For some time the crew of the _Catamaran_ stood contemplating the gig
and its lifeless occupant, with looks that betokened repugnance.
By reason of the many dread scenes they had already passed through, this
feeling was the less intense, and gradually wore away. It was neither
the time nor the place for any show of sentimentalism. Their own
perilous situation was too strongly impressed on their minds to admit of
unprofitable speculations; and instead of indulging in idle conjectures
about the past, they directed their thoughts to the future.
The first consideration was, what was to be done with the gig?
They would take possession of her, of course. There could be no
question about this.
It is true the _Catamaran_ had done them good service. She had served
to keep them afloat, and thus far saved their lives.
In calm weather they could have made themselves very comfortable on
their improvised embarkation; and might have remained safe upon it, so
long as their water and provisions lasted. But with such a slow-sailing
craft the voyage might last longer than either; and then it could only
result in certain death. They might not again have such good fortune in
obtaining fish; and their stock of water once exhausted, it was too
improbable to suppose they should ever be able to replenish it. There
might not be another shower of rain for weeks; and even should it fall,
it might be in such rough weather that they could not collect a single
quart of it. Her slow-sailing was not the only objection to the
_Catamaran_. Their experience in the gale of the preceding night had
taught them, how little they could depend upon her in the event of a
real storm. In very rough weather she would certainly be destroyed.
Her timbers under the strain would come apart; or, even if they should
stick together, and by the buoyancy of the empty casks continue to keep
afloat, the sea would wash over them all the same and either drown or
otherwise destroy them.
In such a long time as it must take before reaching land, they could not
expect to have a continuance of fair weather.
With the gig,--a first-rate craft of its kind,--the case would be
different.
Ben Brace well knew the boat, for he had often been one of its crew of
rowers.
It was a fast boat,--even under oars,--and with a sail set to it, and a
fair wind, they might calculate upon making eight or ten knots an hour.
This would in no great time enable them to run down the "trades," and
bring them to some port of the South American coast,--perhaps to Guiana,
or Brazil.
These speculations occupied them only a few seconds of time. In fact
they had passed through their minds long before they arrived alongside
the gig; for they were but the natural considerations suggested by the
presence of the boat.
They were now in possession of a seaworthy craft. It seemed as if
Providence had thrown it in their way; and they had no idea of
abandoning it. On the contrary, it was the raft which was to be
deserted.
If they hesitated about transferring themselves and their chattels from
the _Catamaran_ to the gig, it was but for a moment; and that brief
space of time was only spent in considering how they might best
accomplish the transfer.
The boat had first to be got into a fit state for their reception; and
as soon as they had recovered from the shock caused by that hideous
spectacle, the sailor and Snowball set to work to remove the body out of
sight, as well as every trace of the sanguinary strife that must have
taken place.
The mutilated corpse was cast into the sea, and sank at once under the
surface,--though perhaps never to reach the bottom, for those two
ravenous monsters were still hovering around the spot, in greedy
expectation of more food for their insatiable stomachs.
The red bilge-water was next baled out of the boat,--the inside timbers
cleared of their ensanguined stains, and swilled with clean water from
the sea; which was in its turn thrown out, until no trace remained of
the frightful objects so lately seen.
A few things that had been found in the boat were permitted to remain:
as they might prove of service to the crew coming into possession.
Among these there was not a morsel of food, nor a drop of drinking
water; but there was the ship's compass, still in good condition; and
the sailor knew that this treasure was too precious to be parted with:
as it would enable them to keep to their course under the most clouded
skies.
As soon as the gig was ready to receive them, the "stores" of the
_Catamaran_ were transferred to it. The cask of water was carefully
hoisted aboard the boat,--as also the smaller cask containing the
precious "Canary." The dried fish packed inside the chest, the oars,
and other implements were next carried over the "gangway" between the
two crafts,--each article being stowed in a proper place within the gig.
There was plenty of room for everything: as the boat was a large one,
capable of containing a dozen men; and of course ample for the
accommodation of the _Catamaran's_ crew, with all their _impedimenta_.
The last transfer made was the mast and sail, which were "unshipped"
from the _Catamaran_ to be set up on the gig, and which were just of the
right size to suit the latter craft.
There was nothing left upon the raft that could be of any use to them on
their boat-voyage; and after the mast and sail had been removed, the
_Catamaran_ appeared completely dismantled.
As they undid the lashings,--which during the transfer had confined her
to the gig,--a feeling of sadness pervaded the minds of her former crew.
They had grown to feel for that embarkation,--frail and grotesque as it
was,--a sort of attachment; such as one may have for a loved home. To
them it had been a home in the midst of the wilderness of waters; and
they could not part from it without a strong feeling of regret.
Perhaps it was partly for this reason they did not at once dip their
oars into the water and row away from the raft; though they had another
reason for lingering in its proximity.
The mast had to be "stepped" in the gig and the sail bent on to it; and,
as it seemed better that these things should be done at once, they at
once set about doing them.
During the time they were thus engaged, the boat drifted on with the
breeze, making two or three knots to the hour. But this caused no
separation between the two crafts; for the same breeze carried the
dismantled raft--now lying light upon the water--at the like rate of
speed; and when at length the mast stood amidships in the gig, and the
sailyard was ready to be hauled up to it, there was scarce a cable's
length between them.
The _Catamaran_ was astern, but coming on at a fair rate of speed,--as
if determined not to be left behind in that lone wilderness of waters!