THAT evening Tom took a scrambling meal in the cuddy; it was the last that he had aboard of theNancy Hazlewood.
The darkness came on early, and the wind still held as heavy as ever when night fell. At that time the ship was very low in the water astern, and Tom did not expect her to live till morning. Even to this day it is a mystery to him why she did not founder long before she did.
It was plain that even the sailors themselves felt that there was no hope; they were dull, lifeless and spiritless. Those who were not working at the pumps, stood around the forecastle, or lay in their hammocks; all were quiet, excepting where one or two were talking together in low tones.
Of course, there was no sleep to be had for Tom that night. He had stood by the pumps since early in the morning, and was nearly exhausted, for there were times when he could feel the water washing around his waist. One after another the men would drop the brakes, altogether done up, but there was no chance for him to leave his station and get a little rest. Jack had done nothing sincehis encounter with Captain Knight, the afternoon before. Captain Knight himself did not come out of his cabin, so Tom seemed to be the only officer in charge of the ship.
“Shake her up, lads! Shake her up!” cried he, whenever there were signs of flagging at the pumps, and he repeated these words so often that he began to say them mechanically.
So the weary night dragged slowly along, and at last the dull light of the morning came, and theNancy Hazlewoodwas still afloat. One by one the things stood out in the pallid light of the dawning; first of all the black troubled field of water was seen, sharply marked against the slowly greying sky; then came a faint light across the flooded deck, against which the men stood out as black as ink, as they worked at the pumps.
About eight o’clock in the morning Captain Knight came upon deck again. He, Jack Baldwin, Mr. Wilde (the surgeon), the boatswain and one or two of the men were standing on the poop together. No attention was paid to these men standing aft the quarter deck, and Tom could not see that any orders were given, for the helm was lashed, keeping the vessel before the wind.
Tom left the pumps for a minute or two, and slipped into the cuddy for a dram of rum, which he very much needed. He found that the cuddy was awash with several inches of water. He took the dram of rum, and then looking around his state room he saw his sea-chest, and opened it andtook out his watch and purse. He slipped the watch into his pocket, but the ship giving a sudden lurch at the time, he dropped his purse. He smiled when he found himself groping in the swashing water for it, for he could not take it with him where he expected that he would have to go.
The men had left the pumps when he came upon deck again. A crowd of them were standing foreward, some on the top-gallant forecastle. There was no drunkenness amongst them, and Tom found later that the spirit-room had been fastened securely, and in good time, which was about the only timely thing that was done in the whole business. He did not order them to work again, for there could be no use in it. Indeed, there had been but little use in it for some time past, and the only reason that he had kept the pumps going was because it seemed better to be doing something than to stand still, waiting for death. But Captain Knight gave no orders to lower the boats, and Jack Baldwin did not seem to care whether they were lowered or not.
At this time there were only two boats left. The whale-boat had been stove in the night before, and all of the cutters were gone but one. A part of one of them was hanging by the stern falls from the davits. The mate to it was good, however, and, with a pinnace, capable of holding maybe thirty men at a pinch, was all that was left of the six boats that theNancy Hazlewoodhad carried with her when she first started on her cruise.
Tom saw that there was no prospect of CaptainKnight’s giving the order to have the boats cleared away, so he went aft to the poop, where the captain stood, and touched his hat to him very respectfully.
“Captain Knight,” said he, “the ship’s sinking, and I can’t keep the men at their work any longer. Shall I get the boats cleared away?”
“They won’t work, you say?”
“No, sir.”
The captain took a pinch of snuff. “Then let ’em drown, and be d—d to ’em—the mutinous dogs,” said he. And he shut the snuff-box lid with a snap.
“But, captain—” began Tom.
“Mr. Granger,” said the captain, sternly, “I wish to hear no more. When I want to have the boats lowered I’ll give the orders, and not till then. You hear me?”
Tom turned away, sick at heart. He still hoped that the captain meant to have the boats cleared away, but in his heart he felt that he intended nothing of the kind. The men had gathered aft when they saw that Tom was talking to the captain. When they heard what came of it, a deep groan arose from them.
About half an hour passed, and nothing was done. At the end of that time a number of men who had been talking together, went over to the pinnace and began clearing it away, and Tom saw that they were about to lower it.
Nothing was said to them at the time, and no one interfered with them. He went forward towhere they were at work, after a while, for he felt that he might be of some use to them. The boatswain was amongst them, and he asked him to join them, as they needed an officer. But Tom shook his head, for he could not bring himself to leave the ship. It was false pride on his part, for he should have gone and have done what he could. If Jack Baldwin would only have lent a hand with the other boat, he would not have hesitated, I think.
Well, it was a misfortunate piece of business, and there is no use in making more of it than need be. The boat was lowered safely enough; but, in spite of all that Tom could do, a number of the crew, maybe thirty or more, jumped into her from the ship, and she was swamped almost immediately. Most of the men came climbing back again; but, to the best of Tom’s recollection, eight or ten of them were drowned at this time. No one but he seemed to care very much for this; no doubt they felt that it was only a question of a few minutes, earlier or later.
When Tom went back to the poop, Captain Knight met him with a sneering smile. “You had better have let the matter alone, Mr. Granger,” said he; “their blood be on your head.”
Now, Tom had put all the restraint upon himself that he could. He had felt all the blunders and mismanagement that had brought them to this pass as deeply as ever Jack Baldwin could have done, and had also felt that most of the fault lay at Captain Knight’s door, but he had never been anythingbut respectful to the captain, nor had he ever let a questionable word pass his lips. But now, feeling the loss of the poor devils that had been drowned in the pinnace resting heavily on his mind, this speech was too much for his patience. He walked straight up to Captain Knight and looked him squarely in the eyes.
The captain looked back at him for a little while, but presently his eyes wavered, and he turned them aside. Then it was that a certain vague thought that had been floating about in Tom’s mind, took shape and form. At first he rejected the thought, but the longer he looked upon Captain Knight the more he felt sure that his surmise was right. At last he spoke:
“Look here, sir,” said he, sternly, “you’re not fit to be where you are. You’re not in your right mind—you’re crazy.”
Captain Knight looked up. His face was white and his eyes uncertain, and, for the first time, Tom noticed how bloodshot they were. Tom was standing within arm’s length of him, and presently he saw that his fingers were sliding furtively toward the pistol in his belt. Tom kept his eyes fixed upon him.
“Take care,” said he, as quietly as he could, “don’t touch that pistol.”
Then Captain Knight drew his fingers away. “You mutinous scoundrel!” whispered he, in a trembling voice. But he did not look directly at Tom when he spoke; neither did he again attempt to draw a pistol.
Tom stood looking at him without a word for maybe half a minute. He felt that if he turned his eyes away for so much as a second, he was a dead man. So he stood without moving. At last he spoke again:
“Captain Knight, give me that pistol.”
The captain looked from side to side.
“Captain Knight, give me that pistol,” he repeated, and very sternly. He held out his left hand as he spoke. His right was clenched, and if the captain had made a dangerous movement, he would have smitten him down where he stood. Captain Knight looked up for an instant. He must have seen the resolve in Tom’s face, for he slowly drew out the pistol and put it into his hand.
“Now give me the other,” said Tom. And once more the captain did as he was bidden. Tom went to the side of the ship and threw both pistols overboard. When he turned around the captain had gone into his cabin. Tom never saw him again.
It was not till all was over that he felt what he had passed through. So long as he had faced the captain his purpose had kept him braced to what he was doing, but now his hands were cold and trembling nervously.
All of the ship’s crew had been looking on at what had passed, so he tried to appear as cool as though nothing of any account had happened. He went up to where Jack Baldwin was standing. “Jack,” said he (but his voice trembled a little in spite of himself), “you’re the chief officer now.For the Lord’s sake, give orders to get the cutter cleared away, for there’s no time to lose.”
“I’ll give orders when I choose,” said Jack, roughly, and he swung on his heel and strode away.
Tom was struck all aback, for he could not think at first what he had done to touch Jack’s feelings. Presently Jack came back to him again. He stopped close in front of him, and folded his arms.
“Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said he, “I suppose you think that because you got the better of that d—d sea dandy, you can get the better of me. You needn’t think that you’re the cock-of-the-walk because you took the barkers away from him. I could have done it easy enough, if he hadn’t taken me unawares. I’ll not deny that youdidget the better of him, but I want you to understand that you’re not to lord it over me on that account. I’m the chief officer here, and I’ll give my orders to you, and not take them from you. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.” Then he turned on his heel again and walked away.
But Tom had caught some insight into Jack’s mind, and he could not but feel a certain contempt for him, for this was no time for little jealousies and heart-burnings. He did not say anything to Jack, for there could be no use in answering such a speech, so he walked to the mizzen-mast without a word, and stood leaning against it, looking ahead. All of a sudden Jack went stumbling down the ladder from the poop, and forward amongst the men. Tom saw him a little while afterward, talkingto the boatswain, and then he knew that he was thinking of lowering the cutter. He was glad that Jack had so far swallowed his ugly pride, for it was a pity that all of the men aboard of the ship should drown, when some of them might get safely away.
I say that he was glad, but there was a bitter feeling, too, when he thought of others being saved, while he was to be left to drown like a rat in a box. His pride would not let him run away from the ship to take his chance in the cutter, but, all the same, his thoughts were very bitter. About this time he saw that those of the crew not at work about the cutter were throwing many loose things overboard. He saw the side of a hen-coop near to the ship; “I shall keep close to something of that kind when she goes down,” said he to himself. They were a good hundred miles from land, but the thought did not seem as foolish to him then as it does now, for a man clings to his life as long as he is able.
Presently, Jack Baldwin came aft. He went to the lashings of the wheel and put the helm over, so as to give the cutter a lee, but he never looked at Tom for a moment. Just as he was about to leave the poop, however, he turned suddenly, and came straight across the deck to him.
“Tom,” said he, gruffly; “will you take a try in the cutter?”
“Not I,” said Tom.
“Why not?”
“One officer’s enough for the boat; it would be cowardly for me to go!” He spoke bravely enough, but I am compelled to own that his courage was only of words, and not of heart.
“Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said Jack, fiercely; “do you mean to say that I’m a coward?”
“I mean to say nothing about you,” said Tom, calmly; “you know your own reasons for leaving the ship better than any other man. If you’re going for the sake of the crew, you’re no coward; if you’re going for the sake of your own skin, you are.”
Jack looked him very hard in the face for a moment or two. “See here, Tom,” said he, at last; “you know the old saying;—‘each man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost;’ don’t be a fool; go with us, you’re a better hand at managing a boat than I am.”
“I don’t care to go.”
“Very well, my hearty; suit yourself,” was all that Jack said, and he swung on his heel, and left the poop.
Tom saw him a little later standing beside the cutter with a heavy iron belaying pin in his hand, so as to keep the men from crowding into the boat. The men had a great notion of Jack’s strength, and maybe it was this that kept them back, for Tom saw no movement in that direction.
About five or ten minutes before the cutter was lowered, and about half-past ten or eleven o’clock in the morning of Thursday, the 26th, the ship wasslowly settling by the stern. Any one could see that there was a great change in the last half of an hour, and Tom began to be afraid that she would founder before they could get the boat away. He went forward to where Jack and the men were busy at work.
“If you don’t lower away pretty soon, it’ll be too late, Jack,” said he.
“Tom,” said Jack, turning to him, suddenly, “don’t be a bull-headed loon in such a matter as this. Come, and take your chance like a man; there’s a place in the cutter yet, for I’ve taken care to save it for you.”
Poor Tom was only a mortal man, and his life was very sweet to him at that moment, when there seemed so great a chance of his losing it. Therefore, he could not screw the words of refusal from his lips;—he could only shake his head.
“You won’t come?” said Jack.
“No!” roared Tom; “didn’t you hear me say no? Are you deaf? No! I tell you; no! no!!”
“Now, by the eternal, you shall go, and that whether you want to or not!” said Jack, and as he spoke, he flung his arms around Tom, and undertook to drag him into the boat. Jack had never measured his strength with Tom before, and it is altogether likely that he found him to be stronger than he had any notion of, for, after struggling with him for a little while, and not being able to throw him down upon the deck, he presently began singing out to the boatswain to come and lend hima hand, as there was no time to lose. So the boatswain came, and in a short time they had lashed Tom’s arms and legs so that he could not move. As soon as they had done this, they heaved him heels over head into the cutter, and then stepped in themselves, and all hands lowered away immediately.
As soon as the boat was in the water, it began drawing under the channel of the ship, and was in great peril of being stove, but the boatswain and two others got out oars, and shoved her off. But no sooner had they pushed the cutter away, than she began drawing in again, for there was a suction that was bringing her right under the stern, which would have been sudden death to every man in her, so they brought the oars to bear once more. At that time the crew of the cutter seemed more afraid of being drawn under the stern of the ship than of too many men jumping into the boat; for the matter of that, Tom saw only one attempt to keep any of the crew from boarding, and that was just after the boat had been lowered into the water.
A poor fellow attempted to slide down the falls from the davits, but the boatswain pushed them to one side, so that he would have fallen into the water if he had tried to jump. It seemed to Tom to be a horrible thing to cut away the last chance that the poor man had for saving his life; he begged hard for him as he hung from the davits, but the boatswain said that the cutter was already full, and that even one man might be enough to swamp her. Isuppose that the boatswain must have acted according to his light, but Jack Baldwin, who sat looking on without speaking, should have seen that the man was taken aboard.
The second time that the boat was pushed away, its head came around, and they were soon pulling from the port side of the ship.
When those aboard of theNancy Hazlewoodsaw that the cutter was clear, and was likely to get away, they cheered and waved their hands. I can hardly bear to write of this, even now;—it made Tom Granger cry like a child.
The boatswain sat next to him where he lay. He chewed hard at the quid of tobacco in his mouth, as, lying on his oars, he looked back at the sinking ship, and at his messmates standing on her decks. I think, from what some of the sailors afterward said, that they would have been willing to put back to the ship, and have taken off a parcel more of the crew, but nothing of the kind was done.
So every one lay on his oars and looked back; just then the sun shone out, pale and watery. Tom could see the vessel very easily from where he lay. The fore-top sail was still standing, and also half of the main-top sail. The yards on the mizzen were swinging about with the braces loose, and her bulwarks were as sound as when she left the docks. Her stern was low in the water, and her bow was standing so high that her red copper bottom could be plainly seen.
Soon they ran down into the trough of a sea, and theNancy Hazlewoodwas hidden from sight; when they came up again, she had changed her position. They could not see the after-part of the vessel, though it might have been hidden by a sea, and not under water. By the pitch of her masts the ship seemed to be sitting at an angle of about forty-five degrees. Just then another sea came, and again they ran down in the trough of it;—when they came up theNancy Hazlewoodwas nowhere to be seen.
FOR a time no one in the cutter moved or said a word. I remember that the boatswain chewed at his quid of tobacco as though he was starving; but he did not speak a word.
It was Jack Baldwin’s voice that broke the silence.
“The old ship’s gone, boys,” roared he. “We can’t do her any good, so drop her, and mind what you’re about, or you’ll be with her before you know it.” And he was right, for the cutter was heavily loaded, there being nineteen aboard of her—the right number of her crew was twelve.
I am bound to say, that I believe if any one of the crew of theNancy Hazlewoodhad been seen clinging to the loose gear that was floating about the place where the ship foundered they would have been taken into the cutter; but no one was seen, nor was it likely that a man could keep afloat for any length of time, for the spray was flying.
Such was the loss of the good shipNancy Hazlewood, the story of which I have tried to tell you just as it happened, adding nothing and keeping nothing back that might give you a clear idea ofhow she foundered on that Thursday, the 26th of April, 1813.
It was judged that she went down in latitude 27° North, by longitude 77° West, and about one hundred or one hundred and ten miles north of the Little Bahama Banks.
The cutter was a fine, light boat, about twenty-five feet in length, by six feet in breadth at the widest part—a small craft to carry nineteen souls one hundred miles through a stormy sea.
Ten minutes after theNancy Hazlewoodfoundered the crew of the cutter were pulling away to the southward. After a little while Tom looked up and saw that Jack Baldwin was gazing very earnestly at him.
“Tom,” said he, suddenly, “if I loose the lashings on your arms and legs, will you promise to be quiet, and do your fair share of work?”
Tom’s cheeks were still wet, and he was shaken every now and then by a sob. I hope that you who read this will not think him overly womanish, but will give a thought as to how broken he was with fatigue, and with the hardships through which he had passed. I can say that none of the crew of the cutter seemed to think lightly of him on account of it, and even Jack Baldwin’s voice was kind as he spoke.
I have always found that when men are strongly moved they are apt to be very unreasonable. So it was with Tom, for he felt very bitterly toward Jack at that moment, as though Jack were to blame forthe trouble that had fallen upon them. However, nothing could be gained by staying tied as he was, so he presently said:
“You may untie me, if you like. The Lord knows that I don’t care much for my life just now, but there’s no use letting all these poor fellows drown like the rest.”
“Is that all the thanks I get for saving your life?” said Jack Baldwin. “Never mind; you’ll give me more thanks when your feet are safe on dry land. Untie him, bo’sen, for he’ll have to take his hand at the oars, along with the rest.”
The first thing that was done was to divide the boat’s crew into parties, each of which were to row by spells. Two of the men not rowing were to keep a lookout ahead, in case any vessel might heave in sight. The rest were to bail out the boat, for it was needful to keep bailing nearly all the time. In most cases it might have been safer to have tried to ride out the storm, and to have run the chance of being picked up by some passing vessel; but there were certain things to be considered in the case of those in the cutter. Their provisions and water were none too plenty, and there was little chance of being picked up, as so few vessels were sailing in those waters, excepting in fleets and under convoy.
A landsman would have been puzzled to know how a boat as small as the cutter could ever hope to live in a sea such as that was. It was, indeed, no small matter to run her safely, and Jack, whowas at the tiller, had to keep his weather eye lifting, I can tell you.
One of the crew kept a constant lookout over the stern, to see when a wave with a crest was coming, and to warn the man at the tiller of it, for these were the seas that brought danger with them. At one time all hands would back water, so as to let such a one break in front of them. At another time they would pull all, so as to get out of the way until the force of the broken sea was spent. Sometimes one of these following seas would fling the cutter high aloft on its crest, carrying it along like an eggshell for a little distance, and giving them a dash as it went by that would set them all bailing for dear life.
Of course, it was needful to let each sea meet them fairly astern, for if the boat should broach too, she would be swamped or capsized as quick as a wink. As soon as one sea would pass them another would come. Perhaps it would be a cross sea, which, of course, was the kind that they dreaded the most of all. Sometimes the helm of the cutter could not bring her around quickly enough, or, maybe, just then her rudder would be clear of the water. Then Jack Baldwin would sing out in his mighty voice:
“Give way starboard! Back port!” or “Give way port! back starboard!”
The next moment, perhaps, another green sea would be seen rushing at them, and Jack would shout:
“Give way together!”
Then there would be a thunder and a roar behind them, and the seething of white foam would hiss alongside of the gunwale, and as it rolled past Jack’s voice would ring out:
“Back, back all!”
There were times when all four of these orders would be given inside the space of a minute. This is what they went through for nearly two days, so it may perhaps give you a notion of what they had to do to keep the boat alive for that time, and what a sea it was to keep her alive in.
They had in the way of provisions about seventy-five pounds of hard-tack and two small breakers of water. They presently found that the water in one of the breakers was mixed with salt, so they heaved it overboard at once to make more room, as they were very much crowded.
So the afternoon wore along, and at last evening began to settle down over them.
Any one but a seaman might have wondered how the boat was to be kept afloat at night, when it was only by such unending care that she was kept alive in the daytime. But as darkness settled the crest of each wave glimmered with a pale phosphorescence that not only showed its position, but the course in which it was traveling. Nevertheless, it was an awful night, one of the most awful that Tom Granger has ever passed through. Above the ceaseless din and thunder of the roaring water Jack Baldwin’s voice could be heard singing out hisorders to the oarsmen, and now and then to the others:
“Bail her out smartly, lads! Keep her dry! Who’s bailing there? Lively now!”
Tom had turned to, and was bailing a great part of the time. He had been pulling an oar in the afternoon, for every one had to take his turn; and so, what with weariness and cold and want of sleep, he was nearly done up. He managed to joke and laugh with the men, as though all that they were passing through was nothing to speak of; but for all that he would find himself half asleep at times, though he was still dipping out the water. When in this state he always had one thing before his eyeballs; it was a ship, her stern under water and her bows standing so high that she showed her copper bottom. Her maintop-gallant-mast was gone, and her fore-sail was shaking in the wind—it was theNancy Hazlewoodas he had last seen her.
It was the same all that night; whenever he would shut his eyes, even if it were only for a moment, he would see that sinking ship and the troubled waters around her.
About four o’clock in the morning Jack gave up the tiller to Tom Granger. Tom felt very sorry for him, for he seemed harassed and worn. He himself was pretty well tired out, as I have said, for he had only had about two hours sleep for over three days. Nevertheless, he took the tiller, for Jack seemed more done up than he. Tom held thetiller for the rest of that day, and for most of the next night.
Early in the day it was found that the water had given out, so they heaved that breaker overboard also. There was a great mistake somewhere in the matter of this water. Either the allowance for each man was wrong, or there was not as much in the breaker as had been supposed. They had counted on its lasting eighteen hours longer than it did, and the lack of it proved to be one of the greatest causes of their suffering.
The next morning the sun shone out, though the weather was squally, and the sea as heavy as ever. By that time they were suffering more from thirst than from anything else. Tom pitied the poor men from the bottom of his heart. The boatswain, who sat nearest him, kept clearing his throat, as though he could get rid of the dryness and the pain in that way.
As the sharpness of their thirst increased, the men showed that there was not the friendly feeling between them that there had been at first. They were surly, would speak sharply to one another, and were sullen when spoken to by Jack or Tom. About nine o’clock one of the men on the lookout sang out all of a sudden:
“Land over the port bow!”
Jack had the tiller again at this time, and it was all that Tom could do to keep the men from standing up in the boat. If they had done so, they would have capsized her, in all likelihood. Abouta quarter of an hour afterward they were near enough to hear the surf thundering on the beach. Some of the men were for landing off-hand, and both Jack and Tom found it hard work to keep these fellows in order.
Tom thought that the land in front of them was most likely one of the smaller islands at the northern part of the Bahama group. A line of white sand-hills, topped by a growth of coarse grass and low scrub bushes, could be seen a little distance inland. The shore stretched northerly and southerly, and looking from the seaward, they could see no break in it.
Jack put the boat’s head to the southward, so as to keep the seas pretty well to the stern, his idea being to run along the coast line until he could either turn the end of the island, or find some creek or inlet where there would be a fit place to beach the cutter.
There was a current setting up the beach, and it was very laborious work pulling against it, so, as time went on, the men grumbled louder and louder, saying that they might just as well land where they were, and that there was no use breaking their hearts with rowing, while they might beach the boat, with only a ducking at the worst.
Tom was more sorry for the men, than angry at them, for any one could see how parched they were with thirst, and how nearly worn out.
At last a sailor named Hitch flung down his oar, and swore that he would row no more, without itwas to row to the shore. An approving growl went up amongst the men, and things began to take a very ugly look. Jack was in a towering rage; he swore at the men, as only he could swear; but every moment showed that they could not be kept at their oars a great while longer.
Meantime the man Hitch sat sullenly, answering Jack’s words with others not a bit better.
“Tom,” roared Jack, all of a sudden; “Tom, come here and take this tiller, while I settle that mutinous son of a sea cook.”
He made a step forward as he spoke, but in a moment the man’s fingers were around the boat’s plug.
“You’ll settle me, will you?” cried he. “— — your eyes! Come a step furder, and I’ll out with this plug, and send us all to the bottom, with the boat under us!”
Jack stopped where he was, for he saw that the fellow would do as he said; had he done so, the boat would have filled and gone down in a minute.
When Jack stopped, a laugh went up from all around, for it was plain to see that the men were in sympathy with Hitch. This made the fellow feel inclined to go a step further, for he felt bold when he saw Jack pause.
“If you don’t put the boat’s head to the shore,” said he, “I’ll pull out the plug, anyhow!”
“Tom,” cried Jack, passionately, “give me the tiller; if they will drown for a pack of lubberly fools, let them drown and be ——d!”
“For heaven’s sake, Jack!” cried Tom; “think what you’re about. You’ll drown us all. Let me hold the tiller!”
But Jack was blind and deaf with his passion, and would listen to nothing. Tom struggled with him as long as he was able; holding on to the tiller with might and main, fighting him off, and pleading with him all the while.
I suppose that they must have fought for two or three minutes, and the boat was nearly swamped more than once with their struggles. At last Jack wrenched Tom’s hands away and seized hold of the tiller, for a great part of Tom’s strength had gone from him, because of long and hard exposure, which seemed to have told more upon him than on Jack.
The men appeared to be pretty well frightened by this time, and Hitch had taken his oar again. In a moment Jack had put the boat’s head toward the shore.
“Pull lively now, my hearties,” said he, grimly, “for you’ll have a tough pull of it before you get to that beach over yonder.”
Just before they came to the outer line of breakers, Jack put the cutter’s head about so as to let her beach stern foremost.
Tom knew that the cutter would never get through the breakers. There was not the tenth part of the tenth part of a chance of it; therefore he flung off his coat and kicked off his shoes, so as to be in readiness when the time should come. There wasnot much of the raging and the lashing of the surf to be seen from the sea. Now and then a spit of foamy water would shoot high up into the air from the recoil of the waters on the hard sand, but they could not tell what the full wrath and roaring of the great breakers were until they had gotten fairly in amongst them.
Jack did all that a man could do to get that boat to the beach. He tried rather to keep it off than to urge it too rapidly toward the shore. He did his work well, for he had brought the cutter through the first line of breakers, and into the second—but he got her no further.
A monstrous wave, fully twelve feet high, a solid mountain of green water, came rushing toward them, its crest growing sharper and sharper, and seeming to mount higher and higher as it swept toward the shore.
“Pull for your lives!” roared Jack, in a voice of thunder. But it was no use, for the next instant the breaker was on them. For a moment Tom had a feeling of spinning toward the shore, with the green water towering ten feet above him; then it arched slowly over, there was a crash and a roar, and he was struggling in a whirling, watery blindness.
Over and over he rolled, grasping at the sand every now and then, but all the time feeling himself as helpless as a rat in the tumultuous swirling of the water. Presently he felt himself being sucked out again. Faster and faster he went, as the undertow gathered force in its rush. For a moment hegained his feet, and bore with all his strength against the outgoing water. The sand slid from beneath his heels, till he must have sunk three inches into it. For an instant he had a half-blinded vision of Jack Baldwin, fifteen or twenty feet nearer to the shore than himself. Then came another crashing roar, and he was whirled over and over and round and round, like a feather in the water. A great feeling of utter helplessness came over him; for a moment his lips came to the surface and he gave a gurgling cry.
Out went the undertow again, and out went Tom with it, only to meet another breaker and to be again whirled by it toward the beach. By this time he had given up struggling, and everything was sliding away from him.
All of a sudden he felt himself clutched by the shirt. Once more came the horrible dragging of the undertow, but this time some one was holding him against it. Everything was glimmering to his sight, but he felt that he was being dragged up on the beach, and at last that he was lying on the dry sand, face up, and Jack Baldwin panting alongside of him.
IN this story of Tom Granger I have undertaken to divide that which I am writing into chapters and parts, in the same manner that novel writers sometimes divide their novels and tales. I find that it keeps me more steadily to my course, so that, though I wander now and then from the matter in hand, I always get safely back to my bearings again. If you will go with me to the end, you will find that I have spun my yarn to the last word, though it may be in my own fashion.
Every one has read tales of shipwreck and of lonely islands, and there is generally something romantic and even pleasant in them; but in real shipwreck there is nothing either romantic or pleasant; neither is a desert island a cheerful place to dwell upon. I say this because I wish you to understand why it is that I do not intend to give you a long account of the life that they led at this place.
Nevertheless, I would not have you think from that which I have just written that Tom and Jack were altogether miserable during the year and a half that they lived there. Many times they were sickat heart looking for the aid that was so long in coming; but there were other times when they were full of hopes, and times when they were even happy. Neither was the place a barren, desolate, dreary sand waste, such as are many of the Bahama Islands. They saw many curious and beautiful things during the time of their living there. As an instance I may say that when Tom came away he brought with him a parcel of as handsome shells as ever I saw in all my life. They are now piled upon the mantle-shelf in my parlor. I have them before my eyes as I write these words. There is a large one upon the centre-table that has a full-rigged ship wrought upon it. It was carved with a jack-knife, and it shows the work of many idle moments, when Tom sat beside the fire in front of their hut at night, with Jack Baldwin for company.
Oftentimes a great longing has come upon Tom to visit the old place once more, and to see those things again which he learned to know so well. As I sit here now, and close my eyes, I can see many of them with my inward sight. I can even see them more clearly than when the memory of them was fresh and green, for, as the eyes of one’s body become dim and blurred, the eyes of memory become ever sharper and keener, so that not even the smallest thing escapes their sight. So now I can see the place that was Tom’s home for sixteen months so long ago, as plainly as though I had left it only yesterday. I can see the cave in the side of the sand-hill, the cutter turned bottom up for theroof, and the screen of woven grass that hung in front to keep the rain from beating in. I can even see the tame sea-gull sitting on the keel of the upturned boat.
Oftentimes, as I sit smoking my pipe after my dinner, I slide off into a doze, and sometimes I dream of all these places—of the sand-spit where they found the half-buried wreck that brought them so strange a fortune; of the long, narrow tongue of sand beyond, where, at low tide, the flamingoes always stood in a line, like so many red-coated British soldiers; of the coral reef where they fished; of the beach where the turtles came to drop their eggs, and of other things, all of them seeming pleasant as I look at them down through the distance of the past. So I should like to see the old place once more with my mortal eyes, though I may never hope to do so now, for my sands are nearly run.
But, though the place may seem pleasant to me after all these years, it was not an island such as one reads of in novels and stories; it was not a place upon which one would choose to live all one’s years, and Tom Granger was tired enough of it before he got through with it, I can tell you.
My neighbors profess to be very fond of listening to me when I get started in upon spinning yarns about Tom Granger’s life on the island, and I think that not only do they profess to be fond of it, but that they really are so.
My dear old friend, the late Doctor White, usedto come regularly every Saturday night, winter or summer, clear or foul, and the first thing that he would say was:
“Come, Tom, spin us a yarn;” or, “Let us hear one of your traveler’s lies, Tom.” (This, you understand, was merely a piece of pleasantry upon his part.) Then straightway I would begin upon some yarn, while he would sit opposite to me across the fire, listening to me and smoking his pipe the while. I must say, though, that he had a nasty habit of interrupting me with experiences of his own, for he had been assistant surgeon aboard thePimlico, in the South Atlantic, from 1836 to 1838, and he had seen a few little trivial things which he would tell me, though I had heard them a score of times before, and though they were not nearly as interesting as those things which I would be telling him.
However, that is neither here nor there, and I find that I am again wandering from the point in hand. What I began to say was, that, though my neighbors are always glad to listen to my yarns, and though they tell me that they are both interesting and instructive, I will not give a long and full account of Tom’s and Jack’s daily life upon the island on which they were cast, for this narrative concerns other matters of more import, and I thank my stars that I am able to bridle my tongue, being, as I said before, no great talker.
Tom and Jack were the only ones of all the crew of the cutter that were cast alive on the island.The first day or two of their life thereon was as bitter and miserable as could be. All this would be both painful and unpleasant to tell, as well as needless, and, therefore, I will pass it by. By the time that a month had gone, they were settled as comfortably as could be, considering what they had at hand to make themselves comfortable.
The body of the island was about five miles in length, and about two miles or two miles and a half in breadth at the widest part. From the lower and easterly end a long, sandy hook ran out into the ocean. It was the continuation of the eastern beach, and, with the south shore of the island, it enclosed a smooth, deep bay or harbor, in which even the largest ships could have ridden at anchor easily and comfortably.
On the Atlantic side of this sand-spit, and close to where it joined the body of the island, was the sunken wreck that afterward had so much to do with Tom’s fortunes, and of which I shall soon have more to tell you. The eastern side of this hook or beach was of sloping sand, washed up by the continual beating of the surf. The western, or bay side, was an abrupt coral reef. This coral reef was covered with barnacles, so that there were always plenty of fish to be caught along that shore during the slack water or the young flood.
Up and down the length of the eastern shore, and following in a line with the beach, was a ridge of white sand hills. A number of scrub trees grew along the crest of this ridge, and it was these treesor bushes that the lookout in the cutter had first sighted. In the south-western end of these sand hills Jack and Tom built their hut.
The lower end of the chain of white hills made a sudden turn to the westward, and not far from where they fell away to the level of the beach was a thicket of underbrush, with half a dozen palmetto trees growing in the midst of it. Near to the edge of this thicket a spring of clear, cool water bubbled up out of the white sand, and slid away through thick grasses and sedge until it found its way through a marshy little flat into the bay.
It was close to this spot that they chose to live, and thither they dragged the cutter from the place where she had been flung on the sand, two or three miles further up the beach. The boat had been stove in beyond all hopes of repairing, especially as they had no tools to mend it with, excepting their jack-knives and two rude chisels that Tom afterward made from rusty bolts which they picked out of the ribs of the wreck on the sand-spit. But, even if they had had a whole boat-builder’s outfit, and planks to spare, I doubt if the cutter could have been mended, for not only had the bottom been stove in, but the bow had been smashed into splinters.
The loss of the cutter was one of their bitterest sources of regret during their life on this place, for now and then they could see the looming of land not more than twenty miles away toward the southward. They could easily have reached it in a day’s time, if the boat had been sound andwhole. As it was, she would never float again, so they dragged her down the beach and patched her with grass and mud, and used her for a roof to cover them at night, for they found that the dews were heavy at some seasons of the year. It took them over a fortnight to move the boat from where she had been thrown to the place where they built their home, three miles away. It was heavy work hauling it across the sand, but, as I said, by the time that a month had gone, they were pretty comfortably settled, and were feeling quite at home in their quarters.
In front of them was the long, narrow hook of white sand, over which the air danced and quivered when the hot sun beat down upon it. It curved out into the dark water for a mile, like a long, slender hook, cutting off the bay from the open water beyond. To the right of them was the bay shore of the island, the silvery sand strewn thickly with many-colored shells as far as the eye could reach. About three hundred yards away was the buried wreck. At that time nothing was to be seen of it but the ribs, that just showed above the sand like a row of dead, blackened stumps. From this wreck they obtained iron spikes, which Tom fashioned into rude tools and ruder fish-hooks.
Such was the scene that they had before their eyes for all those sixteen months, unchanged, excepting as storm or calm would change the face of things; and the same monotonous sound was always in their ears—the eternal “swash! swash!” of theground swell on the shell-strewn beach below the hut, sounding unceasingly through the deep, heavy thundering of the Atlantic breakers to the eastward.
Day followed day in an unchanging round—now fishing and now hunting gull’s eggs. The fishing was done in the morning, when the tide was good. During the hot afternoons they would lie on the sand, in the shade of the cutter, looking out to sea, talking lazily, and now and then dozing. It was a helpless, listless life, and as time wore along, I doubt if they would have known what day or month or even what year it was, if Tom had not kept a score of the days as they passed, by marking them on the side of the cutter with his jack-knife—a short mark for week days and a long mark with a cross for Sundays. By this means they contrived to know how time was going with them.
This enforced inaction was one of the bitterest trials to them. I have known times when, while they were sitting still, Jack would burst out into a sudden volley of imprecations. Tom would never give way in this manner;—perhaps it would have been a relief to him if he had. When the darkness of despair would settle over him, he would leave Jack, and walk up and down the beach by himself; perhaps for hours at a time. During all the time that theNancy Hazlewoodwas sinking under him, Tom had thought little of Patty, and had wondered at himself in a dull sort of a way; perhaps it was the press of work that was then upon him, that drove her out of his mind, or rather blunted thekeenness of the thought of her. But now, in the listless idleness of his life, he thought of her, and thought of her continually. Her presence was always with him, and at times his longing for her was so deep and keen, that his heart ached with it. Often in the night time he would lie on the dark, lonely sand, looking up at the stars, saying nothing, but thinking of Patty and of his home, with a longing so strong, that sometimes he was nearly crazy with the yearning of his home-sickness. At other times the gloominess of a deep despair would settle over him in a dark cloud; then, perhaps, he would say to himself, “Supposing that I do get back to my home again, what good will it do me? I have been given a year in which to earn seven hundred and fifty dollars; it may be two years before I am taken off of this sand spit,—what chance is there of my earning that much here?” Then, maybe he would get up and walk away, pacing up and down the beach by himself, cursing the fortune that had thrown him on this land, and sometimes even selfishly wishing that he could die, and be rid of all the troubles that beset him. During such moods Jack would leave him alone, for he saw that Tom was thinking of things, and was not to be talked to or interfered with;—he had grown to have a strangely high regard and respect for him; very different from the way in which he used to look upon him. He seemed to have a dim idea that Tom’s troubles were deeper than his own, but why they were greater, he did not know, for Tom nevertalked of Patty to him. So Jack always let him alone, and, though he would follow him with his eyes, he never ventured a word at such times.
I would not have you think that Tom was twiddling his thumbs all this time, and idly wishing that he could get away without doing anything further than to wish.
During the fall they built a raft; it took them nearly a month and a half to make it, for they had no tools to work with, but two rude chisels and two jack-knives, one of which (Jack’s) had the point broken off of it. But after they had spent all the time in the making of the raft, it turned out to be of no use, excepting to fish off of in the bay during fair weather, so all their labor was for nothing.
They had great ideas of it at first, and one day when the wind was fair, and the day clear and bright, they undertook to sail away upon it to the island to the southward. Tom had fashioned a pair of oars out of a palmetto tree, and he and Jack had made a sail out of the coarse sea-grass that covered the island; these had cost them vast labor, but they found that with oars and sail together, they did not get their clumsy craft along at the rate of a mile an hour. I doubt if they ever could have reached the island under the best of circumstances; as it was, they met a current a couple of miles to the southward, that swept them out to sea. They were fully six hours in getting back to land; even then it was a chance that they got back at all, nor would they have done so if a windhad not luckily sprung up from the south. After that they were content to remain where they were.
They also set up a signal: it was a palmetto tree with a bush lashed to the top of it; beside this they built a pile of brush to fire at night, in case any vessel should appear in the offing at evening time. They added to this brush heap, from day to day, until it was as high as a hay stack.
Once, during the latter part of that autumn, a dead porpoise was washed up on the beach toward the lower part of the sandy hook. This was a Godsend to them as a means to let their condition be known to the outside world, for of the skin of this porpoise they made a number of bags or bladders, which they set adrift at different times, when the wind was fair for carrying them away. In these air bladders Tom put a map of the island, its bearings (as nearly as he could judge), and word of their condition. All this was drawn and written on two strips of bark, and was done with the point of a red hot piece of iron. This was the wording of the written part: