The sound of the breakers grew louder and louder. Every instant we
expected to find the brig sent crashing on the rocks, and to have the
furious seas breaking over us.
"There's no use pumping any longer, Peter," said Jim. "We must cling to
whatever we can get hold of, and hope for the chance of being hove up on
the beach, if there is one."
"A poor chance that," I could not help answering. "Perhaps the brig may
be driven in between some rocks, and will hold together till the
morning; if not we must be prepared to die."
And I spoke to him as I think my mother would have spoken to me.
Clinging to the shattered bulwarks, we waited for the dreadful event
with all the resignation we could muster. Still the crash did not come,
though the vessel appeared to be tossed about even more violently than
before.
"Peter, the breakers don't sound so loud as they did just now,"
exclaimed Jim, after some time.
"Let's look at the compass," I said, casting off the rope round my
waist.
"I'll go too," cried Jim, doing the same. "What happens to you shall
happen to both."
Together we made our way to the binnacle, in which the lamp was still
burning. As we eagerly examined the compass we found that the wind had
shifted to the south-west, and if there was land, as we supposed, to the
westward, was blowing partly off shore. We must have drifted past a
headland, on which we had heard the seas breaking. Had the foresail
stood we should have run on it, and we had cause, therefore, to be
thankful that it had given way. Now, however, as it was important to
keep off the land, we attempted to secure the clew and tack, and hauling
together succeeded in again hoisting it. I then ran to the helm, and
found that I could steer east by north or thereabouts. Though the brig
moved very slowly, still I believed that we were getting away from the
dreaded shore. We ran on for some time, when once more the wind shifted
to the eastward of south, and blew with greater fury than before.
"It's drawing more and more to the east," said Jim, looking at the
compass.
We hauled down the foresail, as it would only, we believed, drive us the
faster to destruction. The brig tumbled and rolled and pitched about in
a way that made it difficult for us to keep our feet, and every now and
then the seas, washing over the deck, would have swept us off had we not
again lashed ourselves to the stanchions near the pumps. These we
worked as vigorously as our failing strength would allow. We had
resolved not to give in while the brig remained afloat. How we longed
for daylight, that we might see where we were, and judge how we could
best try to save ourselves!
That we were again driving towards the terrible rocks we knew too well,
and several times Jim stopped pumping to listen for the sound of the
breakers. At length he exclaimed, "I hear them, Peter! In less than
ten minutes the brig will be in pieces! Good-bye, if the sea gets us;
but we'll have a fight for it; so the moment she strikes we'll cast
ourselves off from the stanchions."
We were shaking hands while he spoke. I was not quite certain that I
did hear the breakers, the noises on board the tumbling vessel making it
difficult to distinguish sounds. Shortly after this there came a lull,
but we thought it only the prelude to another squall.
The wind fell more and more.
"I see day breaking!" cried Jim, looking eastward.
Faint yellow and red streaks were visible in that direction under the
dark mass of clouds. The light increased, and to the westward, fringed
by a line of rugged black rocks, a green island gradually rose before
our sight. There were grassy slopes, and cliffs, and high, steep,
round-topped hills, with clear streams running between them, forming
lakelets near the beach, glittering in the rays of the rising sun, now
bursting through the dissolving clouds. Far as our eyes could reach not
a tree was visible, nor could we discover a single cottage or other
habitation of man. As the light increased we found that we were about
half a mile away from the entrance of a narrow gulf, which extended
apparently far inland. Not a boat floated on the surface of the gulf,
not a sail was to be seen along the coast.
"I'm greatly afeared that yonder is a dissolute island," (meaning a
desolate island), "and if no help comes to us from the shore we may be
blown out to sea, and be worse off than before," said Jim.
The wind had fallen to an almost perfect calm, but what there was blew
out of the gulf, so that we could not hope to take the vessel up it,
while the breakers still burst in sheets of foam on the rocks, and we
lay tossed up and down by the glassy rolling seas. We were utterly
helpless.
While we were at breakfast a thought occurred to me.
"I'll tell you what we'll do, Jim," I said; "we'll build a raft, put the
poor old captain on it, take him ashore, and bury him. If we can find
no people or houses we'll go off again. The brig won't drift far away
in the meantime. If the wind will let us we'll run into the gulf, or if
it shifts to the northward we'll steer along shore to the south and look
out for another harbour. From what the captain said we may be sure
there is one not far off where we shall find people to help us."
Jim jumped at my proposal.
"That's it, Peter; when once the dead man is out of the brig things will
go better with us," he answered.
I did not stop to argue the point, but turned to at once with him to
form the proposed raft. We had plenty of spars below, so that our
undertaking was not so difficult as it would have been had we not had a
good supply. We first cut them into lengths with a saw we found below,
and having placed them side by side, lashed others across on the top of
them.
Eager as we were to finish our task, we had more than once to stop and
rest, for we were both very weak, and I felt a sensation of weariness I
had not ever before experienced. In fact, we were thoroughly knocked up
from the hard work we had gone through, and the little time we had had
for rest.
Having completed the raft and formed some paddles, we launched it
overboard and secured it alongside.
"Now, Jim," I said, "we must take some provisions, in case there are no
people on the island, as we may have a longer pull back than we may
like, and we have to bring up the captain and put him on the raft."
We quickly collected some provisions, and I took the empty water-jar
from the pantry.
"What's that for?" asked Jim. "There's water enough on shore, surely."
"Yes, but if we have a long pull back to the brig we shall be thankful
for water," I answered.
While thus employed we heard a voice coming from no great distance hail,
"Ship ahoy!"
My heart leapt within me at the sound, and running to the side we saw a
boat with five men in her pulling towards us. An oldish man of portly
figure, who looked like a sea captain, was steering.
"Are ye the only people aboard?" he sang out as he saw us.
"The only live ones, sir," answered Jim.
There was no time to exchange more words before the boat was alongside,
and the old gentleman and his men stepped on board. He gave a look of
surprise as he saw the captain's body, and he then, turning to us,
appeared more surprised still.
"Why, my laddies, what has happened? How did this craft come here?" he
asked, in a kind tone.
I briefly told him how the masts had been carried away and the people
washed overboard, and how the captain had been struck down and
afterwards had died, and how we had kept him to bury him decently on
shore, adding--
"He told us to steer west, sir, and so we did, but we don't know what
country we've come to."
"Why, surely, to Shetland, laddies," he answered. "But if ye had kept a
little farther to the north ye would have passed our islands and run
into the Atlantic, and it's weel for ye that ye didna do that. And now
my men and I will take your craft up the voe and anchor her in safety.
We might carry her to Lerwick, but the weather is unsettled, and she's
na weel fitted to encounter another gale, no discredit to ye, laddies."
Our new friend evidently compassionated our forlorn condition; indeed,
now that the necessity for exerting ourselves was over, we both sank
down utterly exhausted on the deck.
The Shetlanders would have carried us below, but we begged to remain
where we were, that we might see what was going forward. They therefore
left us, and having placed the captain's body on the main hatch, covered
by a flag, they proceeded to pull our raft to pieces and to hoist the
spars composing it on board. This done, the four men jumped into the
boat, and going ahead began to tow the brig, while the old gentleman
went to the helm to steer.
Before long, however, a breeze from the eastward springing up, the boat
returned alongside, the men hoisted the canvas, and we stood in towards
the voe, as the gulf, we found, was called. I could just distinguish
the high green hills, with here and there grey cliffs and rocks jutting
out from these on either side, as we sailed up the voe, but my eyes grew
dimmer and dimmer till the brig's anchor was dropped, and I was just
aware that we were being placed in the boat to be carried on shore.
When I came to myself I found that I was in a comfortable bed with
curtains round it, the sun shining brightly through the open window of
the room, which looked neater and prettier than any I had ever slept in.
Hearing a footstep, I peered through the curtains, and saw a lady and a
little girl come in, carrying in their hands some things which they
placed on the table.
"I think the poor boy is awake, auntie," whispered the little girl. "I
heard him move."
"Perhaps he was only moving in his sleep, but I will see," answered the
lady, and she approached the bed.
I was looking all the time at the little girl, who seemed to me like an
angel or a fairy, or some being altogether brighter than I had ever seen
before--even than my sister Mary.
"Yes, marm, I am awake, thank you," I said, as she opened the curtains,
"and please, I want to get up and go aboard the brig to look after her
and to see that our old captain is buried."
"He was buried by the minister the day you came, and the brig is taken
very good care of," she answered. "My father, Mr Angus Troil, has
written to the owners to inform them of what has happened to her and of
your brave conduct. He hopes soon to hear from them."
"Thank you, marm," I again said, puzzled to know what the lady meant
about hearing soon from Mr Gray, for I had supposed that Shetland was a
long way from England. My first thought, however, had been about Jim.
"Please, marm, where is the other boy, my shipmate?" I asked.
"He was very ill only for three or four days, and is now well enough to
go down to the brig with my father," she replied. "But I must not let
you talk too much. You were to have some food, the doctor said, when
you came to yourself. Here, Maggie, bring the broth and toast."
Thereon the little girl brought the tray to the bedside and gazed
compassionately at me, while the lady put the food into my mouth, for I
was too weak to do so myself.
It now dawned on me from what the lady said that I must have been in a
state of unconsciousness for many days, and such I found was the case.
I recollected nothing that had passed since I was placed in the boat. I
could not speak much, but when I had finished the basin of broth I
said--
"I am very thankful to you and your little daughter, marm, for all you
have done for me."
"You deserve to be taken care of, my boy," she answered; "but this
little girl is not my daughter. Her father was my brother. He was lost
at sea while captain of a ship, and her mother has since died, so that
she is very precious to us."
I looked at little Maggie with even more interest than before, and I
said--
"My father was also drowned, and so was my grandfather, and I believe
his father before him, for I come of a seafaring family."
"That has been likewise the fate of many of the Troils," said the lady;
"but I must not let you talk more now. Before long my father and your
young shipmate will be returning, and they will be glad to hear from
your own lips how you feel. In the meantime try to go to sleep again.
The doctor says that the more you sleep the sooner you will regain your
strength. Saying this, the lady, followed by the little girl, left the
room."
I thought over what she had said to me, and kept repeating to myself,
"Margaret Troil! Margaret Troil! I know that name, I am sure!" but I
did not think long before I forgot where I was and what had happened.
I saw Maggie's sweet face peeping in at me when I woke, but as soon as
she saw that my eyes were open she ran off, and shortly afterwards Mr
Troil and Jim came into the room. The old gentleman spoke very kindly;
told me that I must consider myself at home, and that though he hoped I
should soon get well, I must be in no hurry to go away. He then went
out, saying to Jim, "I can let you stay only five minutes with your
friend. When the time is up I must call you."
Jim could at first scarcely speak for joy at seeing me so much better.
He then told me how highly Mr Troil spoke of me and him for the way we
had kept the brig afloat, and brought her to the coast of Shetland.
"I told him as how it wasn't us who did it," continued Jim, "but that
God sent the wind as blew us here; and he says to me, `To be sure, that
was the case in one way, but then that God rewarded your efforts, and
thus you deserve great credit for what you did.' He promises to see
that we are rewarded, and to do all he can for us himself. I told him
as how you were really captain, and that I couldn't have done anything
by myself, except pump, and that I had done with a will, seeing I am
bigger and stronger than you."
I was inclined to smile at Jim's modesty, though I felt very grateful to
him for speaking so well of me, and was about to ask him what Mr Troil
said in return, when our host called him out of the room. I was thus
left to myself, except when the lady, who Jim had told me was Miss
Troil, the old gentleman's daughter, or little Maggie looked in to see
if I wanted anything. Two days after this I was able to dress and sit
out in front of the house, enjoying the sun and air, looking down on the
voe in which lay our brig, with a small sloop and several fishing
vessels and boats. On that side, looking to the south, there was a view
of the voe and the opposite bank, but on all the others the house, a
square stone building, was protected by a high wall close to it, built
to keep off the biting cold winds and snow of winter. Jim was out with
Mr Troil, and as Miss Troil was engaged, Maggie came and sat by me with
a book, and read and talked to me for a long time, getting me to tell
her all about myself and our perilous voyage, till her aunt summoned her
to attend to some household affairs. When I returned to my room I found
that my chest had been brought on shore and placed there. Miss Troil
came in and took out the things, which, having become damp and mildewy,
she wished to dry. While doing so she came upon my old Testament,
which, chancing to open, she examined the inside of the cover with
intense curiosity.
"Why, Peter, how did you come by this?" she asked.
The family had got by this time to call me Peter.
I told her that it had belonged to my father's mother, and then for the
first time since I came to Shetland I recollected that the name in it
was spelt in the same way as that of my host.
"I must ask my father about this!" she exclaimed. "He had an uncle
called Angus, after whom he was named, and who married a Margaret
Halcro. There are none of the family remaining in Shetland, though at
one time they were numerous. Peter, I should not be surprised if it
turns out that you are a kinsman of ours. Should you like to be so?"
"Indeed I should!" I answered; "I feel as if I were one already, from
the kind way you have treated me, even before you thought I might be a
relative."
When Mr Trail came in he listened attentively to what his daughter told
him, and, having examined the handwriting in the Testament, asked me the
ages of my father and grandmother, and all other particulars I could
tell him.
"I have no doubt about your being a near relative of ours, Peter, and I
rejoice to find you one, my dear boy," he said; "though why my aunt
Margaret Troil did not come back to her husband's relatives after her
husband's death I cannot tell."
"Perhaps she had not the means to make the journey, or my father had
gone away to sea, and she was afraid that he might be unable to find her
on his return if she left her home; or, now I think of it, I remember my
father saying that she died soon after my grandfather was lost, when he
himself was a little chap."
"Well, all is ordered for the best, though we don't see how," said Mr
Troil. "And now you have come you must stay with us and turn back into
a Shetlander. What do you say to my proposal?"
"Oh, do stay with us, Cousin Peter!" exclaimed Maggie, taking my hand
and looking up in my face.
"Indeed, I should like very much to do so," I answered, "but there is my
sister Mary, and I cannot desert her, even though I know that she is
well off with Mr Gray."
"Then Peter must go and fetch her!" exclaimed Maggie. "Oh, I should so
like to have her here! I would love her as a sister."
"A bright idea of yours, Maggie," said Mr Troil. "What do you say to
it, Peter? I will furnish you with ample funds, and you can be back
here in a month, as I feel very sure that your friend Mr Gray will
willingly allow Mary to come."
I need not say that I gladly accepted my generous relative's proposal,
and it was arranged that as soon as I had quite recovered my strength I
should go south in the first vessel sailing from Lerwick, accompanied by
Jim, who wanted to see his friends, and hoped to be able to work his
passage both ways, so that he might not be separated from me.