_THE BALLOON HAD BURST IN MID AIR_
The people of the unfortunate ship _Zingara_ had now lain for more than
a year and a half Crusoes in this dreary dark ocean, and food itself
began to grow scarce. All that it was possible to do was done in order
to eke out the store, by eating such fish and crustacea as they could
find among the weeds.
I have not yet described the weeds, nor need I court classical
preciseness in doing so. But there are five or six different species.
The principal of these, and the largest, is of immense length, toothed
and serrated. It seems to grow from a short stalk, with roots that may
or may not have been torn off from the rocks of continents or islands.
Be this as it may, it here lives and floats, with the aid of small
bladders called berries, and it affords refuge, food, and sustenance to
myriads of strange creatures. Not only is this so, but other weeds grow
on it, and some of these our heroes found edible and palatable, whether
eaten cooked or raw. But other species were independent of their
gigantic brothers, and lived a wholly independent life, having bunches
of bladders to support them, like clusters of grapes.
* * * * *
Not only were stores now getting short on board ship, but coals as well,
so that the outlook was becoming black and dreary in the extreme.
Antonio often broke down in spirits, and gave way to fits of melancholy
in his own cabin by night, but he was always the same pleased and
pleasant though weird wee man by day, especially at table.
And in the evening, with his darling guitar on his breast, he excelled
himself if possible. No one to see him then could have believed that he
saw only starvation and death ahead, and that he entertained scarcely
the slightest hope of delivery from this living grave.
He made a balloon ascent about once a week, however, hoping against
hope, as it were, that the great sea of weeds might open up, as does an
icepack in the Arctic Ocean, and thus afford them a free passage.
But he saw no chance, and no change. They were still a hundred miles at
least from the sea, whose blue waves, sparkling in the sunshine, looked
so tantalising through the telescope.
The sea-gulls and birds of every sort used to come round the ship now
daily, to pick up refuse and crumbs that had been thrown on board. They
became indeed marvellously tame. Now, strange to say, many of these
were birds of Britain, and like all Britons, birds of passage as well.
They would return to their homes on the rocks around England and Bonnie
Scotland.
I was going to say happy homes, but drew rein in time, for, alas! they
are not always happy, owing to the perpetual murder that goes on around
our shores, by which, at the hands of shop-boys and cads with guns, the
beautiful birds are killed and maimed without mercy.
“I think,” said Barclay Stuart one morning, “that Davie and I have
devised a means of communicating with the outer world which may result
in our salvation.”
“Well, dearie, I’m rejoiced to hear it. What is the scheme?”
“You know, sir, that many of the black or white-headed gulls, and the
skuas and kittiwakes as well, are British birds, and that they will soon
perhaps take their departure.”
“Yes, they don’t build here, and spring--the English spring--will soon
be smiling in our own dear country.”
“Well then, Davie and I propose catching those birds by the score and
tying to their legs little messages in quills. If only one of all we
send off--and we purpose sending hundreds--if only one is shot by those
murdering ’longshore chaps, it may result in relief coming to us in a
few months’ time.”
Antonio smiled, somewhat sadly it must be allowed.
“Don’t you like the plan?”
“I like anything that will give us even the off-chance of getting clear
away, out of this black and dreary sea.”
“Hurrah!” cried Barclay; “then I’ll go and tell Davie Drake.”
And away he went.
He found Davie with Sister Leona and Teenie;--the latter, by the way,
was now in her fourteenth year, but still the innocent baby, the
fascinating child she had always been.
“Well, and what says the captain?”
“Oh, he gives us full permission, and we had better start at once.”
“There will be no fishing to-day, Teenie.”
“But what’s you going to do?”
“Why, to catch lovely gulls and make postmen of them.”
“Make postmen of them?”
“Yes, dear; you shall see. We are going to send them with letters to
England.”
“And will they bring letters back?”
“I fear not, but they may send out ships to our relief. Do you
understand?”
“Now, Sister Leona, you must assist. You can write even smaller and
clearer than we can.”
“Perhaps.”
“All we need to say is, ‘British ship _Zingara_ cast away. Sea of
Sargasso. Lat. ----. Long. ----. (I must get this exact from the captain.)
Stores done. Must soon die if no relief.’
“We have hundreds of quills. A little string must be rove through these
first, to tie to the birdie’s thigh, then the message put in, and the
quill sealed at both ends with red wax.”
“Why red wax, Barclay?” asked Teenie.
“Why, dear, because it will be more easily seen.”
Even Leona saw a ray of hope in the plan, and entered into it with great
spirit. All that day and all the next the two young men, with Leona, and
sometimes Antonio, sat writing the tiny messages, and sealing them up
ready for the little _voyageurs_.
The worst of it was that these would choose their own time of departure,
but it was considered that as spring was not far off, instinct would
cause them to hie away home to the shores of England, Scotland, and
Ireland.
By evening tide on the third day they had nearly three hundred quills
loaded and sealed and ready for their bearers.
How to catch the birds would have been a puzzle to many; but our young
heroes had been instructed by Antonio long ago, and the plan adopted was
as simple as it was effective.
A piece of board with a long loose string attached to it was thrown
about thirty yards astern of the ship, the bird catcher abaft the
binnacle holding the end of the line in his hand. Then morsels of food
were thrown down between the floating board and the ship.
The gulls have eyes like eagles, and they soon came swooping around tack
and half-tack. Suddenly the line would be slackened, and almost to a
certainty a bird would get entangled by the wings. He was drawn gently
on board. If a foreign bird, he was immediately thrown into the air; if
a British, he was allowed to run about the deck, for curiously enough
they were unable to raise themselves on their wings, owing to the motion
perhaps, which invariably made them sea-sick.
When about a dozen were captured, then one by one they were taken in
hand and had a quill attached to them, then thrown up into the air.
Teenie never failed to kiss each bird on the poll, and sent all sorts of
kind messages to her daddy and mammy, and they were to be sure to fly
straight to Fisherton and deliver their letters.
But I feel certain that the prayers of every one on board went with
those bonnie birds.
It is strange but true, that the gulls that had once been caught never
returned to the _Zingara_ again.
In less than two weeks no fewer than four hundred messages had been sent
off.
“Surely,” thought our heroes, “one will be found.”
But Antonio when appealed to only answered--
“If it is God’s will, dearie, your plan will be successful.”
* * * * *
The open water near to which the _Zingara_ was anchored on the sandbank,
or rather bank of clay, was the constant resort of birds of every
description, and strange fishes too. More than one whale with calves had
come to bask in the sunshine here, and sharks were very common.
Shoals of porpoises too would suddenly appear, splashing and dashing,
and making the water boil with the motion their gambols excited. They
even emitted a kind of cooing sound, but finally they disappeared as
suddenly as they had come.
Barclay, with the weed-cutting boat, had forced his way into this
strange open lake several times, and marvelled to find that the water
was at least ten degrees warmer in the centre than it was around the
ship. He marvelled more one day when all around him, right in the midst
of the lake, the water began to bubble. At the same time deep submarine
muffled thunders could be heard, and a strong sulphureous gas filled all
the air around.
This spot had, no doubt, been at one time an oceanic volcano, and it
might burst out at any time.
* * * * *
One day while fishing with deep-sea lines in this open lake, Barclay saw
the balloon slowly ascend from the ship, with Antonio alone on board.
It passed over the boat, and the captain waved his handkerchief and
looked down. He was answered by a heartfelt lusty cheer, for there was
not a man now in the boat who did not love and revere their weird wee
captain.
Barclay continued to fish, while Teenie, who seemed to be in a
peculiarly happy frame of mind to-day, lolled back among the cushions,
and sung sweet little songs to the crew, accompanying herself on the
mandoline.
This was certainly idyllic, and the day was glorious. Not too hot
either, for fleecy little cloudlets shaded them from the fiercer rays of
sunshine.
Barclay was on good terms with himself, for he had hauled in some lordly
cod and other edible fishes, with which the sea here literally swarmed.
Fishing was continued for at least two hours. Teenie had ceased to sing
and play, and the mandoline lay quietly on her breast, while with head
thrown back and rosy parted lips, she had fallen fast asleep.
A beautiful child never looks more beautiful than in the innocence of
healthful slumber.
Barclay was looking at her, and he suddenly made a discovery. It was
this: he loved this little fisher lass. Only a boy’s love, we may grant,
but it had raised a heaven in his heart that never was there before.
He could not help wondering to himself if, when older, she would retain
her soft and marvellous beauty, and if she would continue to love him as
he knew she did now. I cannot explain this, but tell you for a fact,
that Barclay would rather have died with Teenie now, than live to see
her grow up and, mayhap, confer her affections on another.
And still gazing on her, but turning his thoughts inwards, this strange
boy began to pray. I wish every boy who reads my stories were like him,
for he went to the Father with every trouble he had, no matter how
trivial, and he never left without a feeling of hope and comfort.
To-day Barclay was still deep in thought, and the men were lying on
their oars simply waiting for orders, when suddenly there came a bolt
from the blue, as it were. High up in the air a shot seemed to have been
fired that shook even the boat. One startled glance upwards revealed the
terrible fact that the balloon had burst in mid air, and was all in rags
and tatters, while with inconceivable swiftness downwards rushed the
basket, with Antonio clinging to it.
The balloon must have been fully 1500 feet high in air when it burst,
and it seemed that nothing could save poor Antonio.
No wonder that the men’s gaze was riveted to the swift-descending wreck.
Barclay clutched the side of the boat and held his breath as if
spell-bound, while a strange kind of sickness, born perhaps of this new
terror, came creeping over his heart.
Teenie had awoke, and was weeping low to herself.
For just a moment Barclay thought he was about to faint.
But when at last the wreck struck the sea with a sounding thud, all
feeling of fear and sickness was banished as if by magic.
“Give way, lads; give way,” he cried. “We may at least save the body of
our captain from the sharks.”
The men gave way with a will.
The wreck of the balloon had fallen within seventy yards of them.
It was a race between the boat and the horrid _Squalidæ_ (sharks of
different kinds) that infested the warm lake.
Antonio’s body was floating on its back, and he looked peaceful and
asleep.
It was saved only just in time.
One of the black men brought the whole weight of a cannibal’s battle-axe
club and his own immense strength to bear upon a hammer-headed shark
that had sprung from the depths to seize what he took for his lawful
prize, and next moment the hideous creature floated dead on the surface
of the water.