density. Even before the men were off the yards, the hurricane struck
the frigate. Over she heeled to it, till it seemed as if she would not
rise again; but the spars were sound, the ropes good. Gradually she
again righted, and, though still heeling over very much, answered her
helm, and tore furiously through the foaming and loudly-roaring seas.
The captain stood at the binnacle, now anxiously casting his eye along
the reef, now at the sails, then at the compass in the binnacle, and
once more giving a glance to windward. The ship's company were at their
stations ready to obey any order that their officers might issue. Four
of the best men were at the wheel, others were on the look-out forward.
Not a word was spoken. The wind increased rather than lessened after it
first broke on the frigate. Had it been a point more from the eastward,
it would have driven her to speedy destruction. As it was, it enabled
her to lie a course parallel to the reef; but, notwithstanding this, the
leeway she made, caused by the heavy sea and the fury of the gale,
continued to drive her towards it, and the most experienced even now
dreaded that she would be unable to weather the reef.
The hurricane blew fiercer and fiercer. The frigate heeled over till
her lee ports were buried in the foaming, hissing caldron of boiling
waters through which she forced her way. It was with difficulty the
people could keep their feet. The captain climbed up into the weather
mizzen rigging, and there he stood holding on to a shroud, conning the
ship, as calm to all appearance as if he had been beating up Plymouth
Sound. The men at the helm kept their eyes alternately on him and on
the sails, ready to obey the slightest sign he might make. Although the
topsails were close reefed, they seemed to bend the spars and masts as
they tugged and strained to be free; Mr Martin, the boatswain, kept his
eye anxiously on them. Now was the time to prove whether the spars were
sound, and, if they were sound, whether the rigging had been properly
set up, and if that also was sound throughout. A ship, like a human
being, is best tried in adversity; it is not in smooth seas and with
gentle breezes that her qualities can be proved, any more than the
nature of a man can be ascertained if all goes smoothly and easily with
him. Therefore, let no one venture to put confidence in himself, till
he has been tossed about by the storms of life, and by that time he will
have learned that he is weak and frail under all circumstances, unless
sustained by the power of the Holy Spirit, who is alone able to keep him
from falling. Ben and Tom had crept up to near where Mr Martin was
standing. He saw them exchanging looks with each other.
"There'll be a watery grave for all on board if the spars go," observed
Mr Gimblet. "Still, it's a satisfaction to believe that they are as
sound sticks as ever grew."
"It's just providential that we set up our rigging only t'other day. If
this gale had caught us with it as it was before that time, we might
have cried good-bye to our spars, sound as they are," said Mr Martin.
"Even now, I wish that the wind would come a point or two more on our
quarter; we make great leeway, there's no doubt about that."
Ben and Tom overheard these remarks of the two warrant-officers. Ben
fully understood the danger the ship was in, and that before an hour or
so was over he and all on board might be in a watery grave; for he saw
how impossible it would be for the stoutest ship to hold together if she
once struck on the reef to leeward, the fearful character of which had
now become more distinct than ever. The sea broke against it with
terrific force, rising high up in a wall of water, and then fell curling
back on the side from which it came. Not the strongest swimmer could
exist for a minute among those breakers. Far away ahead it seemed to
extend in one long unbroken line.
The hearts of many on board began to sink; not with unmanly fear, but
life was sweet; they had many loved ones in their far distant homes, and
they could not but see that long before the frigate could reach the
distant point she must drift on the reef. By the loss of one of her
sails she would be sent there within a very few minutes. Ben and Tom,
young as they were, could not fail clearly to comprehend their danger.
Ben did not tremble; he did not give way to tears, or to any weak fears,
but he turned his heart to God. To Him the young lad prayed that He
would protect his mother: he tried to think of what he had done wrong,
that he might earnestly repent; and then he threw himself on the love
and mercy of Jesus. "On Thee, O Lord Jesus, on Thee, in Thee I trust,"
he kept saying. All this time, however, his attention was awake; his
eyes were open, and his ears ready to receive any order that might be
given. Such is the state of mind, such the way in which many a
Christian sailor has met death.
On, on, flew the frigate. It was indeed a time of intense anxiety to
all on board. The officers were collected near the captain. A short
consultation was held. Some of the men thought that they were going to
put the ship about, under the belief that she would lie up taller on the
other tack. Should she miss stays, however, and of that there was the
greatest danger, her almost instant destruction would be the
consequence. No; the captain would not make the attempt. He would
trust to a change of wind. Should it come ahead, then there would be
time enough to go about; if not, it would be best to stand on. They
were in God's hands, not their own. Mr Charlton and the second
lieutenant were seen going aloft, with their telescopes at their backs.
Eagerly they scanned the line of breakers. It seemed sometimes as if no
human being could hold on up there on the mast, with the hurricane
raging so furiously around. The evening was drawing on. Should
darkness be down on them before they were clear of the reef, what hope
of escape could they have? The eyes of the crew were now directed to
their two officers aloft. Their lives seemed to depend on the result of
their investigations. At length they were seen to be descending. All
watched them eagerly as they reached the deck. Their countenances, it
was thought, wore a more cheerful aspect than before. The wind had not
lessened, nor was there the slightest indication of a change. The men,
as has been said, were at their stations, and no one moved. There they
would be found to the last, till the ship should strike. There, too,
should all Christian men be found when the last final shaking of the
world takes place; there should they be when death overtakes them--doing
their duty in that station of life to which God has called them.
Still the men, as they stood, could hold communication with each other,
and it soon became known that Mr Charlton had seen an opening some way
ahead, through which he believed the ship would pass. To corroborate
the truth of this report, he and the master were seen again ascending
the rigging. The eyes of both the officers were fixed ahead, or rather
over the port-bow. All were now again silent, looking at the captain,
and ready to spring at a moment to obey the orders he might give; the
second lieutenant and Mr Martin were forward. Mr Charlton made a
signal to the captain.
"Up with the helm!--square away the yards!" he shouted.
The order was rapidly executed, and the frigate's head turned towards
the dreaded reef; but between the walls of foam an opening of clear
water was seen, amply wide to allow her to pass. Almost in an instant,
it seemed, she was flying by the danger on an even keel, the breakers
sending the spray in heavy showers over her decks. The after-sails were
furled: on she flew steadily before the gale. Night came on. There
might be other reefs ahead; but the captain and his officers and crew
had done all that men could do, and they put their trust in God, who had
already brought them safely through so many dangers, that He would
protect them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
BEN IS SHIPWRECKED.
The gale drove the Ajax considerably out of her intended course, and it
was some time before she could again haul up to the eastward. It was
not without a providential purpose that she was driven in that
direction. Three days passed by after the gale had gone down, and just
as she had sighted a small island, said to be uninhabited, the look-out
at the masthead hailed the deck: "A sail on the lee-bow--five miles
away!" he shouted.
Several of the officers went at once aloft, to have a look at the
stranger. She was not a large vessel, that was certain; she might be
one of the slavers. She must be overhauled at all events; all sail was
accordingly made on the frigate. The stranger seemed not to have much
wind where she lay; the frigate therefore came rapidly up with her. She
was soon seen to be a schooner, and pronounced to have a Spanish look
about her. The frigate brought the breeze along with her, and as soon
as the schooner felt it, she too made all sail, close-hauled, with an
evident intention of escaping. This left little doubt of her character.
She was a fast-looking craft, but the Ajax was also noted for her
speed, and few on board doubted that the schooner would be overtaken.
Everybody was eager to come up with her. What a satisfaction it would
be to release the poor savage islanders, and many others of whom they
had heard!
The schooner made every effort to escape, and, at last, kept away,
finding how fast her pursuer was on a wind, and endeavoured to run back
towards the island, her crew probably expecting to be able to escape
among the reefs which surrounded it. Fortunately, the island having
been well surveyed, a good chart of it existed on board. Captain
Bertram was able to stand close in after her without fear. The Ajax
came quickly up after the schooner before the wind.
"Try her with a shot, Mr Charlton," said the captain; "but fire high,
to injure no one on board."
Mr Sponge, the gunner, with alacrity fired one of the bow chasers. The
shot was admirably aimed, and the schooner's maintopmast fell over her
side. The frigate's crew uttered a shout of satisfaction.
The slaver, for so she was, did not wait for another, but instantly
hauled down her flag. It was that of Chili. The schooner was forthwith
hove up in the wind. This done, two boats were seen to leave her side.
Captain Bertram, on this, hove the frigate to, and ordered two boats to
be manned and to bring the fugitives back, while two others pulled on
board the schooner. Ben was in one of the latter, with the interpreter.
The crew gave way with a will, for they were eager to get on board. No
one was to be seen on deck as they climbed up the sides, but Tatai's
hail was at once answered by shouts from below. The hatches were
quickly knocked off, and a number of men and women came rushing up,
showing, by evident signs, their joy at being liberated. Their first
impulse, however, was to fall down on their knees on the deck, and
return thanks to Jehovah for having freed them from the barbarians by
whom they had been captured. They knew, from having several times
before seen the British flag, that they would be kindly treated. They
described through Tatai, in pathetic language, the way that they had
been treated after having been captured. They had been ordered not to
pray aloud, or to sing, and, when off the farther end of this island, to
their grief they heard the voices of several of their countrymen, who
had come on board. In vain they shouted to warn them. Some at length
heard them, and endeavoured to escape. Many sprang overboard into the
sea in the hope of swimming on shore, when the inhuman wretches fired on
them and killed several; others were knocked down, and, being
recaptured, were forced below to join their poor countrymen. This
treatment was more than even the patient islanders could stand. By
violent efforts, with the aid of a piece of timber they found below,
they forced off the hatch and rushed on deck. Some of them threw
themselves into the water in the hopes of swimming on shore, though now
far from it. At length, the slaver sailed away from the spot, with her
cargo of victims to be offered up at the shrine of Mammon; or, in other
words, to be destroyed in the silver mines of Peru. Even then, did
these till lately savages curse their oppressors? No; even as they
sailed away, torn from home and country, wives and children, to die in a
foreign land--when they all knelt down at the usual hour to offer up
prayer and praise to the God of love and mercy, who had brought them out
of darkness into His marvellous light, they did not omit to pray for
their cruel oppressors, that their hearts might be converted, and that
they might turn to their Maker and live.
Meantime, the boats of the frigate which had gone in chase of the
slaver's overtook them, and brought them on board the Ajax. Their guilt
was so evident, that Captain Bertram had no doubt about the propriety of
detaining them as prisoners. It was necessary, therefore, to send a
prize crew to take charge of the schooner. She was called the Andorina
(the Swallow). Mr Owen, the third lieutenant of the frigate, was
directed to take charge of the prize, to land the natives at the islands
from which they had been taken, and then to follow the frigate to
Callao. Mr Manners was to go as his mate. Ben and Tom hoped that they
would be among those chosen to form her crew, as boys would certainly be
required. Ben wished it, because he should thus be able to make more
inquiries for Ned at the places they might touch at, and he made bold to
tell his wish to Mr Martin, who suggested it to Mr Charlton. The two
boys were therefore delighted when their names were called out to go on
board the prize. They quickly mustered with the rest of the prize crew,
with their bags ready. The captain addressed them kindly before they
left the frigate, urged them to maintain discipline, to obey Mr Owen
and Mr Manners, and hoped that he should have a good report of them all
when they rejoined the frigate. All arrangements being made, the
frigate stood to the eastward with the slaver's crew on board, while the
schooner made sail for Samoa, Tonga, and Savage Islands.
The new crew of the schooner had a long voyage before them, but they
were in good spirits; they had an abundance of provisions, having been
well supplied by the frigate, in addition to what the schooner had
before, and they were engaged in a just and humane cause.
It was pleasant to observe the gentle, kind manners of the liberated
natives. They were courteous and polite to each other, and they seemed
evidently anxious to conform to all the rules and regulations formed for
their management. One of them, who had lived some time in the house of
a missionary, spoke a little English, and he was thus able to act as
interpreter.
Although the crew of the slaver had taken away and thrown overboard one
or two Bibles and some other small books, which had been found in the
girdles of the captives, they were very far from being deprived of all
spiritual comfort, for they could nearly all repeat large portions of
the Scripture by heart, many of them entire chapters. They would
happily pass many hours of each day repeating these to each other,
singing hymns, and offering up prayers. Two or three among them, who
were elders of their respective churches, also occasionally addressed
and exhorted the rest; indeed, it was a pity that their language was not
understood by the white men, who might undoubtedly have learned many an
important truth from them. Mr Manners, who was, as has been said, a
very sincere Christian, took great interest in their proceedings, and
got the young native who spoke English, and who was called Marco, to
explain what was said. Ben frequently stood by and listened, and then
began to pick up a knowledge of the language.
Thus several days passed by very pleasantly on board the schooner. It
has been remarked that this world is a very good and beautiful world,
but it is the people who live in it that are bad. In this case the
schooner was a very ordinary vessel, and had till lately been filled
with very bad people, and a great deal of misery and suffering had
existed on board her. Now she was manned with God-fearing and religious
people, and so her whole character was changed, and prayers and songs of
praise ascended daily from her decks.
The weather, however, was far from satisfactory. The stormy season had
set in, and rains and gales of wind might be expected. Mr Owen proved
himself a good and careful officer, and, assisted by Mr Manners, was
constantly on the watch for the dangers which might befall them. The
wind had hitherto been light and contrary, and the schooner had made but
little progress. The weather now again became threatening, and caused
considerably anxiety to the young officers. It was evident from the
look of the sky, and the sudden way in which the sea got up, that
another gale was coming on; not so violent, perhaps, as the former, but
still requiring every possible preparation to be made for it. The boats
and spars, and everything on deck, were doubly secured; the hatches and
skylights were fastened down; the topmasts were struck; the lighter
sails furled, and storm sails set; and in a short time the schooner was
in a state to encounter the expected gale. It came on more gradually
than the former one: at first in heavy squalls, and then more and more
violently. The sea got up at the same time, and the vessel heeled over
to the furious blast Mr Owen and Mr Manners consulted together what
course to steer: the schooner could just lie her proper course, and on
that course there were no dangers which could not be seen in time, and
avoided, as far as they knew. On the other hand, should the gale
increase still more, as there was every prospect of its doing, it would
be necessary to put her before the wind, as it would be dangerous, if
not indeed impossible, to keep her close-hauled as she then was. Should
she run for any distance before the gale, she would be carried into a
part of the ocean studded thickly with islets. Once among the
archipelago, it might be impossible to avoid being dashed on the
rock-bound shore of one of them. Here, then, was sufficient cause for
anxiety to the young officers. As long as possible, the schooner was
kept on a wind, plunging through the seas. Their only other resource
was to heave-to; but there was danger in that where neither spars nor
rigging could be trusted. The seas came breaking over her bows, and
sweeping her decks. Another huge billow, larger and more foam-covered
than any of its predecessors, was seen ahead. "Up with the helm, lower
the peak, ease away the main-sheet, square away the maintopsail!" cried
Mr Owen, with rapid utterance. The crew quickly obeyed his orders.
The effect of these orders was to take the pressure off the after-part
of the vessel, and round her head flew from the wind and the coming sea.
It struck her, however, and from the way it swept along her side,
tearing away part of her bulwarks, and doing other damage as it came on
board, it was evident that it would have caused far greater disaster had
her bow encountered its full force. On she now flew before the
hurricane, for such it was rather than a common gale. There was no
choice now as to heaving-to. The officers scanned the chart with
anxious eyes. They saw, with regret they could scarcely conceal, that,
unless the gale should cease, no skill of theirs could save the schooner
from destruction, or unless, guided by an unseen Power, she should
thread her way amid the labyrinth of islets and reefs ahead of her.
Night was coming on. There was no moon. The dark clouds shut out all
light from the stars.
On flew the schooner. The unfortunate islanders were invited to come on
deck, that, should the vessel strike suddenly, they might have some
chance of escaping by swimming on shore. The danger was explained to
them through Marco. "We are in the hands of Jehovah," was the answer.
"He will do with us what He sees best."
Through the pitchy darkness the vessel rushed on. More than once the
quick ears of the seamen detected, they thought, the well-known sound of
breakers; but each time the sound died away to leeward: the vessel must
have passed at a distance from them. Hour after hour thus passed by.
How all on board longed for daylight! Yet daylight would only enable
them to see the threatening danger, scarcely to avoid it.
Once more the sound of breakers was heard. This time it was ahead. In
vain, with straining eyeballs, the seamen looked into the darkness to
discover, if they could, whether the breakers were on the starboard or
port bow. All held their breath. The stoutest hearts might then have
quailed. The foretopsail was alone set; to have lowered that would have
caused the vessel to be pooped, and so more speedily to have sealed her
fate. On she flew to destruction. The dreaded crash came. She
quivered from stem to stern. Both the masts went by the board, carrying
several of the seamen with them, as well as the young commander.
Another sea came hissing on astern, threatening to dash the vessel to
pieces; but no! it lifted her up, and bore her on its summit far along
over the reef.
Mr Manners found himself at that awful moment in command of the
schooner. He ordered the well to be sounded. It was not necessary; for
the water, it was soon evident, was rushing in through numerous large
rents made by the sharp coral. Still the vessel drove on, now among
rocks, now in clear water. She was, however, rapidly filling. "Out
boats!" was the cry. Fortunately these had escaped injury. Again,
however, the schooner was exposed to the fury of the sea, which came
sweeping round through a passage in the reef.
At that moment a sudden panic seized the crew. Ben felt himself grasped
by the arm, and dragged into one of the boats which had just been
lowered. Five men only were in her. Either intentionally or by
accident, the painter was let go, and the boat drifted rapidly away from
the sinking vessel. The men searched for the oars, which they supposed
to be in the boat; only one was to be found. To return to the schooner
was therefore impossible. Their only prospect of safety was to get the
boat before the wind with the oar. This was done, and farther and
farther away she drifted from the vessel.
The men said but little. They regretted being driven away from the
schooner without receiving more on board; and Ben heard, with sorrow,
that there was but little chance of any of their shipmates being saved.
Their own prospects also were gloomy enough. They had no water, no
provisions, on board, and one oar alone to guide the boat. One of the
most dreadful fates which seamen have sometimes to endure seemed in
store for them--to be out on the wide ocean, exposed to the heat of the
sun by day and chills by night, without a drop of water to cool their
burning thirst. The poor fellows knew too well that this might be their
lot; but still they were thankful that they had hitherto escaped the
destruction which had overtaken so many of their shipmates.
Two or three of the men at a time were employed in baling out the boat,
while one steered as well as he could before the seas. Again the sound
of breakers was heard: it was right ahead. "It is all up with us!"
cried one of the men. "God be merciful to us!" cried another. Scarcely
had they spoken, when the boat was lifted on the foaming summit of a
sea, the crest of which nearly filled her with water, and down she came
with a crash on the rocks, which dashed her to pieces. Ben clung to one
of the fragments. The despairing shrieks of his shipmates sounded in
his ears, and he felt himself borne onward into smoother water. He
clung tightly to the shattered plank, and thought that he saw trees
rising before him. It was not fancy. The dawn had broken, and he was
drifting along the shore. He could swim well, and felt sure that he
could reach it. A few vigorous strokes, and his feet touched the firm
sand. He waded up, and sank exhausted on the dry ground.
The sun was shining brightly on his head before the shipwrecked lad
awoke. He sat up, and, as he recovered his senses, he looked round,
hoping to see his companions; but no one was visible. He rose to his
feet, and shouted out their names. No reply came to him. He ran along
the beach, calling to them; and then discovered that he was on a small
island. His voice could, he fancied, have reached from one end to the
other. With a sad heart, he found that he was alone--the only human
being, as far as he knew, saved from the wreck.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
ON A DESERT ISLAND.
Poor Ben was very melancholy at the feeling that he was alone on that
desert island; still, he was thankful that his own life had been
preserved. "God surely would not have taken me out of the sea to let me
die here by inches of hunger and thirst," he said to himself. "I will
trust in God, as I have always done." As he said this, he put his hand
in the bosom of his shirt. There was safe the little Testament which
his mother had given him, and which he had been reading before the gale
sprang up. He spread it out open on the sand, that the leaves might
dry. "He has spared me this; He has other good things in store for me,"
he whispered to himself. He also spread out his clothes, which very
quickly dried.