Despondency cannot endure forever. Kind Nature has not ordained that it
should be so. It may have its periods, longer or shorter as the case
may be; but always to be succeeded by intervals, if not of absolute
cheerfulness, at least of emotions less painful to endure.
About an hour after the going down of the sun, the spirits of those on
board the _Catamaran_ became partially freed from the weight that for
some time had been pressing upon them.
Of coarse this change was attributable to some cause; and as it was a
physical one, there could be no difficulty in tracing it.
It was simply the springing up of a breeze,--a fine breeze blowing
steadily, and to the west,--the very direction in which it was desirous
they should make way.
And they _did_ make way; the _Catamaran_, in spite of the terrible
"stab" she had received, scudding through the water, as if to show that
the assault of the sword-fish had in no way disabled her.
Motion has always a soothing effect upon anyone suffering from
despondent spirits; more especially when the movement is being made in
the right direction. A boat stationary in the water, or drifting the
wrong way against the stroke of the rower,--a railway carriage at a
stand, or gliding back to the platform, contrary to the direction in
which the traveller intends to go,--such experiences always produce a
feeling of irksome uneasiness. When either begins to progress in its
proper course,--no matter how slowly,--the unpleasant feeling instantly
passes away; for we know that we are going "onward!"
"Onward!" a word to cheer the drooping spirit,--a glorious word for the
despondent.
It was not that anyone on board the _Catamaran_ had the slightest idea
that that breeze would waft them to land; or even last long enough to
bear them many leagues over the ocean. It was the thought that they
were making progress in the right course,--going _onward_,--simply that
thought that cheered them.
It roused them from their despondency sufficiently to beget thoughts of
supper; and Snowball was seen starting up with some alacrity, and
scrambling towards his _stores_.
His "locker" lay amidships; and as he had not far to go, nor any great
variety of comestibles to choose from, he soon returned to the stern,--
near which the others were seated,--carrying in his outstretched claws
half a dozen of the "pickled" biscuits, and some morsels of cured fish.
It was a coarse and meagre meal; at which even a pauper would have
pouted his lips; but to those for whom it was intended it had relish
enough to make it not only acceptable, but welcome.
A greater delicacy was before their eyes, lying on the deck of the
_Catamaran_. That was the albacore,--a fish whose _flesh_ is equal in
excellence to that of any taken out of the ocean. But the flesh of the
albacore was _raw_; while that of Snowball's stock, if not cooked, was
at least cured; and this, in the opinion of the Catamarans, rendered it
more palatable.
With a little "Canary" to wash it down, it was not to be despised,--at
least, under the circumstances in which they were who supped upon it;
but the wine was sparingly distributed, and drunk with a large admixture
of water.
The bump of economy stood high upon the skull of the Coromantee.
Perhaps to this might be attributed the fact of his being still in
existence: since but for the industry he had exhibited in collecting his
stores, and his careful hoarding of them, he might, with his _protege_,
have long before succumbed to starvation.
While eating their frugal supper, Snowball expressed regret at not
having a fire,--upon which he might have cooked a cut from the albacore.
The _chef-de-caboose_ was not ignorant of the excellence of the fish.
He really felt regret,--less on his own account, than in consideration
of his _protege_, Lilly Lalee; whose palate he would fain have indulged
with something more delicate than sun-dried fish and salty biscuit.
But as fire was out of the question, he was compelled to forego the
pleasure of cooking Lalee's supper; and could only gain gratification by
giving to the girl more than her share of the sweet Canary.
Small as was the quantity distributed to each, it had the effect of
still further cheering them; and, after supper, they sat for some time
indulging in lighter converse than that to which they had lately
accustomed themselves.
"Somethin'" said the sailor, "seem to tell me--jest as if I heerd it in
a whisper--that we'll yet reach land, or come in sight o' a ship. I
doan' know what puts it in my head; unless it be because we've been so
many times near going down below, an' still we're above water yet, an' I
hope likely to keep so."
"Ya--ya! Massa Ben. We float yet,--we keep so long 's we kin,--dat fo'
sartin. We nebba say die,--long 's de _Catamaran_ hold togedda."
"I war 'stonished," continued the sailor, without heeding the odd
interpolation of the sea-cook, "wonderful 'stonished when that
flyin'-fish chucked itself aboard our bit o' plankin', an' it no bigger
than the combin' o' a hatchway. What kud 'a conducted it thear,--to
that spot above all others o' the broad ocean? What but the hand o'
that angel as sits up aloft? No, Snowy! ye may talk as ye like 'bout
your Duppys and Jumbes, and that other creetur ye call your Fetush; but
I tell ye, nigger, thear be somethin' up above us as is above all
them,--an' that's the God o' the Christyun. He be thear; and He sent
the flyin'-fish into our wee bit o' raft, and He sent the shower as
saved me and little Will'm from dyin' o' thust; and He it war that made
you an' me drift to'rds each other,--so as that we might work thegither
to get out o' this here scrape, as our own foolishness and wickedness
ha' got us into."
"Dat am de troof, Massa Brace, dat las' remark,--only not altogedder!
'T want altogedder our own fault dat brought us on board de slabe-ship
_Pandora_,--neider you not maseff. It mite a been our foolishness, dat
I do admit; but de wickedness war more de fault ob oder men, dat am
wickeder dan eider you or dis unfortunate Coromantee nigga."
"Never mind, Snowy," responded the sailor, "I know there be still some
good in ye; and maybe there be good in all o' us, to be favoured and
protected as we've been in the midst o' so many dangers. I think after
what's happened this day,--especially our escaping from that sharks an'
the long swim as we had to make after'ards,--we ought to be uncommon
thankful, and say somethin' to show it, too."
"Say something! say what, Massa Brace?"
"I mean a prayer."
"Prayer! wha's dat?"
"Surely, Snowy, you know what a prayer be?"
"Nebba heerd ob de ting,--nebba in all ma life!"
"Well, it be to say somethin' to Him as keeps watch up aloft,--either by
way o' askin' for somethin' you want to get, or thankin' Him for what
you ha' got arready. The first be called a prayer,--the t'other be a
thanksgivin'. Thear ain't much difference, as I could ever see; tho'
I've heerd the ship's chaplain go through 'em both,--ay, scores o'
times; but the one as we want now be the thanksgivin'; an' I know little
Will'm here can go through it like a breeze. Did you ever hear Will'm
pray, Snowy?"
"Nebba! I tell ye, Massa Brace, a nebba heer anybody pray in de fashun
you 'peak 'bout. Ob coas, I hab heer de nigga talk to da Fetish, de
which I, tho' I be a nigga maseff, nebba belieb'd in. Dis child no
belieb in anyting he no see, an' he see many ting he no belieb in."
To this frank confession of faith on the part of the Coromantee Ben made
no rejoinder that might signify either assent or opposition. His reply
was rather a continuation of the train of thought that had led to his
last interrogative.
"Ah, Snowy, if you heerd the lad! He do pray beautiful! Most equal to
the parson, as we had aboard the frigate; an' he warn't slow at it,
eyther. Do 'ee think, Will'm," continued the sailor, turning to the lad
with an inquiring look, "do 'ee think ye can remember that prayer as is
in the Church Sarvice, and which I've heerd the frigate chaplain go
through,--specially after a storm,--as speaks about deliverin' us from
all dangers by sea and by land? You've heerd it at home in the church.
D'ye think ye could gie it as?"
"O," answered William, "you mean the `Thanksgiving for Deliverance from
our Enemies.' Certainly I remember it. How could I forget what I've
heard so many Sundays in church, besides often on week-days at home? O
yes, Ben, I can repeat it, if you wish!"
"I do, lad. Gie it us, then. It may do good. At all events, we _owe_
it, for what's been done to us. So take a reef out o' your tongue, lad,
an' fire away!"
Notwithstanding the _bizarrerie_ of manner in which the request was
made, the boy-sailor hesitated not to comply with it; and turning
himself round upon his knees,--a movement imitated by all the others,--
he repeated that _thanksgiving_ of the Church Service, which, though
well-known, is fortunately only heard upon very unfrequent occasions.
The thanksgiving appeared an appropriate finale to the toils and dangers
of the day; and after it was offered up, Snowball, William, and Lalee
lay down to rest,--leaving Ben Brace to attend to the steering-oar, and
otherwise perform the duties of the dog-watch.