SEÑOR SARPINTO.
Nearer and nearer sailed the _San Salvador_, closer and closer into
the bay; and soon the dark spot resolved itself into something with a
definable shape. Presently all doubt was dispelled; it was a ship
lying on the ice on her beam ends, and a few minutes after several
men were seen clustering near her.
The captain took the glass from his eye,
"There is no doubt about it," he said aloud. "Yonder lies the wreck
of the _Resolute_."
Then the crew manned the bulwarks, the capstan, and winch, and cheer
after cheer rose on the icy air of the morning, such cheers as only
can be heard from true British sailors.
Was it an echo from the cold and snowy mountain cliffs, or was it
really a cheer in response to theirs, that now came feebly back over
the dark waters? None could tell. But in a very short time the _San
Salvador_ was near enough to see figures running excitedly about on
the ice.
They are soon near enough for safety, the anchor chains rattle out,
and the sails are clued; and soon a boat is speeding shorewards, both
Captain Cawdor and his young friend Fred being seated in the stern
sheets.
And now I have a strange fact to record; and mind you, reader, facts
are stranger far than fiction, and I must leave the elucidation
thereof to the psychologist.
As the boat entered the bay then, and the mountains and cliffs grew
taller and taller, and cast great shadows across the water, Fred was
noticed by his captain to become strangely excited, and to look more
and more surprised every moment. He kept gazing around him.
"Captain Cawdor," he said at last, clutching his friend's arm, "am I
really and truly awake? Oh, sir, everything around me is
familiar--every rock and cliff and gloomy hill! Oh, captain, I've
been here before!"
He looked so wild as he spoke that Captain Cawdor really began to
think he was taking leave of his senses. But he had more reason to
think so immediately afterwards.
Fred started to his feet, his cap falling off as he did so, his eyes
staring shorewards, in which direction also his right arm was
stretched.
"I knew it! I knew it!" he cried. "It is my dream coming true--my
thrice-dreamt dream! Look, sir, look! Yonder stands Frank himself!"
He waved both arms madly above his head,
"Frank! Frank! Frank!" he shouted, "it is I, Fred Arundel, your
friend, your brother!"
He sank down almost exhausted.
Captain Cawdor noticed a young man in the garb of a sailor come
staggering along the snow to the very edge of the black water, where
he swayed about, so that those in the boat were in momentary
expectation of seeing him fall into the sea.
No sooner had the boat touched the snow edge than Fred sprang up and
leapt on shore, and next moment the two long-lost friends stood hand
in hand gazing into each other's faces, though neither could speak a
single word.
Frank was the first to regain his voice.
"God bless you, Fred; I knew you'd come."
"You _knew_, Frank?"
"I did."
"But how?"
"I dreamt you would. That is all. And night after night I dreamt
that dream again. It is all God's merciful providence, Fred.
Heigho! I feel so happy now."
"But how weak you are! Come into the boat and seat yourself.
Captain Cawdor, we'll stick to the boat a bit; the men can go with
you."
"Take a pull of this flask, my lad," said the captain in kind tones
to Frank.
"Oh, thank you; no, sir!" he answered. "I have sworn never to touch
_that_."
"As you please, boy; but go and sit down."
"I'll tell you in a word why I refused the captain's flask," said
Frank, when the two were seated in the stern sheets. "My dearest
friend on earth--he's not on earth now--whom I loved as much as you,
because I hadn't you to care for, fell a victim to accursed rum, and
one night he threw himself into the sea, Fred, and before my eyes I
saw him torn in pieces by the sharks."
What a long story that was that each had to tell the other of their
travels and adventures, since last saying farewell on the Broomielaw
at Glasgow!
But it was not all told on the ice here.
Fred and Señor Sarpinto, with the skipper of the _Resolute_, and some
of the ailing ones among the crew, were taken at once aboard the _San
Salvador_.
The others remained in camp beside their ship.
The skipper, a little dark-skinned Yankee, told Cawdor at once that
he believed it possible to repair and float the _Resolute_, and so
that very day a picked crew was sent on shore to work at her. All
the damage that could be found out about the brig had been done to
her starboard quarter. Here was a big hole, but as the vessel lay on
the port side, two days hard work sufficed to make good repairs.
Then came the tug of war. How was she to be got up?
The skipper's plan at once proved the boldness of Yankee device.
He would, he said, blast the ice from under her.*
* A plan I have seen resorted to in Greenland more than once.
"Would this not damage the ship?" said Cawdor.
"Oh, no, sirree," was the reply. "We'll sink the keg of powder well
under, and it will be the easiest work in the world."
"Well, we'll try," said Cawdor.
So preparations were immediately commenced. Luckily the weather
continued fine.
A stout hawser was fastened to the _Resolute's_ main mast head, and
carried towards that of the _San Salvador_, which had been brought
near the ice floe and anchored there. This was done with the view of
causing the _Resolute_ to take the water keel down, else she might
actually turn turtle as it is called.
All being ready the keg of powder was lowered, and lighted by means
of a long fuse.
Then ensued a long time of anxious waiting. Minutes on minutes
seemed to elapse before the explosion actually took place.
When it did so, instead of being anything very startling, it resolved
itself simply into the raising of a vast balloon-shaped fountain of
salt water and spray which blinded everyone it fell upon. Pieces of
ice also fell with rattling thuds upon the deck of the barque, but no
one was hurt. The _San Salvador_ shook and shivered and swayed about
for a few moments; huge lumps of the _débris_ of the blasted iceberg
thundered against her sides; then it could be seen that the
_Resolute_ was slowly righting herself on an even keel, and sinking
down to her water-line.
All speed was now made to cut the hawser, but there was no further
danger. The rescued brig lay there like a duck upon the water; sail
was soon after made, and both vessels moved slowly out to the open
waters of the bay.
Much to everyone's surprise the _Resolute_ made scarcely any water;
so the Yankee skipper's daring had been well rewarded.
Next day a strong breeze sprang up from the south-west; and, taking
advantage of it, away went the consorts under all sail _en route_ for
New Zealand.
* * * * * *
Nothing, I think, affords such convincing proof of the limitedness of
the human mind as the futility of the attempts we sometimes make to
grasp or understand the infinitely great or the infinitely small. We
are willing enough, for instance, to take it for granted that the
milky way on which we gaze on some still starry night is in reality a
mist of myriads on myriads of worlds and suns, millions of which are
as large in comparison to our mite of an earth as a crownpiece is to
a pin's head; but if we attempt to form any just conception of so
great a marvel we feel our own littleness at once. Again, we may be
told that every drop of stagnant water under the microscope resolves
itself at once into a world in which creatures live, and move, and
have their being, and act out their own little life-stories on their
particular stage just as we do in ours. We can grasp this truth; but
take it in the aggregate, and where are we? How many drops of
stagnant water are in yonder pond? And how many microscopic worlds
are there? We are best to leave all such calculations alone. They
do but stagger and stun us. Besides there is the golden hope given
us in the Bible, that though here below we see darkly in a glass, our
hereafter will be more bright and intellectual.
I am led to make these remarks from a glance I have just taken at a
map or chart of the world, and that portion of it in particular we
call the Pacific Ocean. On this map of mine the islands that dot its
vast surface are fairly well marked to the extent of our present
knowledge. But probably not a thousandth part of them are down here,
nor have ever been visited even. And when we consider that most of
them are teeming with life--with animal, human life even--and are the
homes of creatures and peoples utterly foreign to us, as are also
their fauna and flora, the thought is indeed somewhat startling.
Then to think of the ages and ages that have elapsed during the
formation of this mist of islands, whether by the breaking into
pieces of vast continents, or the raising from the ocean's bed of
isle upon isle by volcanic or coral agency! Is it not weirdly
strange?
It is in the very centre of this wondrous mist of islands that the
next scene of our story opens.
The vessels _San Salvador_ and _Resolute_ had reached New Zealand,
and both had loaded up and were on their way home to San Francisco.
Frank was strong and well again now, and had been transferred from
his own brig to the _Salvador_, and proving to be really a fairly
good sailor, Captain Cawdor had kept his promise to Fred, and duly
installed him in the position of third mate. So all had gone well,
and the two young men now felt as happy as the day was long, and just
as bright as the days were.
Señor Sarpinto had also preferred to leave the brig and sail with
Captain Cawdor. Frank was very fond of this Spanish grandee, as he
called him. To all appearance there was not much of the grandee
about him. He was a man of about forty years of age, small in
stature, but as strong and lithe as a puma; his dark eyes at times
used to glare and glitter when he talked, as if fires really raged
within him that could not be concealed. His love of adventure and
sight-seeing was remarkable. This it was that had determined him to
go with the skipper of the brig _Resolute_ to the southern seas,
where whales and seals were said to swarm. This same love of
adventure had made a rover of him all his life. He was wealthy,
extremely so. He did not tell anyone this boastingly; he simply
admitted it, and added that he could not help being rich. He
believed, he said, if he were stripped naked, and put down in the
midst of an unknown island, he would become a wealthy man in less
than ten years. He was born to sprout and flourish like a green
bay-tree, and every new speculation he turned his thoughts to was
successful.
Yet he would have been deeply offended at anyone who ever hinted that
he cared for money. No wonder Deakin and Co. would have been sorry
to lose so fortunate a partner as this Señor Sarpinto.
Not a part of the world, even the most remote, he had not visited, or
if such regions did exist, they existed but to be visited some day or
other by this same adventurous Spaniard.
Being therefore a citizen of the world it will surprise no one to be
told that the English he spoke was faultless.
During the long voyage to New Zealand from the southern ice he had
made quite a favourable and friendly impression on Fred, and never
did he seem more happy than when sitting between the two lads on the
quarter-deck of an evening, smoking and drinking sherbet. He would
not sit in the dark, however.
"I must see the faces of those I talk to," he said.
So wherever at night the señor sat on deck a lantern was swung.
The lads were never tired listening to stories of his strange life
and adventures; they were thrilling in the extreme. At the same time
they were natural and naturally told.
Yet with all his nonchalance and his gaiety our heroes often noticed
that at times there came into his face a look of weariness, nay, at
times, even of utter woe, that used to sadden while it surprised them.
They were old enough and wise enough to know from this that Señor
Sarpinto had a life-story he never told; that deep down at the bottom
of his heart was a well-spring of sentiment, no drop from which ever
in their presence found its way to the surface.
There was no need to hurry, this voyage, the señor told Captain
Cawdor over and over again. Life among the beautiful islands of the
southern Pacific was far too delightful, far too idyllic to be
hurried over. But a ten-knot breeze had the same effect upon both
Cawdor and his mate that a red rag had on a bull. It excited them,
and clap on sail they would.
So the only way Señor Sarpinto could think of for delaying the
voyage, was to ask for a boat to visit every island they came any way
near. The voyage was all that could be desired for a fortnight and
over. Then contrary winds blew. This state of affairs was succeeded
by a hurricane or tornado that blew both vessels very much out of
their course.
It was a night of fearful darkness and storm; but next morning,
though the waves were still houses' high, the wind had fallen to a
dead calm. But where was the _Resolute_?
Her lights had been seen at eight bells in the middle watch; but when
the sun shot up at half-past six, and apparently changed the round,
rolling waves into blood and fire, the brig was nowhere visible.
Here was Señor Sarpinto's chance come at last then, to delay the
voyage for a short time.
He could never think of leaving his good brig and his faithful
skipper, so he told Cawdor; but the captain really could not help
perceiving that it mattered very little to the señor where the
_Resolute_ was. So he told him.
"Ah! then," was the reply, "for courtesy and politeness' sake we will
lie to for some days till she comes up. Or we will creep around and
look for her."
But the _Resolute_ never appeared.
The waiting for her, however, led to events that were indeed but
little looked for, as we shall presently see.