"You are ill, Will Ward," was Dick Darvall's first remark when there was
sufficient daylight to distinguish faces.
"You're another!" was the cabin-boy's quick, facetious retort, which
caused Darvall to smile and had the effect of rousing the half-sleeping
crew.
"But you _are_ ill, my boy," repeated the seaman earnestly.
"No, Dick, not exactly ill," returned Will, with a faint smile, "but I'm
queer."
Each man had spent that stormy night on the particular thwart on which
he had chanced to sit down when he first entered the boat, so that all
were looking more or less weary, but seamen are used to uncomfortable
and interrupted slumbers. They soon roused themselves and began to look
about and make a few comments on the weather. Some, recurring naturally
to their beloved indulgence, pulled out their pipes and filled them.
"Have 'ee a light, Jim?" asked a rugged man, in a sleepy tone, of a
comrade behind him.
"No, Jack, I haven't" answered Jim, in a less sleepy tone, slapping all
his pockets and thrusting his hands into them.
"Have _you_, Dick?" asked the rugged man in some anxiety.
"No, I haven't," replied Darvall, in a very serious voice, as he also
took to slapping his pockets; "no--nor baccy!"
It was curious to note at this point how every seaman in that boat
became suddenly sympathetic and wide awake, and took to hasty, anxious
examination of all his pockets--vest jacket, and trousers. The result
was the discovery of a good many clay pipes, more or less blackened and
shortened, with a few plugs of tobacco, but not a single match, either
fusee or congreve. The men looked at each other with something akin to
despair.
"Was no matches putt on board wi' the grub an' other things?" asked Jim
in a solemn tone.
"And no tobacco?" inquired the mate.
No one could answer in the affirmative. A general sigh--like a
miniature squall--burst from the sailors, and relieved them a little.
Jim put his pipe between his lips, and meekly began, if we may say so,
to smoke his tobacco dry. At an order from the mate the men got out the
oars and began to pull, for there was barely enough wind to fill the
sail.
"No rest for us, lads, 'cept when it blows," said the mate. "The
nearest land that I know of is five hundred miles off as the crow flies.
We've got a compass by good luck, so we can make for it, but the grub
on board won't hold out for quarter o' that distance, so, unless we fall
in with a ship, or fish jump aboard of us, ye know what's before us."
"Have we any spirits aboard?" asked the rugged man, in a growling,
somewhat sulky, voice.
"Hear--hear!" exclaimed Jim.
"No, Jack," returned the mate; "at least not for the purpose o' lettin'
you have a short life an' a merry one. Now, look here, men: it has
pleased Providence to putt you an' me in something of a fix, and I
shouldn't wonder if we was to have some stiffish experiences before we
see the end of it. It has also pleased Providence to putt me here in
command. You know I'm not given to boastin', but there are times when
it is advisable to have plain speakin'. There _is_ a small supply of
spirits aboard, and I just want to tell 'ee--merely as a piece of useful
information, and to prevent any chance o' future trouble--that as I've
got charge o' them spirits I mean to _keep_ charge of 'em."
The mate spoke in a low, soft voice, without the slightest appearance of
threat or determination in his manner, but as he concluded he unbuttoned
his pilot-cloth coat and pointed to the butt of a revolver which
protruded from one of his vest pockets.
The men made no reply, but instinctively glanced at the two biggest and
strongest men in the boat. These were Charlie Brooke and Dick Darvall.
Obviously, before committing themselves further, they wished, if
possible, to read in the faces of these two what they thought of the
mate's speech. They failed to read much, if anything at all, for
Charlie's eyes were fixed in dreamy expressionless abstraction on the
horizon, and Dick was gazing up into the clouds, with a look of intense
benignity--suggesting that he was holding pleasant intercourse with any
celestial creatures who might be resident there.
Without a word the whole crew bent to their oars, and resigned
themselves to the inevitable. Perhaps if each man had expressed his
true feelings at that moment he would have said that he was glad to know
there was a firm hand at the helm. For there are few things more
uncomfortable in any community, large or small, than the absence of
discipline, or the presence of a weak will in a position of power.
"But I say, Will," remarked Darvall, who pulled the stroke-oar, "you
really do look ill. Is anything the matter with 'ee?"
"Nothin', Dick; 'cept that I'm tired," answered the cabin-boy.
"Breakfast will put that right" said our hero in an encouraging tone.
"Let's feel your pulse. Hm. Well, might be slower. Come, Captain," he
added, giving the mate his new title as he turned to him, "will you
allow me to prescribe breakfast for this patient?"
"Certainly, Doctor," returned the mate cheerily. "Come, lads, we'll all
have breakfast together."
In a few minutes the biscuit and salt junk barrels were opened, and the
mate measured out an exactly equal proportion of food to each man.
Then, following the example of a celebrated commander, and in order to
prevent dissatisfaction on the part of any with his portion, he caused
one of the men to turn his back on the food, and, pointing to one of the
portions said, "Who shall have this?"
"The Doctor, sir," returned the man promptly.
The portion was immediately handed to Charlie Brooke amid a general
laugh.
Thus every portion was disposed of, and the men sat down to eat in good
humour, in spite of the too evident fact that they had been at once
placed on short allowance, for, when each had finished, he assuredly
wished for more, though no one ventured to give expression to the wish.
The only exception was the little cabin-boy, who made a brave attempt to
eat, but utterly failed at the second mouthful.
"Come, Will," said Charlie in a kindly tone, pretending to misunderstand
the state of matters, "don't try to deceive yourself by prolonging your
breakfast. That won't make more of it. See, here, I'm not up to eating
much to-day, somehow, so I'll be greatly obliged if you will dispose of
half of mine as well as your own. Next time I am hungry, and you are
not, I'll expect you to do the same."
But Will Ward could not be thus induced to eat. He was really ill, and
before night was in a high fever. You may be sure that Dr Brooke, as
every one now called him, did his best to help the little sufferer, but,
of course, he could do very little, for all the medicines which he had
prepared had been put into the long-boat, and, in a small open boat with
no comforts, no medicines, and on short allowance of food, little could
be done, except to give the boy a space of the floor on which to lie, to
shield him from spray, and to cover him with blankets.
For a week the boat was carried over the sea by a fresh, steady breeze,
during which time the sun shone out frequently, so that things seemed
not so wretched as one might suppose to the shipwrecked mariners. Of
course the poor cabin-boy was an exception. Although his feverish
attack was a slight one he felt very weak and miserable after it. His
appetite began to return, however, and it was evident that the short
daily allowance would be insufficient for him. When this point was
reached Dick Darvall one day, when rations were being served out,
ventured to deliver an opinion.
"Captain and mates all," he said, while a sort of bashful smile played
upon his sunburnt features, "it do seem to me that we should agree, each
man, to give up a share of our rations to little Will Ward, so that he
may be able to feed up a bit an' git the better o' this here sickness.
We won't feel the want of such a little crumb each, an' he'll be ever so
much the better for it."
"Agreed," chorused the men, apparently without exception.
"All right, lads," said the mate, while a rare smile lighted up for a
moment his usually stern countenance; "when the need for such
self-denial comes I'll call on ye to exercise it, but it ain't called
for yet, because I've been lookin' after the interests o' Will Ward
while he's been ill. Justice, you see, stands first o' the virtues in
my mind, an' it's my opinion that it wouldn't be justice, but something
very much the reverse, if we were to rob the poor boy of his victuals
just because he couldn't eat them."
"Right you are, sir," interposed Dick Darvall.
"Well, then, holdin' these views," continued the mate, "I have put aside
Will Ward's share every time the rations were served, so here's what
belongs to him--in this keg for the meat, and this bag for the biscuit--
ready for him to fall-to whenever his twist is strong enough."
There were marks of hearty approval, mingled with laughter, among the
men on hearing this, but they stopped abruptly and listened for more on
observing a perplexed look on their leader's face.
"But there's something that puzzles me about it, lads," resumed the
mate, "and it is this, that the grub has somehow accumulated faster than
I can account for, considering the smallness o' the addition to the lot
each time."
On hearing this the men were a little surprised, but Charlie Brooke
burst into a short laugh.
"What!" he exclaimed, "you don't mean to say that the victuals have
taken root and begun to grow, do you?"
"I don't mean to _say_ anything," returned the mate quietly; "but I'm
inclined to _think_ a good deal if you've no objection, Doctor."
"How d'ee feel now, Will?" said Charlie, stooping forward at the moment,
for he observed that the boy--whose bed was on the floor at his feet--
had moved, and was gazing up at him with eyes that seemed to have grown
enormously since their owner fell sick.
"I feel queer--and--and--I'm inclined to _think_, too," returned Will in
a faint voice.
Nothing more was said at that time, for a sudden shift in the wind
necessitated a shift of the sail, but Dick Darvall nodded his head
significantly, and it came to be understood that "Doctor" Brooke had
regularly robbed himself of part of his meagre allowance in order to
increase the store of the cabin-boy. Whether they were right in this
conjecture has never been distinctly ascertained. But all attempts to
benefit the boy were soon after frustrated, for, while life was little
more than trembling in the balance with Will Ward, a gale burst upon
them which sealed his fate.
It was not the rougher motion of the boat that did it, for the boy was
used to that; nor the flashing of the salt spray inboard, for his
comrades guarded him to some extent from that. During the alarm caused
by a wave which nearly swamped the boat two of the crew in their panic
seized the first things that came to hand and flung them overboard to
prevent their sinking, while the rest baled with cans and sou'-westers
for their lives. The portion of lading thus sacrificed turned out to be
the staff of life--the casks of biscuit and pork!
It was a terrible shock to these unfortunates when the full extent of
the calamity was understood, and the firmness of the mate, with a sight
of the revolvers alone prevented summary vengeance being executed on the
wretched men who had acted so hastily in their blind terror.
Only a small keg of biscuit remained to them. This was soon expended,
and then the process of absolute starvation began. Every nook and
cranny of the boat was searched again and again in the hope of something
eatable being found, but only a small pot of lard--intended probably to
grease the tackling--was discovered. With a dreadful expression in
their eyes some of the men glared at it, and there would, no doubt, have
been a deadly struggle for it if the mate had not said, "Fetch it here,"
in a voice which none dared to disobey.
It formed but a mouthful to each, yet the poor fellows devoured it with
the greed of ravening wolves, and carefully licked their fingers when it
was done. The little cabin-boy had three portions allotted to him,
because Charlie Brooke and Dick Darvall added their allowance to his
without allowing him to be aware of the fact.
But the extra allowance and kindness, although they added greatly to his
comfort, could not stay the hand of Death. Slowly but surely the
Destroyer came and claimed the young life. It was a sweet, calm evening
when the summons came. The sea was like glass, with only that long,
gentle swell which tells even in the profoundest calm of Ocean's
instability. The sky was intensely blue, save on the western horizon,
where the sun turned it into gold. It seemed as if all Nature were
quietly indifferent to the sufferings of the shipwrecked men, some of
whom had reached that terrible condition of starvation when all the
softer feelings of humanity seem dead, for, although no whisper of their
intention passed their lips, their looks told all too plainly that they
awaited the death of the cabin-boy with impatience, that they might
appease the intolerable pangs of hunger by resorting to cannibalism.
Charlie Brooke, who had been comforting the dying lad all day, and
whispering to him words of consolation from God's book from time to
time, knew well what those looks meant. So did the mate, who sat grim,
gaunt and silent at his post, taking no notice apparently of what went
on around him. Fortunately the poor boy was too far gone to observe the
looks of his mates.
There was a can of paraffin oil, which had been thrown into the boat
under the impression that it was something else. This had been avoided
hitherto by the starving men, who deemed it to be poisonous. That
evening the man called Jim lost control of himself, seized the can, and
took a long draught of the oil. Whether it was the effect of that we
cannot tell, but it seemed to drive him mad, for no sooner had he
swallowed it than he uttered a wild shout, drew his knife, sprang up and
leaped towards the place where the cabin-boy lay.
The mate, who had foreseen something of the kind, drew and levelled his
revolver, but before he could fire Charlie had caught the uplifted arm,
wrested the knife from the man, and thrust him violently back. Thus
foiled Jim sprang up again and with a maniac's yell leaped into the sea,
and swam resolutely away.
Even in their dire extremity the sailors could not see a comrade perish
with indifference. They jumped up, hastily got out the oars, and pulled
after him, but their arms were very weak; before they could overtake him
the man had sunk to rise no more.
It was while this scene was being enacted that the spirit of the
cabin-boy passed away. On ascertaining that he was dead Charlie covered
him with a tarpaulin where he lay, but no word was uttered by any one,
and the mate, with revolver still in hand, sat there--grim and silent--
holding the tiller as if steering, and gazing sternly on the horizon.
Yet it was not difficult to divine the thoughts of those unhappy and
sorely tried men. Some by their savage glare at the cover that
concealed the dead body showed plainly their dreadful desires. Brooke,
Darvall, and the mate showed as clearly by their compressed lips and
stern brows that they would resist any attempt to gratify these.
Suddenly the mate's brow cleared, and his eyes opened wide as he
muttered, under his breath, "A sail!"
"A sail! a sail!" shrieked the man in the bow at the same moment, as he
leaped up and tried to cheer, but he only gasped and fell back in a
swoon into a comrade's arms.
It was indeed a sail, which soon grew larger, and ere long a ship was
descried bearing straight towards them before a very light breeze. In
less than an hour the castaways stood upon her deck--saved.