CONCLUSION
Among the sailors was an Italian named Francesco. Probably he had
another name, but no one knew what it was. In fact, a sailor’s last
name is very little used. He was a man of middle height, very swarthy,
with bright, black eyes, not unpopular, for the most part, but with a
violent temper. His chief fault was a love of strong drink. On board
the Nantucket grog had been served to the crew; and with that he had
been content. But at the time of the wreck no spirits had been saved
but the captain’s stock of brandy. Francesco felt this to be a great
hardship. More than any other sailor he felt the need of his usual
stimulant. It was very tantalizing to him to see the captain partaking
of his private stock of brandy while he was compelled to get along on
water.
“The captain is too mucha selfish,” he said one day to a
fellow-sailor. “He should share his brandy with the men.”
Ben Brady, the sailor to whom he was speaking, shrugged his shoulders.
“I think I will try some of the captain’s brandy when he is away,”
said Francesco, slyly.
“If you do, you will get into trouble. The captain will half murder
you if he finds it out.”
“He is not captain now--we are all equal--all comrades. We are not on
ze sheep.”
“Take my advice, Francesco, and leave the brandy alone.”
Francesco did not reply, but he became more and more bent on his
design.
He watched the captain, and ascertained where he kept his secret
store. Then he watched his opportunity to help himself. It was some
time before he had an opportunity to do so unobserved, but at length
the chance came.
The first draught brought light to his eyes, and made him smack his
lips with enjoyment. It was so long since he had tasted the forbidden
nectar that he drank again and again. Finally he found himself
overcome by his potations, and sank upon the ground in a drunken
stupor.
He was getting over the effects when, to his ill-luck, the captain
returned from his usual solitary ramble.
“He has been at my brandy!” Captain Hill said to himself, with flaming
eyes. “The fool shall pay dearly for his temerity.”
He advanced hastily to the prostrate man, and administered a severe
kick, which at once aroused the half-stupefied man.
Francesco looked up with alarm, for the captain was a much larger and
stronger man than himself.
“Pardon, signor captain,” he entreated.
“You have been drinking my brandy, you beast,” said Captain Hill,
furiously.
I draw a veil over the brutal treatment poor Francesco received. When
it was over he crawled away, beaten and humiliated, but in his eye
there was a dangerous light that boded no good to the captain.
Presently Francesco began to absent himself. Where he went no one knew
or cared, but he, too, would be away all day. His small, black eyes
glowed with smoldering fires of hatred whenever he looked at the
captain, but his looks were always furtive, and so for the most part
escaped observation.
One day Captain Hill stood in contemplation on the edge of a
precipitous bluff, looking seaward. His hands were folded, and he
looked thoughtful. His back was turned, so he could not, therefore,
see a figure stealthily approaching, the face distorted by murderous
hate, the hand holding a long, slender knife. Fate was approaching him
in the person of a deadly enemy. He did not know that day by day
Francesco had dogged his steps, watching for the opportunity which had
at last come.
So stealthy was the pace, and so silent the approach of the foe, that
the captain believed himself wholly alone till he felt a sharp lunge,
as the stiletto entered his back between his shoulders. He staggered,
but turned suddenly, all his senses now on the alert, and discovered
who had assailed him.
“Ha! it is you!” he exclaimed wrathfully, seizing the Italian by the
throat. “Dog, what would you do?”
“Kill you!” hissed the Italian, and with the remnant of his strength
he thrust the knife farther into his enemy’s body.
The captain turned white, and he staggered, still standing on the
brink of the precipice.
Perceiving it, and not thinking of his own danger, Francesco gave him
a push, and losing his balance the captain fell over the edge, a
distance of sixty feet, upon the jagged rocks beneath. But not alone!
Still retaining his fierce clutch upon the Italian’s throat, the
murderer, too, fell with him, and both were stretched in an instant,
mangled and lifeless, at the bottom of the precipice.
When night came, and neither returned, it was thought singular, but
the night was dark, and they were unprovided with lanterns, so that
the search was postponed till morning. It was only after a search of
several hours that the two were found.
After the captain’s death two distinct camps were still maintained,
but the most cordial relations existed between them. At the suggestion
of the mate, an inventory was made of the stock of provisions, and to
each camp was assigned an amount proportioned to the number of men
which it contained.
There was no immediate prospect of want. Still, the more prudent
regarded with anxiety the steady diminution of the stock remaining,
and an attempt to eke them out by fresh fish caught off the island.
But the inevitable day was only postponed. At length only a week’s
provisions remained. The condition was becoming serious.
“What shall we do?” was the question put to Mr. Holdfast, who was now
looked upon by all as their leader and chief.
Upon this the mate called a general meeting of all upon the island,
sailors and passengers alike.
“My friends,” he said, “it is useless to conceal our situation. We are
nearly out of provisions, and though we may manage to subsist upon the
fish we catch, and other esculents native to this spot, it will be a
daily fight against starvation. I have been asked what we are to do. I
prefer rather to call for suggestions from you. What have you to
suggest?”
“In my view there are two courses open to us,” said Mr. Stubbs,
finding that no one else appeared to have anything to propose. “We
must remain here and eat the rest of our provisions, but there seems
very little chance of our attracting the attention of any passing
vessel. We appear to be out of the ordinary course. Of course, it is
possible that some ship may have passed the island without attracting
our notice. What is your opinion, Mr. Holdfast?”
“The flag of the Nantucket, as you know, has floated night and day
from a pole erected on a high bluff,” said the mate. “The chances are
that if any vessel had come sufficiently near it would have attracted
attention, and led to a boat being lowered, and an exploring party
sent thither.”
“While we’ve got any provisions left,” said the boatswain, “let us
take the boats, and pull out to sea. We can go where the ships are,
and then we’ll have some chance. They’ll never find us here,
leastways, such is my opinion.”
“My friends,” said the mate, “you have heard the proposal made by the
boatswain. All who are in favor of it will please raise their right
hand.”
All voted in the affirmative.
“My friends,” said Mr. Holdfast, “it seems to be the unanimous
sentiment that we leave the island, and sail out far enough to be in
the course of passing vessels. I concur in the expediency of this
step, and am ready to command one of the boats. Mr. Harrison will
command the other.”
“How soon shall we start?” asked a passenger.
“The sooner the better! To-morrow morning, if it is pleasant.”
This decision pleased all. Something was to be done, and hope was
rekindled in the breasts of all. Heretofore they had been living on,
without hope or prospect of release. Now they were to set out boldly,
and though there was the possibility of failure, there was also a
chance of deliverance.
No sooner was the decision made than all hands went to work to prepare
for embarking.
In the appointment of passengers, Mr. Holdfast, who commanded the long
boat, retained Harry, the professor and Clinton. Six sailors,
including Jack Pendleton, made up the complement.
“I am glad you are going to be with us, Jack,” said Harry, joyfully.
“I shouldn’t like to be separated from you.”
“Nor I from you, Harry,” returned Jack.
At eight o’clock the next morning they started. As the island faded in
the distance, all looked back thoughtfully at their sometime home.
Three days the boats floated about on the bosom of the ocean--three
days and nights of anxiety, during which no sail was visible. But at
length a ship was sighted.
“In one way or another we must try to attract attention,” said the
mate.
Not to protract the reader’s suspense, let me say that by great good
fortune the mate of the approaching ship, in sweeping the ocean with
his glass caught sight of the two boats, and changed the course of the
vessel so as to fall in with them.
“Who are you?” he hailed.
“Shipwrecked sailors and passengers of the ship Nantucket,” was the
answer of Mr. Holdfast.
They were taken on board, and discovered that the vessel was the
Phocis, from New York, bound for Melbourne.
“We shall reach our destination after all, then, professor,” said
Harry, “and you will be able to give your entertainments as you at
first proposed.”
Professor Hemenway shook his head.
“I shall take the first steamer home,” he said. “My wife will be
anxious about me, and even now is in doubt whether I am alive or dead.
You can return with me, if you like.”
“No,” answered Harry. “After the trouble I have had in getting to
Australia, I mean to stay long enough to see what sort of a country it
is. I think I can make a living in one way or another, and if I can’t,
I will send to America for the money I have there.”
In due time they reached Melbourne, without further mischance. Harry
induced Jack to remain with him, but Mr. Clinton, with a new stock of
trousers, purchased in Melbourne, returned to America on the same
steamer with the professor.
Here we leave Harry and Jack to pursue their course to such eminence
as they may desire from the characteristics they have portrayed in
this narrative.
THE END