Kitabı oku: «Joshua Marvel», sayfa 28
"Why?"
"It will help to keep you alive when the provisions run out. I have a dozen pounds of tobacco strapped round me; it was my own, so I thought I had a right to it. By and by it will come in handy. I wish I could teach the women to chew."
"If the men knew you had so much," said Joshua, "your life would not be safe."
"I know that. I had an idea at first of handing it to the skipper for general use; but I thought better of it. There are a few on board to whom I don't think I'd give an ounce to save their lives. What is that in your handkerchief?"
"My accordion."
"Do you play? Of course, though, or you wouldn't have it. I should like to hear some music."
Joshua untied his handkerchief and took out his accordion. The night was very still, and the soft tones floated in the air, and seemed to linger about the raft as it glided through the sea. The quiet bubbling of the water as it stole through the openings between the spars, as if in sport, was in consonance with the melody and the still night and the beautiful peaceful heavens. Men who were lying at full length sat up when the music commenced, and were the better for it. The women crept from out their shelter, and listened and shed tears, not entirely unhappy. Surely it was a night of good omens. As Joshua played, his thoughts wandered back to his boyish life, and to the tender conversations that had taken place between him and Dan. Often he stopped as he mused and thought; but presently his fingers would be on the keys again, playing a few bars of "Poor Tom Bowling," and other more cheerful songs of Dibdin, which the Old Sailor loved so well. They came back to him, the memories of that happy time. Their anxiety about their birds, when they first commenced to train them; the death of Golden Cloud, and the after conversation which he had never forgotten, in the course of which they had read together of the wreck of Robinson Crusoe. Why, it seemed all to have come true! Here he was, wrecked, certainly not alone, and therefore better off than Crusoe was, but wrecked for all that. But under what circumstances, and with what a dreadful web of suspicion surrounding him! Oh, if he could see the end of it! It was horrible to think that he might die-he and all of them on the raft; and that Dan might believe him false because of Minnie. It would not bear thinking of. He ceased playing, and bathed his fevered head and face. Often and often had he said to himself, in former storms and former scenes, the words that Dan had impressed upon him; and now he tried to fancy that Dan could see him, and knew that he was true.
Rough-and-Ready, seeing that Joshua was engrossed in thought, did not disturb him, and presently dozed off. How long he had been asleep he did not know; but he woke up with a curious impression upon him. He must have slept long, for the night was far advanced, and no sound was heard but the plashing of the water against and through the spars. The impression was this: that he and Joshua were lying side by side (as, in fact they were) asleep, and that a woman suddenly came between them. Her back was to him, her face turned to Joshua; that she sat down so, and so remained, for an hour and more, making no movement, uttering no sound; but he could tell that all the while she was watching Joshua's sleeping form. That then she inclined herself gently to Joshua, and pressed her lips to his hand: and that rising to go, she turned her face to Rough-and-Ready, and he saw that it was Mrs. Liddle's gypsy-maid. So far his fancies went. Starting into a sitting position, he saw Minnie a few paces from him, making her way to where the women were lying.
Now this set Rough-and-Ready thinking-for more reasons than one. Had he been dreaming, or had it really occurred? If it had occurred, it must have been love that prompted her. He had observed her the previous night sitting near Joshua; but then it had not been so noticeable, for there was no kind of order on the raft. How long had she known Joshua? He was the more perplexed because he had never seen the two in conversation, and because of the mystery surrounding the acquaintance. He was troubled, too; for, rough as he was, and old enough to be Minnie's father, he had taken a tender interest in her, and the discovery he had just made came upon him like a shock.
Every person on the raft was asleep with the exception of the men in the watch and himself. He did not feel inclined to lie down again, so he sat and thought of things. In such a solemn scene, and at such solemn moments the spirit of nature works wonders in the minds of the roughest men-quickens the sympathies, and stirs into life the tenderest memories. It was so with Rough-and-Ready at the present time. Incidents in his life which had been so long unremembered that he wondered how he thought of them now, came vividly before him. His home-his mother-small domestic joys and griefs-a brother who died when they were both children, with whom he used to play and pelt with daisies-Good God! what kind of a bridge was that in his life that spanned that time and this? By what strange step had he walked from then to now? The stars grew less bright and paled out of the skies; the water grew grayer in the brief space before the morning's dawn. Soon in the east a thin line of water at the edge of the horizon quickened into life, and Nature's grandest wonder began to work in the dawning of a new day. The waterline, a mere thread at first, but broadening with every second that marked the flight of gray shadows, was rosy with blushing light. Purple clouds, fringed with wondrous colors, surrounded the clear space, in which presently the glorious sun rose grandly from the golden bed of waters; and as it rose, sky and sea rejoiced. At one time, for a few moments, the sea was like a field of golden corn waving in the sun's eye; but soon it deepened, till it and the heavens, that looked down into its mighty depths, were filled with flaming restless light, which in their turn gave way to softer shadows. Many a sunrise had Rough-and-Ready seen, but never one that he had watched so steadily as this; but it seemed as if his thoughts were in harmony with it.
Late in the day, Rough-and-Ready asked Joshua how long he had known Mrs. Liddle's maid. Joshua looked at him curiously, but did not reply. He had not spoken to Minnie since they had been on the raft, and had, indeed, taken pains to avoid her. She did not intrude herself upon him; she submitted in patience to the silence he imposed upon her by his manner. But a strange phenomenon took place in her. While the others grew weaker and paler and more unhappy, she seemed to gather fresh strength, and actually grew rosier and more hardy. The dark color, too, was dying out of her face.
"I have a reason for asking," said Rough-and-Ready, as an excuse for his question.
Joshua nodded, not unkindly, but with a troubled face.
"There is a strange story connected with your question," he said; "so strange and so gainful, that I cannot give you an answer."
"I thought there was some mystery in the affair," observed Rough-and-Ready; "but I will not press upon your confidence. Do you know that the night before last she watched by you the whole time you were asleep?"
"Watched by me?"
"Ay. And last night, too, for some time-I don't know for how long."
Joshua gave Rough-and-Ready an amazed look, and turned away to where Minnie was sitting. She saw him coming towards her, and her heart beat fast.
"Why have you watched near me for two nights?" he asked, without looking at her.
"You have enemies on the raft," was the answer, very quietly given.
"I know; Scadbolt and the Lascar. But I can take care of myself."
"Not when you are asleep," she said, almost in a whisper.
What could he do? What could he say? Together on the raft in the presence of Death, from which only something very like a miracle could save them, could he be stern and harsh to her? And his great misery was, that he knew and felt his power. He knew that an unkind word from him to this young girl was as bitter as death could be.
"You are like the rest of us, I suppose," he said, gently; "growing very weak."
"I do not think so," she answered, trembling at the gentleness of his voice; "I feel strong as yet. Shall we be saved?"
"We are in God's hands," he said. "I think there is but little chance of being picked up, or even of making friendly land."
Neither addressed the other by name.
"If the end comes, and you know it, and I am not near you, will you try and find me, and say a kind word to me before I die?"
He gave her the promise, and hurried suddenly from her, for his heart was fit to break, and he dared not trust himself to say more.
The third day passed, and the fourth. No sign of succor near. Hope began to die.
On the sixth morning, when the roll was called, one of the passengers did not answer to his name. It was Mr. Bracegirdle.
"He is asleep," said one.
They shook him, but he did not move. He was dead. This was the first death, and it affected them deeply. Before he was sewn in the canvas, he was searched, in the anticipation of finding something useful. A surprising discovery was then made. He had in his pocket-book and round his waist bank-notes and bills for more than ten thousand pounds. But nobody knew any thing about him; he died, as he had lived among them a mystery. After his body was slipped into the sea, a whisper went about that the money found on him had not been honestly come by.
That same night two sailors were washed into the sea. When it became known, there were some among them who secretly rejoiced in the thought that there would not be so many mouths to feed. Nearly a third of the provisions was eaten, and the women were very weak. Little Emma Pigeon held out the best; but that was because her mother, from even her small portion, gave some to her child between the times of serving out the provisions; the child also was petted and nourished by the other women. Rough-and-Ready as especially considerate to the females. Joshua saw him chewing something, and wondered what it was. Noticing the look of inquiry on Joshua's face, Rough-and-Ready enlightened him.
"I am eating leather," he said.
Joshua stared at him. Then Rough-and-Ready took from his pocket a dozen very thin strips of leather which he had cut out of his boot, and told Joshua that he had found a new food. He gave Joshua a couple of strips-very thin they were, almost like a wafer-and Joshua set to work on them, and after some difficulty, chewed them to a pulp and swallowed them.
"There's nothing like leather," said Rough-and-Ready with a quiet laugh. "It wants strong teeth, but it fills up an empty place in the stomach."
The next day Joshua noticed that Rough-and-Ready received his tablespoonful of preserved meat in his handkerchief, and later on he saw Rough-and-Ready slyly feeding little Emma with a portion of the meat, and then go to her mother and slip what remained into her hand.
Now and then a few small fish were caught. There being no means of cooking them, the women refused their share with horror, but the men ate them raw. They also snared some birds, and ate them in the same manner.
On the twelfth night Scadbolt and the Lascar lay side by side awake. Nearer than they to the edge of the raft lay a shipmate, chewing tobacco.
"All mine is gone," said Scadbolt enviously.
"And mine," said the Lascar, with a horrible look at the man who was chewing.
"I think he must have a good lot left. I heard him boast of it last week."
"Two men are better than one."
"Wait till that black cloud touches the moon; then stop his mouth; I'll do the rest!"
The black cloud travelled on and on, crept before the moon, and soon shut out its light. When the moon shone again upon the waters there was one man less on the raft, and Scadbolt and the Lascar were chewing tobacco greedily!
These two men had a line out in the water, with a small hook at the end of it. The Lascar felt it jerk. He pulled in the line; there was a fish at the end of it, weighing more than a pound. He took from his pocket a six-bladed knife, opened the largest blade, and cut the fish in two equal parts. He gave one to Scadbolt, and ate the other himself. So that they should not be observed, they lay down on their faces while they ate.
"That was a good bit of luck," said Scadbolt; "I feel stronger."
"If the skipper caught us, he would throw us overboard, whispered the Lascar.
"He'd try to; but one man is as good as another now. Let us do this and take care of ourselves; we shall outlast the others. I wish they were all dead-all but two."
"Ay, Joshua's Marvel's one. I know what you mean. You'd like to have the doing of him. So would I. Who's the other?"
"The gypsy-maid. She's a rare beauty."
The Lascar did not say any thing to this. He had seen enough since they had been on the raft to convince him that his first suspicions were right, and that the gypsy-looking girl really was Minnie. Notwithstanding their desperate condition, he had cast many admiring glances at her.
"How fine," he thought, "to strike at Joshua Marvel through her!"
CHAPTER XXXII
SAVED FROM THE SEA
The first among the passengers to completely give way was Stephen Homebush. He had observed no manner of discretion in eating his food, and had always swallowed it hastily, so that it did him but little good. Contrary to what might have been expected of him as a man of pious parts, he was the most selfish of all the passengers. Instead of praying for mercy, he rebelled in thought and speech against the misfortune which had overtaken him. He did not think of the others. It was his fate that was so hard. The prayers that he had so liberally offered up for other lost men were not for him now that he was lost. All other men were sinners, so he had preached. There was no grace in any of them. He came to impart it to them. Let them open their rebellious hearts, and receive it, while there was yet time. To all kinds of men had he preached this, striking at them hard, trying to frighten them with threatened penalties if they refused to believe as he believed. He came to give them grace; did he himself require none?
What kind of faith is that which believes all other faiths wrong and sinful? What is the test of faith? Sincerity? Ay, for me; but not for you. I am sincere; I am born in the grace of God. But you! Fall down and repent!
Such had been the preaching of Stephen Homebush. But now that the earth was crumbling from beneath his feet, and the New Life was before him, he prayed neither for others nor for himself. He maintained a sullen rebellious silence, faithful to his nature for the first time in his life. His mood, no less than the scanty supply of food and his manner of eating it, drove him mad; and within a fortnight of his sojourn on the raft, he was crawling and staggering about, uttering a dreadful jumble of prayers and blasphemies. His sister Rachel attended to him as well as her strength allowed her; but he struck at her often, and often cursed her and himself. It was terrible to see and hear. He did not suffer long. One day he ran from one part of the raft to another, raving that a sail was in sight. At first they thought that he might be right, but they soon discovered that he was raving. But he saw the ship coming nearer and nearer. His sister was the only one who had patience to bear with him. He described the ship to her, and described the men and women that were on the deck; and she shuddered as she recognized in his descriptions acquaintances and relatives every one of whom was dead.
"Here it comes," he said, standing up in his eagerness, "nearer-nearer! I shall be able to jump on board presently."
She strove to restrain him; but he broke from her wildly, and gave a leap on to the imaginary ship. He sank at once, and was seen no more.
The forlorn woman sat stupefied, and never moved. Hours afterwards, Rough-and-Ready, taking pity upon her condition, spoke to her, and bade her take comfort, The sense of what he said was lost to her, but she understood the sympathy that was expressed in his voice, and she looked at him gratefully while the tears rolled down her face. He placed his hand upon her shoulder, and said gently; "Poor woman! poor woman!" She took his hand in hers, and clung to it, as if her only hope of life was there. He could not disengage his hand except by force; so he sat by her for an hour and more, until she released him. Then he crept to where the women were lying; there was comfort in being close to them.
One of their most frightful experiences was the sight of the sharks snapping at the bodies as they were thrown into the sea. A great number of these creatures followed the raft day and night, scenting their prey. Each of the unfortunates thought, as he saw the sharks tearing at the body of his fellow creature, "Perhaps it is my turn next." About the twentieth day they caught at least a dozen rock cod, but after that they caught no fish for many days. Soon their fresh water was nearly gone; for some time past they had only half a pint a day; now the quantity was reduced to a quarter of a pint. Some tins of the preserved meat were also found to be putrid: the women could not touch it; but a few of the sailors Scadbolt and the Lascar among them, devoured it greedily. When another new moon rose, the courage of nearly every one of them was gone; hope had fled too. They looked upon themselves as doomed.
A curious conversation took place between the two friends, Harry Wall and James Heartsease. In the morning they had refused their portion of food.
"Save it for the women, sir," they said to the captain.
He expostulated with them, and tried to prevail upon them to take it, but he did not succeed.
"Sir," said James Heartsease, "we are going to lie down to die. We both of us feel that our time has come. To rob the poor women of any more food would be simple barbarity. I should like to shake hands with you."
Captain Liddle shook hands with them; and after that they crawled to the women, and shook hands with them, and kissed little Emma Pigeon. Then they crawled away, and lay down side by side.
"The end has come, Jim," said Harry.
"All right, Hal," said James; "it is only a matter of a few years-perhaps not so long as that. If we had had plenty to eat, it might have come just the same. After all, what is time? Draw a breath, and it is gone. It isn't so hard to give up a few years when you think of that. Besides" – But here he paused.
"Besides what, Jim?"
"We are alone; we have no women-ties-no wives, no sweethearts. If we had, I think we should both try to live as long as we could."
"I think so too. 'Tis a good job we are alone in the world."
"Did you notice the women, Hal? I don't think they'll last long."
"One of them won't," said Harry. "Mrs. Pigeon will soon go. Well, you know the reason of that."
"Yes; she gives all her food to her little girl. Women are good creatures, Hal."
"Such as she are. Jim, old boy, a sudden weakness has come over me. Put your face closer to mine-I want to kiss you. Good old boy-good old boy!"
They did not speak for some time after that. Heartsease was the first to break silence.
"Hal, old fellow," he said, "we shall meet somewhere by and by."
"Sure to," said Harry; "somewhere, somehow. It is awfully grand to think of-it is good to believe. I am glad I never did any great wrong to sting me now. Jim, depend upon it, there is only one true religion; that is, the religion of being kind and tender and unselfish-the religion of doing unto others as you would others should do unto you, and of living a good life. Give me the man who does that, and who believes in the goodness and greatness of God. All the rest is mummery. We have agreed upon that, haven't we old boy?"
"Ay, times out of mind."
"Now, I tell you what I am going to do. I don't want to quite starve to death-it would be too painful; it's frightful to bear even now. I don't want to commit suicide, although to throw one's self into the water just now would be, in a certain measure, justifiable. I am going to draw myself close to the edge of the raft; then I am going to sleep. If the waves should chance to wash me over in the night-good! Let them; then I shall know something."
"All right, Hal; I'll lie by your side. Goodnight, old fellow."
"Goodnight."
When the sun rose again, those two good friends had gone to their rest, to meet again. Somewhere-Somehow!
So day after day passed, and their numbers continued to grow fewer, until there were no more than eighteen on the raft. In the first quarter of the second new moon-that is, when they had been on the raft for more than thirty days-Mrs. Pigeon died. When the news went round, there were few dry eyes among the poor creatures. Every one loved her, even to Scadbolt and the Lascar, whose clothes she had mended. It was a wonder how she had lasted so long, for it was with the greatest difficulty she could be prevailed upon to take food; she gave it all to her little daughter. When, almost by force, a small portion had been put into her mouth, Joshua had seen her take it out to feed Little Emma. That is why the child lived while the mother starved to death. Between Mrs. Pigeon and Minnie a strong affection had sprung up. Minnie scarcely ever left the side of the dying woman, and what little she could do to ease her last hours-it was but little, God knows! – she did tenderly and cheerfully. Minnie knew that Mrs. Pigeon was starving herself, so that her little girl might live. The beauty of that sacrifice Minnie was well able to comprehend. She would have done the same. But she was terribly unhappy. She knew by Joshua's manner, and by the few words that he spoke to her-kind one day, constrained the next-that her conduct had added to his unhappiness. She had seen him look at her with such a look of fear and wild amazement in his eyes, as to convey to her the impression that she had done him a great wrong. But so blinded was she by her love, that she could not quite understand the meaning of this; indeed, she did not pause to consider. The night before Mrs. Pigeon died, Minnie lay by her side, talking in whispers. But few words were spoken at a time; Mrs. Pigeon was too weak. The mother lay with her child in her arms, and her husband sitting close to her, his hands clasping his knees, and with an expression of stony despair in his face. So he had sat for three or four days, answering his wife vacantly, and with the air of one whose mind was a blank. Little by little, Minnie had told Mrs. Pigeon her story; and the dying woman, notwithstanding her own great trouble, had wept with Minnie, and sympathized with her. But Mrs. Pigeon, as well as expressing her sympathy, had striven to make Minnie aware of the fault she had committed.
"You see, my dear," she gasped in her weak voice, "he has left a sweetheart at home, and he fears that if it were known that you were in the ship with him, she and his other friends might believe that he had played false with them."
"I never thought of that before," sobbed Minnie. "I only thought of one thing: I loved him, and I wanted to be near him. I didn't want him even to know; and those at home bad no idea of what I was going to do-they can't even suspect."
"But Mr. Marvel fears they may. Then think, my dear, was it not wrong to leave your father?"
"It was-I see it now; but I did not think of it then. But O Mrs. Pigeon if he would only forgive me! If I ask him, he will; but the answer would come out of the goodness of his heart, and while he forgave he would still condemn me. I know it, I know it, for he has never once called me by my name."
Soon after that, Mrs. Pigeon fell into a doze; and waking when it was near midnight, whispered, "Minnie!"
"Yes," answered Minnie. She had been sleeping too, but so lightly that a whisper was sufficient to awake her.
"I have not long to live, my dear," said Mrs. Pigeon; "and I should like to pass my last minutes alone with my husband and child, and to speak to no one but them-to think of no one but them. But before I go, I should be glad to say good-by to Joshua Marvel. Can you bring him to me? Say that I am dying."
Repressing her sobs, Minnie crept to where Joshua was standing on the lookout. He had grown thin and gaunt like the others; his feet were bare, the only pair of shoes he had possessed having been rotted by the salt water; his clothes hung about him in tatters; and his face was covered with hair, which, having not yet grown to a decent length, added to the wretchedness of his appearance. The moon had gone down, and Joshua, shading his eyes with his hand, was looking out to sea, possessed with the fancy that he saw a sail many miles away. This had now become a very common illusion; scarcely a man on board who did not see imaginary sails and ships a dozen times a day. With a weary sigh Joshua dropped his hand.
"It is folly," he muttered; "there's no hope."
Minnie timidly touched his sleeve, but did not succeed in attracting his attention. Then she called softly, "Joshua!" And he gave a gasp, and turned and saw her; but there was not light enough for him to see the tears upon her face.
"Mrs. Pigeon has sent me for you," said Minnie. "She is dying, and wants to wish you good-by."
He followed her in silence to where Mrs. Pigeon was lying.
"Is it so bad?" he asked gently, as he leaned over her close enough to see her poor thin face.
"Yes," she murmured. "Sit by me for a few minutes."
He sat down, and took her wasted hand in his: it was like the hand of a skeleton, thin and cold-a hand already dead, though it closed on Joshua's fingers.
"Every one speaks well of you," said Mrs. Pigeon in broken tones: "I have heard the captain speak many times of your courage and goodness and constancy."
"I have been glad to hear it, and am glad to hear it again," replied Joshua; "it is my best reward as a sailor."
"You have a kind heart, I am sure," continued the dying woman. "If it were in your power to lessen the bitter grief that even a mere acquaintance might suffer, you would do so."
"I think I would."
"I am sure you would; if only for the sake of those you love at home, and to whom you would wish that others might be kind when grief comes to them. You will forgive me for speaking thus; but I am dying, and I am a woman. I cannot say much more; I am too weak. If I could see you do one little thing, I should be glad."
"I will do any thing you ask."
"Because a dying woman asks you; but do it from your own kind impulse as well. That is what I wish. You know who it is that is sitting by us now."
"Yes," he answered with a troubled glance at Minnie.
"She has been very good to me, very kind, very, very patient. And she is so young! Soon you and she may follow me. Think of that."
"What is it you would have me to do?"
"I would have you be kind to this poor child; I would have you, at this awful time, show to her the love that a brother might show to a sister. She has committed a fault; forgive her for it; let her atone for it. Be not you the one to cast the stone at her. And when you speak to her, speak from your heart; for she can read and understand, as all loving women can, the music of the voice."
"Minnie," said Joshua, turning to her. Mrs. Pigeon had loosed his hand; and now be held out his two hands to Minnie. It was the first time he had called her by her name.
"Joshua," she said, with deep sobs, her hands in his, and bowing her head upon his shoulder until her lips almost touched his face.
Was it treasonable to Ellen that he should permit it? Surely not, surely not, at such a time.
"You have made me glad," said Mrs. Pigeon. "Now go. Good-by. Heaven send you peace!"
"And you!" they both said.
Mrs. Pigeon nestled her face close to that of her little daughter, and soon afterwards died peacefully.
Then, for the first time, Mr. Pigeon seemed to awake to the reality of things. Kneeling by the side of his wife, he called softly, "Emma! Emma!" And receiving no answer, shook her gently, and smoothed the hair from her white face.
"Be comforted," said Joshua to him.
"Comforted!" he repeated with a pondering look, as if he were considering what meaning there was in the word. He kissed her passionately, and whispered something in her ear, and waited for the answer that could not come. "My God!" he cried suddenly, "she is dead!"
Minnie placed Little Emma before him, thinking that the sight of his little girl might lessen his grief; but he took no notice of the child, and sat the whole day nursing, the dead body of his wife in his lap. One tin of preserved meat was all that remained now of their stock of provisions. They brought his small share to him; but he motioned them away impatiently and fretfully. They went to him, and endeavored to make him understand that, for the sake of the others, he should allow the remains of his wife to be placed in their poor shroud of sacking; but he met them savagely, and threatened to bite at them and strangle them if they did not let him alone.
"For the sharks to eat," he whispered to the inanimate form; "they want to throw you into the sea for the sharks to eat, my darling. But I'll tear their hearts out before they part us."
When the silver crescent looked down again upon the despairing group, Joshua tried once more to comfort the man, and said, with a heavy heart, that perhaps at the last moment a ship might pick them up. But though he uttered the words, he did not believe in them.
"And if it does," muttered Mr. Pigeon hoarsely, "what do I care now? You don't know what it is to lose the woman you love." He staggered to his feet with the beloved form in his arm. "You want to take her from me; that is why you speak the lying words. But nothing shall part us-nothing."
Her face was lying upon his shoulder, and her fair hair was hanging loosely down over his breast. He took some of the hair in his mouth; and as Joshua saw him standing thus in the moon's light, he thought he had never seen a picture so utterly despairing. Thus the man stood, motionless, for a time, until the captain's lady crept to his side, and tried to console him. Poor thing! she was terribly weak, and the words came from her lips slowly and wearily. He gazed at her vacantly while she spoke, then turned his eyes to his dead wife.
