Kitabı oku: «The Boy Slaves», sayfa 3

CHAPTER VII.
A COMPULSORY PARTING

One of the four castaways could not swim. Which one? You will expect to hear that it was one of the three midshipmen; and will be conjecturing whether it was Harry Blount, Terence O'Connor, or Colin Macpherson.

My English boy-readers would scarce believe me, were I to say that it was Harry who was wanting in this useful accomplishment. Equally incredulous would be my Irish and Scotch constituency, were I to deny the possession of it to the representatives of their respective countries, – Terence and Colin.

Far be it from me to offend the natural amour propre of my young readers; and in the present case I have no fact to record that would imply any national superiority or disadvantage. The castaway who could not swim was that peculiar hybrid, or tribrid, already described; who, for any characteristic he carried about him, might have been born either upon the banks of the Clyde, the Thames, or the Shannon!

It was "Old Bill" who was deficient in natatory prowess: Old Bill the sailor.

It may be wondered that one who has spent nearly the whole of his life on the sea should be wanting in an accomplishment, apparently and really, so essential to such a calling. Cases of the kind, however, are by no means uncommon; and in a ship's crew there will often be found a large number of men, – sometimes the very best sailors, – who cannot swim a stroke.

Those who have neglected to cultivate this useful art, when boys, rarely acquire it after they grow up to be men; or, if they do, it is only in an indifferent manner. On the sea, though it may appear a paradox, there are far fewer opportunities for practising the art of swimming than upon its shores. Aboard a ship, on her course, the chances of "bathing" are but few and far between; and, while in port, the sailor has usually something else to do than spend his idle hours in disporting himself upon the waves. The sailor, when ashore, seeks for some sport more attractive.

As Old Bill had been at sea ever since he was able to stand upon the deck of a ship, he had neglected this useful art; and though in every other respect an accomplished sailor – rated A.B., No. 1 – he could not swim six lengths of his own body.

It was a noble instinct which prompted his three youthful companions to remain by him in that critical moment, when, by flinging themselves upon the waves, they might have gained the shore without difficulty.

Although the bay might be nearly two miles in width there could not be more than half that distance beyond their depth, – judging by the shoal appearance which the coast had exhibited as they were approaching it before sundown.

All three felt certain of being able to save themselves; but what would become of their companion, the sailor?

"We cannot leave you, Bill!" cried Harry: "we will not!"

"No, that we can't: we won't!" said Terence.

"We can't, and won't," asseverated Colin, with like emphasis.

These generous declarations were in answer to an equally generous proposal: in which the sailor had urged them to make for the shore, and leave him to his fate.

"Ye must, my lads!" he cried out, repeating his proposition. "Don't mind about me; look to yersels! Och! shure I'm only a weather-washed, worn-out old salt, 'ardly worth savin'. Go now – off wi' ye at onest! The water'll be over ye, if ye stand 'eer tin minutes longer."

The three youths scrutinized each other's faces, as far as the darkness would allow them. Each tried to read in the countenances of the other two some sign that might determine him. The water was already washing around their shoulders; it was with difficulty they could keep their feet.

"Let loose, lads!" cried Old Bill; "let loose, I say! and swim richt for the shore. Don't think o' me; it bean't certain I shan't weather it yet. I'm the whole av my head taller than the tallest av ye. The tide mayn't full any higher; an' if it don't I'll get safe out after all. Let loose, lads – let loose I tell ye!"

This command of the old sailor for his young comrades to forsake him was backed by a far more irresistible influence, – one against which even their noble instincts could no longer contend.

At that moment, a wave, of greater elevation than any that had preceded it, came rolling along; and the three midshipmen, lifted upon its swell, were borne nearly half a cable's length from the spot where they had been standing.

In vain did they endeavor to recover their feet. They had been carried into deep water, where the tallest of them could not touch bottom.

For some seconds they struggled on the top of the swell, their faces turned towards the spot from which they had been swept. They were close together. All three seemed desirous of making back to that dark, solitary speck, protruding above the surface, and which they knew to be the head of Old Bill. Still did they hesitate to forsake him.

Once more his voice sounded in their ears.

"Och, boys!" cried he, "don't thry to come back. It's no use whatever. Lave me to my fate, an' save yersels. The tide's 'ard against ye. Turn, an' follow it, as I tell ye. It'll carry ye safe to the shore; an' if I'm washed afther ye, bury me on the bache. Farewell, brave boys, – farewell!"

To the individuals thus apostrophized, it was a sorrowful adieu; and, could they have done anything to save the sailor, there was not one of the three who would not have risked his life over and over again. But all were impressed with the hopelessness of rendering any succor; and under the still further discouragement caused by another huge wave, that came swelling up under their chins, they turned simultaneously in the water; and, taking the tidal current for their guide, swam with all their strength towards the shore.

CHAPTER VIII.
SAFE ASHORE

The swim proved shorter than any of them had anticipated. They had scarce made half a mile across the bay, when Terence, who was the worst swimmer of the three, and who had been allowing his legs to droop, struck his toes against something more substantial than salt water.

"I' faith!" gasped he, with exhausted breath, "I think I've touched bottom. Blessed be the Virgin, I have!" he continued, at the same time standing erect, with head and shoulders above the surface of the water.

"All right!" cried Harry, imitating the upright attitude of the young Hibernian. "Bottom it must be, and bottom it is. Thank God for it!"

Colin, with a similar grateful ejaculation, suspended his stroke, and stood upon his feet.

All three instinctively faced seaward – as they did so, exclaiming —

"Poor Old Bill!"

"In troth, we might have brought him along with us!" suggested Terence, as soon as he had recovered his wind; "might we not?"

"If we had but known it was so short a swim," said Harry, "it is possible."

"How about our trying to swim back? Do you think we could do it?"

"Impossible!" asserted Colin.

"What, Colin, you are the best swimmer of us all! Do you say so?" asked the others, eager to make an effort for saving the old salt, who had been the favorite of every officer aboard the ship.

"I say impossible," replied the cautious Colin; "I would risk as much as any of you, but there is not a reasonable chance of saving him, and what's the use of trying impossibilities? We'd better make sure that we're safe ourselves. There may be more deep water between us and the shore. Let us keep on till we've set our feet on something more like terra firma."

The advice of the young Scotchman was too prudent to be rejected; and all three, once more turning their faces shoreward, continued to advance in that direction.

They only knew that they were facing shoreward by the inflow of the tide, but certain that this would prove a tolerably safe guide, they kept boldly on, without fear of straying from the track.

For a while they waded; but, as their progress was both slower and more toilsome, they once more betook themselves to swimming. Whenever they felt fatigued by either mode of progression, they changed to the other; and partly by wading and partly by swimming, they passed through another mile of the distance that separated them from the shore. The water then became so shallow, that swimming was no longer possible; and they waded on, with eyes earnestly piercing the darkness, each moment expecting to see something of the land.

They were soon to be gratified by having this expectation realized. The curving lines that began to glimmer dimly through the obscurity, were the outlines of rounded objects that could not be ocean waves. They were too white for these. They could only be the sand-hills, which they had seen before the going down of the sun. As they were now but knee-deep in the water, and the night was still misty and dark, these objects could be at no great distance, and deep water need no longer be dreaded.

The three castaways considered themselves as having reached the shore.

Harry and Terence were about to continue on to the beach, when Colin called to them to come to a stop.

"Why?" inquired Harry.

"What for?" asked Terence.

"Before touching dry land," suggested the thoughtful Colin, "suppose we decide what has been the fate of poor Old Bill."

"How can we tell that?" interrogated the other two.

"Stand still awhile; we shall soon see whether his head is yet above water."

Harry and Terence consented to the proposal of their comrade, but without exactly comprehending its import.

"What do you mean, Coley?" asked the impatient Hibernian.

"To see if the tide's still rising," was the explanation given by the Scotch youth.

"And what if it be?" demanded Terence.

"Only, that if it be, we will never more see the old sailor in the land of the living. We may look for his lifeless corpse after it has been washed ashore."

"Ah! I comprehend you," said Terence.

"You're right," added Harry. "If the tide be still rising, Old Bill is under it by this time. I dare say his body will drift ashore before morning."

They stood still, – all three of them. They watched the water, as it rippled up against their limbs, taking note of its ebbing and flowing. They watched with eyes full of anxious solicitude. They continued this curious vigil for full twenty minutes. They would have patiently prolonged it still further had it been necessary. But it was not. No further observation was required to convince them that the tidal current was still carried towards the shore; and that the water was yet deepening around them.

The data thus obtained were sufficient to guide them to the solution of the sad problem. During that interval, while they were swimming and wading across the bay, the tide must have been continually on the increase. It must have risen at least a yard. A foot would be sufficient to have submerged the sailor: since he could not swim. There was but one conclusion to which they could come. Their companion must have been drowned.

With heavy hearts they turned their faces toward the shore, – thinking more of the sad fate of the sailor than their own future.

Scarce had they proceeded a dozen steps, when a shout, heard from behind, caused them to come to a sudden stop.

"Avast there!" cried a voice that seemed to rise from out the depths of the sea.

"It's Bill!" exclaimed all three in the same breath.

"'Old on my 'arties, if that's yerselves that I see!" continued the voice. "Arrah, 'old on there. I'm so tired wadin', I want a short spell to rest myself. Wait now, and I'll come to yez, as soon as I can take a reef out of my tops'ls."

The joy caused by this greeting, great as it was, was scarce equal to the surprise it inspired. They who heard it were for some seconds incredulous. The sound of the sailor's voice, well known as it was, with something like the figure of a human being dimly seen through the uncertain mist that shadowed the surface of the water was proof that he still lived; while, but the moment before, there appeared substantial proof that he must have gone to the bottom. Their incredulity even continued, till more positive evidence to the contrary came before them, in the shape of the old man-o'-war's-man himself; who, rapidly splashing through the more shallow water, in a few seconds stood face to face with the three brave boys whom he had so lately urged to abandon him.

"Bill, is it you?" cried all three in a breath.

"Auch! and who else would yez expect it to be? Did yez take me for 'ould Neptune risin' hout of the say? Or did yez think I was a mare-maid? Gee me a grip o' yer wee fists, ye bonny boys. Ole Bill warn't born to be drowned!"

"But how did ye come, Bill? The tide's been rising ever since we left you."

"Oh!" said Terence, "I see how it is, the bay isn't so deep after all: you've waded all the way."

"Avast there, master Terry! not half the way, though I've waded part of it. There's wather between here and where you left me, deep enough to dhrown Phil Macool. I didn't crass the bay by wading at all – at all."

"How then?"

"I was ferried on a nate little craft – as yez all knows of – the same that carried us safe to the sand-spit."

"The spar?"

"Hexactly as ye say. Just as I was about to gee my last gasp, something struck me on the back o' the head, making me duck under the wather. What was that but the tops'l yard. Hech! I was na long in mountin' on to it. I've left it out there afther I feeled my toes trailin' along the bottom. Now, my bonny babies, that's how Old Bill's been able to rejoin ye. Flippers all round once more; and then let's see what sort o' a shore we've got to make port upon."

An enthusiastic shake of the hands passed between the old sailor and his youthful companions; after which the faces of all were turned towards the shore, still only dimly distinguishable, and uninviting as seen, but more welcome to the sight than the wilderness of water stretching as if to infinity behind them.

CHAPTER IX.
UNCOMFORTABLE QUARTERS

The waders had still some distance to go before reaching dry land; but, after splashing for about twenty minutes longer, they at length stood upon the shore. As the tide was still flowing in they continued up the beach; so as to place themselves beyond the reach of the water, in the event of its rising still higher.

They had to cross a wide stretch of wet sand before they could find a spot sufficiently elevated to secure them against the further influx of the tide. Having, at length, discovered such a spot, they stopped to deliberate on what was best to be done.

They would fain have had a fire to dry their dripping garments: for the night had grown chilly under the influence of the fog.

The old sailor had his flint, steel, and tinder – the latter still safe in its water-tight tin box; but there was no fuel to be found near. The spar, even could they have broken it up, was still floating, or stranded, in the shoal water – more than a mile to seaward.

In the absence of a fire they adopted the only other mode they could think of to get a little of the water out of their clothes. They stripped themselves to the skin, wrung out each article separately; and then, giving each a good shake, put them on again – leaving it to the natural warmth of their bodies to complete the process of drying.

By the time they had finished this operation, the mist had become sensibly thinner; and the moon, suddenly emerging from under a cloud, enabled them to obtain a better view of the shore upon which they had set foot.

Landward, as far as they could see, there appeared to be nothing but white sand – shining like silver under the light of the moon. Up and down the coast the same landscape could be dimly distinguished.

It was not a level surface that was thus covered with sand, but a conglomeration of hillocks and ridges, blending into each other and forming a labyrinth, that seemed to stretch interminably on all sides – except towards the sea itself.

It occurred to them to climb to the highest of the hillocks. From its summit they would have a better view of the country beyond; and perhaps discover a place suitable for an encampment – perhaps some timber might then come into view – from which they would be able to obtain a few sticks.

On attempting to scale the "dune," they found that their wading was not yet at an end. Though no longer in the water, they sank to their knees at every step, in soft yielding sand.

The ascent of the hillock, though scarce a hundred feet high, proved exceedingly toilsome – much more so than wading knee-deep in water – but they floundered on, and at length reached the summit.

To the right, to the left, in front of them, far as the eye could reach, nothing but hills and ridges of sand – that appeared under the moonlight of a whiteness approaching to that of snow. In fact, it would not have been difficult to fancy that the country was covered with a heavy coat of snow – as often seen in Sweden, or the Northern parts of Scotland – drifted into "wreaths," and spurred hillocks of every imaginable form.

It was pretty, but soon became painful from its monotony; and the eyes of that shipwrecked quartette were even glad to turn once more to the scarce less monotonous blue of the ocean.

Inland, they could perceive other sand-hills – higher than that to which they had climbed – and long crested "combings," with deep valleys between; but not one object to gladden their sight – nothing that offered promise of either food, drink, or shelter.

Had it not been for their fatigue they might have gone farther. Since the moon had consented to show herself, there was light enough to travel by; and they might have proceeded on – either through the sand-dunes or along the shore. But of the four there was not one – not even the tough old tar himself – who was not regularly done up, both with weariness of body and spirit. The short slumber upon the spit – from which they had been so unexpectedly startled – had refreshed them but little; and, as they stood upon the summit of the sand-hill, all four felt as if they could drop down, and go to sleep on the instant.

It was a couch sufficiently inviting, and they would at once have availed themselves of it, but for a circumstance that suggested to them the idea of seeking a still better place for repose.

The land wind was blowing in from the ocean; and, according to the forecast of Old Bill – a great practical meteorologist, – it promised ere long to become a gale. It was already sufficiently violent – and chill to boot – to make the situation on the summit of the dune anything but comfortable. There was no reason why they should make their couch upon that exposed prominence. Just on the landward side of the hillock itself – below, at its base – they perceived a more sheltered situation; and why not select that spot for their resting place?

There was no reason why they should not. Old Bill proposed it; there was no opposition offered by his young companions, – and, without further parley, the four went floundering down the sloping side of the sand-hill, into the sheltered convexity at its base.

On arriving at the bottom, they found themselves in the narrowest of ravines. The hillock from which they had descended was but the highest summit of a long ridge, trending in the same direction as the coast. Another ridge, of about equal height, ran parallel to this on the landward side. The bases of the two approached so near, that their sloping sides formed an angle with each other. On account of the abrupt acclivity of both, this angle was almost acute, and the ravine between the two resembled a cavity out of which some great wedge had been cut, – like a section taken from the side of a gigantic melon.

It was in this re-entrant angle that the castaways found themselves, after descending the side of the dune, and where they had proposed spending the remainder of the night.

They were somewhat disappointed on reaching their sleeping-quarters, and finding them so limited as to space. In the bottom of the ravine there was not breadth enough for a bed, – even for the shortest of the party, – supposing him desirous of sleeping in a horizontal position.

There were not six feet of surface – nor even three – that could strictly be called horizontal. Even longitudinally, the bottom of the "gully" had a sloping inclination: for the ravine itself tended upwards, until it became extinguished in the convergence of its inclosing ridges.

On discovering the unexpected "strait" into which they had launched themselves, our adventurers were for a time nonplussed. They felt inclined to proceed farther in search of a "better bed," but their weariness outweighed this inclination; and, after some hesitation, they resolved to remain in the "ditch," into which they had so unwillingly descended. They proceeded therefore to encouch themselves.

Their first attempt was made by placing themselves in a half-standing position – their backs supported upon the sloping side of one of the ridges, with their feet resting against the other. So long as they kept awake, this position was both easy and pleasant; but the moment any one of them closed his eyes in sleep, – and this was an event almost instantaneous, – his muscles, relaxed by slumber, would no longer have the strength to sustain him; and the consequence would be an uncomfortable collapse to the bottom of the "gully," where anything like a position of repose was out of the question.

This vexatious interruption of their slumbers happening repeatedly, at length roused all four to take fresh counsel as to choosing a fresh couch.

Terence had been especially annoyed by these repeated disturbances; and proclaimed his determination not to submit to them any longer. He would go in search of more "comfortable quarters."

He had arisen to his feet, and appeared in the act of starting off.

"We had better not separate," suggested Harry Blount. "If we do, we may find it difficult to come together again."

"There's something in what you say, Hal," said the young Scotchman. "It will not do for us to lose sight of one another. What does Bill say to it?"

"I say, stay here," put in the voice of the sailor. "It won't do to stray the wan from the t'other. No, it won't. Let us hold fast, thin, where we're already belayed."

"But who the deuce can sleep here?" remonstrated the son of Erin. "A hard-worked horse can sleep standing; and so can an elephant, they say; but, for me, I'd prefer six feet of the horizontal – even if it were a hard stone – to this slope of the softest sand."

"Stay, Terry!" cried Colin. "I've captured an idea."

"Ah! you Scotch are always capturing something – whether it be an idea, a flea, or the itch. Let's hear what it is."

"After that insult to ma kintree," good-humoredly rejoined Colin, "I dinna know whuther I wull."

"Come, Colin," interrupted Harry Blount, "if you've any good counsel to give us, pray don't withhold it. We can't get sleep, standing at an angle of forty-five degrees. Why should we not try to change our position by seeking another place?"

"Well, Harry, as you have made the request, I'll tell you what's just come into my mind. I only feel astonished it didn't occur to any of us sooner."

"Mother av Moses!" cried Terence, jocularly adopting his native brogue; "and why don't you out with it at wanse? – you Scatch are the thrue rid-tape of society."

"Never mind, Colly!" interposed Blount; "there's no time to listen to Terry's badinage. We're all too sleepy for jesting; tell us what you've got in your mind."

"All of ye do as you see me, and, I'll be your bail, ye'll sleep sound till the dawn o' the day. Good night!"

As Colin pronounced the salutation he sank down to the bottom of the ravine, where, stretched longitudinally, he might repose without the slightest danger of being awakened by slipping from his couch.

On seeing him thus disposed, the others only wondered they had not thought of the thing before.

They were too sleepy to speculate long upon their own thoughtlessness; and one after the other, imitating the example set them by the young Scotchman, laid their bodies lengthwise along the bottom of the ravine, and entered upon the enjoyment of a slumber from which all the kettle-drums in creation would scarce have awaked them.