peremptory that the men were fain to obey.
"Now, go back to camp together," said the captain, "and let us have no
more boasting--d'ee understand?"
They went off at once. After that there was less disagreement and no
threatening to fight among the men.
One morning--it was a Sunday--the captain called the whole party
together after breakfast, and announced the fact that he was going to
preach them a sermon.
"You see, my lads," said he, "since you have agreed that I shall
continue to be your captain on shore as well as at sea--to be the
governor, in short, of this little colony--it is right that we should
come to a distinct understanding as to our new position, and be guided
by fixed laws. In time I will draw you up a code which I hope will be
ratified by yourselves, and will work well. To-day I mean to start by
preaching a sermon. I pr'pose to do so every Sunday, and to have family
prayers every morning. Is that agreed to?"
"Agreed," said nearly every one. Bounce and Badger laughed, however,
supposing that the captain was jesting.
But he was very far from jesting. Taking no notice of the laughter, he
continued, in an earnest, impressive manner, which enforced respect
while he pointed towards the other side of the island--
"My lads, the skeleton that lies over yonder furnishes me with a text:
`One is taken, and another left.' That poor fellow was taken away from
this life. You and I have been left behind. Assuredly we have been
left for a good purpose, and the merciful God who has spared us means
that we should henceforth live for His glory. My lads, you all know
what a blessed thing is a state of peace, and you also know what a
miserable thing it is to be for ever quarrelling. Since we landed on
this island, we've had a little of both. I took in hand to stop the
quarrelling the other day, in my own way. P'r'aps it wasn't altogether
my own way either, for I've read in the Bible of smiting a scorner, that
the simple might take warning. However, be that as it may, that system
may serve a turn; but it's not the straight road to come to a state of
peace. If we are to live happily here, my lads, to avoid quarrelling,
to honour our Maker, and to prove to each other--as well as to angels
and devils, who may be lookin' on for all that I know--that we stand on
a higher level than the brutes, we must square our conduct by the rules
and laws laid down by the Prince of Peace, whose desire is that on earth
men should live together in peace and goodwill. I'll now read you some
of these laws."
Here the captain drew a small Bible from his pocket, and slowly read the
fifth chapter of Matthew's Gospel, pausing at each verse, and commenting
thereon, after his own peculiar fashion, to the surprise of all who
heard him; for although all knew the captain to be an upright man, they
were not prepared, by his usually stern look and brusque off-hand
manner, for the tender spirit and depth of feeling which he now
displayed.
"Now, my lads," said he, shutting the book, "that's all I've got to say
to you to-day, but before closing, let me ask you to think like men--not
like children--about what we have been reading. The service of God is
not a mere matter of ceremonies. Jesus Christ came to save you and me,
not so much from punishment, as from sin itself. It is a great
salvation. Those of you who may have been swimming with the current
know and care nothing about the power of sin. If you think you do, my
lads, turn up stream. Try to resist sin, and you'll learn something
new. Only those who are made willing and strong by the Spirit of God
can do it successfully. No doubt that remark will set adrift a lot o'
thoughts and questions in your minds. To all of them I give you a short
text as a good course to steer by: `Ask, and ye shall receive.' Ask
light and ask wisdom.
"Now, cook," continued the captain, turning to O'Rook, "go to work and
get your dinner under weigh, for talking makes one hungry. Meanwhile, I
intend to go and have a short ramble on the sea-shore, and I want to
know if there is any small female on this island who wants to go with
me."
At this Polly jumped up with a laugh, put her little hand in that of her
father, and stood on tiptoe, with upturned face. The captain stooped,
received a stiff nor'-wester, and the two went off together.
The following night, as the party were seated round the fire finishing
supper, Watty Wilkins surprised his friends by rising, clearing his
throat, extending his right arm, after the manner of an orator, and
delivering himself of the following speech:--
"Lady and gentlemen,--I rise on the present occasion, with or without
your leave (`Order,' from Ben Trench), to make a few pertinent remarks
(`Impertinent,' from Philosopher Jack) regarding our present strange and
felicitous circumstances. (Hear, hear.) Our community is a republic--a
glorious republic! Having constituted Captain Samson our governor,
pastor, and lawgiver, it has occurred to me that we might, with great
advantage to ourselves, institute a college of learning, and, without
delay, elect professors. As a stowaway, I would not have presumed to
make such a proposal, but, as a free and independent citizen of this
republic, I claim the right to be heard; and I now move that we proceed
to elect a professor of natural philosophy, natural history, and any
other natural or unnatural science that any of us may happen to remember
or invent. (Hear, hear, and laughter.) As a student is naturally
allied to a professor, and somewhat resembles him--the only difference
being that the one knows mostly everything, and the other next to
nothing--I further propose that we appoint to this professorship
Philosopher Jack, with a salary of gratitude depending on merit, and the
duty of lecturing to us every night after supper for our entertainment."
Watty Wilkins sat down amid great applause, and Ben Trench seconded the
motion, which was of course carried unanimously.
Philosopher Jack at once accepted the professorship, and proceeded then
and there to deliver his inaugural address, in which he philosophised of
things past, present, and to come, both seriously and humorously, in a
way that filled his favourite pupil, Baldwin Burr, with inexpressible
delight.
When he had finished, Bob Corkey rose, and with an air of intense
solemnity said--
"Messmates, my lady, fathers, and brethren,--I begs to offer a
observation or two. It seems to me that a college with only one
professor ain't quite the thing for this great and enlightened republic.
Seems to me; therefore, that we should appint a professor who could
spin yarns for our amusement, not to say edification. And, for this
end, I moves that we appint Simon O'Rook (great applause), whose gifts
in the way o' story-tellin', or nat'ral lyin', so to speak, is
unequalled by any nat'ral philosopher on the island." (Hear, hear, and
cheers, mingled with laughter.)
This motion was seconded by Bounce, and the appointment was gracefully
accepted by O'Rook, who, however, declined taking office till the
following night as it was getting late, and he required time to compose
his professional lies; but he ventured, as a free citizen of the "noo"
republic, to move that the house should adjourn to bed.
The idea thus jestingly introduced was so far carried into effect in
earnest, that Philosopher Jack did, on many evenings thereafter, amuse
and interest his comrades round the camp-fire, by relating many a tale
from history, both ancient and modern, with which his memory was well
stored. He also proved to himself, as well as to others, the great
value of even a small amount of scientific knowledge, by being able to
comment on the objects of surrounding nature in a way that invested them
with an interest which, to absolutely ignorant men, they could not have
possessed.
O'Rook also fulfilled his engagements to some extent, being not only
able, but willing, to spin long-winded yarns, which, when genuine
material failed, he could invent with facility.
Thus the time passed pleasantly enough for several weeks, and the
shipwrecked crew succeeded in keeping up their spirits, despite the
undercurrent of heavy anxiety with which they were oppressed,--as indeed
they could scarcely fail to be, when they reflected on the fact that the
island, on which they had been cast, lay far out of the ordinary track
of ships. This had been ascertained by the captain, who, it may be
remembered, had taken his sextant from the ship, and who, the day before
the destruction of the raft on the coral reef, had obtained a reliable
observation, and fixed their position.
But this anxiety was deepened, and a darker gloom was cast over the
party, by an incident which happened soon afterwards.
It has been said that Watty Wilkins was passionately fond of fishing.
This business he prosecuted by means of a small raft, made from the
remnants of the old one, which he pushed about with a long pole. But
the raft was inconvenient; moreover, it had been more than once nearly
upset by a shark. Watty therefore resolved to make a small boat out of
the remains of the old boat beside which the skeleton had been found.
In this he was so ably assisted by his friends Jack and Ben, that the
boat--which was a very small one--was launched in the course of two
weeks. A pair of light oars was also made, and in this boat the fishing
was prosecuted with redoubled vigour. Sometimes the three friends went
off in company; more frequently little Wilkins went out alone.
One day he pushed off by himself, and pulled to different parts of the
lagoon, casting his line now and then with varying success. The day
happened to be unusually calm and bright. When he passed the opening in
the reef, the surf appeared less violent than usual, so that he was
tempted to pull though it. The breakers were passed in safety, and he
soon found himself with a sensation of great delight, floating on the
gentle swell of the open sea. He pulled out for a considerable
distance, and then cast his lines. So intent was he on these, that he
did not observe the approach of a squall till it was almost upon him.
Seizing the oars, he pulled towards the island, but he had drifted off
shore a considerable distance. The wind, also, was against him. His
efforts were vain. In short he was blown out to sea.
The desperate anxiety of the poor boy was changed to despair when the
island gradually receded and finally disappeared. At first the little
boat was nearly swamped, but by clever management of the oars Watty
saved it. The squall was short-lived. Before long it again fell calm,
and the sky cleared, but nothing was now to be seen save the unbroken
circle of the horizon.
Who can tell the feelings of the poor youth when night descended on the
sea? For hours he sat in the stern-sheets quite motionless, as if
stunned. [Note: see frontispiece.] Rowing, he knew, would be of no use,
as he might be pulling away from the island instead of towards it.
Fastening his jacket to an oar, he set it up as a signal, and sat down
helpless and inactive, but his mind was busy as he gazed into the depths
of the moonlit sky. He thought of home, of the father whom he had so
deeply injured, of the prospects that he had unwittingly blighted, of
his comrade Ben Trench, and his other friends on the Coral Island. As
he continued to think, conscience rose up and condemned him sternly.
Wilkins bowed his head to the condemnation, and admitted that it was
just.
"Oh!" he cried, in a passion of sudden remorse, "O God! spare me to
return home and be a comfort to my father,--my dear, dear father!"
He put his face in his hands and wept bitterly. Sitting thus, overcome
with sorrow and fatigue, he gradually sank lower and lower, until he
slid to the bottom of the boat, and lay at last with his head on the
thwart, in profound slumber. He dreamed of home and forgiveness as he
floated there, the one solitary black spot on the dark breast of the
solemn sea.
CHAPTER SIX.
WATTY WILKINS IS TRIED, COMFORTED, RUN DOWN, RESCUED, AND RESTORED.
When Watty Wilkins awoke from sleep, the sun was high in the heavens and
the sea smooth as a mirror.
The poor boy raised himself on one elbow and looked about him, at first
with a confused feeling of uncertainty as to where he was. Then the
truth burst upon him with overwhelming force. Not only was he alone in
a little, half-decayed boat without sail, rudder, or compass, on the
great Pacific Ocean, but, with the exception of a few fish, he was
without food, and, worst of all, he had not a drop of fresh water.
What was to be done? An unspoken prayer ascended from his heart to God,
as he rose and seized the oars. A belief that it was needful to act
vigorously and at once was strong upon him. For several minutes he
relieved his feelings by rowing with all his might. Then he stopped
abruptly, and his spirit sank almost in despair as he exclaimed aloud--
"What's the use? I don't know where the island is. I may only be
pulling farther away from it. Oh! what shall I do?"
At that moment of extreme depression, the value of having had a
God-fearing father who had taught him the Bible was unexpectedly
realised, for there flashed into his mind, as if in reply to his
question, the words, "Call upon me in the time of trouble; I will
deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me."
He pulled in the oars at once, fell on his knees, and, clasping his
hands, prayed fervently. Watty had been taught a form of prayer in
childhood, and had often used it with little or no regard to its
meaning. Now, in his distress, he prayed in earnest. He meant what he
said. It followed, also, that he said what he meant. The old form,
being quite unsuitable to the occasion, was forgotten, and very homely
language indeed was used, but it was sufficient for the purpose. The
substance of it was a cry for pardon and deliverance. That which winged
it to the Throne of Grace was the name of Jesus Christ.
Resuming the oars, he rowed gently; not for the sake of directing the
boat, but because a state of inaction was disagreeable, and as he rowed
he thought of the promise that had been sent to him. Strange to say,
the latter part of it, "Thou shalt glorify me," seemed to take a
stronger hold of his mind than the first. "Yes," he thought, "the whole
promise is true. He will deliver me and make me to glorify Himself in
some way or other. Perhaps He will let me live to return home, and be a
comfort to my father."
The thought of the sorrow he had caused his father weighed heavier than
ever in the poor boy's mind, and the desire to express his repentance,
and, if possible, make his father glad again, became very intense. It
seemed to him that a millstone would be removed from his heart if he
could be allowed, even for one minute, to hold his father's hand and
say, "Oh, I am so sorry, sorry, sorry that I ran away!" The millstone
was not removed at that time, however; but in answer to prayer it was
unquestionably lightened.
The exercise of rowing and the fresh morning air produced their natural
effect ere long on the little castaway. He became ravenously hungry,
and turned his eyes inquiringly on the few fish which surged about in
the pool of dirty water that had gathered in the bottom of the boat. It
was not an inviting breakfast. Watty turned his eyes away from it,
looked up into the fair blue sky, and tried to think of other things!
But the calls of nature were not to be silenced. Instead of thinking of
other things, he somehow thought of bread and butter. He even fell into
a species of argument with himself as to whether it would not be
uncommonly pleasant in various supposable circumstances, to eat bread
without butter. Then he found himself meditating on the delights of
butter and jam together, which somehow suggested the scriptural figure
of a land flowing with milk and honey.
"Oh!" he sighed at this point, "if the sea was only milk and honey--milk
even without honey!--what a glorious prospect!"
He looked at it as if he half thought it would be transformed under the
power of his intense wish. Then he looked again at the floating fish
and shuddered. Well might he shudder, for they were contemptible little
fish, most of them, with unnaturally large heads, and great staring
eyes, as if they had failed, even in death, to get rid of their surprise
at being caught. With their mouths opened to the uttermost, they seemed
to wish to shout, but couldn't.
"I may as well take them out of the dirty water anyhow," he muttered,
suiting the action to the word, and spreading the fish on the thwart in
front of him. Liking their appearance still less in that position, he
put them on the thwart behind him, and tried to forget them.
Impossible! He might as well have tried to forget his own existence.
At last, after holding out as long as possible, the poor boy made up his
mind to eat a little. Then he thought, "If I could only cook them; oh!
for only one small lump of live coal from the camp fire on--"
The thought was checked abruptly, for he suddenly remembered that he had
a burning-glass in his trousers pocket. He might perhaps be able to
roast them with that--in a somewhat underdone fashion, no doubt--still,
any sort of cooking would be better than none!
It need scarcely be said that the attempt failed. The only results were
a burnt spot or two and a faint odour that served to intensify his
hunger. At last he bit a mouthful out of the back of one of the fish,
chewed it viciously, swallowed it in a hurry, and felt very sick. The
ice was broken, however, and he got on better than he had expected. But
when hunger was appeased, there came gradually upon him the far less
endurable condition of thirst. He really felt as if he should choke,
and once or twice he dipped his baling-dish over the side, but
restrained himself on remembering the journal of the skeleton, wherein
it was recorded that one of the men had gone mad after drinking salt
water.
Towards the afternoon hope was revived in his breast by the appearance
of clouds indicating rain. It came at last, in a soft gentle shower--
far too gentle, indeed, for it could not be collected. What dropped
upon the wooden baling-dish seemed to sink into or evaporate off it.
The few drops that fell upon his patiently protruded tongue served only
to tantalise him. But Watty was not prone to give way to despair; at
least, not to remain in that condition. He took off his jacket, spread
it out so as to form a basin, and eagerly watched the result. Alas! the
cloth was too soft. It acted like a sponge, into which the rain-drops
disappeared.
When it became evident that the coat was a failure--refusing even to
part with a single drop when wrung,--Watty chanced to cast down his
eyes, and they naturally fell on his trousers. They were stiff canvas
trousers, and very greasy from much service among the dishes. Instantly
he had them off, and spread out as the coat had been. Joy
inexpressible--they held water! To convert the body of them into a lake
and the legs into two water-courses was not difficult for one whose
ingenuity was beyond the average. But oh! the lake basin was slow to
gather the precious drops! He caused the two legs to debouch into the
baling-dish, and watched eagerly for half an hour, at the end of which
period about a wineglassful was collected. He sucked it in, to the last
drop, and waited for more. It seemed as if the very sky sympathised
with the boy's distress, for soon afterwards the rain increased, then it
poured, and finally, Watty Wilkins was more than satisfied, he was
drenched. Fortunately the downpour was short-lived. It ceased
suddenly; the clouds broke up, and the evening sun came out in full
splendour, enabling him to partially dry his garments.
In the Southern Seas at that time, the weather was particularly warm, so
that our castaway felt no inconvenience from his ducking, and spent the
second night in comparative comfort, his dreams--if he had any--being
untroubled with visions of food or drink. Once, indeed, he awoke, and,
looking up, recalled so vividly the fate of the man who had been cast
alone and dying on the Coral Island, that he became deeply depressed by
the thought of meeting a similar fate; but the text of the previous day
again recurred to him. Clinging to it, he again fell asleep, and did
not wake till morning.
Looking over the side, he saw what sent a gush of hope and joy to his
heart. A ship, under full sail, not half a mile off! He rubbed his
eyes and looked again. Was he dreaming? Could it be?
He sprang up with a cry of delight and gave vent to a long, loud cheer,
as much to relieve his feelings as to attract attention. It was almost
too good to be true, he thought. Then a voice within whispered, "Did
you not ask for deliverance?" and the boy mentally responded, "Yes,
thank God, I did."
While he was thinking, his hands were busy refastening his jacket (which
he had taken down to sleep in) by a sleeve to its former place at the
end of an oar. But there was no occasion to signal. The vessel, a
barque, was running straight towards him before a light breeze under
full sail--as Baldwin Burr would have said, with "stuns'ls slow and
aloft." Believing that he had been observed, he ceased waving his flag
of distress.
But soon a new idea sent a thrill through his heart. No sign of
recognition was made to him as the ship drew near. Evidently the
look-out was careless.
Leaping up, Watty seized the oar, waved his flag frantically, and yelled
out his alarm. Still the ship bore majestically down on him, her huge
bow bulking larger and higher as she drew near. Again Watty yelled,
loud and long, and waved his flag furiously. The ship was close upon
him--seemed almost towering over him. He saw a sailor appear lazily at
the bow with his hands in his pockets. He saw the eyes of that seaman
suddenly display their whites, and his hands, with the ten fingers
extended, fly upwards. He heard a tremendous "Starboard ha-a-a-rd!"
followed by a terrific "Starboard it is!" Then there was a crashing of
rotten wood, a fearful rushing of water in his ears, a bursting desire
to breathe, and a dreadful thrusting downwards into a dark abyss. Even
in that moment of extremity the text of the morning flashed through his
whirling brain--then all was still.
When Watty's mind resumed its office, its owner found himself in a
comfortable berth between warm blankets with a hot bottle at his feet,
and the taste of hot brandy-and-water in his mouth. A man with a rough
hairy visage was gazing earnestly into his face.
"Wall, youngster, I guess," said the man, "that you'd pretty nigh
slipped your cable."
Watty felt thankful that he had not quite slipped his cable, and said
so.
"You went over me, I think," he added.
"Over you! Yes, I just think we did. You went down at the bows--I
see'd you myself--and came up at the starn. The cap'n, he see'd you
come up, an' said you bounced out o' the water like the cork of a
soda-water bottle. But here he comes himself. He told me I wasn't to
speak much to you."
The captain, who was an American, with a sharp-featured and firm but
kindly countenance, entered the berth at the moment.
"Well, my boy, glad to see you revived. You had a narrow escape.
Wouldn't have been so if it hadn't chanced that one of our worst men was
the look-out--or rather wasn't the look-out. However, you're all right
now. Your ship went down, I expect, not long since?"
"About three or four months ago," answered Watty.
"Come, boy, your mind hasn't got quite on the balance yet. It ain't
possible that you could be as fat as a young pig after bein' three or
four months at sea in an open boat. What was the name of your ship?"
"The _Lively Poll_."
"What! a Scotch ship?"
"Yes; part owned and commanded by Captain Samson."
"_I_ know him; met him once in Glasgow. A big, rough-bearded, hearty
fellow--six foot two or thereabouts. Didn't go down with his ship, did
he?" asked the captain with a look of anxiety.
"No," replied Watty with increasing interest in the American; "we
escaped on a raft to an island, off which I was blown, while alone in my
boat only two days ago."
"Only two days ago, boy!" echoed the captain, starting up; "d'you happen
to know the direction of that island?"
Watty did not know, of course, having had no compass in his boat; but he
fortunately remembered what Captain Samson had said when he had
ascertained the latitude and longitude of it.