Through the dim, grey light, Hughes took his way down the companion,
entering the brig's little cabin. If things had seemed gloomy on deck,
where the cool morning breeze was blowing, and the dying gale moaning
through the broken rigging, how much more desolate all seemed here as he
paused and looked about him. The hatches were on, the deadlights
shipped, and a lamp, with its long wick unsnuffed, swung wildly to and
fro. Down the companion came the first faint sickly streaks of the
coming day. The soaked carpets, the crimson seats drenched with
salt-water, and the broken cabin furniture, were the natural results of
the few minutes the brig had been lying on her beam ends. A small table
had broken from its lashings and, fetching way, pitched right into a
large mirror, and there it lay broken among the shivered glass. The
crew were now so short-handed that the steward was working at the pumps,
whose metallic clanking sound was plainly heard all over the vessel.
Pausing a moment as he glanced around, Hughes realised the scene, and
then, passing on, knocked at the door of a small cabin.
The knock was low and timidly given. It produced no reply, so, turning
the handle, he entered.
He stood in the Portuguese noble's private cabin, and he became at once
aware that the injuries which Dom Maxara had received were of a graver
character than the mate had led him to suppose. In point of fact, the
broken thigh caused by being jammed in between the pump and the brig's
mainmast was not all, for several ribs had been broken, by the heavy
blocks which had been rolled to and fro, and some severe internal injury
had been received. What was even worse was that there was no doctor on
board, and so there on the tumbled bed lay the injured noble, his grey
hairs falling on the pillow, while by the bedside, her face buried in
the clothes, sat Isabel fast asleep. Several large stains of blood
marked the sheet, and the sick man's eyes, though closed, seemed sunken,
and the lips deadly white. The morning was breaking fine and calm.
Kneeling down beside her, after carefully closing the door, Hughes
passed his arm gently round the sleeping girl's waist. She awoke with a
start, glancing round her with a terrified look, as she pushed back the
long hair from her face and forehead. For a few moments, so deep had
been the sleep of fatigue and exhaustion, she knew not where she was or
what had happened, but as her startled gaze fell on the narrow bed, the
whole of the sorrowful present returned to her. Dom Maxara was
breathing very heavily, and with great difficulty.
"Oh, Enrico, how wicked I have been," she exclaimed. "How could I go to
sleep?"
"How could you avoid it, dear Isabel, after such a time of mental and
bodily fatigues. Has he spoken?" asked Hughes, looking up into her
face.
"No, he has never moved, never opened his eyes; but I don't know how
long I have been asleep," was the reply. "What is the news on deck? If
we could only get him ashore, my dear dear father!"
"The gale is completely broken, the sea rapidly falling, and we shall
soon have a dead calm, Isabel; but the leak is gaining on us, some plank
must be started, and there is ten feet water in the hold."
"Is land far off?" asked the girl, whose face looked pale and careworn.
"If we could only get him to land."
"We have no boats, and no means of landing. The brig is nearly
motionless, and will soon be quite so. If we had wind we might run her
on the coast; but at present it is only a question of how many hours we
can float. The captain talks of a raft."
"Land ho!" was heard shouted on the forecastle.
"Where away?" was asked from the quarter-deck.
"Broad on the starboard bow, sir, nearly ahead."
The shout seemed to rouse the sick man. His eyes opened languidly, and
so heavy and stertorous was the breathing, that the clothes rose and
fell with the labouring chest.
Dom Maxara had regained consciousness, but it became evident that some
severe internal injury had taken place, and that death was not far off.
Isabel leaned over him, and kissed the white lips.
"Land is in sight, dear father; the weather is fine, and we shall soon
reach it," she whispered, placing her hand in his.
The old man closed his eyes, and prayed; he then motioned with his hand,
and Hughes gave him some teaspoonsful of weak brandy and water.
This revived him, and the cushions being arranged, he managed, though
with much pain, to make himself heard.
"I shall never land, my daughter," he said, "never. Isabel, at the foot
of my bed you will find a tin case, bring it."
The weeping girl did as she was told without a word.
"Enrico," continued the dying man, slowly and feebly, "all my papers are
there. Whatever property I have is left to my daughter. Isabel, I am
leaving you fast."
The girl knelt by his side, sobbing bitterly, but without speaking.
A long pause ensued, during which the clank of the chain pumps, the
swish of the water, the loud voices on deck, and the stertorous
breathing of the dying noble, mixed with the passionate sobs of the
sorrow-stricken daughter.
"Isabel," said Dom Maxara, at last, "I would give you a protector.
Enrico, I would give you my daughter, ere I leave you."
"Oh, dear father, think of yourself, think not of me," sobbed the
heart-broken Isabel.
"I am thinking of myself. Enrico, tell your friend the missionary; ask
him to come here."
Wyzinski was soon found; and there, in the small cabin, the marriage
service was read, Captain Weber, whose eyes were wet with tears, being
present. Isabel's voice could hardly be heard through her sobs, as she
murmured the responses of the English Church. Wyzinski closed the book,
and the wife's head rested on her husband's shoulder. They knelt by the
bedside, the missionary praying fervently and long.
All had faced death together more than once; but here it was gradually
approaching before their eyes, slowly but surely, and on that account
the more terrible. The captain had left, his presence being urgently
required on deck, and the low, earnest tones of the missionary sounded
impressively in the cabin of the dismantled brig. By the bedside the
newly-married couple kneeled. In Isabel's bosom a deep and unswerving
affection had long since taken root; she had read, and read truly, too,
the heart of her lover; had seen, from the first, his affection for her,
and had understood the plain blunt straightforward language in which the
expression of it had been couched. For her own future she entertained
no doubt, now that the storm was dying away, and land in sight.
"See, Enrico, he revives," she murmured.
"It is the effect of the stimulant," replied her husband.
A violent spasm seemed to shake the dying noble's whole frame from head
to foot. Extending his hands, he laid them on the heads of the two
kneeling beside him; his eyes were lifted to Heaven, his lips moved, and
he made an effort to speak. It was useless, for no sound issued from
the white contracted lips. Again the convulsion fit passed over his
frame, the head fell back on the pillow, and the arms dropped heavily.
The rush of the water, and the heavy clank of the chain pumps, mixed
with the sobs of the orphan and the low earnest prayer of the missionary
alone broke the silence of the death chamber.
On deck the men were still working hard, and the clear water poured from
the brig's scuppers, but there was no cheerfulness shown; they worked,
it is true, but sullenly, mechanically, and without hope. The line of
coast was visible from the forecastle, but the wind had fallen, and
though now and then a puff would fill the foresail, yet the brig hardly
had headway, rolling heavily, and seeming to right herself slowly.
Everything betokened calm, the sun pouring upon the brig's water-sodden
decks, and the jagged stumps of her masts. The land was in sight, but
there was no disguising the facts that her boats were smashed to pieces,
and she herself was, despite the efforts of her crew, sinking under
their feet.
"I see no other way," said Captain Weber, who now stood talking to his
first officer on the quarter-deck. "We must have started a plank; mark
how clear and green the water flows from her scuppers, and that long
lazy roll."
His mate took off his cap, leisurely scratching his head. "Ay, ay,
sir," he replied, "either one of the yards has poked a hole through her
bottom, or one of that scoundrel's eighteen-pounders has done more
damage than we thought."
"She is settling down fast, Lowe. If we had only a breeze we would
beach the old barky, but it is impossible."
"Quite impossible, Captain Weber. If you will take my advice, knock off
the pumps, and set all hands to work to make a raft. Let us save what
we can," earnestly replied the mate.
Captain Weber's face was very sad. With the brig was lost the savings
of a life, and he carefully turned over in his mind all the
circumstances. He looked over the side and noticed with a sigh how deep
the "Halcyon" lay in the water, and how sluggish was her motion. He
noted the idle sail as it hung against the broken foremast, and the
clank of the chain pumps came to his ear, as the clear salt-water
flooded the deck.
The old seaman groaned.
"There is nothing for it, Lowe," he muttered. "Keep the pumps going;
half the hands will do the work. Serve out a good allowance of grog.
Get the masts out of her, and let us have them alongside. The old brig
won't miss them."
"Ay, ay, sir," cheerfully replied the mate, walking aft among the men.
"Morris," continued the captain, addressing the carpenter, "send up all
the spare spars you have, and we will use the planking of the forecastle
to make a staging for the raft. Rig out a pair of sheers amidships."
All was now bustle aboard the brig. The men, who had worked at the
pumps sullenly, because they knew that despite all they could do the
leak was gaining fast on them, now found themselves employed in securing
their own safety. The remains of the fore and mainmast were soon
floating alongside, and, with a number of spare yards and heavier spars,
formed a solid basis to work upon. Across these were placed a second
layer of lighter spars, and the whole secured firmly. The planking of
the deck forward, where it had been partially torn up by the grinding of
the fore-topmast, was easily removed, and completed a kind of deck,
raised two feet at least above the water. A royal yard was rigged as a
mast, and stancheons were fixed round the edges of the platform, through
which ropes were run. The arms were got on deck, and the best being
selected were, with a liberal supply of ammunition, placed on the raft.
Some loose sails were thrown in, provisions of every kind added, and as
there was room for treble the number of men on the floating spars,
several heavy cases, the contents of which were known only to the
captain, were stowed away on the raft.
Night came on, and one by one the stars shone out. A long gentle swell
was all that remained of the late storm, and the brig, barely rising to
it, rolled clumsily and heavily. The men had behaved well. There had
been a question raised, when they were tired of the pumps, and found
that, work as hard as they might, it was useless, of breaking into the
spirit-room; it had been soon disposed of, however, and each and all had
worked cheerfully.
Crew and passengers were on deck. Isabel had been speaking in a
pleading tone, while the dark mass of timber alongside was as yet not
tenanted.
"I cannot bear to think of what remains of my poor father being left
here. We are close to land; let me, at least, see him laid to rest in
African soil."
"Dearest Isabel, your wish is law to me, and the desire is a natural
though I think a wrong one. We don't know when we may reach land, and
the sad sight will but increase your grief. Believe me, dearest, it is
useless."
Isabel looked up into her husband's face.
"My first request," she murmured.
The look was irresistible; and Hughes walked forward to where Captain
Weber stood, among his crew, completing his last dispositions.
"Captain Weber, can we not take the remains of Dom Maxara on shore for
burial?"
"What use will it be? The old barky, with all she contains, will soon
be at the bottom of the sea, and so much of my future and hopes go with
her, that I should not much care if I went also."
"Still, it is the daughter's wish," urged Hughes.
The men stood grouped around on the deck, the pumps had been left, and
the brig was rolling so heavily on the swell that it was time to leave
her.
"Well, well! be it as you wish. Here, Anderson, and you, Forrest, come
here;" and the seaman gave his directions.
The two sailors hesitated. They joined their comrades. A low whispered
conversation ensued. He who had been called Forrest stepped forward,
and scratching off his tarpaulin, twisted it in his hands.
"Well, what is it, Forrest?" asked the captain.
"Please your honour, if so be as I may make bold, we've had a run of ill
luck of late."
"I know that, none better; but what has that got to do with you?"
"The gentleman has lost the number of his mess, d'ye see, and it's an
onlucky thing to begin a new voyage with a corpse aboard."
"Ay, ay, Captain Weber," chimed in the rest, "we dare not set sail on
yonder sticks with never a keel beneath our feet, and only a rag of
canvas for sail, and that, too, with a corpse aboard."
The group of men were standing at the gangway, and the captain turned to
them, speaking in a loud voice.
"Your duty, Forrest, is to obey my orders. The ship is sinking under
our feet, but while a stick of her remains floating they shall be
obeyed. Do your duty."
The men turned, but seemed mutinous, and once more the muttered
conversation began, when, gliding down the ladder, Isabel stood among
them. She had heard what passed.
"I was wrong, Enrico; tell these brave men I was wrong. My father could
not have a nobler coffin than this. Speak to them, Enrico."
Hughes did so, and a hearty cheer was given by the crew.
"And now," said Captain Weber, greatly relieved, "we must leave the poor
old brig. Are you ready?"
"I would say good bye to my father, Enrico," murmured Isabel; "have we
time?"
The three entered the little cabin, the missionary having joined them,
and they stood for the last time by the side of the dead. A lamp burned
feebly, lighting up dimly the small bed where the body lay. The grey
hairs were carefully combed out, the eyes were closed, for a daughter's
hands had been busy there. The features wore a composed, but haughty
look, and one or two deep stains alone told of the violent nature of his
death.
Isabel sobbed bitterly, while the missionary prayed. The door opened,
and Captain Weber entered. Stooping over the dead form, Isabel
imprinted one long kiss on the cold lips, and, in an agony of grief,
cast herself into the soldier's arms.
"Enrico,--thou alone art left to me," she sobbed.
Captain Weber threw the broad folds of the Union Jack over the dead; the
light was left burning, and the party--Isabel sobbing as if her heart
would break--passed through the deserted cabin where the water was
already washing about, and, reaching the deck, went over the side on to
the raft. It was time, for the brig was very low in the water, and as
the captain stood on the gangway, the last man on deck, an explosion
took place below. It was the pent-up air forced by the increasing mass
of water to find an escape, blowing down the screens and bulkheads. The
old seaman raised his hat, took one look around him, and then stepped on
to the raft. "Shove off, my lads," he cried, as with long planks ripped
from the deck and hastily fashioned into sweeps, the men bore her away
from the brig's side.
"We must get a few fathom away before the old barky makes her last
plunge, Lowe."
"Ay, ay, sir; ship the sweeps, my lads, and give way."
There was not a breath of wind, but the growing coolness of the air told
of morning being near, for in tropical climates the coldest hour of the
twenty-four is ever that which precedes dawn.
The sweeps were long and clumsy, and as the royal which had been set as
sail was wholly useless, the motion of the unwieldy raft was necessarily
very slow. Two men were at each sweep, and there were four of them, yet
the raft barely moved through the water. Captain Weber sat on a case,
his head leaning on his hands, and his face turned towards the
"Halcyon."
The starlight was not bright enough to show the tears that rolled slowly
down his weather-beaten cheeks. On a heap of sails, nestling by her
husband's side, his large military cloak thrown over her, sat Isabel,
and she too was looking towards the dark mass of the sinking vessel.
The seaman mourned his ship, the home of many years, the companion of
danger of every kind; Isabel's cheek was wet too, for she mourned a
father's loss, and her eyes were eagerly, turned to a dim, faint ray of
light shining from one of the ports. She knew that it came from the
cabin where her dead father lay. The sweeps fell with measured cadence
into the water, the men pulling in stern silence, until they were about
five hundred yards away, and then, without, any order from any one, they
ceased rowing. The grey dawn was slowly breaking over the ocean as the
brig gave one wild roll to port. She seemed unable to right herself,
and those on the raft drew a long breath, as she partially did so. The
water, in her hold rolled heavily forward. Down went her bows, down,
down into the salt sea, as lurching heavily and slowly to starboard, she
disappeared, the sea boiling in foam around her.
"My father! oh, my father!" cried Isabel, as she clasped her hands
together and sprang forward, as though to join him, but her husband's
strong arm was round her, drawing her gently back.
"Give way, my lads, give way, the old barky's bones are better there
than if the crew of the accursed pirate schooner had trod her decks,"
said the captain, deliberately turning his back on the spot, and passing
the cuff of his coat over his eyes.
The sun rose in all its splendour over the Indian Ocean, sleeping
quietly and calmly under its rays. There were plenty of sails, and an
awning was constructed, which gave shelter to all, and slowly and
wearily the day wore on.
So long as it remained calm there was no danger, and tedious as their
advance was it remained but a question of time as to when the forty
miles which separated them from the land should be passed. But night
set in before half the distance had been overcome, and there was a dull
moaning sound over the ocean, the sailors' eyes telling them that the
scud was flying from the westward, a wind which, if it set in, would
infallibly blow them off land. All night long the men toiled at the
heavy sweeps. They were fairly worn out with fatigue, some of them
sleeping at the oars. The captain, his mate, and passengers all took
their turn, but towards two o'clock the first puffs of the westerly gale
were felt, and the captain, seeing the utter uselessness of prolonging
the struggle, gave orders to ship the sweeps, and for the men to lie
down. Isabel had long since cried herself to sleep, and on board the
raft none but the captain and Hughes watched as morning dawned over the
sea.
Volume 2, Chapter IX.