THE WRECK OF THE "MERRY ANDREW."
Built in the bed of a beautiful valley and on gardened slopes rising
from the waters which run to the sea, lies Sydney, the fair city of
the South. It is spring although the month is October. The heavens are
bright with bright clouds, the air is sweet with perfume from tree and
flower, the bay is gemmed with gardened isles and promontories.
Outside the heads which protect the bay and make it a safe refuge for
mighty fleets, the sea dashes against hoary rocks which stand defiant
of its wrath; but to-day, swayed by the influence of smiling sun and
cloud, the grim old walls sport with the huge waves, splinter them
into silver spray, and send them, laughing, back into the sea.
In the fair land girt by the blue waters of the South Pacific are
orange-groves, the fragrance of whose snow-white blossoms is in
harmony with the time and place, and coral-trees with bright scarlet
flower, and trees of peach, loquat, and bread, and hill-slopes where
the vines grow, and myriad other evidences of Nature's beneficence.
All things that see the light contribute to the beauty of spring.
"'Tis the garden of the world," said Captain Liddle to his wife, as
they stood apart from the others on board the "Merry Andrew;" "'tis
the garden of the world," he repeated, gazing at the lovely hills and
gloriously-tinted sky with that sense of gratitude which it is so good
for a man to experience.
Her thoughts were in harmony with his, but she did not answer him
immediately. She, too, was sensible of the beautiful scene around
them, and stood by his side in silent thankfulness. To-morrow, the
"Merry Andrew," having discharged her cargo, and taken in another
(chiefly hard wood), was to set sail for China, where she had a
charter for London. It was of London--of home--that the captain's wife
was thinking, and presently her thoughts found simple expression.
"Yes, John," she said; "it is indeed a garden--a beautiful garden; but
it is not home."
"Why now, Bessie," said the captain, looking down smilingly upon the
wife he had waited and worked for as anxiously as Jacob did for
Rachel, "could you not content yourself here?"
"All my life, John?"
"All your life, my dear."
"No," she said without hesitation; "I should always be pining for
home. Even if we were poor, and it were a necessity that we should
live here, I don't think I could manage to quite content myself. But
as it is"--
"As it is, Bessie"--repeated her husband, in secret delight at his
wife's enthusiasm.
"As it is, John," she responded softly, "'there's no place like
home.'"
Captain Liddle hummed a few bars of the Englishman's household hymn;
and then, looking to that part of the ship where Joshua was busy,
said: "There is some one on board, Bessie, who is even more anxious to
get home than you are."
"Who can that be, John?"
"My handsome mate, as you call him, Joshua Marvel. He was expressing
his delight to me yesterday that we should be not away longer than we
thought we should when we started. And when I asked him what made him
so impatient to get home, he told me that he was married three days
before we left Gravesend. How would _you_ have liked that?"
"I wouldn't have allowed you to go," said Mrs. Liddle, with a very
positive shake of the head.
"Easily said, little woman; not so easily managed, though, if I had
been third mate instead of captain. Thank your stars that you married
a captain."
"So I do, John," said Mrs. Liddle tenderly--so tenderly, that her
husband would have stooped and kissed her, if they had been alone.
"Was it a love-match?"
"Marvel's? Certainly, I should say. When I went to his house in London
to see him, I saw a very beautiful girl in his room. Perhaps it is to
her that he is married."
"Very beautiful, sir?" exclaimed Mrs. Liddle, with a toss of her head.
"I am almost inclined to take you to task for that; but I'll ask you,
instead, to describe her."
"I can't, Bess; 'tis not in my line. I tell you what, though: your
maid would be like her, if she was fair instead of brown, and if she
had long hair."
"Making eyes at my maid, sir!" cried Mrs. Liddle, with a pretty
wilfulness. "When I get you home, I shall lock you up."
Captain Liddle laughed, and pinched his wife's cheek.
"I am glad it was a love-match," she said; "I like Mr. Marvel all the
better for that. You ought to do something for him."
"I shouldn't be surprised, Bessie, if Marvel was second mate on our
next voyage," was the captain's reply. "Now go and see to the stowing
away of your curiosities."
During the time that the "Merry Andrew" had been lying in Sydney
Harbor, Mrs. Liddle and her gypsy maid had been living on shore, and
had only come on board today. Her husband's last remark referred to a
number of parcels which were scattered about the poop, containing
curiosities she had collected in that strange new world--such as
feathers and skins, and curious weapons and plants--designed to
astonish her friends at home.
Captain Liddle's intention to promote Joshua had been quietly
whispered by the sailors to one another for some weeks past, although
the captain, from motives of prudence and a proper regard for
discipline, had made no mention of his intention, even to his wife,
until now. Captain Liddle respected Joshua, and often engaged him in
familiar conversation. He saw much to admire in the young sailor, and
recognized in him qualities, both intellectual and professional, of a
far higher standard than those exhibited by his other officers. A
sailor more deeply impressed than Joshua was with the highest
qualification a sailor can possess, duty, never walked the deck of a
ship; and this merit, added to a quick natural intelligence, made him
a great favorite with Captain Liddle. He was much liked, also, by the
sailors; for while his sense of duty made him firm, his kindliness of
heart made him gentle. Sailors resemble women in one particular: the
more they respect a man, the better they like him. Joshua, however,
had two bitter enemies on board: one was the Lascar, who was compelled
to conceal his hate; other was the second mate, Scadbolt by name, who
made no secret of his animosity. Scadbolt, being both an inefficient
officer and one who liked to shirk his work, had been sharply spoken
to by Captain Liddle on several occasions. From this may have sprung
the rumor of his intended deposition; and when it reached his ears, it
made him venomous. Between Scadbolt and the Lascar about this time
there sprang up a kind of intelligence with regard to Joshua, which
boded him no good if he should chance to get into their power. No
conversation passed between them on the subject; but each knew
instinctively that the other hated the upstart third mate of the
"Merry Andrew."
With his usual foresight and shrewdness, Captain Liddle had announced
his readiness to take a small number of passengers to China, or to
London by way of China--rather a roundabout route home, it must be
confessed, but one which recommended itself to certain colonists from
its novelty, and from the opportunity it afforded them of seeing
something of the wonderful land where so many Sons of the Moon lived
and had their being. Captain Liddle knew what he was about by stating
that he could provide accommodation for only a few passengers, for
only a few took passage. Here is the way-bill:--
Mr. and Mrs. Pigeon and daughter, the latter five years of age.
Mr. Bracegirdle.
Stephen and Rachel Homebush, brother and sister.
James Heartsease.
Harry Wall.
Rough-and-Ready.
So that there were nine passengers in all, including little Emma
Pigeon.
The crew numbered twenty-eight persons, all told; and these, with the
passengers and the captain's wife and her maid, made the total number
of souls on board thirty-nine.
Mr. Pigeon was the son of a wealthy squatter, who had lately died.
Desirous of giving his wife and child better advantages than could be
obtained in the colony, he had sold out his property, and was now on
his way home, for the purpose of settling in the "old country." He was
a rough kind of a gentleman at the best, as might be expected of one
who had been brought up in the bush; but he had a tender heart, and
was passionately devoted to his wife and child. Mrs. Pigeon was a
sparkling little creature, full of life and bustle, never still, and
with a laugh so merry and contagious, that every soul on board felt
glad when it was first heard on the ship. Little Emma, as the child
was called, was a small edition of her mother, with precisely the same
natural gayety of disposition. The family were in high glee at the
prospect of going "home" (even Little Emma, born in the bush, had been
taught so to call it), and found in the pleasures of imagination some
compensation for the natural sorrow they felt in leaving the bright
and beautiful land of the South.
Mr. Bracegirdle was a mystery. No one knew any thing about him; and as
no one inquired, and he was not communicative, his antecedents could
only be guessed at.
Stephen and Rachel Homebush were a hard-featured morose-looking
couple, whose piety was generally recognized as unimpeachable, but
whose good-nature was certainly open to question. And this induces the
reflection, that it is singular how often piety and sourness go hand
in hand. It almost seems as if, with the majority of so-called pious
people, religious contemplation chills the generous impulse, and
hardens the heart instead of softening it. The light of truth falls on
them not like dew, but like a miasma.
James Heartsease and Harry Wall are bracketed in the way-bill, as they
were bracketed in heart. They were friends who had travelled together
all over the world. They were enthusiastic sketchers; and it was
whispered that they were writing a book, which caused them to be
looked up to with a kind of veneration.
Rough-and-Ready was as great a mystery as Mr. Bracegirdle, but whereas
nothing was known of Mr. Bracegirdle's antecedents, so many stories
were current concerning Rough-and-Ready, that the difficulty was to
hit upon the right one. None of them were at all creditable to him.
One story was, that he was a bushranger; another, that he was a
stockman, who had shot down any number of blacks; another, that he was
a runaway convict. The name he chose to go by fitted any one or all of
these stories. He engaged his passage in the name of Mr. Rough; but
before he had been on board half an hour, every sailor knew him as
Rough-and-Ready. The lady passengers cast cold looks upon him; but the
sailors adored him; and he, taking the aversion of the women and the
admiration of the men very philosophically, was as much at home on
board the "Merry Andrew" as the captain himself. Captain Liddle saw
nothing objectionable in Rough-and-Ready. He was prone, as you know,
to form his own judgments of people, and was one of the small minority
of men in the world who decline to be led by the nose. There was
nothing very smooth or polished about Rough-and-Ready, as was implied
by his name; but he had a bright eye, a free manner, and a civil
tongue--sufficient recommendations to Captain Liddle's good favor.
At the appointed time the "Merry Andrew" weighed anchor, and started
for China. Joshua rubbed his hands, and thought with a light heart of
his pretty Ellen and his friend Dan, and his old mother and father,
and that good friend the Old Sailor. He saw himself walking along the
familiar street in Stepney, and saw all the neighbors running out to
greet him, and saw Ellen, his own dear little wife, fluttering into
his arms, and nestling there as prettily as could be. What wonder that
his face grew bright, and that he went about his work with a
cheerfulness that brought a darker scowl into the face of the Lascar!
This worthy had not advanced a single step towards the furtherance of
the scheme to which he had in a sort of measure pledged himself to
Solomon Fewster before he left Gravesend. True, he had gone on board
the "Merry Andrew" with the vaguest of ideas as to the manner in which
he should be able to carry out his intentions regarding Joshua. The
fact was, that he had been only anxious to get away from England for a
time; the brawl in which he had been engaged and had used his knife
was a serious one, and he was frightened for his own safety. But he
had played his cards cunningly with Solomon Fewster, and had succeeded
in extracting money and valuables from his cowardly master; thus
providing for his safety, and putting money in his purse at the same
time. Joshua had kept a sharp eye upon him during the whole of the
voyage, and he was compelled to be careful and wary for he knew that
Joshua was a favorite with the captain, and that he would be clapped
in irons upon the first sign of insubordination. Then he was
disappointed in finding that not another sailor on board but himself
owed Joshua a grudge, or was envious of him; so that he was alone in
his hate until that instinctive understanding took place between him
and the second mate Scadbolt, which made Joshua a mark for their
mutual animosity. The Lascar would have dearly liked to do Joshua an
ill turn; but he could not see his way to the accomplishment of his
wish. But even from this thwarting of his desire he derived a kind of
malicious satisfaction; for he could not help thinking with pleasure
of the dismay and disappointment Solomon Fewster would experience when
Joshua came home safe and sound. He could not help chuckling to
himself as he thought, "What a way he'll be in when the 'Merry Andrew'
gets into Blackwall, and how he'll storm and swear! But he'd better
mind what he's about with me. I owe him one for that threat of giving
me into custody for stealing the things he gave me." Certainly no such
sentiment as "Honor among thieves" found place in the breast of the
Lascar.
And Minnie? She had not calculated the effect of living within
herself, as she had been compelled to do. Loving Joshua as she did
with all her heart and soul, she had deceived herself by believing
that she would be happy if she were only in the ship with him. Happy
she would have been, had he known her and spoken kindly to her; but
the gulf that divided them seemed to her to be wider than it would
have been had thousands of miles of ocean been between them. She had
time for reflection on board ship; and reflection, although it did not
turn the current of her love, nor lessen it, added to her misery. At
one time during the voyage she had been so unhappy that she was almost
on the point of throwing herself overboard; and indeed had she known
of the marriage between Joshua and Ellen she might really have done
so. Happily for her she was not aware of the marriage, and was spared
the contemplated sin. But she was on a rack of love and doubt, and was
truly unhappy in the present, and despairing in the future. She went
about her work in a dull mechanical way, keeping aloof from every one,
and never going on deck unless her duties called her there. Mrs.
Liddle saw that the poor girl was miserable, and questioned her. But
here Minnie's rebellious nature came into play; she shut her heart
against the proffered sympathy, and returned cold answers to her
mistress's kind questions. Mrs. Liddle was sorry, but not offended;
she saw that the girl was struggling with a great grief. "A love
affair, depend upon it John," she said to her husband; and she
respected Minnie's desire not to have her confidence openly intruded
upon. Minnie's behavior on board inspired Mrs. Liddle with the
conviction that her maid was a thoroughly good girl, and she could
overlook a great deal in a girl who behaved so well. And
notwithstanding Minnie's retired behavior, she was an object of
interest to all. The officers and sailors called her "the shy beauty,"
"the pretty gypsy-maid," "the brown-faced little beauty;" and, when
she came towards them with her eyes downcast, made way for her with
almost as much deference as they did for the captain's wife. But she
spoke no word to any one of them, and lived her life of self-imposed
isolation in grief and silence.
The wind was fair, and a favorable voyage was anticipated. Sail after
sail was clapped on, and Captain Liddle walked up and down the deck
with a beaming face and in a state of high satisfaction. Five of the
passengers were below in the first agonies of sea-sickness. Four were
on deck--the two friends, James Heartsease and Harry Wall, Stephen
Homebush, and Rough-and-Ready. The friends had travelled too many
thousands of miles upon the ocean to be troubled by sea-sickness now;
they had struggled with and vanquished that fell enemy years ago.
Rough-and-Ready was not the sort of man to give in; he treated
sea-sickness as he treated every thing else that came to him in a
threatening shape--he laughed in its face. Perhaps previous experience
enabled him to do so with impunity. Stephen Homebush was not so
fortunate. He had a large stock of bile, and (speaking after the
manner of a well-known great man) when he had got rid of a great deal,
he would have a great deal left. He certainly got rid of a great deal
upon this occasion; and accustomed as he was to wrestle against
yearnings of the flesh and terrible foes, this foe was too powerful
for him, and this yearning of the flesh sent him into a deep pit of
tribulation from which he saw no chance of escape. Some kind friend
had advised him not to go below when he was attacked; and in
accordance with that advice he remained on deck, possessed by a spirit
so fiendish as not only to set at naught the pious exhortations of the
worthy Stephen, but even to change words of piety into utterances that
sounded very like anathemas. Even in the midst of his agony, he looked
round for some one, as was his wont in his happier moods, upon whom to
pour the vials of his spleen; for Stephen Homebush had this peculiar
conviction with respect to himself. His invariable verdict when
tribulation visited other persons was, that it was a just
punishment--it was a visitation of the Lord. But there was no such
acknowledgment regarding any vexation by which he was afflicted. In
that case his opinion was, that he was suffering for the sins of
others, and the conviction was to him a sufficient proof of his own
worthiness and of the wickedness and unworthiness of every other
person. He looked round for some one on whom to vent his spleen; but
no person met his eye but Rough-and-Ready, whose merry face and
cheerful manner were an additional sting to the miserable Stephen.
Rough-and-Ready nodded encouragingly to the pale-faced Stephen, who
was leaning against the bulwarks, and said cheerfully, and really from
no ill-natured motive--
"You will be better by and by, Mr. Homebush. Besides, it will do you
good."
These last words were unfortunately chosen; for the afflicted
Stephen--who had heard the discreditable stories attached to
Rough-and-Ready, and who had already judged him as a sinner of the
first magnitude--glared at the speaker, and said with difficulty,
"Scoffer, sinner!"
He intended to add, "Repent!" but a sudden paroxysm compelled him to
confide that exhortation to the waves.
Rough-and-Ready laughed gayly, and turning on his heel, met the
captain, and fell into step with him.
"Some of the sailors are grumbling," observed Rough-and-Ready,
"because we have set sail on a Friday."
"Grumble!" exclaimed Captain Liddle, pettishly. "Ay, and they'll
grumble till the end of the voyage. I have had that sort of thing
occur to me before. This is the fifth time I have started on a Friday,
and nothing more unusual ever occurred than occurred at any other
time. But the men wouldn't believe it, and won't believe it now. If a
head-wind comes, it is because we set sail on a Friday; if we're
becalmed, because we set sail on a Friday; if there's a squall,
because we set sail on a Friday; if a man tumbles overboard,
because we set sail on a Friday; if we lose a spar, if a sail is
split, because we set sail on a Friday. I do believe, if one of
them cuts his finger, he thinks, 'Curse the skipper! What the
something unmentionable did he set sail on a Friday for?'"
"I have no doubt, skipper," said Rough-and-Ready, smiling and pointing
to Stephen Homebush, whose head was hanging over the bulwarks, as if
its owner were curiously interested in the swelling of the waves,
"that Mr. Homebush is quite ready to side with the men, and to declare
that he is sea-sick because you set sail on a Friday."
Captain Liddle smiled at the pious sufferer, and shrugged his
shoulders. It was evident, although he said nothing upon the subject,
that he had already formed a not too favorable opinion of Stephen
Homebush.
For the first three days the prognostications of the sailors, that
"something" was sure to happen because the voyage was commenced upon a
Friday, did not seem likely to be realized. The weather was fine, the
wind was fair, and every stitch of canvas was set. But the grumbling
did not cease, and for a very good reason. Scadbolt and the Lascar did
their best to keep the subject warm, and between them managed to
foment and increase the dissatisfaction. Captain Liddle, cognizant of
this, became stern and strict, and took but little rest. He did not
know who it was that was encouraging the men; he suspected Scadbolt,
and, estimating his second mate at his proper worth, he wanted but the
slightest confirmation of his suspicions to take prompt action against
the offender. By this time the passengers had recovered from their
sea-sickness, and begun to assemble on the deck. Stephen and Rachel
Homebush set to work vigorously in their task of reclaiming the
sinners, in which category every person but themselves on board was
included; but though they prayed (for others), and groaned (for
others), and "wrestled" (for others), their efforts were not crowned
with success. Indeed, the only person who tolerated them at all was
the man who had the worst character, and whom nearly everybody
avoided. Rough-and-Ready was a treasure to the pious couple. To him,
as the most illustrious sinner within their reach, they imparted the
knowledge of their own goodness and of everybody else's wickedness;
him they informed that their special mission (out of heaven) was to
lead him to the waters of grace, and that his special mission was to
be led thereto by them. They prayed for him wrathfully, in stony
voices, and would have wept over him, had he allowed them to do so.
And when they found that they made no impression upon him (for it was
only his good-nature that induced him to listen to them), they groaned
the louder, and prayed the longer, and wrestled the more, because of
the hardness of man's heart. It was a curious thing, seeing how good
they were and how bad he was, to observe the conduct of Little Emma,
Mrs. Pigeon's five-year-old daughter, towards the saints and the
sinner. The little child ran away from the saints, and cried and
struggled when Rachel Homebush took her hand; but when she saw the
sinner, she ran into his arms with perfect confidence, and submitted
to be tossed in the air and to be kissed by him very much as if she
liked it. But then children have no judgment.
Towards the close of the third day the weather became threatening, and
the sails were taken in. This set the grumblers at work more busily
than ever. Some time before midnight, the watch being in charge of the
second mate, Captain Liddle came unaware upon two of the men who were
grumbling, and sternly asked them what they were grumbling at. The
Lascar was one of the twain, and of course he did not reply; but the
other man, being pressed by the captain, pulled at his forelock, and
said that the sailors weren't pleased because the voyage had been
commenced on their unlucky day.
"And that's the cause of this rough weather, eh?" questioned Captain
Liddle sarcastically.
"Yes, your honor," was the reply. "Why, even the second mate says so."
"Does he?" cried Captain Liddle, turning wrathfully upon Scadbolt, who
at that moment approached them. "What do you mean, Mr. Scadbolt, by
spreading dissatisfaction among the crew?"
Brought face to face with the man to whom he had spoken, Scadbolt, who
was no coward, gave him a threatening look, and said,--
"Well, sir, I've an objection to setting sail on Friday; and, as you
see, the men have the same objection."
"I see quite enough to warn you to be careful," said Captain Liddle in
a determined tone; "I have warned you before, and I warn you now for
the last time. Keep your objections to yourself, sir, and trouble
yourself only with your duty.--And you, men, attend to yours, and let
me hear no more of this nonsense. You know me well enough to know that
I will not be trifled with."
The men slouched away, and Scadbolt was obliged to suppress his
passion for the time: but it burned the fiercer for that.
The next day the weather became worse, and circumstances thus gave a
color to the dissatisfaction, which grew stronger every hour. But the
captain was equal to both emergencies; like a good sailor and a stout
captain he grappled with the storm that raged without, and with that
scarcely less dangerous one that raged within. He was seldom off the
deck, and when he did go down to snatch an hour's rest, he left Joshua
on board to watch in his place. For Captain Liddle was not slow to
discover that Joshua was the man of all the other men on the ship upon
whose faithfulness he could best depend. He said this many times to
his wife, and often spoke to her in praise of Joshua. Minnie heard
this, and heard also of the dissatisfaction among the sailors, and how
Scadbolt, the second mate, had fomented the dissatisfaction. About
this time a whisper spread among the passengers that there were three
or four sailors in the crew who only wanted a favorable opportunity to
break into open mutiny. Confirmation of this was given by the captain,
on the third day of the bad weather, when the ship was scudding along
under bare poles. He, coming down hastily into the saloon, went into
his cabin, and made his appearance in a few minutes with a belt
buckled round his waist and two pistols in it. The passengers,
looking at each other in astonishment, received another shock
presently by the surprising appearance of Rough-and-Ready. His dress
hitherto had been of a respectable character black coat and waistcoat
and tweed trousers; but now he had on a red-serge shirt, and a rough
billycock-hat, and buckskin riding-trousers, and boots that reached
half-way up his thighs, and a red-silk sash round his waist, with
knife and pistol stuck therein. You may guess the alarm he caused
among the ladies; the only passenger who seemed pleased at the change
in his appearance was little Emma Pigeon, who skipped round him
delightedly, and clapped her hands in approval of his bright-colored
shirt and sash. Rough-and-Ready caught the child in his arms and gave
her a hearty kiss, and nodded cordially to the fellow-passengers who
had so studiously avoided him. They were so frightened at his
desperate appearance, that they forgot to frown upon him as they were
wont to do. Rough-and-Ready then going on deck, walked up to Captain
Liddle, and said,--
"You can depend upon me, skipper. I've seen this sort of thing
before."
Captain Liddle gave him a look of grateful acknowledgment, and they
made their way into the midst of a knot of sailors who were standing
irresolutely about Scadbolt and Joshua. Joshua was cool but perplexed,
and Scadbolt was in a furious rage.
"Whose watch is this?" asked Captain Liddle. He knew well enough, but
he had a motive for asking.
"Mine, sir," answered Joshua.
"What are the men hanging about for?"
"I gave an order, sir, and Mr. Scadbolt countermanded it."
"Give your order again, Mr. Marvel."
Joshua did so; and as Scadbolt, in a voice thick with passion, was
desiring the men not to obey it, Captain Liddle very promptly knocked
him down. Calling two of the sailors by name, Captain Liddle ordered
them to put the second mate in irons. After the confusion which
followed the execution of this order had partially subsided, Captain
Liddle cried out,--
"Now, then, what have you to complain of? Speak out like men."
At this one of the sailors stepped forward, and said respectfully,--
"Well, your honor, some of us think it would have been better if we
had stopped in port another day."
"That's a matter of opinion," said the captain. "You have a right to
yours, but I have a right to mine also; and I am master of this ship.
Now I ask you as sensible men and good sailors, is it right that you
should forget your duty because we don't agree upon a certain point?
Do you know what this means my men?" pointing to Scadbolt. "It means
mutiny. What would any one of you do if you were skipper in my place
You would put a stop to it at once, as I have done, and as I intend to
do. I'll do it by reason, if you'll let me, and I'll say nothing of
any other means, for I don't want to use them. I speak you fair, men,
and I mean you fair. What do you say, now, to treating me as I treat
you?"
Acquiescent murmurs ran round the crew, most of whom had gathered
together during the scene. "And at such a time as this too," continued
Captain Liddle, "though it would be all the same in fair weather or
foul. I'll tell you something that many of you, as good mariners,
suspect already. We are near a dangerous coast--how near I do not
know, for I have not been able to take a sight for two days. And it's
at such a time as this that this bad sailor--I found out before we got
into the Bay of Biscay that he wasn't as good as he ought to be--it's
at such a time as this that he tries to get you into trouble. Come,
now, have I spoke you fair?"
"Yes, you have; spoke like a man!" a dozen voices said.
"That's well said. Whoever is on my side step over to me."
Every man--even the Lascar, too much of a coward to stand
aloof--stepped to the captain's side and saluted him.
"I'm proud of my crew," was the captain's simple remark after this.
"Now go to your duty."
As the captain walked on to the poop, Rough-and-Ready said,
"That was well done, skipper; but there are two or three black sheep
among 'em, for all that."
"I know it," replied Captain Liddle, with a significant look. "I shall
keep a sharp look-out on them. I've got a man on board that's a match
for a dozen black sheep, or I'm very much mistaken."
Rough-and-Ready laughed and turned on his heel, and Captain Liddle
went down to say an encouraging word to his wife.
On the eighth day the captain, suspecting that they were in the
vicinity of the Minerva Shoal, near which there were some dangerous
rocks, ordered a sharp lookout to be kept for broken water. All the
passengers were by this time in a state of great alarm, and although
Captain Liddle tried to cheer them by encouraging words, his anxious
face belied his speech. Perhaps the one who suffered the most from
terror was Stephen Homebush. His terror was so great that he forgot
his mission, and flew to others for consolation, instead of imparting
it. Such men as he are most true to their calling when the weather is
fine. It was a miserably dark night. The captain, completely tired
out, had gone down to his cabin for a little rest. All the passengers,
with the exception of Rough-and-Ready, who never seemed to sleep, and
yet was the freshest man of them all, had retired to their beds with
hearts filled by gloomy forebodings of what the morrow might bring;
and there they lay, tossing about, listening to the raging wind that
was driving them perhaps to certain death. In the captain's cabin were
Mrs. Liddle and her maid. There was something in the present danger
that was to Minnie almost a relief from the horrible monotony of her
life. Her self-imposed silence had become unbearable, and she fretted
under it until her health was in danger of giving way. So that this
change, with all its terrors and uncertainties, was an absolute relief
to her. She was too sad and unhappy to be frightened at the prospect
of death. Had the future held out to her any hope of happiness, she
would have prayed to live; but as it was--"Better to die," she
thought, "and so end all." There is no doubt that this miserable state
of her mind was due to the want of proper moral training in her
childhood. Thrown completely upon herself; with no mother's love to
teach her what is often taught by love's instinct alone, that such and
such impulses and thoughts are weeds that destroy, and such and such
are flowers that beautify: doomed to the almost sole companionship of
a father whose misfortunes had rendered him an unfit teacher, it is
scarcely to be wondered at that she should have been oblivious of the
true duty of life.
"Bessie," said Captain Liddle to his wife, "I have come down for an
hour's sleep. I can rest with confidence, for Marvel is keeping the
watch."
Mrs. Liddle nodded, and gave him a sweet little smile that was like
wine to him; and Minnie heard him say, in answer to a whisper from his
wife, "We are in God's hands, Bessie, and must trust to His mercy."
"We are in God's hands, and must trust to His mercy," thought Minnie
as she left the cabin; "and Joshua is keeping the watch. Death may be
very near. Will it be wrong to speak to him?" Mechanically she made
her way to the deck, stumbling two or three times and bruising
herself. But she felt no pain. "I should like to die near him," she
thought; "if he would take my hand in his, I should be content and
happy."
Nothing but darkness surrounded her on deck. She clung to a rope,
appalled by the mournfulness of the scene. Not a star was to be seen
in the heavens, and the sky and water were as black as the night. So
solemn, so mournful was every thing around, that the ship seemed to be
rushing into a pit of death, where no light was. She could not see her
hand before her, but all at once her heart beat wildly at the sound of
Joshua's voice. He was speaking to Rough-and-Ready, and they were
quite near her, although she had not seen them. Even now she could but
barely discern their forms in the gloom. Joshua had just made a remark
that Rough-and-Ready must have been a great traveller.
"Yes," answered Rough-and-Ready, "I've been about a pretty great deal.
I've led a wild life; but then, you see, I never had any one to care
for but myself."
"Never?" questioned Joshua, in a tone that had a dash of pity in it.
"Never but once, and that was only for a little while. But what
matters? It will be all one by and by."
"I should be sorry to think you meant that," continued Joshua; "it
would be a sad belief that, at such a time as this."
"You speak as if you didn't believe it, at all events," said
Rough-and-Ready, in tones as soft as a girl's; "but then your
circumstances are different to mine. You are young; I am"--
"Not old."
"Old enough for twice your years. Then you have friends at home,
mayhap?"
"Ay, dear ones."
"Mother and father?"
"Ay; God bless them!"
"Wife perhaps?"
Joshua gave a gasp that sounded almost like a cry of pain.
"Ah, well," continued Rough-and-Ready, "if we were to go down this
minute, I don't know the man or woman who would say 'Poor fellow!'
when my fate was known. I leave no one behind me, and my death would
bring no grief to a single soul. Perhaps my condition is the happier
of the two."
"Not so," said Joshua sadly; "and I hope--indeed I believe--that you
don't mean what you say. I have a friend at home--Dan, his name--to
whom the news of my death would be the bitterest grief. I have dear
ones at home, whose lives would be lives of mourning if I were not to
return. I know this, and feel the pain that they would experience
should it be God's will that we are not to escape this peril. But,
strange as it may sound, I would not spare them the pain if it were in
my power. Could I, by a wish, destroy the memories that make my life
dear to me and them--dearer than you imagine--and so pluck from their
hearts and minds the sting that my death would bring to them, I would
not do so. For after death, there is life!"
"You believe in the immortality of the soul, mate?"
"Surely; and you?"
Rough-and-Ready made no reply.
"'Tis often difficult to believe in what we don't understand. On such
a night as this--bleak, dreary, awfully solemn--with death waiting for
us within a few yards perhaps--it is difficult to believe that there
are spots on the earth where the sun is shining and where the flowers
are blooming."
"That's true, mate; you speak more like a scholar than a sailor. Shake
hands."
"I learned a great deal from the friend of whom I have spoken," said
Joshua, grasping Rough-and-Ready's hand. "What is that ahead of us?"
A dark cloud. Impossible to see whether it belonged to earth, or air,
or water. A moment after he uttered the words, the man who was keeping
the look-out cried that there was land ahead. Joshua hastily gave some
orders, and was making his way to the saloon to arouse the captain,
when he was almost thrown off his legs by a terrible shock.
Involuntarily he threw his arms around Minnie, who was clinging to the
rope. She held him fast for a moment, and he cried,--
"Who is this?"
"It is me," she said; "cling to me."
"Don't stir," he whispered rapidly, filled with a wild amazement at
the familiar tones of Minnie's voice; "if it were not that I know I am
not dreaming, I could believe a spirit spoke, and not a woman. But
keep you here; do not move for your life."
The next instant all was confusion, and cries and lamentations filled
the air. Captain Liddle was on deck barefooted, and all the passengers
were there in their nightdresses, clinging to ropes and spars, praying
and crying and wringing their hands. Great seas washed over the ship,
drowning the cries for a brief time; the night was so dark that their
true situation could not be discovered, and imagination added to their
terrors and magnified them. The captain could do literally nothing;
for the ship appeared to have been lifted on to the rocks, and kept
bumping against them in its endeavors to get free. And yet there was
sea all around them. Some of the passengers had sought shelter under
the lee of the cuddy, among them the captain's wife, Mr. and Mrs.
Pigeon and Little Emma, and Steven and Rachel Homebush. Many times
during the night was the voice of Stephen Homebush heard, calling upon
the Lord to save _him_; while his sister Rachel, braver than he, stood
by his side, with a stern set face, in silence. The cheery laugh of
Mrs. Pigeon was stilled, but she was not so overcome by terror as not
to be a comfort to her husband and child; during the dark night those
three clung together and comforted each other as well as they were
able; while the captain, making his way from one group to another,
bade them not lose heart; for the ship seemed to be keeping together,
and when daylight came their condition might be found to be less
desperate than it appeared.
"Besides," he whispered to the male passengers, "we have three or four
rascals among the sailors, and for the sake of the women we must keep
ourselves cool and self-possessed."
To his wife he said simply,--
"Well, Bessie, this is a bad job. I ought not to have allowed you to
come with me."
"I would sooner be here with you, John," she said, kissing him, "than
I would be at home in safety."
"Brave little heart," he whispered to himself as he walked away from
her. "Yet I could bear it better if I were alone."
James Heartsease and Harry Wall kept together, as friends should, all
through the night. They felt not a particle of fear; they thought it
was very grand and very awful, and spoke in calm tones of what the
morrow might bring.
"Don't think we shall see China, Jim," said Harry.
"Perhaps not. Hope no body will be hurt," was the reply. "What a grand
painting this would make!"
A few minutes after Joshua had left Minnie, he came to the cuddy,
where Mrs. Liddle had sought protection.
"Mr. Marvel," she called to him, "have you seen my maid?"
Then it came upon him that the woman to whom he had clung when the
ship struck was the gypsy-maid who had kept herself so reserved, and
he said, "Yes my lady; do you want her?"
All the officers called the captain's wife "my lady," and she was
proud of the title.
"Yes," she answered; "I wish you could bring her to me, poor girl; she
is friendless and unhappy, poor child!"
"Has she no friends at home, my lady?" Joshua could not help asking.
"None, I believe."
The word "home" reached little Emma Pigeon's ears, and as she nestled
in her mother's arms, the child cried, "Mother, are we going home?"
"Yes, yes, my dear," sobbed Mrs. Pigeon; "try to go to sleep, there's
a darling." And she rocked the child, and sang a little song about
birds and angels.
Joshua, steadying himself as he walked cautiously to where Minnie was
standing, wondered to himself whether it was fancy that had made the
gypsy-maid's voice sound so familiar to him; a sea washing over the
deck, drenched him to the skin, and as he stood upright and shook the
water from his clothes, the memories that were stirred within him
brought to him a picture of the dear old kitchen at Stepney, with
himself half-naked, barefooted, and with the water streaming from him,
standing at the door. The vision may have occupied but a moment, but
the picture was complete; father, mother, Ellen, Dan and the birds,
the Old Sailor, all were there. But where was Minnie? Why, by his
side, with short curly hair and brown gypsy-face. "Am I mad?" he
exclaimed, as he dashed the waters from his eyes. But when he reached
the spot where Minnie stood, and she clasped his hand and said, "Thank
God, you are safe!" his amazement grew.
"I cannot see your face," he whispered, with his arm round her, for
the better protection of both; "but your voice is strangely familiar
to me. Do I know you?"
"Yes. But do not press me farther. Wait till the light comes. Shall we
live till then?"
"I hope so."
"Will you promise me to keep near me till daylight comes? It is my
dearest wish--my only one."
"I promise," he said, strangely agitated, "until my duty calls me
away."
"And even then, you will come back when you have done your task, and
stand by my side?"
"I will, my poor girl. I have come now to bring you to the captain's
lady."
"She sent you for me?"
"Yes."
"She is a good lady. But wait a little; I have something to say
first." Many moments passed before she spoke again, and in the pause a
grateful prayer went up from the girl's heart even for the small
blessing of gentle speech from her hero's lips. "You have made me
very, very happy. Until tonight--for many, many months past--I have
been most unhappy." She bent her lips to his hand and kissed it. "Now
answer me. We are in great peril?"
"The greatest, I fear."
"But a danger threatens you of which you are not aware. Listen. The
second mate, he who was put in irons the other day"--
"Scadbolt--go on."
"Is loosed."
"By whom?"
"I don't know. But he is loosed, and but five minutes since was near
me with a sailor whom I think I know, although I could not see him.
Listen. I must whisper, for he may be near us now. They were talking
of you, and they swore--O my God!--they swore to have your life."
"They spoke of me by name?"
"By name--Joshua Marvel."
"You think you know the sailor who was talking to Scadbolt. Is he a
dark man?"
"Yes; a Lascar I think."
"You are right. He owes me an old grudge."
"Scadbolt said that this coast is one of the most dangerous upon which
a ship could strike. He believes he knows pretty well where we are,
and that it will be a fight for the boats"--
"We have only two, the jolly-boat and the longboat; he may be right."
"Be on your guard; tell the captain; be prepared."
"We will; and you"--
"I can protect myself. Feel this."
"A knife!"
"I picked it up. Let them beware."
Another lurch of the vessel made them cling closer to each other.
During all the horror of the scene, Joshua had not dared to ask
whether it really was Minnie to whom he was speaking; he feared to
know the truth. Minnie on the ship with him! and Ellen at home--and
Dan--he dared not think of it.
"Come," he said; "I will take you to the captain's lady. Cling fast to
me."
"Say a few words to me."
"What are they?"
"God bless and forgive you."
"God bless and forgive you! From my heart."
"He will, I think," said the girl, as if communing with herself. "I
have not felt so happy for a long time past. Death has no terror for
me if you are kind!"