"What is it, Ben?" asked William, in a voice husky and hoarse, from the
parched throat through which it had to pass. "You look pleased like; do
you see anything?"
"I see that, boy," replied the sailor, pointing up into the sky.
"What? I see nothing there except that great cloud that has just passed
over the sun. What is there in that?"
"Ay, what is there in't? That's just what I'm tryin' to make out,
Will'm; an' if I'm not mistaken, boy, there's it 't the very thing as we
both wants."
"Water!" gasped William, his eyes lighting up with gleam of hope. "A
rain-cloud you think, Ben?"
"I'm a'most sure o't, Will'm. I never seed a bank o' clouds like them
there wasn't some wet in; and if the wind 'll only drift 'em this way,
we may get a shower 'll be the savin' o' our lives. O Lord! in thy
mercy look down on us, and send 'em over us!"
The boy echoed the prayer.
"See!" cried the sailor. "The wind is a fetchin' them this way.
Yonder's more o' the same sort risin' up in the west, an' that's the
direction from which it's a-blowin'. Ho! As I live, Will'm, there's
rain. I can see by the mist it's a-fallin' on the water yonder. It's
still far away,--twenty mile or so,--but that's nothing; an' if the wind
holds good in the same quarter, it _must_ come this way."
"But if it did, Ben," said William, doubtingly, "what good would it do
us? We could not drink much of the rain as it falls, and you know we
have nothing in which to catch a drop of it."
"But we have, boy,--we have our clothes and our shirts. If the rain
comes, it will fall like it always does in these parts, as if it were
spillin' out o' a strainer. We'll be soakin' wet in five minutes' time;
and then we can wring all out,--trousers, shirts, and every rag we've
got."
"But we have no vessel, Ben,--what could we wring the water into?"
"Into our months first: after that--ah! it be a pity. I never thought
o't. We won't be able to save a drop for another time. Any rate, if we
could only get one good quenchin', we might stand it several days
longer. I fancy we might catch some fish, if we were only sure about
the water. Yes, the rain's a-comin' on. Look at yon black clouds; and
see, there's lightning forkin' among 'em. That 's a sure sign it's
raining. Let's strip, and spread out our shirts so as to have them
ready."
As Ben uttered this admonition he was about proceeding to pull off his
pea-jacket, when an object came before his eyes causing him to desist.
At the same instant an exclamatory phrase escaping from his lips
explained to his companion why he had thus suddenly changed his
intention. The phrase consisted of two simple words, which written as
pronounced by Ben were, "Thee tarpolin."
Little William knew it was "the tarpauling" that was meant. He could
not be mistaken about that; for, even had he been ignorant of the
sailor's pronunciation of the words, the latter at that moment stood
pointing to the piece of tarred canvas spread upright between the oars;
and which had formerly served as a covering for the after-hatch of the
_Pandora_. William did not equally understand why his companion was
pointing to it.
He was not left long in ignorance.
"Nothing to catch the water in? That's what you sayed, little Will'm?
What do ye call that, my boy?"
"Oh!" replied the lad, catching at the idea of the sailor. "You mean--"
"I mean, boy, that there's a vessel big enough to hold gallons,--a dozen
o' 'em."
"You think it would hold water?"
"I'm sure o't, lad. For what else be it made waterproof? I helped tar
it myself not a week ago. It'll hold like a rum-cask, I warrant,--ay,
an' it'll be the very thing to catch it too. We can keep it spread out
a bit wi' a hollow place in the middle, an' if it do rain, there then,--
my boy, we'll ha' a pool big enough to swim ye in. Hurrah! it's sure to
rain. See yonder. It be comin' nearer every minute. Let's be ready
for it. Down wi' the mainsail. Let go the sheets,--an' instead o'
spreadin' our canvas to the wind, as the song says, we'll stretch it out
to the rain. Come, Will'm, let's look alive!"
William had by this time also risen to his feet; and both now busied
themselves in unlashing the cords that had kept the hatch-covering
spread between the two oars.
This occupied only a few seconds of time; and the tarpauling soon lay
detached between the extemporised masts, that were still permitted to
remain as they had been "stepped."
At first the sailor had thought of holding the piece of tarred canvas in
their hands; but having plenty of time to reflect, a better plan
suggested itself. So long as it should be thus held, they would have no
chance of using their hands for any other purpose; and would be in a
dilemma as to how they should dispose of the water after having
"captured it."
It did not require much ingenuity to alter their programme for the
better. By means of the flying-jib that lay along the raft, they were
enabled to construct a ridge of an irregular circular shape; and then
placing the tarpauling upon the top, and spreading it out so that its
edges lapped over this ridge, they formed a deep concavity or "tank" in
the middle, which was capable of holding many gallons of water.
It only remained to examine the canvas, and make sure there were no
rents or holes by which the water might escape. This was done with all
the minuteness and care that the circumstances called for; and when the
sailor at length became satisfied that the tarpauling was waterproof, he
took the hand of his youthful _protege_ in his own, and both kneeling
upon the raft, with their faces turned towards the west watched the
approach of those dark, lowering clouds, as if they had been
bright-winged angels sent from the far sky to deliver them from
destruction.