CAPTAIN RAMON CASALLE AND HIS MEN
Under the five oars--Tom tugging manfully at the bow, though still
panting with his previous exertions--the boat soon cleared the entrance
to the little rocky cove, which, during the old convict days, had been
made into a fairly safe boat harbour--the only one, except an
unfrequented beach under Pilot's Hill, for many miles along the coast.
Five minutes after the oars had touched the water she was fairly racing
seaward, for she was in the full run of the ebbing tide as it swept
through the sandbanks and reefs which lined the narrow bar. Then, as
the water deepened, and the current lost its strength, Foster shielded
his eyes with his hands from the blazing sun, and looking ahead, tried
to discern the approaching boat.
'I can't see her anywhere!' he exclaimed presently; 'easy there,
pulling. Perhaps she's in a line with Kooringa Rock, and we won't see
her for another half-hour yet. Jump up, Combo, and take a look ahead.'
Combo, a huge, black-bearded fellow, with a broad much-scarred chest,
showed his white teeth, drew his oar across, and sprung upon the after
thwart. For two or three seconds he scanned the sea ahead, then he
pointed a little to the northward of Kooringa Rock.
'I see um,' he said with a laugh; 'he long way yet--other side
Kooringa--two fella mile yet, I think it;' then he added that the people
in the boat had ceased pulling, and that she seemed to be drifting
broadside to the southward with the current.
Old Foster nodded. 'That'll do, Combo, my boy. You've eyes like a
needle. I can't see for the sun blaze right ahead. Give it to her,
lads;' then he kept away a point or two to the southward, so as to pass
close under Kooringa Rock, against the grim, weed-covered sides of which
only the faintest swell rose and fell, to sway the hanging masses of
green and yellow kelp to and fro. At any other time Tom's eyes would
have revelled in the sight, and at the swarms of fish of all colours and
shapes which swam to and fro in the clear water around the rock, or
darted in and out amongst the moving kelp; but now his thoughts were
centred solely on the boat's present mission--they were going to rescue
what would most likely prove to be shipwrecked people--perhaps
foreigners who could not speak English! Oh, how beautiful it was! And
every nerve and fibre in his body thrilled with pleasure, as, with the
perspiration streaming down his face, he watched his oar, and listened
for the next word of command from the old sailor.
For a brief minute or two, as the boat passed along the base of the
towering dome above, the fierce sun was lost, and Tom gave a sigh of
relief, for although he had thrown off all but his shirt and trousers,
his exertions were beginning to tell upon him, and he looked with
something like envy at the smooth, naked backs of Combo and his sooty
companions, who took no heed of the sun, but whose dark eyes gazed
longingly at the white masses of breeding gulls and boobies which
covered the grassy ledges near the summit of the rock. Then out again
into the dazzling glare once more, and Foster gave a cry--'Avast
pulling! There she is, close to, but pulling away from us!'
Tom jumped up and looked, and saw the strange boat. She was not more
than half a mile away, and he could see the people in her quite plainly;
she was again heading towards the entrance to the bar.
'Give way, lads,' said Foster; 'they're only pulling three oars to our
five, and we'll soon be within hailing of 'em. They can't make any
headway against the ebb, when they get in a bit further, and are bound
to see us afore many minutes.'
The crew--black and white--needed no encouragement, and without a word
bent to their oars again, and pulled steadily on for less than a quarter
of an hour; then Foster stood up and hailed with all the strength of his
lungs; but still the three oars of the strange boat were dipped steadily
though slowly, and she still went on.
'They're not looking this way,' muttered the old man to Combo and his
listening companions; then Combo himself, drawing in a deep breath,
stood up and sent out a long, loud _Coo-ee-ee!_
As the strange weird cry travelled over the waters, Foster and his
companions watched intently, and then gave a loud hurrah! as they saw
the rowers cease, and figures stand up in the other boat; then presently
there came back a faint answering cry, and they saw an oar was up-ended,
as a sign that they were seen. It stood thus for a few seconds, then
was lowered, and the strange boat slewed round, and began pulling
towards them.
'Steady, now steady,' said Foster, warningly, to his crew, who began
pulling with redoubled energy. 'Go easy; we'll be alongside in no time
now. Master Tom, in with your oar, and come aft here. Take out a couple
of those bottles of water, and keep 'em handy, but put the others out o'
sight until I tell you. There's a power o' men in that boat, I can see,
and I know what happens to a man perishin' o' thirst, when he gets his
lips to water, and has no one to stand by him and take a turn in his
swallow.'
Tom stumbled aft pantingly, and did as he was bid, and then, looking up,
he saw the other boat was not a hundred yards away, and appeared crowded
with men. Then followed a wild clamour of voices and cries, as the two
boats touched gunwales, and a strange, rugged figure, who stood in the
stern, cried out to Foster--
'Thank God, you are a white man! Have you any water?--ours was finished
last night.'
'Enough to give you all a small drink,' replied Foster, quickly, as he
handed the bottles over to him one by one, 'but we shall be ashore in
another hour. Now, sir, tell some of your men to get into my boat as
soon as they've had a drink.'
Although the castaways were the wildest-looking beings ever seen out of
a picture-book, they still preserved discipline, and one of them at once
began sharing out the water to the others, whilst the man who was
steering, with his hands shaking with excitement, poured out a little
into a tin mug, handed the rest back to Foster with an imploring look,
and then sank on his knees in the bottom of the boat beside a small,
crouched-up figure clothed in a dirty calico shirt. As Tom bent over to
look, he saw that it was a child--a little girl about five or six years
of age. She put her hand out to the mug, and with her eyes still closed
drank it eagerly.
'No more, sir, just now!' cried Foster warningly to the man, who, with a
great sob of joy, and the tears streaming from his haggard and
sun-blackened face, had extended his hand for the bottle, 'no more just
now for the little one. Pass her into my boat, and get in yourself; but
first take some of this,' and he poured out a full drink.
The officer took it, drank half, and then returned it. 'Is that all
that is left? Are you sure that we are safe? For God's sake keep what
is left for my child!'
'Ay, ay, sir. Have no fear. In another hour we shall be ashore. But
hand me the little one, sir--pass me a tow-line here, some o' you chaps;
an' you, Combo, an' Fly, an' the other chap, put on all your beef, and
pull with all your might.... Tom, you sit down there with the captain,
an' hold the babby.... Never fear, sir, he'll hold her safe, God bless
her, dear little mite! ... Cheer up, sir; food an' rest is all she
wants, an' all you an' these other poor chaps want.... Pull, Combo, my
hearty; pull, Fly; send her along as she never went before.'
Tom, unheeding the excitement of those around him, as a tow-line was
passed from the other boat and made fast, and Combo and his two black
companions, aided by one of the castaway sailors, bent to their oars and
tautened it out, was gazing into the face of his charge, who lay quietly
breathing in his arms, whilst her father, weak and exhausted as he was,
was telling old Foster his story of disaster and death. It was the
first time in Tom's life that he had ever held 'a baby'--as he mentally
termed the little girl--in his arms, and under any other circumstances
his youthful soul would have recoiled from such a position with horror.
But presently, as she turned her face to his, and said in a thin, weak
voice, 'Give me some water, please,' he began to shake at the knees, and
feel frightened and intensely sympathetic at the same time.
'Only a little, Master Tom; only a mouthful at a time;' and old Foster,
his face aglow with excitement, handed him the bottle of water and mug,
and Tom carefully poured out about a wine-glassful, and put it to the
lips of what, to his mind, seemed more like a dying monkey, with a wig
of long black hair, than a real human child.
As the boats drew near the little boat harbour under Pilot's Hill, even
the exhausted seamen in the one which was being towed gave a faint
cheer, shipped their oars, and began to pull. The sea was still glassy
smooth, for it was in November, when a calm would sometimes last for
three days and more, only to be succeeded by a black north-easterly
gale.
Standing on the shore awaiting the boats were nearly every one of Mr.
Wallis's people, who were presently joined by some few of the
townspeople, who had heard of something being afoot at the Beach House,
as the Wallis's place was called.
'Jump out, Master Tom,' cried Foster, as the leading boat touched the
soft, yielding sand, 'and give the baby to Kate. She'll know what to
do.'
Tom, his chest swelling with a mighty dignity, surrendered his charge to
its father for the moment, leaped out of the boat, and then held out his
arms again for it, as if he had been used to carrying babies all his
life; and Kate Gorman, a big-boned red-headed Irishwoman, splashed into
the water with eyes aflame, and whipped the child away from him, and
then, followed by the other women, and cuddling the now wondering child
to her ample bosom, she pushed through the rest of the people, and
strode up the grassy hill, leaving Tom bereft of his dignity and
importance together.
Food and drink in plenty had been brought by the women, as Foster had
ordered, and the famished seamen, after satisfying themselves, lay down
upon the sweet-smelling grass above high water, to stretch and rest
their cramped and aching limbs, before setting out to walk to Beach
House along the edge of the cliffs, for there was no other way. And then
there came to Tom the proudest moment of his life, when old Foster, who
was sitting on the grass with the dark-faced, haggard man whom he had
addressed as 'Sir,' beckoned him to come near, and, rising to his feet,
said--
'An' this, captain, is Master Tom Wallis, sir, the master's son. I
sarved with his mother's father, an'----'
The captain stretched out his hand to the boy, and grasped it warmly, as
Tom hung his head and shuffled his feet, his face a deep red the while
with delight.
'An' now, Master Tom,' resumed old Foster, throwing back his chest and
trying to speak with great dignity, 'there's a great responsibility on
us until your father comes home. Do you think you can find him at Cape
Kooringa, and tell him to come back as quick as possible, inasmuch as
there is a party of sufferin' and distressed seamen a-landed at his
door, one of which is a infant, and needs medical aid at once?'
Tom's face beamed. 'I can saddle a horse an' be at the cattle camp at
Cape Kooringa long before sunrise. Is there any other message, Mr.
Foster?'
'Yes; tell your father that there are thirteen men, includin' the
captain, and one infant child. Name of captain Raymon' Cashall, name of
ship Bandolier. Ran ashore on the south end o' Middleton Reef, on a
certain date, slipped off again and foundered in deep water. One boat,
with chief mate and seven men, still a-missin'. Can you remember all
them offishul details, Tom?'
'Yes, Mr. Foster,' said Tom, who had before this heard the old sailor
use similarly impressive language when occasion demanded it.
'Then, as soon as you gets to the house, and before you saddles your
horse and goes off in pursooance of your dooty, I rekwests that you will
rekwest Kate Gorman to send some person (Mrs. Potter's boy will do) to
meet me and the captain and his distressed and sufferin' seamen, with
two or more bottles of brandy, and some water, the key of the lazarette
being in my room. Please tell your father that these are sufferin' an'
distressed seamen, with an infant as mentioned, with no clothes, the
ship having gone down sudden soon after strikin', the second mate an'
the captain's wife havin' died through bein' drownded when the ship
struck an' washed overboard by a heavy sea, with two men, a Bengalee
steward, another man name unknown, and a native nurse girl.'
With this rapidly delivered and puzzling message beating kink-bobs in
his already excited brain, Tom started off, hot-foot. The 'lazarette'
he knew to mean the cellar--Foster was fond of using the term. Kate
Gorman had lived with them ever since Jack's birth.
Kate, red-fisted, red-haired, and honest-hearted, met the boy at the
door, her rough freckled face beaming with smiles, though her red-hot
tongue had a minute before been going unusually fast, as she rated and
bullied the under-servants for being slow in bringing 'hot wather and
flannels for the blessed child.'
'The brandy shall Misther Foster have widin twinty minutes by the grace
av God, for I'll bust open the dure av his lazzyrett widout trapasin'
about for his ould keys. But not a step shall ye move yoursilf till
ye've aten and dhrunk somethin' afore ye go ridin' along to Kooringa,
an' the black of the night a comin' on fast.'
And then the big Irishwoman, bustling and bristling with importance, yet
speaking in a low voice on account of the 'swate blessed choild'--who
lay slumbering on a bed that in Kate's eyes was for ever sacred--hurried
first to the kitchen, and then to the stables, and, before he knew it,
Tom's horse was ready saddled, and a huge dinner steaming and smoking
placed before him.
'I can't eat, Kate,' he said; 'it is no use my trying. I want to get to
Kooringa Cape to-night. I promised Foster.'
Kate bent down and clasped him in her arms.
'An' God go wid ye, Tom, me darlin'. Shure there's no danger, tho' 'tis
a lonely ride along the beach. An', Tom, darlin', me swate, ask your
father to hurry, hurry, hurry. For tho' I've niver borne a child
meself, 'tis plain to me it is that the little one that lies a slapin'
in your own mother's bed, will niver, niver wake in this world, unless
some strathegy is done. An' there's no docther widin fifty mile av Port
Kooringa; but the masther is full av docthorin' strathegy. So away ye
go, Tom, an' all the blessin's av God go wid ye.'
So Tom, with a thrill of exultation and pride, led his horse down the
hill to the shore, and springing into the saddle, set off at a steady
trot along the long curving beach, towards the grey loom of Kooringa
Cape, fifty miles away.