The river Hoogly. Off Calcutta. Tropical vegetation on the shore.
Glittering sunshine on the water. Blue sky and fleecy clouds overhead.
Equally blue sky and fleecy clouds down below. A world of sky and
water, with ships and boats, resting on their own inverted images, in
the midst. Sweltering heat everywhere. Black men revelling in the
sunshine. White men melting in the shade. The general impression such,
that one might almost entertain the belief that the world has become
white-hot, and the end of time is about to be ushered in with a general
conflagration.
Such is the scene, reader, to which we purpose to convey you.
The day was yet young when a large vessel shook out her topsails, and
made other nautical demonstrations of an intention to quit the solid
land ere long, and escape if possible from the threatened conflagration.
"I wonder when those brutes will be sent off," said the first mate of
the ship to the surgeon, who stood on the poop beside him.
"What brutes do you refer to?" asked the surgeon, who was no other than
our young friend Stanley Hall.
"Why, the wild beasts, to be sure. Have you not heard that we are to
have as passengers on the voyage home two leopards, an elephant, and a
rhinoceros?"
"Pleasant company! I wonder what Neptune will say to that?" said
Stanley, with a laugh, as he walked forward to ask the opinion of the
owner of the said Neptune. "I say, Welton, we are to have an elephant,
a rhinoceros, and two leopards, on this voyage."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, what will Neptune say to it?"
"Oh, he won't mind, sir," replied Jim, patting the head of the large
Newfoundland dog with grey paws which stood beside him.
Jim and Stanley had taken a fancy to each other when on board the Nora.
The former had carried out a plan of going to sea, in order to be out of
the way if he should happen to be wanted as a witness at the trial of
Morley Jones, which event he felt certain must take place soon. He had
made application to Stanley, who spoke to Mr Durant about him,--the
result being that Jim obtained a berth on board the ship Wellington,
which stood A1 at Lloyds. Hence we find him in the Hoogly.
"Neptune is a wise dog, sir," continued Jim; "he don't feel much put out
by curious company, and is first-rate at taking care of himself.
Besides, there is no jealousy in his nature. I suppose he feels that
nobody can cut him out when he has once fairly established a friendship.
I don't grudge the dive off the bulwarks of the old Gull, when I saved
Neptune, I assure you."
"He was worth saving," remarked Stanley, stooping to pat the meek head
of the dog.
"Yes, I heard last night of the expected passengers," pursued Jim, "and
am now rigging up tackle to hoist 'em on board. I meant to have told
you of 'em last night, but we got into that stiff argument about
teetotalism, which put it completely out of my head."
"Ah, Welton, you'll never convince me that teetotalism is right," said
Stanley, with a good-humoured laugh. "Not that I care much about wine
or spirits myself, but as long as a man uses them in moderation they can
do him no harm."
"So I thought once, sir," returned Jim, "but I have seen cause to change
my mind. A healthy man can't use them in moderation, because _use_ is
_abuse_. Stimulants are only fit for weaklings and sick folk. As well
might a stout man use crutches to help him to walk, as beer or brandy to
help him to work; yet there are some strong young men so helpless that
they can't get on at all without their beer or grog!"
"Come, I'll join issue with you on that point," said Stanley, eagerly,
for he was very fond of an argument with Jim, who never lost his temper,
and who always paid his opponent the compliment of listening attentively
to what he had to say.
"Not just now," replied Jim, pointing towards the shore; "for yonder
comes a boat with some of the passengers we were talking of."
"Is that tackle rigged, Welton?" shouted the mate.
"It is, sir," replied Jim.
"Then stand by, some of you, to hoist these leopards aboard."
When the little boat or dinghy came alongside, it was observed that the
animals were confined in a large wooden cage, through the bars of which
they glared savagely at the half-dozen black fellows who conveyed them
away from their native land. They seemed to be uncommonly irate.
Perhaps the injustice done them in thus removing them against their will
had something to do with it. Possibly the motion of the boat had
deranged their systems. Whatever the cause, they glared and growled
tremendously.
"Are you sure that cage is strong enough?" asked the mate, casting a
dubious look over the side.
"Oh yes, massa--plenty strong. Hould a Bengal tiger," said one of the
black fellows, looking up with a grin which displayed a splendid double
row of glittering teeth.
"Very well, get the slings on, Welton, and look sharp, bo's'n, for more
company of the same kind is expected," said the mate.
The bo's'n--a broad, short, burly man, as a boatswain always is and
always ought to be, with, of course, a terrific bass voice, a body
outrageously long, and legs ridiculously short--replied, "Ay, ay, sir,"
and gave some directions to his mates, who stood by the hoisting
tackles.
At the first hoist the appearance of the cage justified the mate's
suspicions, for the slings bent it in so much that some of the bars
dropped out.
"Avast heaving," roared the boatswain. "Lower!" Down went the cage
into the dinghy. The bars were promptly replaced, and the slings
fastened in better position.
"Try it again, bo's'n," said the mate.
The order to hoist was repeated, and up went the cage a second time, but
it bent as before, so that several bars again slipped out, leaving the
leopards sufficient space to jump through if they chose.
"Lower!" yelled the mate.
The men obeyed promptly--rather too promptly! The cage went down by the
run into the boat, and with a crash fell asunder.
"Cut the rope!" cried the mate.
Jim Welton jumped into the chains, cut the painter, and the boat was
swept away by the tide, which was running strong past the ship. At the
same moment the black fellows went over the sides into the water like
six black eels radiating from a centre, and away went the dinghy with
the leopards in possession, mounted on the debris of their prison,
lashing their sides with their tails, and looking round in proud
defiance of all mankind!
The crew of the boat, each of whom could swim like a frog, were soon
picked up. Meanwhile, all on board the Wellington who had telescopes
applied them to their eyes, and watched the progress of the dinghy.
It chanced that the current set with considerable force towards the
opposite side of the river, where lay an island on which was a public
garden. There ladies and gentlemen in gay costume, as well as many
natives and children, were promenading the shady walks, chatting
pleasantly, listening to the sweet strains of music, enjoying the
fragrance of scented flowers, with the jungle and its inhabitants very
far indeed from their thoughts--except, perchance, in the case of a
group surrounding a young officer, who was, no doubt, recounting the
manner in which he had potted a tiger on the occasion of his last day
out with the Rajah of Bangalore, or some such dignitary!
Straight to the shores of this Eden-like spot the dinghy drifted, and
quietly did the leopards abide the result--so also did the deeply
interested crew of the Wellington, who, of course, were quite unable to
give any note of warning.
The little boat was seen to touch the shore, and the leopards were
observed to land leisurely without opposition from the enemy.
Immediately after, something resembling a sensation was apparent in the
garden. The distance was too great to permit of sound travelling to the
observers, but it lent enchantment to the view to the extent of
rendering the human beings there like moving flowers of varied hue.
Presently there was a motion, as if a tornado had suddenly burst upon
the flower-beds and scattered them right and left in dire confusion--not
a few appearing to have been blown up into the trees!
That same day the crack shots and sportsmen of Calcutta went down to the
usually peaceful islet and engaged in all the wild work of a regular
hunt, and at eve the two leopards were seen, by interested observers in
the Wellington, being conveyed away in triumph on a litter.
But, long before this happy consummation of the day's sport in the
garden, the remainder of the expected company had arrived alongside the
Wellington, and the undaunted bo's'n--who declared himself ready on the
shortest notice to hoist any living creature on board, from a sperm
whale to a megatherium--tackled the elephant. The ponderous brute
allowed itself to be manipulated with the utmost good-humour, and when
carefully lowered on the deck it alighted with as much softness as if it
had been shod with India-rubber, and walked quietly forward, casting a
leer out of its small eyes at the mate, as if it were aware of its
powers, but magnanimously forbore to use them to the disadvantage of its
human masters. In passing it knocked off the bo's'n's hat, but whether
this was done by accident or design has never been ascertained. At all
events the creature made no apology.
If this passenger was easy-going and polite, the rhinoceros, which came
next, was very much the reverse. That savage individual displayed a
degree of perverse obstinacy and bad feeling which would have been
deemed altogether inexcusable even in a small street-boy.
In the whites of its very small grey eyes wickedness sat enthroned. The
end of its horns--for it had two on its nose--appeared to be sharpened
with malignity, its thick lips quivered with anger, and its ridiculously
small tail wriggled with passionate emotion, as if that appendage felt
its insignificance, yet sought to obtrude itself on public notice.
To restrain this passenger was a matter of the utmost difficulty. To
get him into the slings might have perplexed Hercules himself, but
nothing could appal the bo's'n. The slings were affixed, the order to
hoist was given by the mate, who had descended from the poop, and stood
near the gangway. Up went the monster with a grunt, and a peculiar
rigidity of body, which evidently betokened horror at his situation.
Being fully five tons in weight, this passenger had to be received on
board with caution.
"Lower away," was given.
"Hold on," was added.
Both orders were obeyed, and the huge animal hung within three inches of
the deck.
"Stand clear there, lads."
There was no occasion for that order. It had been anticipated.
"Lower," was again given.
The moment the feet of the creature touched the deck he dashed forward
with ungovernable fury, broke the slings, overturned the bo's'n, who
fortunately rolled into the port scuppers, and took possession of the
ship, driving the men into the chains and up the rigging.
"Jump up!" shouted Jim Welton to the bo's'n.
"Here he comes aft!" yelled several of the men.
There was no need to warn the boatswain. He heard the thunder of the
monster's feet, and sprang into the main rigging with an amount of
agility that could hardly have been excelled by a monkey.
"Why, what are you all afraid of?" asked the captain of the ship, who
had come on board with a number of passengers just before the occurrence
of this incident.
"Come down here, sir, and you'll see," replied the mate, who was in the
main-chains.
The captain declined with a smile, and advised the use of a lasso.
Immediately every man of the ship's crew became for the nonce a Mexican
wild-horse tamer! Running nooses were made, and Jack, albeit unused to
taking wild cattle on the prairies of America, was, nevertheless, such
an adept at casting a coil of rope that he succeeded beyond the most
sanguine expectation. The bo's'n was the first to throw a loop over the
creature's front horn--cast a hitch over its foremast as he styled it--
amid a deafening cheer. He was immediately pulled out of the rigging,
and a second time lay wallowing in the port scuppers; but he cared
nothing for that, being upheld by the glory of having succeeded in
fixing the first noose. Soon after that Stanley Hall threw a noose over
the creature's head, and Jim Welton fixed one on its second horn--or, as
the bo's'n said, round his mizzen. In the course of half-an-hour the
rhinoceros was so completely entangled in the twisted ropes that he
seemed as though he were involved in a net. He was finally captured,
and led to a ponderous stall that had been prepared for him between the
fore and main masts.
Soon afterwards the last of the human passengers came on board. There
were many of them. Officers and their wives and children--some in
health, some in sickness. Old warriors returning home to repose on
their laurels. Young warriors returning home to recruit their health,
or to die. Women who went out as wives returning as widows, and women
who went out as widows returning as wives. Some returning with fortunes
made, a few returning with fortunes broken; but all, old and young,
healthy and sick, rich and poor, hopeful and hopeless, glad at the
prospect of leaving the burning skies of India behind, and getting out
among the fresh breezes of the open sea. Then the sails were set, and
with a light evening breeze the Wellington began her voyage--homeward
bound...
Once again the scene changes. Blue skies are gone. Grey clouds
preponderate. In the Atlantic, tossed by the angry billows, a large
ship scuds before the wind as though she were fleeing from the pursuit
of a relentless enemy. She has evidently seen rough and long service.
Her decks have been swept by many a heavy sea; her spars have been
broken and spliced. The foremast is sprung, the main-topgallant mast is
gone, and the mizzen has been snapped off close by the deck. Her
bulwarks are patched here and there, and her general appearance bears
evidence of the tremendous power of Ocean.
It would be difficult in that weatherworn hull to recognise the trim
full-rigged ship that left the Hoogly many months before.
It was not a recent gale that had caused all this damage. In the South
Atlantic, several weeks before, she had encountered one of those
terrific but short-lived squalls which so frequently send many of man's
stoutest floating palaces to the bottom. Hence her half-wrecked
condition.
The passengers on board the Wellington did not, however, seem to be much
depressed by their altered circumstances. The fact was, they had become
so used to rough weather, and had weathered so many gales, and reached
their damaged condition by such slow degrees, that they did not realise
it as we do, turning thus abruptly from one page to another. Besides
this, although still some weeks' sail from the white cliffs of old
England, they already began to consider the voyage as good as over, and
not a few of the impatient among them had begun to pack up so as to be
ready for going ashore. And how carefully were those preparations for
landing made! With what interest the sandal-wood fans, and inlaid ivory
boxes and elaborately carved chess-men and curious Indian toys, and
costly Indian shawls were re-examined and repacked in more secure and
carefully-to-be-remembered corners, in order that they might be got at
quickly when eager little hands "at home--" Well, well, it is of no use
to dwell on what was meant to be, for not one of those love-tokens ever
reached its destination. All were swallowed up by the insatiable sea.
But let us not forestall. The elephant and rhinoceros were the only
members of the community that had perished on the voyage. At first the
elephant had been dreaded by many, but by degrees it won the confidence
and affection of all. Houses innumerable had been built for it on deck,
but the sagacious animal had a rooted antipathy to restraint. No sort
of den, however strongly formed, could hold him long. The first
structures were so ridiculously disproportioned to his strength as to be
demolished at once. On being put into the first "house that Jack
built," he looked at it demurely for at least five minutes, as if he
were meditating on the probable intentions of the silly people who put
him there, but neither by look nor otherwise did he reveal the
conclusions to which he came. His intentions, however, were not long of
being made known. He placed his great side against the den; there was a
slow but steady rending of timbers, as if the good ship herself were
breaking up, a burst of laughter from the men followed, and "Sambo" was
free. When the succeeding houses were built so strong that his side
availed not, he brought his wonderful patience and his remarkable trunk
to bear on them, and picked them to pieces bit by bit. Then ropes were
tried, but he snapped weak ropes and untied strong ones.
At last he was permitted to roam the decks at perfect liberty, and it
was a point of the greatest interest to observe the neat way in which he
picked his steps over the lumbered decks, without treading upon
anything--ay, even during nights when these decks in the tropical
regions were covered with sleeping men!
Everybody was fond of Sambo. Neptune doted on him, and the children--
who fed him to such an extent with biscuits that the bo's'n said he
would be sartin' sure to die of appleplexy--absolutely adored him. Even
the gruff, grumpy, unsociable rhinoceros amiably allowed him to stroke
its head with his trunk.
Sambo troubled no one except the cook, but that luxurious individual was
so constantly surrounded by a halo, so to speak, of delicious and
suggestive odours that the elephant could not resist the temptation to
pay him frequent visits, especially when dinner was being prepared. One
of his favourite proceedings at such times was to put his trunk into the
galley, take the lid off the coppers, make a small coil of the end of
his proboscis, and therewith at one sweep spoon out a supply of potatoes
sufficient for half-a-dozen men! Of course the cook sought to
counteract such tendencies, but he had to be very circumspect, for Sambo
resented insults fiercely.
One day the cook caught his enemy in the very act of clearing out the
potato copper. Enraged beyond endurance, he stuck his "tormentors" into
the animal's trunk. With a shriek of rage Sambo dashed the potatoes in
the man's face, and made a rush at him. The cook fled to his sanctum
and shut the door. There the elephant watched him for an hour or more.
The united efforts, mental and physical, of the ship's crew failed to
remove the indignant creature, so they advised the cook to remain where
he was for some time. He hit on the plan, however, of re-winning the
elephant's friendship. He opened his door a little and gave him a piece
of biscuit. Sambo took it. What his feelings were no one could tell,
but he remained at his post. Another piece of biscuit was handed out.
Then the end of the injured proboscis was smoothed and patted by the
cook. Another large piece of biscuit was administered, and by degrees
the cure was affected. Thus successfully was applied that grand
principle which has accomplished so much in this wicked world, even
among higher animals than elephants--the overcoming of evil with good!
Eventually Sambo sickened. Either the cold of the north told too
severely on a frame which had been delicately nurtured in sunny climes,
or Sambo had surreptitiously helped himself during the hours of night to
something deleterious out of the paint or pitch pots. At all events he
died, to the sincere regret of all on board--cook not excepted--and was
launched overboard to glut the sharks with an unwonted meal, and
astonish them with a new sensation.
Very dissimilar was the end of the rhinoceros. That bumptious animal
retained its unamiable spirit to the last. Fortunately it did not
possess the powers or sagacity of the elephant. It could not untie
knots or pick its cage to pieces, so that it was effectually restrained
during the greater part of the voyage; but there came a tempest at last,
which assisted him in becoming free--free, not only from durance vile,
but from the restraints of this life altogether. On the occasion
referred to, the rudder was damaged, and for a time rendered useless, so
that the good ship Wellington rolled to an extent that almost tore the
masts out of her. Everything not firmly secured about the decks was
washed overboard. Among other things, the rhinoceros was knocked so
heavily against the bars of his crib that they began to give way.
At last the vessel gave a plunge and roll which seemed to many of those
on board as though it must certainly be her last. The rhinoceros was
sent crashing through the dislocated bars; the ropes that held his legs
were snapped like the cords wherewith Samson was bound in days of old,
and away he went with the lurch of a tipsy man against the long-boat,
which he stove in.
"Hold on!" roared the bo's'n.
Whether this was advice to the luckless animal, or a general adjuration
to everybody and everything to be prepared for the worst, we know not;
but instead of holding on, every one let go what he or she chanced to be
holding on to at the moment, and made for a place of safety with
reckless haste. The rhinoceros alone obeyed the order. It held on for
a second or two in a most remarkable manner to the mainmast, but another
lurch of the vessel cast it loose again; a huge billow rolled under the
stern; down went the bow, and the brute slid on its haunches, with its
fore legs rigid in front, at an incredible pace towards the galley.
Just as a smash became imminent, the bow rose, the stern dropt, and away
he went back again with equal speed, but in a more sidling attitude,
towards the quarter-deck.
Before that point was reached, a roll diverted him out of course and he
was brought up by the main hatch, from which he rebounded like a
billiard ball towards the starboard gangway. At this point he lost his
balance, and went rolling to leeward like an empty cask. There was
something particularly awful and impressive in the sight of this
unwieldy monster being thus knocked about like a pea in a rattle, and
sometimes getting into attitudes that would have been worthy of a dancer
on the tightrope, but the consummation of the event was not far off. An
unusually violent roll of the ship sent him scrambling to starboard; a
still more vicious roll checked and reversed the rush and dashed him
against the cabin skylight. He carried away part of this, continued his
career, went tail-foremost through the port bulwarks like a cannon-shot
into the sea. He rose once, but, as if to make sure of her victory, the
ship relentlessly fell on him with a weight that must have split his
skull, and sent him finally to the bottom.
Strange to say, the dog Neptune was the only one on board that appeared
to mourn the loss of this passenger. He howled a good deal that night
in an unusually sad tone, and appeared to court sympathy and caresses
more than was his wont from Jim Welton and the young people who were
specially attached to him, but he soon became reconciled, alas! to the
loss of his crusty friend.
The storms ceased as they neared the shores of England. The carpenter
and crew were so energetic in repairing damages that the battered vessel
began to wear once more something of her former trim aspect, and the
groups of passengers assembled each evening on the poop, began to talk
with ever-deepening interest of home, while the children played beside
them, or asked innumerable questions about brothers, sisters, and
cousins, whose names were as familiar as household words, though their
voices and forms were still unknown.
The weather was fine, the sky was clear; warm summer breezes filled the
sails, and all nature seemed to have sunk into a condition so peaceful
as to suggest the idea that storms were past and gone for ever, when the
homeward-bound ship neared the land. One evening the captain remarked
to the passengers, that if the wind would hold as it was a little
longer, they should soon pass through the Downs, and say good-bye to the
sea breezes and the roll of the ocean wave.