Reuben overheard him. "To my mind, Paul, when a person has done what he
believes is for the best and because he thinks it is right, he has no
cause to grumble or to be unhappy," he observed in his quiet way.
"Don't you fear, all will turn out right at last."
Paul felt weaker than he had ever done before, and his eye was dim and
his voice sounded hollow, and yet his thoughts flowed as freely as ever.
He was fully aware that death might be approaching, yet he had no fear
of death. He thought of home and of his mother and sisters, and he
prayed for them, and that they might not grieve very much at his loss.
He was but a poor young ship-boy, but he knew that his mother would
mourn for him as much as would the mother of Devereux, or any other
high-born midshipman on board.
The sun rose higher and higher in the sky: its rays struck down as hotly
as on the day before. "Water! water! water!" was the cry from all on
the raft; still discipline prevailed, though only a young midshipman was
the chief, and not a man attempted to take more than his share. At
about noon Paul was feeling that he could not endure many more hours of
such thirst, when he saw Reuben's eyes directed to the north-east.
"Yes! yes! it is! it is!" exclaimed Reuben at length.
"What! a ship?" asked Paul, almost breathless with eagerness.
"No, but a breeze," cried his friend. "It may carry us to land; it may
send us rain! it may bring up a ship to our rescue."
All eyes were now turned in the direction from which the breeze was
supposed to be coming. At the edge of the hitherto unvarying expanse of
molten silver, a dark blue line was seen; broader and broader it grew.
With such strength as they possessed the seamen hoisted their sail. It
bulged out and again flattened against the mast; now again it filled,
and the raft began to glide slowly over the ocean. A faint cheer burst
from the throats of the hitherto despairing crew; yet how many long
leagues must be passed over before that raft could reach the land! How
many of those now living on it would set foot on that land? Too
probably not one--not one. Day after day the raft glided on, but each
day death claimed a victim. Still, Devereux and O'Grady and Alphonse
kept up their spirits in a way which appealed wonderful to Paul, till he
found that he was himself equally resolved to bear up to the last.
There was still some food; still a few drops of water. Rain might come;
the wind was increasing; clouds were gathering in the sky; the sea was
getting up, and the raft, though still progressing, was tossed about in
a way which made those on it feel the risk they ran of being thrown or
washed off it. They secured themselves with lashings. Again the water
was served out. A mouthful was given to Paul.
"Poor boy! let him have it," he heard Devereux say; "it is the last
drop."
Now more than ever was rain prayed for. Without rain, should no succour
come, in a few days the sufferings of all the party would be over.
Faster and faster the raft drove on. It was well constructed, or it
would not have held together. Still they dared not lessen their sail.
Land might be reached at last if they would persevere. Now they rose to
the summit of a foaming sea, now they sank into the deep trough. It
seemed every instant that the next must see the destruction of the raft,
yet, like hope in a young bosom, it still floated buoyantly over the
raging billows. Now dark clouds were gathering. Eagerly they were
watched by the seamen with upturned eyes. A few drops fell. They were
welcomed with a cry of joy. More came, and then the rain fell in
torrents. Their parched throats were moistened, but unless they could
spread their sail to collect the precious fluid, they could save but
little for the future. Still, life is sweet, and they might obtain
enough to preserve their lives for another day. As they dared not lower
their sail, they stretched out their jackets and shirts, and wrung them
as they were saturated with fresh water into the only cask they had
saved. Before it was a quarter full the rain ceased. They watched with
jealous eyes the clouds driving away below the horizon, while the sun
shone forth as brightly as before on their unguarded heads. Still the
raft tumbled furiously about, and with the utmost difficulty the seamen
retained their hold of it. Night returned; it was a night of horror.
Their provisions were exhausted. When the morning at length broke, two
who had been among the strongest were missing. They must have let go
their hold while sleeping and been washed away.
"It may be our lot soon," observed Paul, whose strength was failing.
"The same hand which has hitherto preserved us few still alive on this
raft is strong to preserve us to the end," said James Croxton, an old
seaman, who, even on ordinary occasions said but little, and had only
spoken since the ship went down to utter a few words of encouragement to
his companions. He was known on board the frigate as Jim the Methodist,
but was respected by the greater number of his shipmates. "Never fear,
mates, help will come if we pray for it, though we don't see the Hand
which sends it. Let us pray."
Jim's words and example had a great effect. It was followed by all, and
the united prayers of the seamen, acknowledging their own utter
helplessness, ascended together on high. One and all seemed to gain a
strength they had not before felt. The raft continued to be tossed
about as before, and the hot wind blew, and the sun shone on their
unsheltered heads. The sun rose higher and higher and then descended,
watched anxiously by the seamen till it dipped below the horizon. Could
any of them expect to see another sun arise? They seldom spoke to each
other during the night. The voice of Jim Croxton was now most
frequently heard, exhorting his companions to repentance, and to put
their faith in the loving and merciful One. When the morning broke they
were all alive, and the voice of Reuben, who had dragged himself upright
by the mast, was heard crying, "A sail! a sail! standing towards us!"
The information was received in various ways by the people on the raft;
some laughed, others wept, a few prayed, and others groaned, declaring
that they should not be seen, and that the ship would pass them by. Old
Croxton, however, who had simply poured forth his heart in a few words
of thanksgiving, kept his eyes steadily on the approaching ship.
"She is nearing us! she is nearing us!" he uttered slowly every now and
then.
Paul gasped his breath, and felt as if he should faint away altogether,
as he saw that the ship was a British man-of-war, and that the raft was
evidently perceived by those on board. She drew nearer and nearer, and,
heaving to, lowered two boats, which rapidly approached the raft. In
that tumbling sea there was no small difficulty in getting close enough
to the raft to take off the people. Paul, as the youngest, was the
first to be transferred by his companions to the nearest boat. Even at
that moment he was struck by the expression of the countenances of most
of the crew. No one smiled; no one seemed pleased at the work of mercy
they were performing.
"You think, youngster, that you'll be changing for the better, getting
off your raft aboard that frigate there?" growled out one of the men, as
Paul was passed along forward. "You've got out of the frying-pan into
the fire, let me tell you. It's a perfect hell afloat, and to my mind
the captain's the--"
"Silence there, forward!" shouted the officer in command of the boat.
"Back in again."
One by one the people were taken off the raft. Devereux insisted on
remaining to the last, and he was taken off in the second boat. No
sooner had he been placed in her than several of her crew leaped on to
the raft.
"Better run the chance of a watery grave than live aboard there,"
shouted one of the men, attempting to hoist the sail which had been
lowered. "Hurrah, lads! for the coast of America and freedom!"
"Back into the boat: back, you mutinous scoundrels!" shouted the officer
in command. "What foolery are you about? If you were to go, and small
loss you would be, you would all of you be dead before a week was over.
Back, I say."
In vain the men tried to hoist the sail. The mast gave way, throwing
one of them into the sea. He made an attempt to save himself, but sank
in sight of his shipmates. The boat was soon again dropped alongside
the raft, and the men with sulky indifference returned on board. Very
little was said by anybody as the boats pulled back to the frigate. The
officers, indeed, saw that those they had taken off the raft were in no
condition to answer questions. Devereux and his companions were lifted
up on deck, and from thence at once transferred to the sick bay below
under the doctor's care. Paul, after a sound sleep, recovered his
senses, and very soon perceived, that although there was strict
discipline maintained on board, each person went about his duty in a
dull, mechanical way. Reuben was, however, on foot before Paul. He
came to the side of the hammock in which the latter still lay unable to
move.
"I am thankful, Reuben, that we are safe off that dreadful raft," said
Paul.
"No reason to call it dreadful, boy. It was our ark of safety, as Jim
Croxton says, rightly, and we should be grateful that we were allowed to
be saved by it. There's many here, as you saw, would rather be on that
raft than aboard this fine frigate," answered Reuben.
"Why? what is the matter with the ship?" asked Paul.
"Why, just this," answered his friend; "the captain is a tyrant; many of
the officers imitate him, and altogether the men's lives are miserable.
The ship is a complete hell afloat."
Several days passed by; the frigate was steering for the West Indies,
which were sighted soon after Paul had managed to creep on deck. He saw
the men casting wistful glances at the land.
"If once I set my foot ashore, it will take a dozen red coats to carry
me aboard again!" exclaimed a seaman near him.
"Ay, Bill, it's a dog's life we lead; but there's a way to free
ourselves if we were men enough to use it," said another.
"It's not the first time that has been thought of," observed a third.
"But hush, mates, that boy may hear; he looks like a sharp one."
The men were silent till Paul walked farther aft, where he saw them
still earnestly engaged in talking together. He considered what he
ought to do. Should he tell Devereux what he had heard? Perhaps, after
all, it meant nothing. He could trust Reuben; that is to say, Reuben
would not betray him; but he might take part with the men. He would
consult Croxton. He found old Jim after some time, but had no
opportunity of speaking to him alone. There was an ominous scowl on the
countenances of all the men, which confirmed his suspicions that
something was wrong. Below they gathered together more in knots than
usual, speaking in subdued voices. Whenever an officer approached, they
were silent, and generally dispersed with an appearance of indifference.
Thus two or three more days passed, and Paul felt as well able as ever
to do his duty. It was the forenoon watch; the men were summoned to
divisions. It was perfectly calm; no land was in sight; the sun struck
down fiercely on their heads.
"There's work in hand for us to-day," exclaimed a topman, as he sprang
on deck.
In a little time the order to furl sails was given. The men flew aloft.
"Reef topsails," cried the first-lieutenant.
The men appeared to do the work slowly. Oaths and curses were hurled at
them by the officers on duty. Paul took the opportunity of going down
to see Devereux, who, with O'Grady and Alphonse, was still too weak to
go on deck. He told him that he was afraid something was wrong.
Devereux answered--
"I fear that the men are dissatisfied, but they dare do nothing. I pity
them, though, poor fellows."
The words were overheard by some of the idlers, as they are called
below. While Paul was speaking to Devereux, Croxton came in. He also
heard what had been said.
"Man is born to suffer," he remarked. "He must submit, and leave the
righting in the hands of Providence. He cannot right himself."
His remarks were scarcely understood by those who heard him, even by
Devereux, who, however, remembered them. After a time, Paul returned on
deck. The captain was still exercising the men at furling sails. With
watch in hand he stood on the quarter-deck, his rage increasing as he
found that they could not or would not accomplish the work in the time
he desired. At length he shouted in a voice which made the blood run
cold in Paul's veins--
"The last men in off the yards shall get four dozen for their pains.
Remember that, ye scoundrels! Away aloft!"
Again the men ascended the rigging. The sails were furled. Two active
young topmen on the mizen-yard made an attempt to spring over the backs
of the rest. They missed their hold. With a fearful crash they fell
together on the deck.
"Throw the lubbers overboard!" exclaimed the captain, kicking
contemptuously their mangled remains.
These words were the signal of his own destruction. The men, regardless
of his threats, sprang below.
"Vengeance! vengeance!" was the cry.
The first-lieutenant who ventured among them was cut down, and while yet
breathing, hove overboard. Others who appeared met with the same fate.
The mutineers then rushed to the captain's cabin. He stood fiercely at
bay, but in vain. Bleeding from countless wounds, he was forced through
the stern port. His last words were, "Vengeance! vengeance! vengeance!"
Fearfully it was paid.