"Dangnation! it be the big raft."
Such was the singular speech that fell from the lips of the sailor, and
with an accent that proclaimed it ominous. And why ominous? Why should
the presence of that embarkation--known to them as the "big raft"--cause
apprehension to the crew of the _Catamaran_?
So far as Ben Brace and little William were concerned, the question has
been already answered. It may be remembered with what feelings of alarm
they first listened to the voices of Snowball and Lilly Lalee,--heard in
a similar manner during the darkness of the night,--and with what
suspicious caution they had made their approach to the Coromantee in the
middle of his casks. It may be remembered for what reason they were
thus suspicious, for it was then given,--a dread on the part of
William--and a great one, too--of being devoured by that cannibal crew;
and on the part of his generous protector a fear of becoming a victim to
their revenge.
The same motive for their fears still existed; and their apprehension of
being approached by the raft was as unabated as ever.
Snowball's dread of the _Pandora's_ people might not have been so acute,
but for a certain circumstance that came before his mind. He had been
made aware,--by sundry ill-usage he had received from the slaver's
captain and mate, just previous to the climax of the catastrophe,--that
he was himself regarded as the author of it. He knew he had been; and
he supposed that the thing must have become known to the rest of the
crew. He had not encountered them afterwards; and well had it been for
him,--for certainly they would have wreaked their vengeance upon him
without stint Snowball had sense enough to be aware of this; and
therefore his aversion to any further intercourse with the castaways of
the lost ship was quite as strong as that of either Ben Brace or the
boy.
As for Lilly Lalee, her fears were due to a less definite cause, and
only arose from observing the apprehension of her companions.
"De big raff," said Snowball, mechanically repeating the sailor's last
words. "You b'lieve 'im be dat, Massa Brace?"
"Shiver my timbers if I know what to think, Snowy! If it be that--"
"Ef 'im be dat, wha' den?" inquired the Coromantee, seeing that Brace
had stopped short in what he was going to say.
"Why, only that we're in an ugly mess. There's no reason to think they
have picked up a stock o' provisions, since we parted wi' them. I don't
know how they've stuck it out,--that is, supposin' it be them. They may
have got shark-meat like ourselves; or they have lived upon--"
The sailor suddenly suspended his speech, glancing towards William, as
if what he was about to say had better not reach the ears of the lad.
Snowball, however, understood him,--as was testified by a significant
shake of the head.
"As for water," continued the sailor, "they had some left; but not
enough to have lasted them to this time. They had rum,--oceans o'
that,--but it 'ud only make things worse. True, they mout a caught some
o' the rain in their shirts and tarpaulins, as we did; but they weren't
the sort to be careful o' it wi' a rum-cask standin' by; an' I dar say,
by this time, though they may have some'at to eat,--as you knows,
Snowy,--they'll be dyin' for a drop o' drink. In that case--"
"In dat case, dey rob us ob de whole stock we hab save. Den we perish
fo' sartin."
"Sure o' that, at least," continued the sailor. "But they wouldn't stop
by robbin' us o' our precious water. They'd take everything; an' most
likely our lives into the bargain. Let us hope it ain't them we've
heard."
"Wha' you say, Master Brace? 'Pose 'um be de capten an' dem odders in
de gig? Wha' you tink?"
"It mout," answered the sailor. "I warn't thinkin' o' them. It mout
be; an' if so, we han't so much to fear as from t' other 'uns. They
arn't so hard up, I should say; or even if they be, there arn't so many
o' 'em to bully us. There were only five or six o' them. I should be
good for any three o' that lot myself; an' I reckon you an' Will'm here
could stan' a tussle wi' the others. Ah! I wish it war them. But it
arn't likely: they had a good boat an' a compass in it; and if they've
made any use o' their oars, they ought to be far from here long afore
this. You've got the best ears, nigger: keep them well set, an' listen.
You know the voices o' the ole _Pan's_ crew. See if you can make 'em
out."
During the above dialogue, which had been carried on in an undertone,--a
whisper, in fact,--the mysterious voices had not been again
distinguished. When first heard, they appeared to proceed from two or
more men engaged in conversation; and, as we have said, were only very
indistinct,--either from the speakers being at a distance or talking in
a low tone of voice.
The Catamarans now listened, expecting to hear some words pronounced in
a louder tone; and yet not wishing to hear them. Rather would they that
those voices should never again sound in their ears.
For a time it seemed us if they were going to have this wish gratified.
Full ten minutes elapsed, and no sound reached their ears, either of
human or other voice.
This silence was at first satisfactory; but all at once a reflection
came across the mind of Ben Brace, which gave a new turn to his thoughts
and wishes.
What if the voices heard had come from a different sort of men? Why
should they be those of the slaver's castaway crew,--either the ruffians
on the raft or the captain's party in the gig? What, after all, if they
had proceeded from the decks of the whaler?
The old whalesman had not thought of this before; and, now that he did
think of it, it caused such a commotion in his mind, that he could
hardly restrain himself from crying out "Ship ahoy!"
He was hindered, however, by a quick reflection that counselled him to
caution. In case of its not being the whaler's men that had been heard
it must be those of the slaver; and the hail would but too certainly be
the precursor to his own destruction, as well as that of his companions.
In a whisper he communicated his thoughts to Snowball, who became
equally affected by them,--equally inclined to cry "Ship ahoy!" and
alike conscious of the danger of doing so.
A strife of thought was now carried on in the bosoms of both. It was
lamentable to reflect, that they might be close to a ship,--within
hailing distance of her,--which could at once have rescued them from all
the perils that surrounded them; and that this ship might be silently
gliding past, shrouded from their sight under that thick fog,--in
another hour to be far off upon the ocean, never to come within hailing
distance again!
A single word--a shout--might save them; and yet they dared not utter
it; for the same shout might equally betray, and lead to their
destruction.
They were strongly tempted to risk the ambiguous signal. For some
seconds they stood wavering between silence and "Ship ahoy!" but caution
counselled the former, and prudence at length triumphed.
This course was not adopted accidentally. A process of reasoning that
passed through the mind of the old whalesman,--founded upon his former
professional experiences,--conducted him to it.
If it be the whale-ship, reasoned he, she must have come back in search
of the _cachalot_. Her crew must have known that they had killed it.
The "drogues" and flag proved that belief on their part, and the
ex-whalesman knew that it would be well worth their while to return in
search of the whale. It was this very knowledge that had sustained his
hopes, and delayed him so long by its carcass. A whale, which would
have yielded nearly a hundred barrels of spermaceti, was a prize not to
be picked up every day in the middle of the ocean; and he knew that such
a treasure would not be abandoned without considerable search having
first been made to recover it.
All this was in favour of the probability that the voices heard had
proceeded from the whale-ship; and if so, it was farther probable that
in the midst of that fog, while bent upon such an errand, the crew would
not care to make way; but, on the contrary, would "lay to," and wait for
the clearing of the atmosphere.
In that case the Catamarans might still expect to see the welcome ship
when the fog should rise; and with this hope they came to the
determination to keep silence.
The hour was still very early,--the sun scarce yet above the horizon.
When that luminary should appear, his powerful rays would soon dissipate
the darkness; and then, if not before, would they ascertain whether
those voices had proceeded from the throats of monsters or of men.