There being but two of us now to work the pumps, it was more than we
could do to keep them going. We plied them, with a brief spell between,
and then my arms fell to my side, and I told the boatswain I could pump
no more.
He sounded the well and made six inches.
"There's only two inches left that we can get out of her," said he;
"and they'll do no harm."
On which we quitted the main-deck and came into the cuddy.
"Mr. Royle," he said, seating himself on the edge of the table, "we
shall have to leave this ship if we aren't taken off her. I reckon
it'll require twelve feet o' water to sink her, allowin' for there
being a deal o' wood in the cargo; and maybe she won't go down at that.
However, we'll say twelve feet, and supposin' we lets her be, she'll
give us, if you like, eight or nine hours afore settlin'. I'm not
saying as we ought to leave her; but I'm lookin' at you, sir, and see
that you're werry nigh knocked up; Cornish is about a quarter o' the
man he was; an' as to the bloomin' steward, he's as good as drownded,
no better and no worse. We shall take one spell too many at them pumps
and fall down under it an' never get up agin. Wot we had best do is to
keep a look all around for wessels, get that there quarter-boat ready
for lowerin', and stand by to leave the ship when the sea calms. You
know how Bermuda bears, don't you, sir?"
"I can find out to-night. It is too late to get sights now."
"I think," he returned, "that our lives 'll be as safe in the boat as
they are on board this ship, an' a trifle safer. I've been watching
this wessel a good deal, and my belief is that wos another gale to
strike her, she'd make one o' her long plunges and go all to pieces
like a pack o' cards when she got to the bottom o' the walley o'
water. Of course, if this sea don't calm, we must make shift to keep
her afloat until it do. You'll excuse me for talkin' as though I wos
dictatin'. I'm just givin' you the thoughts that come into my head
whilst we wos pumpin'."
"I quite agree with you," I replied; "I am only thinking of the size of
the quarter-boat; whether she isn't too small for five persons?"
"Not she! I'll get a bit of a mast rigged up in her and it'll go hard
if we don't get four mile an hour out of her somehows. How fur might
the Bermuda Islands be off?"
I answered, after reflecting some moments, that they would probably be
distant from the ship between 250 and 300 miles.
"We should get pretty near 'em in three days," said he, "if the wind
blew that way. Will you go an' tell the young lady what we're thinkin'
o' doing while I overhauls the boat an' see what's wantin' in her? One
good job is, we shan't have to put off through the ship sinkin' all of
a heap. There's a long warning given us, and I can't help thinkin' that
the stormy weather's blown hisself out, for the sky looks to me to have
a regular set fair blue in it."
He went on to the main-deck. I inspected the glass, which I found had
risen since I last looked at it. This, coupled with the brilliant
sky and glorious sunshine and the diminishing motion of the ship,
cheered me somewhat, though I looked forward with misgiving to leaving
the ship, having upon me the memory of the sufferings endured by
shipwrecked men in this lonely condition, and remembering that Mary
Robertson would be one of us, and have to share in any privations that
might befall us.
At the same time, it was quite clear to me that the boatswain, Cornish,
and myself would never, with our failing strength, be able to keep the
ship afloat; and for Miss Robertson's sake, therefore, it was my duty
to put a cheerful face upon the melancholy alternative.
When I reached the poop the first thing I beheld was the Russian
barque, now a square of gleaming white upon the southern horizon.
I quickly averted my eyes from the shameful object, and saw that the
steward had recovered from his swoon and was squatting against the
companion counting his fingers and smiling at them.
Miss Robertson was steering the ship, while Cornish lay extended along
the deck, his head pillowed on a flag.
The wind (as by the appearance of the weather I might have anticipated,
had my mind been free to speculate on such things) had dropped
suddenly, and was now a gentle breeze, and the sea was subsiding
rapidly. Indeed, a most golden, glorious afternoon had set in, with a
promise of a hot and breathless night.
I approached Miss Robertson, and asked her what was the matter with
Cornish.
"I noticed him reeling at the wheel," she answered, "with his face
quite white. I put a flag for his head, and told him to lie down. I
called to you, but you did not hear me; and I have been waiting to see
you that you might get him some brandy."
I found that the boatswain had not yet come aft, and at once went below
to procure a dram for Cornish. I returned and knelt by his side, and
was startled to perceive that his eyeballs were turned up, and his
hands and teeth clenched, as though he were convulsed. Sharp tremors
ran through his body, and he made no reply nor appeared to hear me,
though I called his name several times.
Believing that he was dying, I shouted to the boatswain, who came
immediately.
The moment he looked at Cornish he uttered an exclamation.
"God knows what ails the poor creature!" I cried. "Lift his head, that
I may get some brandy into his mouth."
The boatswain raised him by the shoulders, but his head hung back like
a dead man's. I drew out my knife and inserted the blade between his
teeth, and by this means contrived to introduce some brandy into his
mouth, but it bubbled back again, which was a terrible sign, I thought;
and still the tremors shook his poor body, and the eyes remained
upturned, making the face most ghastly to see.
"It's his heart broke," exclaimed the boatswain, in a tremulous voice.
"Jim, what's the matter with 'ee, mate? You're not goin' to let the
sight o' that Roosian murderer kill you? Come, come! God Almighty knows
we've all had a hard fight for it, but we're not beat yet, lad. 'Tis
but another spell o' waitin', and it'll come right presently. Don't let
a gale o' wind knock the breath out o' you. What man as goes to sea but
meets with reverses like this here? Swaller the brandy, Jim!... My
God! Mr. Royle, he's dyin'!"
As he said this Cornish threw up his arms and stiffened out his body.
So strong was his dying action that he knocked the glass of brandy
out of my hand and threw me backwards some paces. The pupils of his
eyes rolled down, and a film came over them; he uttered something in a
hoarse whisper, and lay dead on the boatswain's knee.
I glanced at Miss Robertson. Her lips were tightly compressed,
otherwise the heroic girl showed no emotion.
The boatswain drew a deep breath and let the dead man's head fall
gently on the flag.
"For Miss Robertson's sake," I whispered, "let us carry him forward."
He acquiesced in silence, and we bore the body off the poop and laid it
on the fore-hatch.
"There will be no need to bury him," said I.
"No need and no time, sir. I trust God'll be merciful to the poor
sailor when he's called up. He was made bad by them others, sir. His
heart wasn't wrong," replied the boatswain.
I procured a blanket from the forecastle and covered the body with it,
and we then walked back to the poop slowly and without speaking.
I felt the death of this man keenly. He had worked well, confronted
danger cheerfully; he had atoned, in his untutored fashion, for the
wrongs he had taken a part in--besides, the fellowship of peril was a
tie upon us all, not to be sundered without a pang, which our hearts
never would have felt had fate dealt otherwise with us.
I stopped a moment with the boatswain to look at the steward before
joining Miss Robertson. To many, I believe this spectacle of idiocy
would have been more affecting than Cornish's death. He was tracing
figures, such as circles and crosses, with his fore finger on the deck,
smiling vacantly meanwhile, and now and then looking around him with
rolling, unmeaning eyes.
"How is it with you, my man?" I said.
He gazed at me very earnestly, rose to his feet, and, taking my arm,
drew me a short distance away from the boatswain.
"A ship passed us just now, sir," he exclaimed in a whisper, and with a
profoundly confidential air. "Did you see her?"
"Yes, steward, I saw her."
"A word in your ear, sir--_mum!_ that's the straight tip. Do you see? I
was tired of this ship, sir--tired of being afraid of drowning. I put
myself on board that vessel, _and there I am now, sir_. But hush! do
you know I cannot talk to them--they're furriners! Roosians, sir, by
the living cock! that's my oath, and it crows every morning in my back
garden."
He struck me softly on the waistcoat, and fell back a step, with his
finger on his lip.
"Ah," said I, "I understand. Sit down again and go on drawing on the
deck, and then they'll think you're lost in study and not trouble you."
"Right, my lord--your lordship's 'umble servant," answered the poor
creature, making me a low bow; and with a lofty and dignified air he
resumed his place on the deck near the companion.
"Wot was he sayin'?" inquired the boatswain.
"He is quite imbecile. He thinks he is on board the Russian," I
replied.
"Well, that's a comfort," said the boatswain. "He'll not be tryin' to
swim arter her agin."
"Miss Robertson," I exclaimed, "you need not remain at the wheel. There
is so little wind now that the ship may be left to herself."
Saving which I made the wheel fast and led her to one of the skylights.
"Bo'sun," said I, "will you fetch us something to eat and drink out of
the pantry? Open a tin of meat, and get some biscuit and wine. This
may prove our last meal on board the _Grosvenor_," I added to Miss
Robertson, as the boatswain left us.
She looked at me inquiringly, but did not speak.
"Before we knew," I continued, "that poor Cornish was dying, the
boatswain and I resolved that we should all of us leave the ship. We
have no longer the strength to man the pumps. The water is coming in
at the rate of a foot an hour, and we have found latterly that even
three of us cannot pump more at a time out of her than six or seven
inches, and every spell at the pumps leaves us more exhausted. But even
though we had hesitated to leave her, yet now that Cornish is gone and
the steward has fallen imbecile, we have no alternative."
"I understand," she said, glancing at the boat and compressing her lip.
"You are not afraid--you who have shown more heart and courage than all
of us put together?"
"No--I am not much afraid. I believe that God is looking down upon us,
and that He will preserve us. But," she cried, taking a short breath,
and clasping her hands convulsively, "it will be very, very lonely on
the great sea in that little boat."
"Why more lonely in that little boat than on this broken and sinking
ship? I believe with you that God is looking down upon us, and that
He has given us that pure and beautiful sky as an encouragement and a
promise. Contrast the sea now with what it was this morning. In a few
hours hence it will be calm; and believe me when I say that we shall
be a thousandfold safer in that boat than we are in this strained and
leaking ship. Even while we talk now the water is creeping into the
hold, and every hour will make her sink deeper and deeper until she
disappears beneath the surface. On the other hand, we may have many
days together of this fine weather. I will steer the boat for the
Bermuda Islands, which we cannot miss by heading the boat west, even
if I should lack the means of ascertaining our exact whereabouts,
which you may trust me will not be the case. Moreover, the chance of
our being rescued by a passing ship will be much greater when we are
in the boat than it is while we remain here; for no ship, though she
were commanded by a savage, would refuse to pick a boat up and take
its occupants on board; whereas vessels, as we have already discovered
to our cost, will sight distressed ships and leave them to shift for
themselves."
"I do not doubt you are right," she replied, with a plaintive smile.
"I should not say or do anything to oppose you. And believe me," she
exclaimed earnestly, "that I do not think more of my own life than of
that of my companions. Death is not so terrible but that we may meet
it, if God wills, calmly. And I would rather die at once, Mr. Royle,
than win a few short years of life on hard and bitter terms."
She looked at the steward as she spoke, and an expression of beautiful
pity came into her face.
"Miss Robertson," I said, "in my heart I am pledged to save your life.
If you die, we both die!--of that be sure."
"I know what I owe you," she answered, in a low and broken voice. "I
know that my life is yours, won by you from the very jaws of death,
soothed and supported by you afterwards. What my gratitude is only God
knows. I have no words to tell you."
"Do you give me the life I have saved?" I asked, wondering at my own
breathless voice as I questioned her.
"I do," she replied firmly, lifting up her eyes and looking at me.
"Do you give it to me because your sweet and generous gratitude makes
you think it my due?--not knowing I am poor, not remembering that my
station in life is humble, without a question as to my past?"
"I give it to you because I love you!" she answered, extending her hand.
I drew her towards me and kissed her forehead.
"God bless you, Mary darling, for your faith in me! God bless you for
your priceless gift of your love to me! Living or dead, dearest, we are
one!"
And she, as though to seal these words which our danger invested with
an entrancing mysteriousness, raised my hand to her spotless lips, and
then held it for some moments to her heart.
The boatswain, coming up the poop ladder, saw her holding my hand. He
approached us slowly, and in silence; and putting down the tray, which
he had heaped with sailor-like profusion with food enough for a dozen
persons, stood looking on us thoughtfully.
"Mr. Royle," he said, in a deliberate voice, "you'll excuse me for
sayin' of it, but, sir, you've found her out?"
"I have, bo'sun."
"You've found her out, sir, as the truest-hearted gell as ever did duty
as a darter?"
"I have."
"I've watched her, and know her to be British--true oak-seasoned, by
God Almighty, as does this sort o' work better nor Time! You've found
her out, sir?"
"It is true, bo'sun."
"And you, miss," he exclaimed, in the same deliberate voice, "have
found _him_ out?"
She looked downwards with a little blush.
"Mr. Royle, and you, miss," he continued, "I'm not goin' to say nothen
agin this being the right time to find each other out in. It's
Almighty Providence as brings these here matters to pass, and it's in
times o' danger as love speaks out strongest, turnin' the heart into a
speakin' trumpet and hailin' with a loud and tremendious woice. Wot I
wur goin' to say is this: that in Mr. Royle I've seen the love for a
long while past burnin' and strugglin', and sometimes hidin' of itself,
and then burstin' up afresh, like a flare aboard o' a sinkin' ketch on
a windy night; and in you, miss, I've likewise seen tokens as 'ud ha'
made me up and speak my joy days an' days ago, had it been _my_ consarn
to attend to 'em. I say, that now as we're sinkin' without at all
meanin' to drown, with no wun but God Almighty to see us, this is the
properest time for you to have found each other out in. Mr. Royle, your
hand, sir; miss, yours. I say, God bless you! Whilst we have breath
we'll keep the boat afloat; and if it's not to be, still I'll say, God
bless you!"
He shook us heartily by the hand, looked hard at the poor steward, as
though he would shake hands with him too; then walked aft, hauled down
the signals, stepped into the cuddy, returned with the large ensign,
bent it on to the halliards, and ran it up to the gaff-end.
"That," said he, returning and looking up proudly at the flag, "is to
let them as it may consarn know that we're not dead yet. Now, sir,
shall I pipe to dinner?"