THE REVENUE CUTTER
The story told by Ben Wrensch--for such proved to be the name of the
lonely sailor-cannot be set down as he told it. In the first place,
there was little of chronological order about it, and in the second
place he was interrupted so often by Cora, or one of the others,
asking questions, or he interrupted himself so frequently, that it
would be but a disjointed narrative at best. So, I have seen fit to
abridge it, and tell it in my own.
As a matter of fact, the questions Cora, her girl chums, or the boys
asked, only tended to throw more light on the strange affair, whereas
the interruptions of Ben himself were more dramatic. He was so
afraid that it was all a dream that, he would awaken from it only to
find himself alone again.
"But you are real, aren't you, now?" he would ask, pathetically.
"Of course," said Cora, with a gentle smile.
"And you won't go away and leave me, as the others did?" he begged,
but he did not couple Slim Jim with one of those. In fact, he did
not pay much attention to the negro, for which Jim, a rather
superstitious chap, was very grateful.
"Certainly we won't leave you here," Jack said. "We'll take you
wherever you want to go, Ben."
"That's good. Well, as I was saying--" and then he would resume his
interrupted narrative.
So, instead of telling his "yarn" in that fashion, I have sought to
save your time and interest by condensing it.
Up to the time of the hurricane, which caught the Ramona in rather a
bad stretch of water, there was nothing that need be set down. The
vessel bearing the mother of Jack and Cora, and the parents of the
Robinson twins, had gone on her way, until the sudden bursting of the
storm, with unusual tropical fury, had thrown the seas against and
over the craft with smashing fury. Boats and parts of the railing
and netting, had been carried away, and one or two sailors washed
overboard.
Then had come the mutiny, if such it could be called--an uprising of
some of the sailors, driven to almost insane anger because of the
refusal of the captain to put into a port, the harbor of which could
not be made in such a sea as was running, nor in the teeth of such
furious wind. The only thing to do was to scud before the gale, with
the engines and crew doing what they could.
There had been an incipient panic, and a rush for the boats quelled
hardly in time, for some had been lowered, and swamped and others had
gotten away.
There was an exchange of shots between the captain and some of the
mutineers, and, as our friends knew, one sailor, at least, was
wounded, though whether by the captain or by the mutineers was
uncertain.
Ben Wrensch, who appeared of better character than the usual run of
West Indian sailors, had his share in the mutiny--that is, he refused
to take sides with the small part of the crew who berated the captain
for something he could not do. He had sided with the small part of
the crew who remained loyal.
"And what did they do to you?" asked Jack. For the man had come to a
pause, after describing how many shouted that the ship was
foundering.
"The rascals drove me and some of the other to a boat, and lowered us
away," was the answer. "They said they didn't want us aboard. I
guess they was afraid we'd give evidence against them, if we ever got
the chance, and so I would."
"And did you land here?" asked Cora, indicating the lonely isle.
"Not at first, Miss. We tossed about in the boat and the sea got
higher and the wind stronger. And how it did rain! It seemed to
beat right through your skin. The rain helped to keep the seas down,
but not much. It was fearful!"
He then went on to tell how, after laboring hard in the darkness of
the night, the boat he was in (five other sailors being his
companions) was swamped by a huge wave. He was tossed into the sea,
and must have been rendered unconscious by a blow on the head, for he
remembered nothing more until he found himself being washed back and
forth on the beach by the waves, and at last had understanding and
strength enough to crawl up beyond the reach of the water.
So he had come to Lonely Island. And there he had existed ever
since.
Some few things--including the cap that had been of such value to our
friends--had been washed ashore from the boat, or otherwise Ben might
have starved at first, for he was too weak to hunt for food.
Gradually he regained the power to help himself.
He found mussels clinging to the rocks, he gathered some turtles
eggs, and was lucky enough to kill a bird with a stone. On such food
he lived. For shelter he made himself a hut of bark and vines, and
so the days passed in loneliness.
It had not taken him long to find that he was the only inhabitant of
Lonely Island. He alone, of the company in the boat, had come ashore
to be saved.
Of the time he spent on the island you would not be interested to
hear. One day was like another, save as he had better or worse luck
in providing food. His great anxiety was to be taken off and to this
end he made a signal, but it was a small one, and it is doubtful it
would ever have been seen.
Gradually his hardships, his exposure and the loneliness preyed on
him until he was well-nigh insane. He became almost like an animal
in his fight against nature.
He was on the verge of madness when he saw the boat load of fishermen
approaching for water, and it was his queer actions that drove them
off. In his despair he threw his cap at them, the most fortunate
thing he could have done.
"And now you come to me!" he said, simply.
"Yes, we're here," admitted Jack. "But can you give us any more news
of the Ramona? That is what we want to know. Which way was she
headed when you were forced to leave her? Have you any idea where
she is now?"
"She was headed southeast," was the answer.
"And how long would you say she could keep afloat?" Walter wanted to
know.
"She ought to be afloat now!" was the startling reply.
"Now!" cried Jack. "What do you mean?"
"Why, she was in no danger of sinking," Ben went on, and Cora and the
girls felt new hope springing up in their hearts.
"Are you sure of this?" demanded Jack.
"Very sure; yes. I was below just before I was forced into the small
boat, and there wasn't a plate sprung. The engines were in good
order and if the mutineers hadn't raised a hue and cry, everything
would have been all right. But they wanted their way, for their own
ends, I fancy."
"Meaning what?" asked Jack.
"That they were glad of any excuse to seize the ship. I overheard
some of their plans. They would have done it, storm or no storm.
There was a plot to take the Ramona, put off all who would be in the
way, take her to some port, change her name and engage her in what
amounted to piracy."
"The plotters were going to do this?" cried Walter, aghast.
"Yes, and the storm only egged them on. It was their opportunity."
"Then the Ramona may be afloat now?" demanded Cora.
"She very likely is, Miss, I should say. A little damaged perhaps,
but not more than could be."
"And what of the passengers?" asked Bess.
"Well, they're either aboard her, as prisoners, or have thrown their
lot in with the mutineers, or--"
He did not go on.
"Well?" asked Jack, grimly.
"Or they were put adrift, as I was," went on Ben.
"But you did not see that happen?" asked Cora, for the story was
nearing its end now.
"No, Miss, I didn't see that. When I was put overboard, all the
passengers--and there weren't many of them--were still aboard."
"Did you see any of them?" asked Bess.
"Oh, yes, Miss. All of 'em, I fancy."
"My father and mother--"
Ben described, as well as he could, the various characteristics and
appearances of the Ramona's passengers, and Mrs. Kimball and Mr. and
Mrs. Robinson were easily recognized.
"Then we must still keep on searching for them," decided Jack, at the
conclusion of the narrative. "We'll just have to keep on!"
"It looks so," admitted Cora.
"Oh, we mustn't think of giving up!" cried Bess. "I know my father.
He just wouldn't give in to those horrid mutineers, and he wouldn't
throw in his fortunes with them, either. I can't explain it, but,
somehow I feel more hopeful than at any time yet, that they are all
right--Papa and Mamma, and your mother, too, Cora."
"I am glad you think so, dear. I haven't given up either. But let's
get away from here, Jack."
"That's what I say!" murmured Belle, with a little nervous shiver.
"This place gives me such a creepy feeling."
"You might well say so, Miss," put in Ben. "That is, if you had to
stay here all along, as I did, with nothing but them parrot birds
screeching at you all day long. It was awful!"
There was no use in staying longer on Lonely Island, and Ben Wrensch
was only too glad to be taken from it. At first the motor girls
talked of taking him with them, on the remainder of the cruise, but,
as Jack pointed out, there was no need of this.
He could give no further information as to the location of the
Ramona, providing the steamer still was afloat. And he would only be
an added, and comparatively useless, passenger. He was not exactly
the sort of personage one would desire in the rather cramped quarters
of the Tartar, though he was kind and obliging. He would be better
off ashore, for the time being, where he could get medical treatment.
So the big motor boat swept out of the blue lagoon, and headed for
St. Kitts, for it was planned to leave Ben, and once more take up the
search.
They had not been under way more than an hour, however, before Jack,
who was steering, uttered a cry.
"There's a boat cording toward us!" he said. "She seems to be a
small launch."
"Yes, and she's signaling to us!" added Walter. "She wants to speak
with us!"
Joe came up from the motor room, and looked long and earnestly at the
approaching craft.
"That's an English revenue cutter," he said, "and she's in a hurry,
too."
"I wonder what she can want with us," mused Jack, as he ordered a
signal to be run up on the small mast, indicating that they would
speak to the approaching craft.