it’s long enough to prove that ghosts drink.

“Ye must know that wance upon a time there wos a widdy as lived in a small town in the county o’ Clare, in Owld Ireland, an’ oh! but that was the place for drinkin’ and fightin’. It wos there that I learned to use me sippers; and it wos there, too, that I learned to give up drinkin’, for I comed for to see what a mighty dale o’ harm it did to my poor countrymen. The sexton o’ the place was the only man as niver wint near the grog-shop, and no wan iver seed him overtook with drink, but it was a quare thing that no wan could rightly understand why he used tosmello’ drink very bad sometimes. There wos a young widdy in that town, o’ the name o’ Morgan, as kep’ a cow, an’ owned a small cabin, an’ a patch o’ tater-ground about the size o’ the starn sheets of our owld long-boat. She wos a great deal run after, wos this widdy—not that the young lads had an eye to the cow, or the cabin, or the tater-estate, by no manes—but she wos greatly admired, she wos. I admired her meself, and wint to see her pretty fraquent. Well, wan evenin’ I wint to see her, an’ says I, ‘Mrs Morgan, did ye iver hear the bit song called the Widdy Machree?’ ‘Sure I niver did,’ says she. ‘Would ye like to hear it, darlint?’ says I. So she says she would, an’ I gave it to her right off; an’ when I’d done, says I, ‘Now, Widdy Morgan, ochone! will ye takeme?’ But she shook her head, and looked melancholy. ‘Ye ain’t a-goin’ to take spasms?’ said I, for I got frightened at her looks. ‘No,’ says she; ‘but there’s a sacret about me; an’ I like ye too well, Phil, to decaive ye; if ye only know’d the sacret, ye wouldn’t have me at any price.’

“‘Wouldn’t I?’ says I; ‘try me, cushla, and see av I won’t.’

“‘Phil Briant,’ says she, awful solemn like, ‘I’m haunted.’

“‘Haunted!’ says I; ‘’av coorse ye are, bliss yer purty face; don’t I know that ivery boy in the parish is after ye?’

“‘It’s not that I mane. It’s a ghost as haunts me. It haunts me cabin, and me cow, and me tater-estate; an’ it drinks.’

“‘Now, darlint,’ says I, ‘everybody knows yer aisy frightened about ghosts. I don’t belave in one meself, an’ I don’t mind ’em a farden dip; but av all the ghosts in Ireland haunted ye, I’d niver give ye up.’

“‘Will ye come an’ see it this night?’ says she.

“‘Av coorse I will,’ says I. An’ that same night I wint to her cabin, and she let me in, and put a candle on the table, an’ hid me behind a great clock, in a corner jist close by the cupboard, where the brandy-bottle lived. Then she lay down on her bed with her clo’s on, and pulled the coverlid over her, and pretinded to go to slape. In less nor half-an-hour I hears a fut on the doorstep; then a tap at the door, which opened, it seemed to me, of its own accord, and in walks the ghost, sure enough! It was covered all over from head to fut in a white sheet, and I seed by the way it walked that it wos the worse of drink. I wos in a mortal fright, ye may be sure, an’ me knees shuk to that extint ye might have heard them rattle. The ghost walks straight up to the cupboard, takes out the brandy-bottle, and fills out a whole tumbler quite full, and drinks it off; it did, the baste, ivery dhrop. I seed it with me two eyes, as sure as I’m a-standin’ here. It came into the house drunk, an’ it wint out drunker nor it came in.”

“Is that all?” exclaimed several of Briant’s auditors.

“All! av coorse it is. Wot more would ye have? Didn’t I say that I’d tell ye a story as would prove to ye that ghosts drink, more especially Irish ghosts? To be sure it turned out afterwards that the ghost was the sexton o’ the parish as took advantage o’ the poor widdy’s fears; but I can tell ye, boys, that ghost niver came back after the widdy became Mrs Briant.”

“Oh! then ye married the widder, did ye?” said Jim Scroggles.

“I did; an’ she’s alive and hearty this day av she’s not—”

Briant was interrupted by a sudden roar of laughter from the men, who at that moment caught sight of Jacko, the small monkey, in a condition of mind and body that, to say the least of it, did him no credit. We are sorry to be compelled to state that Jacko was evidently and undoubtedly tipsy. Gurney said he was “as drunk as a fiddler.”

We cannot take upon ourself to say whether he was or was not as drunk as that. We are rather inclined to think that fiddlers, as a class, are maligned, and that they are no worse than their neighbours in this respect, perhaps not so bad. Certainly, if any fiddler really deserves the imputation, it must be a violoncello player, because he is, properly speaking, a base-fiddler.

Be this, however, as it may, Jacko was unmistakably drunk—in a maudlin state of intoxication—drunker, probably, than ever a monkey was before or since. He appeared, as he came slowly staggering forward to the place where the men were at work on the boat, to have just wakened out of his first drunken sleep, for his eyes were blinking like the orbs of an owl in the sunshine, and in his walk he placed his right foot where his left should have gone, and his left foot where his right should have gone, occasionally making a little run forward to save himself from tumbling on his nose, and then pulling suddenly up, and throwing up his arms in order to avoid falling on his back. Sometimes he halted altogether,—and swayed to and fro, gazing, meanwhile, pensively at the ground, as if he were wondering why it had taken to rolling and earthquaking in that preposterous manner; or were thinking on the bald-headed mother he had left behind him in the African wilderness. When the loud laugh of the men saluted his ears, Jacko looked up as quickly and steadily as he could, and grinned a ghastly smile—or something like it—as if to say, “What are you laughing at, villains?”

It is commonly observed that, among men, the ruling passion comes out strongly when they are under the influence of strong drink. So it is with monkeys. Jacko’s ruling passion was thieving; but having, at that time, no particular inducement to steal, he indulged his next ruling passion—that of affection—by holding out both arms, and staggering towards Phil Briant to be taken up.

A renewed burst of laughter greeted this movement. “It knows ye, Phil,” cried Jim Scroggles.

“Ah! then, so it should, for it’s meself as is good to it. Come to its uncle, then. O good luck to yer purty little yaller face. So it wos you stole the brandy, wos it? Musha! but ye might have know’d ye belonged to a timp’rance ship, so ye might.”

Jacko spread his arms on Briant’s broad chest—they were too short to go round his neck—laid his head thereon, and sighed. Perhaps he felt penitent on account of his wickedness; but it is more probable that he felt uneasy in body rather than in mind.

“I say, Briant,” cried Gurney.

“That’s me,” answered the other.

“If you are Jacko’s self-appointed uncle, and Miss Ailie is his adopted mother, wot relation is Miss Ailie to you?”

“You never does nothin’ right, Gurney,” interposed Nikel Sling; “you can’t even preepound a pruposition. Here’s how you oughter to ha’ put it. If Phil Briant be Jacko’s uncle, and Miss Ailie his adopted mother—all three bein’ related in a sorter way by bein’ shipmates, an’ all on us together bein’ closely connected in vartue of our bein’ messmates—wot relation is Gurney to a donkey?”

“That’s a puzzler,” said Gurney, affecting to consider the question deeply.

“Here’s a puzzler wot’ll beat it, though,” observed Tim Rokens; “suppose we all go on talkin’ stuff till doomsday, w’en’ll the boat be finished?”

“That’s true,” cried Dick Barnes, resuming work with redoubled energy; “take that young thief to his mother, Phil, and tell her to rope’s-end him. I’m right glad to find, though, that heisthe thief arter all, and not one o’ us.”

On examination being made, it was found that the broken and empty brandy-bottle lay on the floor of the monkey’s nest, and it was conjectured, from the position in which it was discovered, that that dissipated little creature, having broken off the neck in order to get at the brandy, had used the body of the bottle as a pillow whereon to lay its drunken little head. Luckily for its own sake, it had spilt the greater part of the liquid, with which everything in its private residence was saturated and perfumed.

On having ocular demonstration of the depravity of her pet, Ailie at first wept, then, on beholding its eccentric movements, she laughed in spite of herself.

After that, she wept again, and spoke to it reproachfully, but failed to make the slightest impression on its hardened little heart. Then she put it to bed, and wrapped it up carefully in its sailcloth blanket.

With this piece of unmerited kindness Jacko seemed touched, for he said, “Oo-oo—oo-oo—ooee-ee!” once or twice in a peculiarly soft and penitential tone, after which he dropped into a calm, untroubled slumber.

Chapter Twenty One.The Boat Finished—Farewell to Fairyland—Once more at Sea.At last the boat was finished. It had two masts and two lug-sails, and pulled eight oars. There was just sufficient room in it to enable the men to move about freely, but it required a little management to enable them to stow themselves away when they went to sleep, and had they possessed the proper quantity of provisions for their contemplated voyage, there is no doubt that they would have found themselves considerably cramped. The boat was named theMaid of the Isle, in memory of the sandbank on which she had been built, and although in her general outline and details she was rather a clumsy craft, she was serviceable and strongly put together.Had she been decked, or even half-decked, the voyage which now began would not have been so desperate an undertaking; but having been only covered in part with a frail tarpaulin, she was not at all fitted to face the terrible storms that sometimes sweep the southern seas. Each man, as he gazed at her, felt that his chance of ultimate escape was very small indeed. Still, the men had now been so long contemplating the voyage and preparing for it, and they had become so accustomed to risk their lives upon the sea, that they set out upon this voyage at last in cheerful spirits, and even jested about the anticipated dangers and trials which they knew full well awaited them.It was a lovely morning, that on which the wrecked crew of the whaler bade adieu to “Fairyland,” as the islet had been named by Ailie—a name that was highly, though laughingly, approved of by the men. The ocean and sky presented that mysterious co-mingling of their gorgeous elements that irresistibly call forth the wonder and admiration of even the most unromantic and matter-of-fact men. It was one of Ailie’s peculiarly beloved skies. You could not, without much consideration, have decided as to where was the exact line at which the glassy ocean met the clear sky, and it was almost impossible to tell, when gazing at the horizon, which were the real clouds and which the reflections.The bright blue vault above was laden with clouds of the most gorgeous description, in which all the shades of pearly-grey and yellow were mingled and contrasted. They rose up, pile upon pile, in stupendous majesty, like the very battlements of heaven, while their images, clear and distinct almost as themselves, rolled down and down into the watery depths, until the islet—the only well-defined and solid object in the scene—appeared to float in their midst. The rising sun shot throughout the vast immensity of space, and its warm rays were interrupted, and broken, and caught, and absorbed, and reflected in so many magical ways, that it was impossible to trace any of the outlines for more than a few seconds, ere the eye was lost in the confusion of bright lights and deep shadows that were mingled and mellowed together by the softer lights and shades of every degree of depth and tint into splendid harmony.In the midst of this scene Captain Dunning stood, with Ailie by his side, and surrounded by his men, on the shores of the little island. Everything was now in readiness to set sail. The boat was laden, and in the water, and the men stood ready to leap in and push off.“My lads,” said the captain, earnestly, “we’re about to quit this morsel of sandbank on which it pleased the Almighty to cast our ship, and on which, thanks be to Him, we have found a pretty safe shelter for so long. I feel a sort o’ regret almost at leavin’ it now. But the time has come for us to begin our voyage towards the Cape, and I need scarcely repeat what you all know well enough—that our undertakin’ is no child’s play. We shall need all our bodily and our mental powers to carry us through. Our labour must be constant, and our food is not sufficient, so that we must go on shorter allowance from this day. I gave you half rations while ye were buildin’ the boat, because we had to get her finished and launched as fast as we could, but now we can’t afford to eat so much. I made a careful inspection of our provisions last night, and I find that by allowing every man four ounces a day, we can spin it out. We may fall in with islands, perhaps, but I know of none in these seas—there are none put down on the charts—and we may get hold of a fish now and then, but we must not count on these chances. Now it must be plain to all of you that our only chance of getting on well together in circumstances that will try our tempers, no doubt, and rouse our selfishness, is to resolve firmly before starting—each man for himself—that we will lay restraint on ourselves and try to help each other as much as we can.”There was a ready murmur of assent to this proposal; then the captain continued:—“Now, lads, one word more. Our best efforts, let us exert ourselves ever so much, cannot be crowned with success unless before setting out, we ask the special favour and blessing of Him who, we are told in the Bible, holds the waters of the ocean in the hollow of His hand. If He helps us, we shall be saved; if He does not help us, we shall perish. We will therefore offer up a prayer now, in the name of our blessed Redeemer, that we may be delivered from every danger, and be brought at last in peace and comfort to our homes.”Captain Dunning then clasped his hands together, and while the men around him reverently bowed their heads, he offered up a short and simple, but earnest prayer to God.From that day forward they continued the habit of offering up prayer together once a day, and soon afterwards the captain began the practice of reading a chapter aloud daily out of Ailie’s Bible. The result of this was that not only were the more violent spirits among them restrained, under frequent and sore privations and temptations, but all the party were often much comforted and filled with hope at times when they were by their sufferings well-nigh driven to despair.“I’m sorry to leave Fairyland, papa,” said Ailie sadly, as the men shoved theMaid of the Isleinto deep water and pulled out to sea.“So am I, dear,” replied the captain sitting down beside his daughter in the stern-sheets of the boat, and taking the tiller; “I had no idea I could have come to like such a barren bit of sand so well.”There was a long pause after this remark. Every eye in the boat was turned with a sad expression on the bright-yellow sandbank as they rowed away, and the men dipped their oars lightly into the calm waters, as if they were loth to leave their late home.Any spot of earth that has been for some time the theatre of heart-stirring events, such as rouse men’s strong emotions, and on which happy and hopeful as well as wretched days have been spent, will so entwine itself with the affections of men that they will cling to it and love it, more or less powerfully, no matter how barren may be the spot or how dreary its general aspect. The sandbank had been the cause, no doubt, of the wreck of theRed Eric, but it had also been the means, under God, of saving the crew and affording them shelter during many succeeding weeks—weeks of deep anxiety, but also of healthful, hopeful, energetic toil, in which, if there were many things to create annoyance or fear, there had also been not a few things to cause thankfulness, delight, and amusement.Unknown to themselves, these rough sailors and the tender child had become attached to the spot, and it was only now that they were about to leave it for ever that they became aware of the fact. The circumscribed and limited range on which their thoughts and vision had been bent for the last few weeks, had rendered each individual as familiar with every inch of the bank as if he had dwelt there for years.Ailie gazed at the low rocks that overhung the crystal pool in Fairyland, until the blinding tears filled her eyes, and she felt all the deep regret that is experienced by the little child when it is forcibly torn from an old and favourite toy—regret that is not in the least degree mitigated by the fact that the said toy is but a sorry affair, a doll, perchance, with a smashed head, eyes thrust out, and nose flattened on its face or rubbed away altogether—it matters not; the long and happy hours and days spent in the companionship of that battered little mass of wood or wax rush on the infant memory like a dear delightful dream, and it weeps on separation as if its heart would break.Each man in the boat’s crew experienced more or less of the same feeling, and commented, according to his nature, either silently or audibly, on each familiar object as he gazed upon it for the last time.“There’s the spot where we built the hut when we first landed, Ailie,” said Glynn, who pulled the aft oar; “d’ye see it?—just coming into view; look! There it will be shut out again in a moment by the rock beside the coral-pool.”“I see it!” exclaimed Ailie eagerly, as she brushed away the tears from her eyes.“There’s the rock, too, where we used to make our fire,” said the captain, pointing it out. “It doesn’t look like itself from this point of view.”“Ah!” sighed Phil Briant, “an’ it wos at the fut o’ that, too, where we used to bile the kittle night an’ mornin’. Sure it’s many a swait bit and pipe I had beside ye.”“Is that a bit o’ the wreck?” inquired Tim Rokens, pointing to the low rocky point with the eagerness of a man who had made an unexpected discovery.“No,” replied Mr Millons, shading his eyes with his hands, and gazing at the object in question, “it’s himpossible. I searched every bit o’ the bank for a plank before we came hoff, an’ couldn’t find a morsel as big as my ’and. W’at say you, doctor?”“I think with you,” answered Dr Hopley; “but here’s the telescope, which will soon settle the question.”While the doctor adjusted the glass, Rokens muttered that “He wos sure it wos a bit o’ the wreck,” and that “there wos a bit o’ rock as nobody couldn’t easy git a t’other side of to look, and that that wos it, and the bit of wreck was there,” and much to the same effect.“So it is,” exclaimed the doctor.“Lay on your oars, lads, a moment,” said the captain, taking the glass and applying it to his eye.The men obeyed gladly, for they experienced an unaccountable disinclination to row away from the island. Perhaps the feeling was caused in part by the idea that when they took their last look at it, it might possibly be theirlastsight of land.“It’s a small piece of the foretopmast crosstrees,” observed the captain, shutting up the telescope and resuming his seat.“Shall we go back an’ pick it up, sir?” asked Dick Barnes gravely, giving vent to the desires of his heart, without perceiving at the moment the absurdity of the question.“Why, what would you do with it, Dick?” replied the captain, smiling.“Sure, ye couldn’t ait it!” interposed Briant; “but afther all, there’s no sayin’. Maybe Nikel Sling could make a tasty dish out of it stewed in oakum and tar.”“It wouldn’t be purlite to take such a tit-bit from the mermaids,” observed Gurney, as the oars were once more dipped reluctantly, in the water.The men smiled at the jest, for in the monotony of sea life every species of pleasantry, however poor, is swallowed with greater or less avidity; but the smile did not last long. They were in no jesting humour at that time, and no one replied to the passing joke.Soon after this a soft gentle breeze sprang up. It came direct from Fairyland, as if the mermaids referred to by Gurney had been touched by the kindly feelings harboured in the sailors’ bosoms towards their islet, and had wafted towards them a last farewell. The oars were shipped immediately and the sails hoisted, and, to the satisfaction of all on board, theMaid of the Islegave indications of being a swift sailer, for, although the puff of wind was scarcely sufficient to ruffle the glassy surface of the sea, she glided through the water under its influence a good deal faster than she had done with the oars.“That’s good!” remarked the captain, watching the ripples as they passed astern; “with fair winds, and not too much of ’em, we shall get on bravely; so cheer up, my lassie,” he added, patting Ailie on the head, “and let us begin our voyage in good spirits, and with hopeful, trusting hearts.”“Look at Fairyland,” said Ailie, clasping her father’s hand, and pointing towards the horizon.At the moment she spoke, an opening in the great white clouds let a ray of light fall on the sandbank, which had now passed almost beyond the range of vision. The effect was to illumine its yellow shore and cause it to shine out for a few seconds like a golden speck on the horizon. No one had ceased to gaze at it from the time the boat put forth; but this sudden change caused every one to start up, and fix their eyes on it with renewed interest and intensity. “Shall we ever see land again?” passed, in one form or another, through the minds of all. The clouds swept slowly on the golden point melted away, and the shipwrecked mariners felt that their little boat was now all the world to them in the midst of that mighty world of waters.

At last the boat was finished. It had two masts and two lug-sails, and pulled eight oars. There was just sufficient room in it to enable the men to move about freely, but it required a little management to enable them to stow themselves away when they went to sleep, and had they possessed the proper quantity of provisions for their contemplated voyage, there is no doubt that they would have found themselves considerably cramped. The boat was named theMaid of the Isle, in memory of the sandbank on which she had been built, and although in her general outline and details she was rather a clumsy craft, she was serviceable and strongly put together.

Had she been decked, or even half-decked, the voyage which now began would not have been so desperate an undertaking; but having been only covered in part with a frail tarpaulin, she was not at all fitted to face the terrible storms that sometimes sweep the southern seas. Each man, as he gazed at her, felt that his chance of ultimate escape was very small indeed. Still, the men had now been so long contemplating the voyage and preparing for it, and they had become so accustomed to risk their lives upon the sea, that they set out upon this voyage at last in cheerful spirits, and even jested about the anticipated dangers and trials which they knew full well awaited them.

It was a lovely morning, that on which the wrecked crew of the whaler bade adieu to “Fairyland,” as the islet had been named by Ailie—a name that was highly, though laughingly, approved of by the men. The ocean and sky presented that mysterious co-mingling of their gorgeous elements that irresistibly call forth the wonder and admiration of even the most unromantic and matter-of-fact men. It was one of Ailie’s peculiarly beloved skies. You could not, without much consideration, have decided as to where was the exact line at which the glassy ocean met the clear sky, and it was almost impossible to tell, when gazing at the horizon, which were the real clouds and which the reflections.

The bright blue vault above was laden with clouds of the most gorgeous description, in which all the shades of pearly-grey and yellow were mingled and contrasted. They rose up, pile upon pile, in stupendous majesty, like the very battlements of heaven, while their images, clear and distinct almost as themselves, rolled down and down into the watery depths, until the islet—the only well-defined and solid object in the scene—appeared to float in their midst. The rising sun shot throughout the vast immensity of space, and its warm rays were interrupted, and broken, and caught, and absorbed, and reflected in so many magical ways, that it was impossible to trace any of the outlines for more than a few seconds, ere the eye was lost in the confusion of bright lights and deep shadows that were mingled and mellowed together by the softer lights and shades of every degree of depth and tint into splendid harmony.

In the midst of this scene Captain Dunning stood, with Ailie by his side, and surrounded by his men, on the shores of the little island. Everything was now in readiness to set sail. The boat was laden, and in the water, and the men stood ready to leap in and push off.

“My lads,” said the captain, earnestly, “we’re about to quit this morsel of sandbank on which it pleased the Almighty to cast our ship, and on which, thanks be to Him, we have found a pretty safe shelter for so long. I feel a sort o’ regret almost at leavin’ it now. But the time has come for us to begin our voyage towards the Cape, and I need scarcely repeat what you all know well enough—that our undertakin’ is no child’s play. We shall need all our bodily and our mental powers to carry us through. Our labour must be constant, and our food is not sufficient, so that we must go on shorter allowance from this day. I gave you half rations while ye were buildin’ the boat, because we had to get her finished and launched as fast as we could, but now we can’t afford to eat so much. I made a careful inspection of our provisions last night, and I find that by allowing every man four ounces a day, we can spin it out. We may fall in with islands, perhaps, but I know of none in these seas—there are none put down on the charts—and we may get hold of a fish now and then, but we must not count on these chances. Now it must be plain to all of you that our only chance of getting on well together in circumstances that will try our tempers, no doubt, and rouse our selfishness, is to resolve firmly before starting—each man for himself—that we will lay restraint on ourselves and try to help each other as much as we can.”

There was a ready murmur of assent to this proposal; then the captain continued:—

“Now, lads, one word more. Our best efforts, let us exert ourselves ever so much, cannot be crowned with success unless before setting out, we ask the special favour and blessing of Him who, we are told in the Bible, holds the waters of the ocean in the hollow of His hand. If He helps us, we shall be saved; if He does not help us, we shall perish. We will therefore offer up a prayer now, in the name of our blessed Redeemer, that we may be delivered from every danger, and be brought at last in peace and comfort to our homes.”

Captain Dunning then clasped his hands together, and while the men around him reverently bowed their heads, he offered up a short and simple, but earnest prayer to God.

From that day forward they continued the habit of offering up prayer together once a day, and soon afterwards the captain began the practice of reading a chapter aloud daily out of Ailie’s Bible. The result of this was that not only were the more violent spirits among them restrained, under frequent and sore privations and temptations, but all the party were often much comforted and filled with hope at times when they were by their sufferings well-nigh driven to despair.

“I’m sorry to leave Fairyland, papa,” said Ailie sadly, as the men shoved theMaid of the Isleinto deep water and pulled out to sea.

“So am I, dear,” replied the captain sitting down beside his daughter in the stern-sheets of the boat, and taking the tiller; “I had no idea I could have come to like such a barren bit of sand so well.”

There was a long pause after this remark. Every eye in the boat was turned with a sad expression on the bright-yellow sandbank as they rowed away, and the men dipped their oars lightly into the calm waters, as if they were loth to leave their late home.

Any spot of earth that has been for some time the theatre of heart-stirring events, such as rouse men’s strong emotions, and on which happy and hopeful as well as wretched days have been spent, will so entwine itself with the affections of men that they will cling to it and love it, more or less powerfully, no matter how barren may be the spot or how dreary its general aspect. The sandbank had been the cause, no doubt, of the wreck of theRed Eric, but it had also been the means, under God, of saving the crew and affording them shelter during many succeeding weeks—weeks of deep anxiety, but also of healthful, hopeful, energetic toil, in which, if there were many things to create annoyance or fear, there had also been not a few things to cause thankfulness, delight, and amusement.

Unknown to themselves, these rough sailors and the tender child had become attached to the spot, and it was only now that they were about to leave it for ever that they became aware of the fact. The circumscribed and limited range on which their thoughts and vision had been bent for the last few weeks, had rendered each individual as familiar with every inch of the bank as if he had dwelt there for years.

Ailie gazed at the low rocks that overhung the crystal pool in Fairyland, until the blinding tears filled her eyes, and she felt all the deep regret that is experienced by the little child when it is forcibly torn from an old and favourite toy—regret that is not in the least degree mitigated by the fact that the said toy is but a sorry affair, a doll, perchance, with a smashed head, eyes thrust out, and nose flattened on its face or rubbed away altogether—it matters not; the long and happy hours and days spent in the companionship of that battered little mass of wood or wax rush on the infant memory like a dear delightful dream, and it weeps on separation as if its heart would break.

Each man in the boat’s crew experienced more or less of the same feeling, and commented, according to his nature, either silently or audibly, on each familiar object as he gazed upon it for the last time.

“There’s the spot where we built the hut when we first landed, Ailie,” said Glynn, who pulled the aft oar; “d’ye see it?—just coming into view; look! There it will be shut out again in a moment by the rock beside the coral-pool.”

“I see it!” exclaimed Ailie eagerly, as she brushed away the tears from her eyes.

“There’s the rock, too, where we used to make our fire,” said the captain, pointing it out. “It doesn’t look like itself from this point of view.”

“Ah!” sighed Phil Briant, “an’ it wos at the fut o’ that, too, where we used to bile the kittle night an’ mornin’. Sure it’s many a swait bit and pipe I had beside ye.”

“Is that a bit o’ the wreck?” inquired Tim Rokens, pointing to the low rocky point with the eagerness of a man who had made an unexpected discovery.

“No,” replied Mr Millons, shading his eyes with his hands, and gazing at the object in question, “it’s himpossible. I searched every bit o’ the bank for a plank before we came hoff, an’ couldn’t find a morsel as big as my ’and. W’at say you, doctor?”

“I think with you,” answered Dr Hopley; “but here’s the telescope, which will soon settle the question.”

While the doctor adjusted the glass, Rokens muttered that “He wos sure it wos a bit o’ the wreck,” and that “there wos a bit o’ rock as nobody couldn’t easy git a t’other side of to look, and that that wos it, and the bit of wreck was there,” and much to the same effect.

“So it is,” exclaimed the doctor.

“Lay on your oars, lads, a moment,” said the captain, taking the glass and applying it to his eye.

The men obeyed gladly, for they experienced an unaccountable disinclination to row away from the island. Perhaps the feeling was caused in part by the idea that when they took their last look at it, it might possibly be theirlastsight of land.

“It’s a small piece of the foretopmast crosstrees,” observed the captain, shutting up the telescope and resuming his seat.

“Shall we go back an’ pick it up, sir?” asked Dick Barnes gravely, giving vent to the desires of his heart, without perceiving at the moment the absurdity of the question.

“Why, what would you do with it, Dick?” replied the captain, smiling.

“Sure, ye couldn’t ait it!” interposed Briant; “but afther all, there’s no sayin’. Maybe Nikel Sling could make a tasty dish out of it stewed in oakum and tar.”

“It wouldn’t be purlite to take such a tit-bit from the mermaids,” observed Gurney, as the oars were once more dipped reluctantly, in the water.

The men smiled at the jest, for in the monotony of sea life every species of pleasantry, however poor, is swallowed with greater or less avidity; but the smile did not last long. They were in no jesting humour at that time, and no one replied to the passing joke.

Soon after this a soft gentle breeze sprang up. It came direct from Fairyland, as if the mermaids referred to by Gurney had been touched by the kindly feelings harboured in the sailors’ bosoms towards their islet, and had wafted towards them a last farewell. The oars were shipped immediately and the sails hoisted, and, to the satisfaction of all on board, theMaid of the Islegave indications of being a swift sailer, for, although the puff of wind was scarcely sufficient to ruffle the glassy surface of the sea, she glided through the water under its influence a good deal faster than she had done with the oars.

“That’s good!” remarked the captain, watching the ripples as they passed astern; “with fair winds, and not too much of ’em, we shall get on bravely; so cheer up, my lassie,” he added, patting Ailie on the head, “and let us begin our voyage in good spirits, and with hopeful, trusting hearts.”

“Look at Fairyland,” said Ailie, clasping her father’s hand, and pointing towards the horizon.

At the moment she spoke, an opening in the great white clouds let a ray of light fall on the sandbank, which had now passed almost beyond the range of vision. The effect was to illumine its yellow shore and cause it to shine out for a few seconds like a golden speck on the horizon. No one had ceased to gaze at it from the time the boat put forth; but this sudden change caused every one to start up, and fix their eyes on it with renewed interest and intensity. “Shall we ever see land again?” passed, in one form or another, through the minds of all. The clouds swept slowly on the golden point melted away, and the shipwrecked mariners felt that their little boat was now all the world to them in the midst of that mighty world of waters.

Chapter Twenty Two.Reduced Allowance of Food—Jacko Teaches Briant a Useful Lesson.The first few days of the voyage of theMaid of the Islewere bright and favourable. The wind, though light, was fair, and so steady that the men were only twice obliged to have recourse to their oars. The boat behaved admirably. Once, during these first days, the wind freshened into a pretty stiff breeze, and a somewhat boisterous sea arose, so that she was tested in another of her sailing qualities, and was found to be an excellent sea-boat. Very little water was shipped, and that little was taken in rather through the awkwardness of King Bumble, who steered, than through the fault of the boat.Captain Dunning had taken care that there should be a large supply of tin and wooden scoops, for baling out the water that might be shipped in rough weather, as he foresaw that on the promptness with which this duty was performed, might sometimes depend the safety of the boat and crew.There was one thing that proved a matter of much regret to the crew, and that was the want of a fowling-piece, or firearm of any kind. Had they possessed a gun, however old and bad, with ammunition for it, they would have been certain, at some period of their voyage, to shoot a few sea-birds, with which they expected to fall in on approaching the land, even although many days distant from it. But having nothing of the kind, their hope of adding to their slender stock of provisions was very small indeed. Fortunately, they had one or two fishing-lines, but in the deep water, over which for many days they had to sail, fishing was out of the question.This matter of the provisions was a source of constant anxiety to Captain Dunning. He had calculated the amount of their stores to an ounce, and ascertained that at a certain rate of distribution they would barely serve for the voyage, and this without making any allowance for interruptions or detentions. He knew the exact distance to be passed over, namely, 2322 miles in a straight line, and he had ascertained the sailing and rowing powers of the boat and crew; thus he was enabled to arrive at a pretty correct idea of the probable duration of the voyage, supposing that all should go well. But in the event of strong contrary winds arising, no fresh supplies of fish or fowl being obtained, or sickness breaking out among the men, he knew either that they must starve altogether, or that he must at once, before it was too late, still farther reduce the scanty allowance of food and drink to each man.The captain sat at the helm one fine evening, about a week after their departure from Fairyland, brooding deeply over this subject. The boat was running before a light breeze, at the rate of about four or five knots, and the men, who had been obliged to row a good part of that day, were sitting or reclining on the thwarts, or leaning over the gunwale, watching the ripples as they glided by, and enjoying the rest from labour; for now that they had been for some time on reduced allowance of food, they felt less able for work than they used to be, and often began to look forward with intense longing to seasons of repose. Ailie was sitting near the entrance of her little sleeping apartment—which the men denominated a kennel—and master Jacko was seated on the top of it, scratching his sides and enjoying the sunshine.“My lads,” said the captain, breaking a silence which had lasted a considerable time, “I’m afraid I shall have to reduce our allowance still farther.”This remark was received by Gurney and Phil Briant with a suppressed groan—by the other men in silence.“You see,” continued the captain, “it won’t do to count upon chances, which may or may not turn out to be poor. We can, by fixing our allowance per man at a lower rate, make quite certain of our food lasting us until we reach the Cape, even if we should experience a little detention; but if we go on at the present rate, we are equally certain that it will fail us just at the last.”“We’re sartain to fall in with birds before we near the land,” murmured Gurney, with a rueful expression of countenance.“We are certain of nothing,” replied the captain; “but even suppose we were, how are we to get hold of them?”“That’s true,” observed Briant, who solaced himself with his pipe in the absence of a sufficiency of food. “Sea-birds, no more nor land-birds, ain’t given to pluckin’ and roastin’ themselves, and flyin’ down people’s throats ready cooked.”“Besides,” resumed the captain, “the plan I propose, although it will entail a little more present self-denial, will, humanly speaking, ensure our getting through the voyage with life in us even at the worst, and if weareso lucky as to catch fish or procure birds in any way, why we shall fare sumptuously.”Here Tim Rokens, to whom the men instinctively looked, upon all matters of perplexity, removed his pipe from his lips, and said—“Wot Cap’en Dunnin’ says is true. If we take his plan, why, we’ll starve in a reg’lar way, little by little, and p’raps spin out till we git to the Cape; w’ereas, if we take the other plan, we’ll keep a little fatter on the first part of the voyage, mayhap, but we’ll arrive at the end of it as dead as mutton, every man on us.”This view of the question seemed so just to the men, and so full of incontrovertible wisdom, that it was received with something like a murmur of applause.“You’re a true philosopher, Rokens. Now Doctor Hopley, I must beg you to give us your opinion, as a medical man, on this knotty subject,” said the captain, smiling. “Do you think that we can continue to exist if our daily allowance is reduced one-fourth?”The doctor replied, “Let me see,” and putting his finger on his forehead, frowned portentously, affecting to give the subject the most intense consideration. He happened to look at Jacko when he frowned, and that pugnacious individual, happening at the same instant to look at the doctor, and supposing that the frown was a distinct challenge to fight, first raised his eyebrows to the top of his head in amazement, then pulled them down over his flashing orbs in deep indignation, and displayed all his teeth, as well as an extent of gums that was really frightful to behold!“Oh! Jacko, bad thing,” said Ailie, in a reproachful tone, pulling the monkey towards her.Taking no notice of these warlike indications, the doctor, after a few minutes’ thought, looked up and said—“I have no doubt whatever that we can stand it. Most of us are in pretty good condition still, and have some fat to spare. Fat persons can endure reduced allowance of food much better and longer than those who are lean. There’s Gurney, now, for instance, he could afford to have his share even still further curtailed.”This remark was received with a grin of delighted approval by the men and with a groan by Gurney, who rubbed his stomach gently, as if that region were assailed with pains at the bare thought of such injustice.“Troth, if that’s true what ye say, doctor, I hope ye’ll see it to be yer duty to give wot ye cut off Gurney’s share to me,” remarked Briant, “for its nothing but a bag o’ bones that I am this minute.”“Oh! oh! wot a wopper,” cried Jim Scroggles, whose lean and lanky person seemed ill adapted to exist upon light fare.“Well,” observed the captain, “the doctor and I shall make a careful calculation and let you know the result by supper-time, when the new system shall be commenced. What think you, Ailie, my pet, will you be able to stand it?”“Oh yes, papa, I don’t care how much you reduce my allowance.”“What! don’t you feel hungry?”“No, not a bit.”“Not ready for supper?”“Not anxious for it, at any rate.”“Och! I wish I wos you,” murmured Briant, with a deep sigh. “I think I could ait the foresail, av it wos only well biled with the laste possible taste o’ pig’s fat.”By supper-time the captain announced the future daily allowance, and served it out.Each man received a piece of salt junk—that is, salt beef—weighing exactly one ounce; also two ounces of broken biscuit; a small piece of tobacco, and a quarter of a pint of water. Although the supply of the latter was small, there was every probability of a fresh supply being obtained when it chanced to rain, so that little anxiety was felt at first in regard to it; but the other portions of each man’s allowance were weighed with scrupulous exactness, in a pair of scales which were constructed by Tim Rokens out of a piece of wood—a leaden musket-ball doing service as a weight.Ailie received an equal portion with the others, but Jacko was doomed to drag out his existence on a very minute quantity of biscuit and water. He utterly refused to eat salt junk, and would not have been permitted to use tobacco even had he been so inclined, which he was not.Although they were thus reduced to a small allowance of food—a smaller quantity than was sufficient to sustain life for any lengthened period—no one in the slightest degree grudged Jacko his small portion. All the men entertained a friendly feeling to the little monkey, partly because it was Ailie’s pet, and partly because it afforded them great amusement at times by its odd antics.As for Jacko himself, he seemed to thrive on short allowance, and never exhibited any unseemly haste or anxiety at meal-times. It was observed, however, that he kept an uncommonly sharp eye on all that passed around him, as if he felt that his circumstances were at that time peculiar and worthy of being noted. In particular he knew to a nicety what happened to each atom of food, from the time of its distribution among the men to the moment of its disappearance within their hungry jaws, and if any poor fellow chanced to lay his morsel down and neglect it for the tenth part of an instant, it vanished like a shot, and immediately thereafter Jacko was observed to present an unusually serene and innocent aspect, and to become suddenly afflicted, with a swelling in the pouch under his cheek.One day the men received a lesson in carefulness which they did not soon forget.Breakfast had been served out, and Phil Briant was about to finish his last mouthful of biscuit—he had not had many mouthfuls to try his masticating powers, poor fellow—when he paused suddenly, and gazing at the cherished morsel addressed it thus—“Shure, it’s a purty bit, ye are! Av there wos only wan or two more o’ yer family here, it’s meself as ’ud like to be made beknown to them. I’ll not ait ye yit. I’ll look at ye for a little.”In pursuance of this luxurious plan, Briant laid the morsel of biscuit on the thwart of the boat before him, and, taking out his pipe, began to fill it leisurely, keeping his eye all the time on the last bite. Just then Mr Markham, who pulled the bow oar, called out—“I say, Briant, hand me my tobacco-pouch, it’s beside you on the th’ort, close under the gun’le.”“Is it?” said Briant, stretching out his hand to the place indicated, but keeping his eye fixed all the time on the piece of biscuit. “Ah, here it is; ketch it.”For one instant Briant looked at the second mate in order to throw the pouch with precision. That instant was sufficient for the exercise of Jacko’s dishonest propensities. The pouch was yet in its passage through the air when a tremendous roar from Tim Rokens apprised the unhappy Irishman of his misfortune. He did not require to be told to “look out!” although more than one voice gave him that piece of advice. An intuitive perception of irreparable loss flashed across his soul, and, with the speed of light, his eye was again on the thwart before him—but not on the morsel of biscuit. At that same instant Jacko sat down beside Ailie with his usual serene aspect and swelled cheek!“Och, ye bottle imp!” yelled the bereaved one, “don’t I know ye?” and seizing a tin pannikin, in his wrath, he threw it at the small monkey’s head with a force that would, had it been well directed, have smashed that small head effectually.Jacko made a quick and graceful nod, and the pannikin, just missing Ailie, went over the side into the sea, where it sank and was lost for ever, to the regret of all, for they could ill afford to lose it.“Ye’ve got it, ye have, but ye shan’t ait it,” growled Briant through his teeth, as he sprang over the seat towards the monkey.Jacko bounded like a piece of indiarubber on to Gurney’s head; next moment he was clinging to the edge of the mainsail, and the next he was comfortably seated on the top of the mast, where he proceeded calmly and leisurely to “ait” the biscuit in the face of its exasperated and rightful owner.“Oh,—Briant!” exclaimed Ailie, who was half frightened, half amused at the sudden convulsion caused by her favourite’s bad conduct, “don’t be vexed; see, here is a little bit of my biscuit; I don’t want it—really I don’t.”Briant, who stood aghast and overwhelmed by his loss and by the consummate impudence of the small monkey, felt rebuked by this offer. Bursting into a loud laugh, he said, as he resumed his seat and the filling of his pipe—“Sure I’d rather ait me own hat, Miss Ailie, an’ it’s be no means a good wan—without sarce, too, not even a blot o’ mustard—than take the morsel out o’ yer purty mouth. I wos more nor half jokin’, dear, an’ I ax yer parding for puttin’ ye in sich a fright.”“Expensive jokin’,” growled Tarquin, “if ye throw a pannikin overboard every time you take to it.”“Kape your tongue quiet,” said Briant, reddening, for he felt somewhat humbled at having given way to his anger so easily, and was nettled at the remark, coming as it did, in a sneering spirit, from a man for whom he had no particular liking.“Never mind, Briant,” interposed the captain quickly, with a good-humoured laugh; “I feel for you, lad. Had it been myself I fear I should have been even more exasperated. I would not sell a crumb of my portion just now for a guinea.”“Neither would I,” added the doctor, “for a thousand guineas.”“I’ll tell ye wot it is, lads,” remarked Tim Rokens; “I wish I only had a crumb to sell.”“Now, Rokens, don’t be greedy,” cried Gurney.“Greedy!” echoed Tim.“Ay, greedy; has any o’ you lads got a dickshunairy to lend him? Come, Jim Scroggles, you can tell him what it means—you’ve been to school, I believe, hain’t you?”Rokens shook his head gravely.“No, lad, I’m not greedy, but I’m ready for wittles. I won’t go fur to deny that. Now, let me ax ye a question. Wot—supposin’ ye had the chance—would ye give, at this good min’it, for a biled leg o’ mutton?”“With or without capers-sauce?” inquired Gurney.“W’icheveryouplease.”“Och! we wouldn’t need capers-sarse,” interposed Briant; “av we only had the mutton, I’d cut enough o’ capers meself to do for the sarce, I would.”“It matters little what you’d give,” cried Glynn, “for we can’t get it at any price just now. Don’t you think, captain, that we might have our breakfast to-night? It would save time in the morning, you know.”There was a general laugh at this proposal, yet there was a strong feeling in the minds of some that if it were consistent with their rules to have breakfast served out then and there, they would gladly have consented to go without it next morning.Thus, with laugh and jest, and good-natured repartee, did these men bear the pangs of hunger for many days. They were often silent during long intervals, and sometimes they became talkative and sprightly, but it was observed that, whether they conversed earnestly or jestingly, their converse ran, for the most part, on eating and drinking, and in their uneasy slumbers, during the intervals between the hours of work and watching, they almost invariably dreamed of food.

The first few days of the voyage of theMaid of the Islewere bright and favourable. The wind, though light, was fair, and so steady that the men were only twice obliged to have recourse to their oars. The boat behaved admirably. Once, during these first days, the wind freshened into a pretty stiff breeze, and a somewhat boisterous sea arose, so that she was tested in another of her sailing qualities, and was found to be an excellent sea-boat. Very little water was shipped, and that little was taken in rather through the awkwardness of King Bumble, who steered, than through the fault of the boat.

Captain Dunning had taken care that there should be a large supply of tin and wooden scoops, for baling out the water that might be shipped in rough weather, as he foresaw that on the promptness with which this duty was performed, might sometimes depend the safety of the boat and crew.

There was one thing that proved a matter of much regret to the crew, and that was the want of a fowling-piece, or firearm of any kind. Had they possessed a gun, however old and bad, with ammunition for it, they would have been certain, at some period of their voyage, to shoot a few sea-birds, with which they expected to fall in on approaching the land, even although many days distant from it. But having nothing of the kind, their hope of adding to their slender stock of provisions was very small indeed. Fortunately, they had one or two fishing-lines, but in the deep water, over which for many days they had to sail, fishing was out of the question.

This matter of the provisions was a source of constant anxiety to Captain Dunning. He had calculated the amount of their stores to an ounce, and ascertained that at a certain rate of distribution they would barely serve for the voyage, and this without making any allowance for interruptions or detentions. He knew the exact distance to be passed over, namely, 2322 miles in a straight line, and he had ascertained the sailing and rowing powers of the boat and crew; thus he was enabled to arrive at a pretty correct idea of the probable duration of the voyage, supposing that all should go well. But in the event of strong contrary winds arising, no fresh supplies of fish or fowl being obtained, or sickness breaking out among the men, he knew either that they must starve altogether, or that he must at once, before it was too late, still farther reduce the scanty allowance of food and drink to each man.

The captain sat at the helm one fine evening, about a week after their departure from Fairyland, brooding deeply over this subject. The boat was running before a light breeze, at the rate of about four or five knots, and the men, who had been obliged to row a good part of that day, were sitting or reclining on the thwarts, or leaning over the gunwale, watching the ripples as they glided by, and enjoying the rest from labour; for now that they had been for some time on reduced allowance of food, they felt less able for work than they used to be, and often began to look forward with intense longing to seasons of repose. Ailie was sitting near the entrance of her little sleeping apartment—which the men denominated a kennel—and master Jacko was seated on the top of it, scratching his sides and enjoying the sunshine.

“My lads,” said the captain, breaking a silence which had lasted a considerable time, “I’m afraid I shall have to reduce our allowance still farther.”

This remark was received by Gurney and Phil Briant with a suppressed groan—by the other men in silence.

“You see,” continued the captain, “it won’t do to count upon chances, which may or may not turn out to be poor. We can, by fixing our allowance per man at a lower rate, make quite certain of our food lasting us until we reach the Cape, even if we should experience a little detention; but if we go on at the present rate, we are equally certain that it will fail us just at the last.”

“We’re sartain to fall in with birds before we near the land,” murmured Gurney, with a rueful expression of countenance.

“We are certain of nothing,” replied the captain; “but even suppose we were, how are we to get hold of them?”

“That’s true,” observed Briant, who solaced himself with his pipe in the absence of a sufficiency of food. “Sea-birds, no more nor land-birds, ain’t given to pluckin’ and roastin’ themselves, and flyin’ down people’s throats ready cooked.”

“Besides,” resumed the captain, “the plan I propose, although it will entail a little more present self-denial, will, humanly speaking, ensure our getting through the voyage with life in us even at the worst, and if weareso lucky as to catch fish or procure birds in any way, why we shall fare sumptuously.”

Here Tim Rokens, to whom the men instinctively looked, upon all matters of perplexity, removed his pipe from his lips, and said—

“Wot Cap’en Dunnin’ says is true. If we take his plan, why, we’ll starve in a reg’lar way, little by little, and p’raps spin out till we git to the Cape; w’ereas, if we take the other plan, we’ll keep a little fatter on the first part of the voyage, mayhap, but we’ll arrive at the end of it as dead as mutton, every man on us.”

This view of the question seemed so just to the men, and so full of incontrovertible wisdom, that it was received with something like a murmur of applause.

“You’re a true philosopher, Rokens. Now Doctor Hopley, I must beg you to give us your opinion, as a medical man, on this knotty subject,” said the captain, smiling. “Do you think that we can continue to exist if our daily allowance is reduced one-fourth?”

The doctor replied, “Let me see,” and putting his finger on his forehead, frowned portentously, affecting to give the subject the most intense consideration. He happened to look at Jacko when he frowned, and that pugnacious individual, happening at the same instant to look at the doctor, and supposing that the frown was a distinct challenge to fight, first raised his eyebrows to the top of his head in amazement, then pulled them down over his flashing orbs in deep indignation, and displayed all his teeth, as well as an extent of gums that was really frightful to behold!

“Oh! Jacko, bad thing,” said Ailie, in a reproachful tone, pulling the monkey towards her.

Taking no notice of these warlike indications, the doctor, after a few minutes’ thought, looked up and said—

“I have no doubt whatever that we can stand it. Most of us are in pretty good condition still, and have some fat to spare. Fat persons can endure reduced allowance of food much better and longer than those who are lean. There’s Gurney, now, for instance, he could afford to have his share even still further curtailed.”

This remark was received with a grin of delighted approval by the men and with a groan by Gurney, who rubbed his stomach gently, as if that region were assailed with pains at the bare thought of such injustice.

“Troth, if that’s true what ye say, doctor, I hope ye’ll see it to be yer duty to give wot ye cut off Gurney’s share to me,” remarked Briant, “for its nothing but a bag o’ bones that I am this minute.”

“Oh! oh! wot a wopper,” cried Jim Scroggles, whose lean and lanky person seemed ill adapted to exist upon light fare.

“Well,” observed the captain, “the doctor and I shall make a careful calculation and let you know the result by supper-time, when the new system shall be commenced. What think you, Ailie, my pet, will you be able to stand it?”

“Oh yes, papa, I don’t care how much you reduce my allowance.”

“What! don’t you feel hungry?”

“No, not a bit.”

“Not ready for supper?”

“Not anxious for it, at any rate.”

“Och! I wish I wos you,” murmured Briant, with a deep sigh. “I think I could ait the foresail, av it wos only well biled with the laste possible taste o’ pig’s fat.”

By supper-time the captain announced the future daily allowance, and served it out.

Each man received a piece of salt junk—that is, salt beef—weighing exactly one ounce; also two ounces of broken biscuit; a small piece of tobacco, and a quarter of a pint of water. Although the supply of the latter was small, there was every probability of a fresh supply being obtained when it chanced to rain, so that little anxiety was felt at first in regard to it; but the other portions of each man’s allowance were weighed with scrupulous exactness, in a pair of scales which were constructed by Tim Rokens out of a piece of wood—a leaden musket-ball doing service as a weight.

Ailie received an equal portion with the others, but Jacko was doomed to drag out his existence on a very minute quantity of biscuit and water. He utterly refused to eat salt junk, and would not have been permitted to use tobacco even had he been so inclined, which he was not.

Although they were thus reduced to a small allowance of food—a smaller quantity than was sufficient to sustain life for any lengthened period—no one in the slightest degree grudged Jacko his small portion. All the men entertained a friendly feeling to the little monkey, partly because it was Ailie’s pet, and partly because it afforded them great amusement at times by its odd antics.

As for Jacko himself, he seemed to thrive on short allowance, and never exhibited any unseemly haste or anxiety at meal-times. It was observed, however, that he kept an uncommonly sharp eye on all that passed around him, as if he felt that his circumstances were at that time peculiar and worthy of being noted. In particular he knew to a nicety what happened to each atom of food, from the time of its distribution among the men to the moment of its disappearance within their hungry jaws, and if any poor fellow chanced to lay his morsel down and neglect it for the tenth part of an instant, it vanished like a shot, and immediately thereafter Jacko was observed to present an unusually serene and innocent aspect, and to become suddenly afflicted, with a swelling in the pouch under his cheek.

One day the men received a lesson in carefulness which they did not soon forget.

Breakfast had been served out, and Phil Briant was about to finish his last mouthful of biscuit—he had not had many mouthfuls to try his masticating powers, poor fellow—when he paused suddenly, and gazing at the cherished morsel addressed it thus—

“Shure, it’s a purty bit, ye are! Av there wos only wan or two more o’ yer family here, it’s meself as ’ud like to be made beknown to them. I’ll not ait ye yit. I’ll look at ye for a little.”

In pursuance of this luxurious plan, Briant laid the morsel of biscuit on the thwart of the boat before him, and, taking out his pipe, began to fill it leisurely, keeping his eye all the time on the last bite. Just then Mr Markham, who pulled the bow oar, called out—

“I say, Briant, hand me my tobacco-pouch, it’s beside you on the th’ort, close under the gun’le.”

“Is it?” said Briant, stretching out his hand to the place indicated, but keeping his eye fixed all the time on the piece of biscuit. “Ah, here it is; ketch it.”

For one instant Briant looked at the second mate in order to throw the pouch with precision. That instant was sufficient for the exercise of Jacko’s dishonest propensities. The pouch was yet in its passage through the air when a tremendous roar from Tim Rokens apprised the unhappy Irishman of his misfortune. He did not require to be told to “look out!” although more than one voice gave him that piece of advice. An intuitive perception of irreparable loss flashed across his soul, and, with the speed of light, his eye was again on the thwart before him—but not on the morsel of biscuit. At that same instant Jacko sat down beside Ailie with his usual serene aspect and swelled cheek!

“Och, ye bottle imp!” yelled the bereaved one, “don’t I know ye?” and seizing a tin pannikin, in his wrath, he threw it at the small monkey’s head with a force that would, had it been well directed, have smashed that small head effectually.

Jacko made a quick and graceful nod, and the pannikin, just missing Ailie, went over the side into the sea, where it sank and was lost for ever, to the regret of all, for they could ill afford to lose it.

“Ye’ve got it, ye have, but ye shan’t ait it,” growled Briant through his teeth, as he sprang over the seat towards the monkey.

Jacko bounded like a piece of indiarubber on to Gurney’s head; next moment he was clinging to the edge of the mainsail, and the next he was comfortably seated on the top of the mast, where he proceeded calmly and leisurely to “ait” the biscuit in the face of its exasperated and rightful owner.

“Oh,—Briant!” exclaimed Ailie, who was half frightened, half amused at the sudden convulsion caused by her favourite’s bad conduct, “don’t be vexed; see, here is a little bit of my biscuit; I don’t want it—really I don’t.”

Briant, who stood aghast and overwhelmed by his loss and by the consummate impudence of the small monkey, felt rebuked by this offer. Bursting into a loud laugh, he said, as he resumed his seat and the filling of his pipe—

“Sure I’d rather ait me own hat, Miss Ailie, an’ it’s be no means a good wan—without sarce, too, not even a blot o’ mustard—than take the morsel out o’ yer purty mouth. I wos more nor half jokin’, dear, an’ I ax yer parding for puttin’ ye in sich a fright.”

“Expensive jokin’,” growled Tarquin, “if ye throw a pannikin overboard every time you take to it.”

“Kape your tongue quiet,” said Briant, reddening, for he felt somewhat humbled at having given way to his anger so easily, and was nettled at the remark, coming as it did, in a sneering spirit, from a man for whom he had no particular liking.

“Never mind, Briant,” interposed the captain quickly, with a good-humoured laugh; “I feel for you, lad. Had it been myself I fear I should have been even more exasperated. I would not sell a crumb of my portion just now for a guinea.”

“Neither would I,” added the doctor, “for a thousand guineas.”

“I’ll tell ye wot it is, lads,” remarked Tim Rokens; “I wish I only had a crumb to sell.”

“Now, Rokens, don’t be greedy,” cried Gurney.

“Greedy!” echoed Tim.

“Ay, greedy; has any o’ you lads got a dickshunairy to lend him? Come, Jim Scroggles, you can tell him what it means—you’ve been to school, I believe, hain’t you?”

Rokens shook his head gravely.

“No, lad, I’m not greedy, but I’m ready for wittles. I won’t go fur to deny that. Now, let me ax ye a question. Wot—supposin’ ye had the chance—would ye give, at this good min’it, for a biled leg o’ mutton?”

“With or without capers-sauce?” inquired Gurney.

“W’icheveryouplease.”

“Och! we wouldn’t need capers-sarse,” interposed Briant; “av we only had the mutton, I’d cut enough o’ capers meself to do for the sarce, I would.”

“It matters little what you’d give,” cried Glynn, “for we can’t get it at any price just now. Don’t you think, captain, that we might have our breakfast to-night? It would save time in the morning, you know.”

There was a general laugh at this proposal, yet there was a strong feeling in the minds of some that if it were consistent with their rules to have breakfast served out then and there, they would gladly have consented to go without it next morning.

Thus, with laugh and jest, and good-natured repartee, did these men bear the pangs of hunger for many days. They were often silent during long intervals, and sometimes they became talkative and sprightly, but it was observed that, whether they conversed earnestly or jestingly, their converse ran, for the most part, on eating and drinking, and in their uneasy slumbers, during the intervals between the hours of work and watching, they almost invariably dreamed of food.

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