In the beacon--The storm continues--The tide turns--I again seek for
food--I meet with another accident--Brighter weather--A sail in
sight--My hopes and fears--My signal--My rescue--A voice from the
deep--Three old friends meet again--On board the "Falcon"--The good
captain--Sydney harbour, and why I did not go ashore there--The
homeward voyage--Mark and I learn navigation--My reception at
Liverpool--Sad, sad news--My journey to Sandgate--I enter Mr
Butterfield's office, and have had no cause to regret doing so.
I awoke to find the storm still raging around me; but as I opened my
eyes I was sensible that a faint light came in from the top of the cask.
I was cramped with the uncomfortable position in which I had been
sleeping. When I looked out over the edge of the cask, though the seas
were tossing as wildly as before, I perceived that the rock below me was
once more uncovered, owing, as I knew, to the tide having ebbed. At
first I thought of descending; then I recollected that the waters might
again rise to their former level, and I feared that I might not have
strength to regain my sheltering-place. I therefore remained where I
was. I shortly began to feel the pangs of hunger and thirst. I eagerly
felt in my pocket for some biscuit, forgetting that I had consumed the
last the night before. I found a few crumbs, and with difficulty got
them down, having no water to moisten my dry mouth. Still, the wet
state of my clothes prevented me from suffering so much from thirst as I
should otherwise have done.
The storm, I knew, would not last for ever. Should it continue much
longer, however, I might succumb before I could possibly be relieved;
but having been hitherto so mercifully preserved, I did not despair.
Feeling weary of standing, I again crouched down at the bottom of the
cask. I had reason to bless the persons who had placed it there. As I
thus sat, half asleep and half awake, it seemed to me that the wind blew
with less violence than it had done before. I got up to ascertain if
this was the case. On looking round I felt confident that it was so.
It appeared to me, also, that the seas were tumbling about with less
violence than they had done on the previous day. If so, they might not
again cover the rock. I was well accustomed to notice the tides on our
own shore, and I remembered that, after the highest of the spring tides,
they were said by the fishermen to "take off"--that is, to rise to a
less elevation every subsequent day. Thus, even should the storm
continue, the rock might not again be covered. This idea brought
considerable relief to me.
My hunger made me resolve to descend to search for clams. Perhaps I
should find a fish thrown on the rock. The thought of obtaining some
food made me get down at once. I opened the trap, and, grasping the
rope, slid down with perfect ease. Already the rocks over which I had
clambered from the boat were bare, for the tide had fallen rapidly. I
knew that it would fall in proportion as it had risen. I went as close
to the edge as I could venture without running the risk of being carried
off. The rocks, which were washed by the fierce seas, were slippery in
the extreme, and I feared that any clams clinging to them must have been
washed away. Still, hunger urged me on. I made my way along the top of
the coral reef. I observed several small pools ahead. There must be
creatures of some sort within, which would enable me to satisfy the
cravings of hunger. I had gone some little distance, when I slipped,
and came down on the rock. In my weak state I felt unable again to rise
for some minutes, though I was not seriously hurt.
The clouds, some time before this, began to break, and suddenly the sun
shone forth, his warm rays cheering me up. As I cast my eyes round,
something glittered brightly just for a moment in one of the pools.
Rising with renewed strength, I scrambled, faster than I had moved
before, towards it, and great was my delight to see a good-sized fish
floundering in the pool. It attempted to escape me, but I pounced down
upon it as a sea-bird would have done, and, giving it a blow on the
head, quickly despatched it. I was too hungry to wait even to partially
prepare it by hanging it up in the sun, and, taking out my knife,
quickly cut some slices from the thickest part of the body. I did not
stop to consider whether it was wholesome, but ate it raw as it was. I
looked about in the hope of finding another, and was successful; it was
of the same species as the first. I could exist now without the clams;
and, therefore, thinking it prudent not to run any risk in trying to
obtain them, I returned to the beacon.
By this time the wind had fallen to a moderate breeze, though the seas
still continued rolling on with foaming crests, but far less wildly than
before, and were evidently decreasing in height. The atmosphere having
cleared, I was able to distinguish the distant shore, which had the
appearance of a blue irregular line to the westward. Again and again I
turned my eyes seaward, in hopes of seeing a passing ship, which might
stand near enough to observe me. I was disappointed; not a sail came in
sight, and another night approached. The waters covered some of the
rocks, but only for a short time, when the tide again ran out. Still I
was unwilling to sleep upon the cold rock, and, taking my second fish,
having consumed the first to the bones, I climbed up again into the tub.
Having coiled myself away round the bottom, I was soon fast asleep. My
slumbers were peaceful and quiet. The gentle wind produced no sound
round the cask; the roar of the surf on the rocks had ceased. I slept
the whole night through, and not till the sun had risen out of the ocean
did I wake. I at once stood up and looked round me. A light breeze
from the northward sent the wavelets rippling against the rock. The sea
was otherwise perfectly calm, and glowed in the rays of the bright orb
of day.
I looked landwards, in the expectation of seeing some vessels come out
of the harbour, which, I thought, could not be far off, but none
appeared. Then I gazed anxiously to the northward, and round the
horizon in all directions. Presently I saw a spot appear of snowy
whiteness, glittering in the rays of the sun. It rapidly increased in
size. "A sail! A sail!" I shouted, though there was no one to hear
me. I soon perceived that she was a large ship. First her topgallant
sails, then her topsails, rose out of the water. I was so intently
watching her that I forgot for a time to take my meal. As may be
supposed, I turned many a look towards the ship. She was standing
towards me, running before the wind along the coast. At last her
courses, and then her hull, appeared, and I fancied that I could almost
see the people moving on her deck. I was congratulating myself that I
should have a speedy deliverance, when the thought came to me that she
might be the "Emu."
If I were discovered I should be worse treated than before. I had not
so often seen the ship on which I had spent so many dreary months, to be
certain about her appearance at a distance. I trembled lest I should be
right, though she had been steering in a different direction. As the
stranger approached, I became more and more convinced that she was not
the "Emu." Still I felt a feeling of uncertainty on the subject.
Should I make a signal, and try to attract the attention of those on
board? The beacon would certainly be observed; perhaps they were
looking out for it. Had I possessed a supply of water, I might have
hesitated longer; but my perilous position determined me at all risks to
make a signal. I watched till the ship came nearly abreast of the
beacon, when, stripping off my shirt, I climbed as high as I could,
until I reached the cask. I waved the shirt frantically. In my
eagerness I shouted also, though I might have known that my puny voice
could not be heard. For some time it appeared to me that I was waving
in vain; and then, what was my dismay to see the ship's head turned away
from the shore. I was deserted.
Presently the sheets were let fly, the main-topsail was backed against
the mast. She hove-to. I almost fell from my post with joy as I saw a
boat lowered, which came rapidly pulling towards the rock. Putting on
my shirt--it was now perfectly dry--I descended from my perch to the
rock, and there stood eagerly watching the boat. Again a thought
occurred to me, that she might, after all, be the "Emu," and in another
few minutes I might be in the clutches of old Growles and the boatswain,
and my other persecutors. But as I strained my eyes to discern their
countenances. I became aware that none of the "Emu's" crew were there.
As far as I could make out, they were all perfect strangers. The boat
steered for the lee-side of the rock. I hurried down to meet them.
"Why, my lad, who are you, and how came you here?" exclaimed one of the
strangers. "Has your ship gone to the bottom?"
"That's more than I can say," I answered; "I came in a boat. The boat
floated away, and I have been left here."
"What ship do you belong to?" asked the stranger.
"The `Emu,'" I answered, thinking it was as well to acknowledge this
much.
"The `Emu!'" he exclaimed. "Why, who are you? Let me let me look at
you. Don't you know me, Dick?" and he grasped my hand. I looked at him
hard.
"Why, if I didn't think you were at the bottom of the sea, I should have
declared that you were Tom Trivett."
"And so I am," he said, "though I'm not at the bottom of the sea, and
right glad I am to find you, Dick, out of that dreadful ship. Come
along, we mustn't stand talking here; we were sent to bring you off,
and, judging by your looks, the sooner you're on board the better."
"Yes, indeed," I answered, "for I find it a hard matter to speak from
the dryness in my throat; I haven't tasted water for a couple of days,
and if you had not come I don't suppose I should have held out much
longer, with the hot sun shining down on my head."
"Well, I am glad," cried Tom, as he, with the aid of another hand, who
was the third mate of the ship, helped me into the boat. She
immediately shoved off, and pulled towards the ship.
"Who would have thought of finding you, Dick, all alone by yourself out
on yonder rock?" said Tom, who was pulling stroke oar. "However,
wonders never end. There's another old shipmate of yours on board, whom
you'll be glad to see, I have a notion; and not a little surprised
either, if you thought that he was left to perish on the Falkland
Islands."
"What! Do you mean Mark Riddle?" I asked.
"Yes, Mark himself," he said. "He didn't die, or he wouldn't be on
board the `Falcon.' We found him about ten days after. He had been
pretty well worn out, but still with life enough in him to crawl down to
the beach when we put in for water."
"I am glad, I am glad!" I said, though I could say little more, and was
unable to ask Tom how he had escaped.
The mate put questions to me which I was unable to answer; indeed I was
almost fainting before I was lifted up the side of the "Falcon." One of
the first persons I set eyes on was Mark Riddle. He was much grown and
bronzed. Had I not been aware that he was on board, I should not at
first have known him; nor did he guess who I was till Tom told him, when
he sprang to my side, and warmly grasped my hand. He forbore asking
questions, as he saw that I was not in a state to reply. The first
thing Tom did was to bring me a mug of water, which I eagerly drank.
After that the captain ordered that I should be carried to a spare berth
in the cabin.
"We must have him there, that he may be properly looked after. He'll be
better off than in the forepeak," he said.
From this I guessed that he was a kind-hearted man, very different to
Captain Longfleet. In a short time some broth and a fresh roll baked on
board were brought to me, and I was not so far gone that I was prevented
from thankfully swallowing the food. It revived me greatly, and when
Captain Mason looked in on me shortly afterwards, I was able to answer
all the questions he put to me. I confessed who I was, and how I had
come to sea. When he heard that I was the son of a clergyman, and
related to Mr Butterfield, he was even kinder than before; though he
did not, I suspect, quite believe my account.
"Truth should be adhered to, my lad, under all circumstances," he
observed. "Are you quite sure that you did not run away?"
"I thought of doing so, sir; but I was carried off exactly as I have
told you, and I was very sorry for it afterwards."
"You have been severely punished for it, and I am afraid have caused
great anxiety and grief to your friends. You might have lost your life,
though you have been preserved in God's good providence, and when you
get home I hope you will make amends for your fault. It is all you can
do," he observed.
The state of the ship contrasted greatly with that of the "Emu." After
a sound sleep, I was able the next day to get about, though I still
remained somewhat sick and weak. Tom told me that the "Falcon" was the
happiest ship he had ever been aboard. The crew were generally orderly
and well behaved. Mark corroborated what Tom said.
As soon as I was strong enough, I begged that I might be allowed to do
duty on board, so that I might not pass my time idly. To this Captain
Mason willingly agreed. I was separated more than I liked from Mark,
but he told me that he was not jealous.
"But I say, Dick," he said, "if you could teach me, when it's my watch
below, some of the navigation and other things you're learning, I should
be very much obliged."
I willingly promised to do this; and, as he came down to the spar-deck,
we at once set to work, and every day I imparted to him the knowledge I
had obtained. One day the first mate, who was a very kind man, found us
thus engaged. He said nothing at the time, but afterwards asked me if
Riddle was very anxious to learn navigation. I told him that he was.
He reported this to the captain, who told Mark that he could come into
the cabin and study with the rest of us.
Our studies were interrupted when the ship entered Sydney harbour. We
lay there for some days, discharging our cargo, and taking on board
bales of wool, which was now being produced in considerable quantities
in that magnificent country, though the shipments of a whole year were
not equal to what was afterwards exported in a month.
As I knew that the "Emu" was bound for Sydney, I anxiously inquired
whether she was there. She had not come in; but, as I thought she might
possibly make her appearance, I was afraid to go on shore, lest I should
encounter Captain Longfleet or the mates or the men. I felt sure,
should they see me, that I should be captured, carried on board, and
punished tremendously for stealing the boat. On returning on board,
however, one day, Tom Trivett told me that he had heard a report that
the "Emu" had been lost in a gale which had occurred some time before,
as part of her stern had been picked up with her name upon it. This
account having been confirmed, left no doubt on my mind as to her having
been wrecked, and, as none of those on board ever appeared, that all had
perished. I had thus still greater reason than ever to be thankful that
I had made my escape from her when I did. But Captain Mason blamed me
for the way in which I had done so.
"You've done many things that were wrong, my lad," he said, "there's no
doubt about that; but all I can urge you is to be heartily sorry for
them."
I confess I found it very difficult to be sorry that I had run away with
the boat, since I had saved my life by so doing. Then I might
afterwards have lost it on the rock; and the matter has been a very
puzzling one to me ever since.
We sailed with a fair wind, which carried us down the coast of
Australia. The wind then shifted to the eastward, and we passed through
Bass's Straits, between the mighty continent and Van Diemen's Land, as
it was at that time called, the captain intending to go home by the Cape
of Good Hope instead of across the Pacific and round Cape Horn, as ships
of the present day generally do.
I have few incidents to describe during our homeward voyage. I was far
happier than I had been on board the "Emu." Somehow or other I had no
longer that affection for a sea life which I fancied I possessed. I
dreaded, however, the reception I should meet with, on my return home,
from Aunt Deb and Mr Butterfield, and from my father and brothers and
sisters. The only person who I knew would receive me affectionately was
my mother. I was very certain of it. I was half inclined, from fear of
the upbraiding that I should get from the rest of my family, to beg
Captain Mason to let me remain on board, and to make another voyage with
him, expecting that I should regain my love for the ocean. I at last
mentioned the subject.
"I would willingly do so, my lad, if your father and friends think it
best you should become a sailor, but I cannot consent to act contrary to
their wishes. You must at once, on landing, present yourself to Mr
Butterfield; and as I am acquainted with him, I will accompany you and
state how I have had the satisfaction of rescuing you from the perilous
position in which you were placed."
I thanked the captain very much for his offer, as I felt that I should
have much more confidence in his presence than if I had gone alone.
Still, as we ran up the Irish Channel and sighted the Welsh coast, I
felt very nervous, and could scarcely attend to my duties. At length we
entered the Mersey and dropped anchor off Liverpool. As soon as the
ship had been taken into dock, and the captain was at liberty, he sent
for me, and we walked together to Mr Butterfield's office, where we
were at once shown into his private room. The old gentleman did not
recognise me, I was so grown and altered. When Captain Mason said who I
was, he started, and, eyeing me keenly, at last took my hand.
"I'm thankful to see you again, my boy," he said; "but you have caused
your aunt and me much anxiety, and trouble and sorrow to others of your
family; but I won't say just now what has happened. Your aunt will tell
you that, by-and-by. I am unwilling to grieve your heart on first
landing on your native shore."
I did not then understand what he meant; but as his manner was kind, I
congratulated myself on escaping the upbraiding I expected from him, at
all events. Captain Mason having much business to get through, rose to
take his leave, when Mr Butterfield expressed his desire to repay him
for the trouble and expense he had been put to on my account.
"Pray don't speak of it, my kind sir," answered the worthy captain; "I
am amply repaid by the satisfaction I feel at restoring the lad to his
friends;" and shaking me warmly by the hand, he left the office.
As it was late in the day, Mr Butterfield having signed a few letters,
said he was ready to go home, and desired me to accompany him. As we
walked along together, he questioned me about my adventures, seeming
rather incredulous when I assured him that I had not intentionally run
away to sea.
"Well, well, Dick, we'll let by-gones be by-gones. I shall be glad to
see you act rightly in future."