Adrift.
Seizing their weapons, the wearied men ran forward to the forecastle,
where the negroes had nearly cut another hole through the bulkhead
separating the crew's quarters from the hold.
One of the main hatch guards was holding them at bay, and had managed
to seize the implement with which they had gained their liberty, from
the savage who happened to be using it last. It was part of an old
hand saw, that had, by some neglect, been left unnoticed on the floor
of the hold.
Several shots drove back the blacks, then the hole, which was a small
one, was nailed up and another guard stationed.
Gary's next move was to order the two sound boats lowered and attached
by ropes to the side. He was impressed by this last effort of the
blacks that the worst might happen, and that they had better be
prepared. Once the horde of savages gained the decks, the vessel would
afford no refuge to their hated oppressors.
The night was somewhat advanced. In the horizon a few darker spaces
denoted the presence of clouds, though all above was clear.
The Wanderer's sails hung limp, unless now and then a feeble expansion
caused by some desultory puff be excepted. Gary divided the remainder
of the men into two watches, one of whom he caused to lie down on deck
for a little rest, with their arms at their sides.
Below, amid the darkness, a single light shone from the cabin. Some
one of the blacks, evidently acquainted with the use of matches
(through traders or missionaries, doubtless), had found a way of
lighting the cabin lamp. Pandemonium reigned there. Inflamed by rum,
furious efforts were made from time to time to burst through the
hatches.
Along towards morning, however, a certain degree of quiet began to
prevail. Perhaps the negroes were growing weary.
A light breeze had arisen that sent the schooner ahead. Gary had
determined to make for the nearest port, provided they could hold out
to reach it. He saw no chance to do aught to subdue and confine the
blacks with his reduced force. If they saved the vessel and their own
lives, they would do more than some of them expected.
One of the boats was chafing against the weather side of the ship.
Gary directed Ralph to drop both boats astern and fasten one behind the
other.
The boy obeyed, climbing down into the first boat in order to attach
the second to its stern. He made, as he thought, a half hitch of the
painter, then, drawing the second boat close to the first, he stepped
into it, and began bailing out the water that had filtered in through
the seams shrunken by exposure to the sun on the schooner's deck.
As he worked away, thoughts of his mountain home intruded strangely,
perhaps incongruously, upon his mind. Looking eastward a narrow rim of
moon was protruding over the ocean's rim.
Something reminded him of the way it used to rise above "Old Peaky
Top," just back of the cabin on Hiawassee. He straightened himself to
obtain a better view. A sharp report rang out behind him from the
vessel, and he felt a numbness under his shoulder.
"Reckon they must be trying to get out again," he muttered, glancing at
the ship's stern.
He was then sensible of a dizziness and a roaring in his ears. A black
savage face was glaring upon him from the window of the captain's
stateroom, from whence protruded the barrel of a rifle. After that his
sight grew dim; something wet trickled down on one of his hands, and
outward things became a blank. His last sensation was a comfortable
kind of sleepiness.
When Ralph came to himself he was lying in the bottom of the boat with
his head jammed uncomfortably under one of the thwarts. As he
scrambled up, his first thought was of what the captain would say to
his falling asleep in that way. But instead of rising, he stumbled and
fell. Then he realized that it was morning and that he was
unaccountably weak. Pulling himself up again with more care, he stared
around for an instant, then sank back against the thwart.
The Wanderer was nowhere to be seen. After another moment he pulled
himself up on the seat, in order to assure himself that he was not
dreaming. What his eyes had told him was a fact.
He was alone in that little boat, with not a sail or other sign of
man's presence anywhere within view. The surprise held him mute and
breathless at first, then he began to wonder how he came to be left in
such a plight.
His left arm felt stiff and sore. Looking down, he saw the blood had
dried on his left hand, while under that shoulder something smarted
with every movement.
It came to him then. The report, the numbness, the fleeting glimpse of
that savage face, and the gun barrel, were now accounted for.
"While I was mooning away about grandfather and home, that fellow shot
me. Lucky he didn't strike closer. But how did I get loose?"
Examination showed him the painter trailing idly in the water
alongside. He must have made that half hitch carelessly. During his
swoon it had worked loose.
His friends on board had doubtless had their attention too much taken
up by the blacks, to give heed to him. The whiffs of air had slowly
swept the schooner out of sight and he had lain senseless until
daylight.
"I am surely in a bad fix," he reflected. "Wounded--in an open
boat--without an oar, or a bite to eat or drink."
He had read enough of the perils of the sea to comprehend the terrible
possibilities of his situation, and at first his blood chilled and his
courage sank. Resolute as he was by nature, there was a deadly
difference between the loneliness of his present condition and the
solitude of his native mountains.
In the woods he was at home; he knew where to go to find people
there--but here! In his weakened condition tears started to his eyes.
But he soon dashed them away, and, rising, set about dressing his wound.
He removed his jacket and shirt, and bathed the wound with ocean water,
as he knew that salt was good to allay possible inflammation. The
bullet had grazed his side just under the shoulder, making a painful
though not a dangerous injury.
"Lucky it didn't lodge," he thought, as he tore up his handkerchief and
bound up the place by passing the bandage over his opposite shoulder.
A good deal of blood had flowed both down his arm and side. This
accounted for his present weakness.
After resuming his clothes, he sat down to consider the situation.
There was a light breeze from the northeast, with a straggling fleece
of clouds, expanding like a fan towards the zenith. Ralph knew that
the appearance indicated more wind, but he determined not to borrow
trouble from the future.
A slow, majestic heaving of the ocean, on which the yawl gently rose
and fell was counter crossed by the shorter ripples stirred up by the
light wind then blowing. The dead swell evinced the neighborhood of
some previous gale.
"I might as well search the lockers," he said to himself. "There might
be something eatable in them."
There was nothing to eat aboard; but in the locker at the stern he
discovered a small keg filled with water, overlooked probably when the
boat was unloaded, for it was the same craft in which the trip up the
African river had been made.
"That's a good find," he ejaculated. "Crickey! what is this?"
He drew forth from under the bow a strip of canvas and an old rusty
hatchet. The possession of these articles raised his spirits for a
time, so that he set to work to rig up a sort of jury mast and sail.
There were three thwarts. From one of these he managed to split two
pieces some six feet long without impairing its strength as a brace to
stiffen the boat. He lashed the three together with a few bits of spun
yarn from his pocket, making a mast nearly ten feet long.
Next he split from the other thwarts a piece or two for a boom, then he
turned his attention to the sail.
Part of the canvas he tore into strips, and by the help of these he
manufactured a sort of lug sail of sufficient size to keep the boat
steady in a seaway, and in running with a fair wind to make two or
three miles an hour.
To step and wedge the mast with the aid of the hatchet and more
splinters from the thwarts, did not take long. The only thing that
bothered him was the main sheet, or--to explain--the rope which should
hold the sail taut and trim.
His eye happened to rest on the knot of the painter where it was
fastened to a ring bolt at the bow. He drew the wet line aboard,
untied the knot and soon had his main sheet fastened to the boom.
There was a cleat near the tiller and Ralph, hauling in, brought the
yawl a little up in the wind and soon had the craft under headway.
"By jolly!" he exclaimed, "but this isn't so very bad, after all. If I
only knew where to head now, I might strike the Cape Verdes. I suppose
I might hit Africa if I went east long enough; that is, supposing I
didn't capsize or founder, or starve, or something. Heigho! How weak
I feel. Believe I'll take breakfast."
So he took up the keg and drank heartily, for his wound had made him
slightly feverish.
"I must touch it lighter than this," he said as he put down the keg.
"Lord only knows when or where I will get it filled again."
As the sun came up, a flaming red ball, the wind slowly increased.
Ralph, though by no means experienced in boat sailing, had learned how
to steer. The sail was too small and weakly fastened to render it
liable to endanger the safety of the craft and for a time the interest
aroused by the novelty of sailing by himself kept his spirits up.
But in an hour or so he felt weary. The sea had slowly risen so that
an occasional dash of water flew over the bow whenever he headed in the
least to windward.
"What is the use of tiring myself out?" he thought at last. "It don't
make any difference where I go, or whether I go at all."
So he unstepped his mast, stowed it in the boat's bottom, and lay down
on the sail. The sun dazzled him and he drew his hat over his eyes.
Probably his wound and weakness made him drowsy, for he fell asleep.
When he again awoke the sun was nearly overhead. The hot glare was
stifling. His very clothing seemed to burn his flesh. He staggered to
his feet and looked around the horizon wearily.
Suddenly his eyes brightened and his whole figure became animated and
eager.