The departure--The sea--My companions--Some account of the wonderful
sights we saw on the great deep--A dreadful storm and a frightful wreck.
It was a bright, beautiful, warm day when our ship spread her canvass to
the breeze, and sailed for the regions of the south. Oh, how my heart
bounded with delight as I listened to the merry chorus of the sailors,
while they hauled at the ropes and got in the anchor! The captain
shouted--the men ran to obey--the noble ship bent over to the breeze, and
the shore gradually faded from my view, while I stood looking on with a
kind of feeling that the whole was a delightful dream.
The first thing that struck me as being different from anything I had yet
seen during my short career on the sea, was the hoisting of the anchor on
deck, and lashing it firmly down with ropes, as if we had now bid adieu
to the land for ever, and would require its services no more.
"There, lass," cried a broad-shouldered jack-tar, giving the fluke of the
anchor a hearty slap with his hand after the housing was
completed--"there, lass, take a good nap now, for we shan't ask you to
kiss the mud again for many a long day to come!"
And so it was. That anchor did not "kiss the mud" for many long days
afterwards; and when at last it did, it was for the last time!
There were a number of boys in the ship, but two of them were my special
favourites. Jack Martin was a tall, strapping, broad-shouldered youth of
eighteen, with a handsome, good-humoured, firm face. He had had a good
education, was clever and hearty and lion-like in his actions, but mild
and quiet in disposition. Jack was a general favourite, and had a
peculiar fondness for me. My other companion was Peterkin Gay. He was
little, quick, funny, decidedly mischievous, and about fourteen years
old. But Peterkin's mischief was almost always harmless, else he could
not have been so much beloved as he was.
"Hallo! youngster," cried Jack Martin, giving me a slap on the shoulder,
the day I joined the ship, "come below and I'll show you your berth. You
and I are to be mess-mates, and I think we shall be good friends, for I
like the look o' you."
Jack was right. He and I and Peterkin afterwards became the best and
stanchest friends that ever tossed together on the stormy waves.
I shall say little about the first part of our voyage. We had the usual
amount of rough weather and calm; also we saw many strange fish rolling
in the sea, and I was greatly delighted one day by seeing a shoal of
flying fish dart out of the water and skim through the air about a foot
above the surface. They were pursued by dolphins, which feed on them,
and one flying-fish in its terror flew over the ship, struck on the
rigging, and fell upon the deck. Its wings were just fins elongated, and
we found that they could never fly far at a time, and never mounted into
the air like birds, but skimmed along the surface of the sea. Jack and I
had it for dinner, and found it remarkably good.
When we approached Cape Horn, at the southern extremity of America, the
weather became very cold and stormy, and the sailors began to tell
stories about the furious gales and the dangers of that terrible cape.
"Cape Horn," said one, "is the most horrible headland I ever doubled.
I've sailed round it twice already, and both times the ship was a'most
blow'd out o' the water."
"An' I've been round it once," said another, "an' that time the sails
were split, and the ropes frozen in the blocks, so that they wouldn't
work, and we wos all but lost."
"An' I've been round it five times," cried a third, "an' every time wos
wuss than another, the gales wos so tree-mendous!"
"And I've been round it no times at all," cried Peterkin, with an
impudent wink of his eye, "an' _that_ time I wos blow'd inside out!"
Nevertheless, we passed the dreaded cape without much rough weather, and,
in the course of a few weeks afterwards, were sailing gently, before a
warm tropical breeze, over the Pacific Ocean. Thus we proceeded on our
voyage, sometimes bounding merrily before a fair breeze, at other times
floating calmly on the glassy wave and fishing for the curious
inhabitants of the deep,--all of which, although the sailors thought
little of them, were strange, and interesting, and very wonderful to me.
At last we came among the Coral Islands of the Pacific, and I shall never
forget the delight with which I gazed,--when we chanced to pass one,--at
the pure, white, dazzling shores, and the verdant palm-trees, which
looked bright and beautiful in the sunshine. And often did we three long
to be landed on one, imagining that we should certainly find perfect
happiness there! Our wish was granted sooner than we expected.
One night, soon after we entered the tropics, an awful storm burst upon
our ship. The first squall of wind carried away two of our masts; and
left only the foremast standing. Even this, however, was more than
enough, for we did not dare to hoist a rag of sail on it. For five days
the tempest raged in all its fury. Everything was swept off the decks
except one small boat. The steersman was lashed to the wheel, lest he
should be washed away, and we all gave ourselves up for lost. The
captain said that he had no idea where we were, as we had been blown far
out of our course; and we feared much that we might get among the
dangerous coral reefs which are so numerous in the Pacific. At day-break
on the sixth morning of the gale we saw land ahead. It was an island
encircled by a reef of coral on which the waves broke in fury. There was
calm water within this reef, but we could only see one narrow opening
into it. For this opening we steered, but, ere we reached it, a
tremendous wave broke on our stern, tore the rudder completely off, and
left us at the mercy of the winds and waves.
"It's all over with us now, lads," said the captain to the men; "get the
boat ready to launch; we shall be on the rocks in less than half an
hour."
The men obeyed in gloomy silence, for they felt that there was little
hope of so small a boat living in such a sea.
"Come boys," said Jack Martin, in a grave tone, to me and Peterkin, as we
stood on the quarterdeck awaiting our fate;--"Come boys, we three shall
stick together. You see it is impossible that the little boat can reach
the shore, crowded with men. It will be sure to upset, so I mean rather
to trust myself to a large oar. I see through the telescope that the ship
will strike at the tail of the reef, where the waves break into the quiet
water inside; so, if we manage to cling to the oar till it is driven over
the breakers, we may perhaps gain the shore. What say you; will you join
me?"
We gladly agreed to follow Jack, for he inspired us with confidence,
although I could perceive, by the sad tone of his voice, that he had
little hope; and, indeed, when I looked at the white waves that lashed
the reef and boiled against the rocks as if in fury, I felt that there
was but a step between us and death. My heart sank within me; but at
that moment my thoughts turned to my beloved mother, and I remembered
those words, which were among the last that she said to me--"Ralph, my
dearest child, always remember in the hour of danger to look to your Lord
and Saviour Jesus Christ. He alone is both able and willing to save your
body and your soul." So I felt much comforted when I thought thereon.
The ship was now very near the rocks. The men were ready with the boat,
and the captain beside them giving orders, when a tremendous wave came
towards us. We three ran towards the bow to lay hold of our oar, and had
barely reached it when the wave fell on the deck with a crash like
thunder. At the same moment the ship struck, the foremast broke off
close to the deck and went over the side, carrying the boat and men along
with it. Our oar got entangled with the wreck, and Jack seized an axe to
cut it free, but, owing to the motion of the ship, he missed the cordage
and struck the axe deep into the oar. Another wave, however, washed it
clear of the wreck. We all seized hold of it, and the next instant we
were struggling in the wild sea. The last thing I saw was the boat
whirling in the surf, and all the sailors tossed into the foaming waves.
Then I became insensible.
On recovering from my swoon, I found myself lying on a bank of soft
grass, under the shelter of an overhanging rock, with Peterkin on his
knees by my side, tenderly bathing my temples with water, and
endeavouring to stop the blood that flowed from a wound in my forehead.