The deed of blood was not yet completed, although we would fain avoid
entering more minutely than is necessary into the horrible details of
the massacre which followed the death of the captain. It is a proof of
the evil passions which dwell within the bosoms of men, and shows how
those passions may be worked up by tyranny and injustice to make men
commit deeds at which, in their calmer moments, their minds would
revolt. Many of the victims struggled manfully for their lives. Among
the officers was a young midshipman. He was fighting bravely by the
side of one of the lieutenants, who was at length cut down.
"Will you swear not to utter a word of what you have seen done to-day?"
exclaimed Nol Hargraves, a quartermaster, who was one of the leaders of
the mutineers, if any could be called leaders, where all seemed suddenly
inspired by the same mad revengeful spirit. The brave boy, as he stood
leaning on his sword, looked undaunted at Hargraves and at those
standing round him.
"Swear--no!" he exclaimed. "If I live to see you brought to justice, as
you will be some day, I will say that you were cowardly murderers of
your officers; that you killed sleeping men; that you threw others,
still alive, overboard, and that you murdered the surgeons who had cured
the wounded, and tended the sick like brothers. I'll say that you
butchered one of my helpless messmates--a poor boy younger than myself;
I'll--!"
"Overboard with him--overboard!" exclaimed Hargraves, who had just cut
down the lieutenant, and seemed like a tiger, which having once tasted
blood, thirsts for more.
The midshipman, already fatigued and wounded, raised his weapon to
defend himself. Hargraves rushed at the boy, who in an instant
afterwards lay writhing at his feet.
"Heave the carcase overboard. It is the way some of us have been
treated, you know that, mates," he exclaimed, throwing the yet
palpitating form of the boy into the sea, when it was eagerly seized on
by the ravenous sharks, waiting for their prey supplied by the savage
cruelty of man. Many even of the mutineers cried, "Shame! shame!"
Hargraves turned fiercely round on them--
"Ye none of you cried shame when the captain did the same--cowards! why
did ye not do it then? Were the lives of our brave fellows of less
value than the life of that young cub?"
The men were silenced, but the eyes of many were opened, and they began
from that moment bitterly to repent the cruel deed of which they had
been guilty. Oh! if they could have recalled the dead, how gladly would
they have done so,--their officers, who, if they had sometimes acted
harshly, were brave men and countrymen; even the captain, tyrant as he
was, they wished that they could see once more on his quarter-deck, with
the dreadful scene which had been enacted wiped away; but the deed had
been done--no power could obliterate it. They had been participators in
the bloody work. It stood recorded against them in the imperishable
books of Heaven. Blood had been spilt, and blood was to cry out against
them and to demand a dreadful retribution.
The mutinous crew stood gazing stupidly at each other; the helm had been
deserted, the wind had fallen, the sails were flapping lazily against
the masts, and the ship's head was going slowly round and round towards
the different points of the compass. Hargraves and others felt that
something must be done; there was no safety for them while their frigate
floated on the broad ocean. What if they should fall in with another
British man-of-war? What account could they give of themselves? Some
were for scuttling her and saying that she had foundered, while they had
escaped in the boats, but the boats would not hold them all, and could
they trust each other? What likelihood that all would adhere to the
same tale? Was it probable that all the crew should have escaped, and
not an officer with them? The boats might separate, to be sure, but to
what lands could they direct their different courses? On what shore,
inhabited by countrymen, dared they place their feet without fear of
detection? Discussions loud and long took place. It was agreed that
the ship should be carried to a Spanish port; sold, if the sale could be
effected, and with the proceeds and with such valuables as the murdered
officers possessed, they would separate in various directions, and by
changing their names, avoid all chance of discovery.
But while these dreadful events were occurring, what had become of those
who had been so lately rescued from a terrible fate on the raft? Had
they suffered one still more terrible by the hands of their own
countrymen? Paul Gerrard was asleep in his hammock when he heard a
voice calling him. It was that of old James Croxton.
"Turn out, Paul," he said, "there is some fearful work going forward on
deck, and I know not who may be the sufferers. We may save some of
them, though."
Paul was on his feet and dressed in an instant.
"What is to be done?" he asked.
"Mr Devereux is in danger; we might save him," said the old man. "The
people are gone mad. Come along."
Paul followed Croxton to the sick bay. Devereux had heard the
disturbance, and from the expressions uttered by the men as they passed,
feared that an attack was being made on the officers of the ship. He
was endeavouring to get up for the purpose of joining the officers, and
sharing their fate, whatever that might be. O'Grady was still asleep.
Croxton guessed what Devereux was about to do.
"It's of no use, sir--they'll only murder you with the rest," he
whispered: "you must keep out of their way till they're cool. Rouse up
Mr O'Grady, Paul, and come along."
Saying this, the old man, with a strength scarcely to be expected,
lifted up Devereux, and carried, rather than led him, down to the hold.
Paul, meantime, had awakened O'Grady, who, though not comprehending what
had occurred, followed him mechanically. The two midshipmen found
themselves stowed away in total darkness among chests and casks
containing stores of various sorts.
"The crew have mutinied, there's no doubt about that," answered old Jim
to an inquiry made by Devereux; "but we will go and face them, they will
not harm either the boy or me. Don't you speak, though, or make the
slightest sound; they'll think that you are hove overboard with the
rest."
These words confirmed the midshipmen's worst apprehensions. They had no
time to ask questions, before the old man, taking Paul by the hand,
hurried away. Paul and his companion reached the deck unobserved. The
mutineers were all too eager in the desperate work in which they had
engaged to remark them. At that moment Paul saw his friends Reuben Cole
and the young Frenchman, Alphonse, with some of the inferior and petty
officers, dragged forward by the mutineers. Hargraves was the chief
speaker.
"What is to be done with these?" he asked, turning round to his
companions in crime.
"Serve them like the rest," shouted some.
"Dead men tell no tales," muttered others.
"We've had enough of that sort of work," cried the greater number. "No
more bloodshed! Let them swear to hold their tongues and do as we bid
them."
"You hear what is proposed," said Hargraves, gruffly. "Will you fellows
take your lives on these terms?"
"Not I, for one, ye murderous villains," exclaimed Reuben Cole, doubling
his fists and confronting the mutineers. "I'll take nothing at your
hands, but I'm very certain that there are plenty of men aboard here
who'll not stand idly by and see me butchered on that account. As to
peaching on you, I'm not going to do that, but you'll not get another
word out of me about the matter."
Had Hargraves had his way, it would have fared ill with honest Reuben;
but the latter had not wrongly estimated the support he was likely to
receive from his new shipmates, whose goodwill he knew that he had
gained.
"Reuben Cole is not the man to peach, even if he has the chance,"
shouted several of them.
"No fear; he'll prove true to us, and so will the little Mounseer there;
won't you?" asked one, turning to Alphonse. "We couldn't afford to lose
you and your fiddle, especially just now, when we shall want something
to keep up our spirits."
Alphonse, not comprehending what was said, made no reply. His silence
was construed into contumacy, and some of Hargraves' adherents laid
hands on him, and appeared as if they were about to throw him overboard,
when Paul shouted out to him in French what was said. Alphonse very
naturally had no scruples to overcome. He could only look on the fate
of the captain as a just retribution on his tyranny.
"Oh, yes, yes! I play the fiddle," he exclaimed; "I go get it--I play
for you all."
Not waiting for an answer, he ran towards the nearest hatchway, and
passing near Paul, inquired for Devereux and O'Grady.
"Safe," whispered Paul, and the young Frenchman dived below.
He speedily returned with his faithful violin, and without waiting to be
asked, began to play. The hearts of all his hearers were too heavy to
allow them to be influenced as under other circumstances they would have
been by the music, but it served in a degree to calm their fierce
passions, and to turn them from their evil intentions. Of the principal
officers of the ship the master alone had hitherto escaped destruction.
He was no coward. He had seen with horror the murder of his messmates
and captain, but life was sweet, and when offered to him, even on terms
degrading, undoubtedly--that he would navigate the ship into an enemy's
port--he accepted them. The few warrant and petty officers who had
escaped being killed, at once declared their intention of acting as the
master had done.
"It's fortunate for you, mates, that you don't belong to the brood who
grow into captains," exclaimed Hargraves, fiercely. "I, for one, would
never have consented to let you live if you had."
Paul trembled for the fate of his friends when he heard these
expressions, for Hargraves looked like a man who would put any threats
he might utter into execution. Order was somewhat restored, officers
were appointed to keep watch, and the ship was put on the course for the
port to which it was proposed she should be carried. The crew had once
been accustomed to keep a sharp look-out for an enemy; they now kept a
still more anxious watch to avoid any British cruiser which might
approach them. Day and night they were haunted with the dread of
meeting their countrymen. Paul overheard some of the ringleaders
consulting together.
"There are only two things to be done; if we can't run from them, to
fight it out to the last, or to kill all those who won't swear to be
staunch, and to declare that they died of fever," said one of them in a
low, determined voice.
"Ay, that's the only thing for it," growled out another; "I'm not going
to swing for nothing, I've made up my mind."
"Swing! who talks of swinging? None of that, Tom," exclaimed a third,
in uneasy tones.
"It's what one and all of us will do, mates, if we don't look out what
we're about," said Hargraves, who was waiting for an opportunity of
pressing his plans on his companions. "We have let too many of them
live as it is, and it's my opinion there's no safety for any of us as
long as one of them breathes. I've heard tell what the old pirates used
to do to make men faithful. They didn't trust to oaths--not they--but
they made those who said they were ready to join them shoot their
shipmates who refused. That's what we must do, mates; it's the only
secure way, you may depend on't."
Paul was convinced that the men spoke in earnest, and afraid of being
discovered should he remain, he crept stealthily away. He searched
about till he found Croxton and Reuben, and told them at once what he
had heard and feared.
"There's little doubt but that you are right, Paul," said old Croxton,
after meditating for some time. "We thought that we were fortunate in
getting on board this ship, and now, to my mind, we shall be fortunate
to get out of her. I'm afraid for poor Mr Devereux and Mr O'Grady.
It will go hard with them if they're discovered."
"I have it," said Reuben, after thinking for some time--speaking in a
low voice--"We must leave this cursed ship and carry off the two young
gentlemen. I'd sooner be on the raft out in the Atlantic, than aboard
of her."
"Ay, lads, `Better is a dry crust with contentment,'" remarked old Jim.
"But how to leave the ship, so as to escape without being followed--
there's the difficulty."
"`Where there's a will there's a way,'" said Reuben. "If it must be
done, it can be done."
"Right, lad," said Croxton; "it must be done, for we deserve the fate of
villains if we consort with them longer than we can help; though I'll
not say that all on board this unhappy ship are equally bad. There are
many who would be glad to escape from her if they had but the chance."
"It must be done," repeated Reuben. "We may make off with a boat some
dark night. The young Frenchman and our own fellows will be sure to
join, and I think that there's three or four others--maybe more--who'll
be glad to get away at any risk."
"We must run the risk, and it isn't a small one," said Croxton. "If
they were to catch us, they'd kill us. There's no doubt about that."
The whole plan was soon settled--who were to be got to join--the boat to
be taken--the way she was to be lowered. Devereux and O'Grady were to
be told of it when all was ready, and were to be brought up on deck as
soon as it was dark, and stowed away in the boat herself till the moment
of escape had arrived. Paul was usually employed to carry food to the
midshipmen. Sometimes, however, Croxton went, sometimes Reuben, to
lessen the risk of his object being suspected. Paul waited till night--
the time he visited his friends--and hiding a lantern under his jacket,
carefully groped his way down to them. They highly approved of the plan
proposed for escaping from the ship, and were eager for the moment for
putting it into execution. O'Grady, especially, was heartily weary of
his confinement.
"I doubt if my two legs will ever be able to stretch themselves out
straight again, after being cramped up so long, like herrings in a
cask," he exclaimed, in the low tone in which it was necessary to speak.
"We owe you a heavy debt, Gerrard, and if you succeed in getting us out
of this, it will be a huge deal greater."
"If it were not for old Jim and Reuben Cole, I could be but of little
use, so say nothing about that, Mr O'Grady," answered Paul. "I am
going to try and find out on the charts, when the master is working his
day's work, exactly where we are, and if there's land near, we may,
perhaps, get away to-morrow."
Paul felt far from comfortable all the next day. He could not help
fancying that the mutineers suspected him, and that he should suddenly
find himself seized and thrown overboard. What he dreaded most was the
ultimate failure of the undertaking. His two friends had in the
meantime sounded those they hoped might join them, but whether all were
favourable to the plan he could not ascertain. His eye was constantly
on the master, who at length, seeing him near, sent him for his quadrant
and tables. This was just what Paul wanted. He stood by while the
observations were being taken, and then, carrying the instrument,
followed the master to the cabin. Paul brought out the chart, and
placed it before him, watching anxiously the movements of his companion
as he measured off the distance run since the previous day.
More than once the master glanced round the cabin, and sighed deeply.
"In five or six days my disgraceful task will be done," he muttered, as
he moved the compasses towards the coast of the Spanish main. "Then
what remains for me in life? If I escape an ignominious death, I must
ever be suspected of having consented to the murder of my brother
officers. I would rather that the ship had gone down, and the whole
history of the butchery been hid from mortal knowledge. Yet God knows
it, and it may teach officers for the future the dreadful consequences
of tyranny and cruelty."
He continued on in the same strain, not aware, it seemed, that Paul was
listening. Paul retired to a distance. "Shall I ask the master to join
us?" he thought to himself. "No, it will not do. It would greatly
increase the risk of our being caught." He waited till the master was
silent. He went back to the table. "Shall I put up the charts?" he
asked. "But before I do so, will you, sir, kindly show me where we
are?"
Since the outbreak the poor master had not been treated with so much
respect. He showed Paul the exact position of the ship, the
neighbouring lands, and remarked on the prevailing currents and winds.
Paul rolled up the chart, and put it in its place. He fancied that the
master must have suspected his thoughts. Paul soon after met his
friends, and told them of all he had learned.
It was agreed that they would wait till it was the master's watch, for
so few of the mutineers could take command of a watch, that he was
compelled constantly to be on deck. It was suspected that he had at
times given way to intemperance, and Paul had observed more than once
that when he came on deck he appeared to have been drinking, and that he
frequently dropped asleep when sitting on a gun or leaning against the
side of the ship. Many of the seamen who had free access to the
spirit-room were also constantly tipsy at night, though the chief
mutineers, from necessity, kept sober. The once well-ordered man-of-war
soon became like a lawless buccaneer. The men rolled about the decks
half tipsy, some were playing cards and dice between the guns, some were
fighting, and others were sleeping in any shady place they could find.
Paul passed old Croxton on deck. "We shall have little difficulty in
accomplishing our object if this goes on," he whispered.
"Yes, Paul, what is lost by fools is gained by wise men," he answered.
"Ay, and there is one who will gain more than all by the work done on
board this ship. He will soon leave his poor dupes to wish that they
had never been born."
Paul and his friends waited anxiously for night: they had resolved no
longer to delay their attempt.
"I'll take care that they don't follow us," said Reuben.
"What do you mean?" asked Paul.
"I'll tell you, lad," was the answer; and he whispered something into
his companion's ear.
Paul felt that there was a great deal to be done, and longed for the
moment of action. He observed with satisfaction that frequent visits
were made to the spirit-room, and that even the master was taking more
than his usual share of grog. The ship sailed steadily over the calm
sea--night drew on. Paul's heart beat unusually fast. He waited till
he was sure that he was not perceived, and then he climbed into one of
the boats. He was there for some time, and then descending he got into
another; and so he visited all in succession. Again he slunk down
below.
At length the master came on deck to keep his watch. The night, for
those latitudes, was unusually dark, but the sea was smooth. The ship
glided calmly on, the ripple made by her stem as she drove her way
through the water showing, however, that a fair breeze filled her sails.
The master leaned against a gun-carriage, and gradually sunk down on
it, resting his head on his hands. The helmsman stood at his post, now
gazing at the broad spread of canvas above him, and then mechanically at
the compass, with its light shining in the binnacle before him, but
looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. The rest of the
watch placed themselves at their ease between the guns, and were soon,
whatever might have been their intention, fast asleep. One by one
others now stole on deck towards the boat Paul had last visited. Not a
word was spoken. At length two men appeared bearing two slight figures
on their backs. The latter were carefully deposited in the boat, which
was quickly lowered. The whole manoeuvre was executed with the greatest
rapidity and in the most perfect silence. Even the helmsman, who,
though drowsy, could not have been entirely asleep, took no notice of
them. In another instant, had anybody been looking over the side, a
dark object might have been seen dropping astern. It was a boat, which
contained Paul Gerrard and his companions, who had thus made their
perilous escape from the blood-stained ship. Not till they were far
astern did any one venture to speak. Devereux at last drew a deep sigh.
"Thank Heaven, we are free of them!" he exclaimed.
"Amen!" said old Croxton, in a deep voice. "We have reason to rejoice
and be thankful. Sad will be the end of all those wretched men. Their
victims are more to be envied than they."
As soon as it was deemed safe the oars were got out, a lantern was
lighted to throw its light on the compass, and the boat was steered
towards the north-west. The wind soon dropped to a perfect calm.
"We are safe now," exclaimed Paul. "Even if they were to miss us they
could not follow, for there is not a boat on board which can swim or an
oar to pull with. Some I dropped overboard, and others I cut nearly
through just above the blades, and I bored holes in all the boats where
they could not be seen till the boats were in the water."
"Well done, Gerrard. If we get clear off, we shall owe our escape to
your judgment; but you ran a great risk of losing your life. The
mutineers would have murdered you if they had discovered what you were
about."
"I knew that, sir; but I knew also that nothing can be done without
danger and trouble."
"Ay, boy, and that no danger or trouble is too great, so that we may
escape from the company of sinners," remarked old Croxton. "Think of
that, young gentleman. If you consent to remain with them because you
are too lazy to flee, you will soon fall into their ways, and become one
of them."
Some of his hearers remembered those words in after years. All night
long the oars were kept going, and when morning dawned the ship was
nowhere to be seen.
"Now let us turn to and have some breakfast," exclaimed O'Grady. "It
will be the first for many a day that you and I have eaten in sunlight,
Devereux, and I see good reason that we should be thankful. Then we'll
have a tune from Alphonse, for I'll warrant that he has brought his
fiddle."
"Ah, dat I have," cried the young Frenchman, exhibiting his beloved
instrument. "But, mes amis, ve vill mange first. De arm vil not move
vidout de oil!"
Alphonse had greatly improved in his knowledge of English.
A good supply of provisions had been collected, but as it was uncertain
when they should make the land, it was necessary to be economical in
their use. A very good breakfast, however, was made, and the spirits of
the party rose as their hunger was appeased, and they thought of their
happy escape. As the sun, however, arose in the blue sky, its rays
struck down on their unprotected heads, and they would gladly have got
under shelter, but there was no shelter for them out on the glassy
shining sea. Still they rowed on. To remain where they were was to die
by inches. Devereux did his best, as he had done on the raft, to keep
up the spirits of his men, and, weak as he was, he would have taken his
spell at the oar if they had let him.
"No, no, sir; you just take your trick at the helm, if you think
proper," exclaimed Croxton. "But just let us do the hard work. It's
your head guides us, and without that we should be badly off."
Devereux saw the wisdom of this remark. They knew that they had five,
and perhaps six days' hard rowing before they could hope to reach
Dominica, the nearest island they supposed belonged to Great Britain,
according to the information Paul had gained from the master. They
were, however, far better off than when they had been on the raft, for
they had food, were in a well-found boat, and knew tolerably well their
position. Still they were not in good spirits, which is not surprising,
considering the scenes they had witnessed, the dangers they had endured,
and the uncertainty of the future.
Dominica was an English possession, but it had once been taken by the
French, and might have been again; and Alphonse fancied that he had
heard that it was proposed to make a descent on the island, in which
case they would fall among enemies instead of friends.
"Ah! but your countrymen would surely treat us who come to them in
distress as friends," observed O'Grady.
"Ah, dat dey vould!" exclaimed Alphonse, warmly.
"Well, mounseer, there is good and there is bad among 'em, of that
there's no doubt," observed Reuben, taking his quid out of his mouth,
and looking the young Frenchman in the face; "but do ye see I'd rather
not try lest we should fall among the bad, and there's a precious lot on
'em."
Notwithstanding these doubts Devereux continued his course for Dominica.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, the heat became greater and greater,
till it was almost insupportable. A sail spread over the boat afforded
some shelter from its rays, but they pierced through it as easily as a
mosquito's sting does through a kid glove, till the air under it became
even more stifling than that above.
All the time in turns they continued to row on--night and day there was
to be no cessation. Reversing the usual order, they longed for the
night, when the air would be cooler, and their heads would escape the
frying process going on while the sun was above them.
"Och, but this is hot," cried O'Grady for the hundredth time. "If this
goes on much longer, we'll all be turned into real black ebony niggers,
and the Christians on shore will be after putting us to work at the
sugar-canes, and be swearing we've just come straight across from
Africa. As to our tongues, there'll be no safety for us through them,
and they'll swear we've made off with the uniforms from some ship of war
or other, and perhaps be tricing us up as thieves and murderers. Did
you ever hear tell of the Irishman--a sweet countryman of mine,--who
once came out from the Emerald Isle to these parts--to Demerara, I
believe? As soon as the ship which brought him entered the harbour, she
was boarded by a boat full of niggers.
"`Will yer honour have your duds carried ashore now?' asks one, stepping
up to him. `It's myself will see ye all comfortable in a jiffy, if
ye'll trust me, at Mother Flannigan's.'
"My countryman looked at him very hard.
"`What's your name now?' he asks with some trepidation.
"`Pat O'Dwyer, yer honour,' says the nigger.
"`Pat, how long have ye been here?' asks my countryman, solemnly.
"`Faith, about two years, yer honour,' says the nigger.
"`Two years, did ye say--two years only to turn a white Irishman into a
nigger?' exclaimed my countryman with no little alarm. `Then faith the
sooner I get away back from out of this black-burning country the
better--or my own mither down in Ballyshannon won't be after knowing her
own beautiful boy again at all, and my father would be after disowning
me, and my sisters and brothers to boot, and Father O'Roony would be
declaring that it was a white Christian he made of me, and that I
couldn't be the same anyhow. Take my duds on shore. No. Take 'em
below, and I'll go there too, and remain there too till the ship sails
and I'm out of this nigger-making land.' My countryman kept to his
intention, and from that day till the ship sailed, never set foot on
shore. You'll understand that no small number of Irishmen go out to
that country, and that the nigger boy had learnt his English from them--
for he wasn't a real Irishman after all, but that my countryman did not
find out till he got back to auld Ireland again.
"Och, they are broths of boys the Paddies, but they do make curious
mistakes somehow or other, it must be allowed.
"I was one day dining at the mess of some soldier officers, when one of
them, a Captain O'Rourke, positively declared on his faith as a
gentleman that `he had seen anchovies growing on the walls at
Gibraltar.'
"Most of the party opened their eyes, but said nothing, for O'Rourke was
not a man whose word a quietly-disposed person would wish in his sober
moments to call in question.
"Unfortunately, there was present an Englishman, a Lieutenant Brown,
into whose head the fumes of the tawny port and ruby claret had already
mounted.
"`Anchovies growing on a wall?' he blurted out. `That's a cram if ever
there was one.'
"O'Rourke was on his feet in a moment,--
"`What, sir--it's not you who mean to say that you don't believe me, I
hope?' he exclaimed, in a voice which meant mischief.
"`Believe you! I should think I don't, or any man who can talk such
gammon,' answered Brown, in a tone of defiance.
"As may be supposed, there was only one way in which such a matter could
end. Preliminaries were soon settled. The affair would have come off
that evening, but it would have broken up the party too soon, and
besides it wouldn't have been fair, as Brown's hand was not as steady as
it might have been. So it was put off till the next morning soon after
daylight, when there was a good gathering to see the fun. The English
generally took Brown's side. I of course stood by O'Rourke, not that I
was quite sure he was in the right, by-the-by.
"It was very evident that Brown had no notion of handling his pistol.
"`I'll just wing him to teach the spalpeen better manners,' whispered
O'Rourke to his second. `He's unworthy game for my weapon.'
"The word was given to fire. Brown's bullet flew up among some trees
away to the right, not a little frightening the young in a nest of
birds, who popped out their heads to see what was the matter. It was
now our friend's turn.
He smiled as he sent his ball through Brown's trousers, cruelly grazing
his leg, whereon he began to skip about in the most comical way possible
with the pain.
"`By ---, you've made that fellow cut capers at all events,' observed
O'Rourke's second.
"`Cut capers, did ye say?' exclaimed O'Rourke. `Them's the very things
I saw growing on the wall, and not anchovies at all, at all.' And
rushing up to poor Brown, who had fallen on the ground, he took his
hand, greatly to the surprise of the wounded man, crying out,--`It's
myself made the trifle of a mistake, my dear fellow, it's capers, it's
capers, grows on walls, so get up and don't think anything more about
the matter.'
"Poor Brown went limping about for many a day afterwards, and didn't
seem to consider the matter half as good a joke as the rest of us."
O'Grady's stories amused the party, though Croxton very properly
remarked that duelling was a wicked heathen custom, and that he wondered
people who called themselves Christians could ever indulge in it. Other
stories were told, but their interest flagged, for people are not
generally in a talkative mood with the thermometer above a hundred, and
with a small supply of water. Alphonse, however, from time to time kept
his fiddlestick going, both to his own satisfaction, and that of his
hearers. Still he, on account of the heat, was often compelled to put
it down, and to declare that he could play no longer.
Great and unusual, however, as was the heat, it did not appear to cause
any apprehension of danger in the mind of Devereux. The night came on,
and though the air even then was hot, the weary crew were refreshed by
sleep. The sun rose, and the air was hotter than ever, notwithstanding
a dense mist, which gradually filled the atmosphere, while soon a lurid
glare spread over it. Croxton, as he watched the change, looked even
graver than before. "You've not been in these seas before, Mr
Devereux, sir?" he observed.
"No; and if the weather is always as broiling as it is at present, I
don't wish to come to them again in a hurry," answered Devereux. "But
one thing is fortunate--they are calm enough to please any old ladies
who might venture on them."
"Don't count too much on that, sir, if an old man who has cruised for
many a long year out here in every part may venture to give you advice,"
said Croxton, in an earnest tone. "The weather here is often like a
passionate man--calm one moment, and raging furiously the next. I tell
you, sir, I don't like its look at present, and I fear, before long,
that we shall have a job to keep the boat afloat."
"What do you mean, Croxton?" said Devereux. "The boat is the strongest
and best-built belonging to the frigate."
"I mean, sir, that a hurricane is about to burst over us, and that the
strongest and best-built boat can scarcely live through it," was the
answer.
"I fear that you are right," replied Devereux. "We'll prepare the boat
as best we can for what is coming."
No time was to be lost. The staves of a cask knocked to pieces were
nailed round the sides of the boat, and to these a sail, cut into broad
strips, was nailed, so that the water might the better be kept out. The
men were also ordered to rest and to take some food, and then calmly
they waited the expected event. They were not kept long in suspense.
"Here it comes," cried Croxton. "Our only chance is to run before it."
He pointed as he spoke astern, where a long line of snow-white foam was
seen rolling on over the leaden ocean, the sky above it being even
darker than before.
"Out oars, and pull for your lives, lads!" cried Devereux.
Scarcely had the boat gathered full away before the hurricane overtook
her, and she was surrounded by a seething mass of foam; every instant
the seas growing higher and higher, and rolling up with fierce roars, as
if to overwhelm her. It seemed impossible that an open boat could live
in such tumultuous waters, yet still she kept afloat, flying on before
the tempest. Devereux firmly grasped the helm. He knew that any
careless steering would cause the destruction of the boat and all in
her. The crew looked at each other. No wonder that many a cheek was
pale. Who could tell how soon they might be struggling helplessly amid
the foam, while their boat was sinking down below their feet? It was
impossible to say also where they might drive to.
On flew the boat. As the hurricane increased in strength and gained
greater and greater power over the water, the seas increased in height
and came rolling and tumbling on, foaming, hissing, and roaring--
threatening every instant to engulph her. So great was the force of the
wind, that the oars were almost blown out of the men's hands, their
efforts being expended solely in keeping the boat running before the
sea. Those not rowing were employed in baling, for, in spite of all
their efforts, the water washed in in such abundance as to require all
their exertions to heave it out again.
Paul, as he laboured away with the rest, thought a great deal of home
and the dear ones he had left there. He believed, and had good reason
for believing, that he should never see them again, for by what possible
means could he and his companions escape destruction, unless the
hurricane was suddenly to cease, and it had as yet not gained its
height. Even as it was, the boat could scarcely be kept afloat. Night,
too, would soon arrive, and then the difficulty of steering before the
sea would be greatly increased. Still the boat floated. Now a sea
higher than its predecessors came roaring on--the foam blown from its
summit half filled the boat. With difficulty she could be freed of
water before another came following with a still more threatening
aspect. The voice of old Croxton was heard raised in prayer. Each one
believed that his last hour was come. It turned suddenly aside, and the
boat still floated. Again and again they were threatened and escaped.
Darkness, however, was now rapidly coming on and increasing the terrific
aspect of the tempest. Devereux, aided by Reuben Cole, sat steering the
boat. Not a word was spoken. The roar of the waves increased.
"Breakers ahead!" cried old Croxton, in a deep solemn voice. "The Lord
have mercy on our souls!"
The boat was lifted higher than before amid the tumultuous hissing
cauldron of foaming waters, and then down she came with a fearful crash
on a coral reef.