The Great Pacific is the scene of our story. On a beautiful morning,
many years ago, a little schooner might have been seen floating, light
and graceful as a sea-mew, on the breast of the slumbering ocean. She
was one of those low black-hulled vessels, with raking, taper masts,
trimly cut sails, and elegant form, which we are accustomed to associate
with the idea of a yacht or a pirate.
She might have been the former, as far as appearance went, for the sails
and decks were white as snow, and every portion of brass and copper
above her water-line shone in the hot sun with dazzling brilliancy. But
pleasure-seekers were not wont, in those days, to take such distant
flights, or to venture into such dangerous seas--dangerous alike from
the savage character of the islanders, and the numerous coral-reefs that
lie hidden a few feet below the surface of the waves.
Still less probable did it seem that the vessel in question could belong
to the lawless class of craft to which we have referred; for, although
she had what may be styled a wicked aspect, and was evidently adapted
for swift sailing, neither large guns nor small arms of any kind were
visible.
Whatever her nature or her object, she was reduced, at the time we
introduce her to the reader, to a state of inaction by the dead calm
which prevailed. The sea resembled a sheet of clear glass. Not a cloud
broke the softness of the sky, in which the sun glowed hotter and hotter
as it rose towards the zenith. The sails of the schooner hung idly from
the yards; her reflected image was distorted, but scarcely broken, by
the long gentle swell; her crew, with the exception of the watch, were
asleep either on deck or down below, and so deep was the universal
silence, that, as the vessel rose and fell with a slow, quiet motion,
the pattering of the reef points on her sails forcibly attracted the
listener's attention, as does the ticking of a clock in the deep silence
of night. A few sea-birds rested on the water, as if in the enjoyment
of the profound peace that reigned around; and, far away on the horizon
might be seen the tops of the palm-trees that grew on one of those coral
islands which lie scattered in thousands, like beautiful gems, on the
surface of that bright blue sea.
Among the men who lay sleeping in various easy off-hand attitudes on the
schooner's deck was one who merits special attention--not only because
of the grotesque appearance of his person, but also because he is one of
the principal actors in our tale.
He was a large powerful man, of that rugged build and hairy aspect that
might have suggested the idea that he would be difficult to kill. He
was a fair man, with red hair and a deeply sun-burned face, on which
jovial good-humour sat almost perpetually enthroned. At the moment when
we introduce him to the reader, however, that expression happened to be
modified in consequence of his having laid him down to sleep in a
sprawling manner on his back--the place as well as the position being,
apparently, one of studied discomfort. His legs lay over the heel of
the bowsprit; his big body reposed on a confused heap of blocks and
cordage, and his neck rested on the stock of an anchor, so that his head
hung down over it, presenting the face to view, with the large mouth
wide open, in an upside down position. The man was evidently on the
verge of choking, but, being a strong man, and a rugged man, and a
healthy man, he did not care. He seemed to prefer choking to the
trouble of rousing himself and improving his position.
How long he would have lain in this state of felicity it is impossible
to say, for his slumbers were rudely interrupted by a slight lurch of
the schooner, which caused the blocks and cordage attached to the sheet
of the jib to sweep slowly, but with rasping asperity, across his face.
Any ordinary man would have been seriously damaged--at least in
appearance--by such an accident; but this particular sea-dog was tough
in the skin--he was only awakened by it--nothing more. He yawned,
raised himself lazily, and gazed round with that vacant stare of
unreasonable surprise which is common to man on passing from a state of
somnolence to that of wakefulness.
Gradually the expression of habitual good-humour settled on his visage,
as he looked from one to another of his sleeping comrades, and at last,
with a bland smile, he broke forth into the following soliloquy:--
"Wot a goose, wot a grampus you've bin, John Bumpus: firstly, for goin'
to sea; secondly, for remainin' at sea; thirdly, for not forsakin' the
sea; fourthly, for bein' worried about it at all, now that you've made
up your mind to retire from the sea, and, fifthly--"
Here John Bumpus paused as if to meditate on the full depth and meaning
of these polite remarks, or to invent some new and powerful expression
wherewith to deliver his fifth head. His mental efforts seemed to fail,
however, for instead of concluding the sentence, he hummed the following
lines, which, we may suppose, were expressive of his feelings as well as
his intentions:--
"So goodbye to the mighty ocean,
And adoo to the rollin' sea,
For it's nobody has no notion
Wot a grief it has bin' to me."
"Ease off the sheets and square the topsail yards," was at that moment
said, or rather murmured, by a bass voice so deep and rich, that,
although scarcely raised above a whisper, it was distinctly heard over
the whole deck.
John Bumpus raised his bulky form with a degree of lithe activity that
proved him to be not less agile than athletic, and, with several others,
sprang to obey the order. A few seconds later, the sails were swelled
out by a light breeze, and the schooner moved through the water at a
rate which seemed scarcely possible under the influence of so gentle a
puff of air. Presently the breeze increased, the vessel cut through the
blue water like a knife, leaving a long track of foam in her wake as she
headed for the coral-island before referred to. The outer reef, or
barrier of coral which guarded the island, was soon reached. The narrow
opening in this natural bulwark was passed. The schooner stood across
the belt of perfectly still water that lay between the reef and the
shore, and entered a small bay, where the calm water reflected the strip
of white sand, green palms, and tropical plants that skirted its margin,
as well as the purple hills of the interior.
Here she swept round in a sudden, but graceful curve, until all her
canvas fluttered in the breeze, and then dropt anchor in about six
fathoms water.