THE OPEN BOAT ON THE PACIFIC--GAFF AND BILLY IN DREADFUL CIRCUMSTANCES--
A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA, AND A MADMAN'S DEATH.
While these events are taking place in the busy seaport of Wreckumoft,
let us return to the little boat which we left floating, a solitary
speck, upon the breast of the great Pacific Ocean.
As long as the whale-ship continued visible, the three occupants of the
boat sat immovable, gazing intently upon her in deep silence, as if each
felt that when she disappeared his last hold upon earth was gone.
Billy was the first to break silence.
"She's gone, father," he whispered.
Both men started, and looked round at the boy.
"Ay, she's gone," observed Gaff with a sigh; "and now we'll have to pull
for it, night an' day, as we are able."
He began slowly to get out one of the oars as he spoke.
"It would have been better if they had cut our throats," growled Captain
Graddy with a fierce oath.
"You'd have been worse off just now if they had, captain," said Gaff,
shaking off his depression of spirits by a strong effort of will.
"Come, Cap'n Graddy, you an' I are in the same fix; let's be friends,
and do our best to face the worst, like men."
"It makes little matter how we face it," said the captain, "it'll come
to the same thing in the long run, if we don't manage to make it a short
run by taking strong measures. (He touched the hilt of a knife which he
wore at all times in his belt.) However, we may as well pull as not."
He rose and sulkily took an oar, while Gaff took another.
"Now, captain," said Gaff, "you know better than me how far we be fro'
land, an' which is the way to pull."
"I should think we're five hundred miles from the nearest land," said
Graddy, "in a nor'-east direction, an' there's no islands that I know of
between us an' South America, so we may just pull about for exercise
till the grub's done, an' then pull till we're dead."
The captain burst into a loud, fierce laugh, as if he thought the last
remark uncommonly witty.
Presently he said, "You may as well see how much we've got to eat an'
drink before beginnin' our work."
"All right, my hearty!" cried Gaff, rising with alacrity to examine
their store of provisions; "here's a small bag o' biscuit as'll last us
three days, mayhap, on half allowance, so we'll be able to do with
quarter allowance for the first few days, an' then reduce to an eighth,
which'll make it spin out a few days longer. By that time we may fall
in with a sail, who knows?"
"We're far beyond the track o' ships," said the captain bitterly. "Is
there never a drop o' water in the boat?"
"Not a drop," replied Gaff, "I've searched all round, an' only found a
empty bottle."
"Ay, meant for to smuggle brandy aboard when they got the chance, the
brutes!" said the captain, referring to his recent crew. "Well, it
don't matter. We've now the prospect of dyin' o' thirst before we die
of starvation. For my part, I prefer to die o' starvation, so ye may
put yourself an' your brat on full allowance as long as it lasts."
Poor Billy's horror at the prospect before him was much aggravated by
the fierce and brutal manner of Graddy, and he would fain have gone and
hid his face in his father's bosom; but he had been placed at the helm
while the two were pulling, so he could not forsake his post.
It was a calm evening when they were thus cast adrift on the boundless
sea, and as night advanced the calm deepened, so that the ocean became
like a sea of ink, in which the glorious host of stars were faithfully
mirrored.
Hour after hour the two men pulled at the oars with a slow-measured
steady stroke, while Billy sat at the helm, and kept the boat's head in
the direction of a certain star which the captain pointed out to him.
At length the star became like a moon to Billy's gazing eyes; then it
doubled itself, and then it went out altogether as the poor boy fell
forward.
"Hallo, Billy! mind your helm!" cried his father.
"I felled asleep, daddy," said the Bu'ster apologetically, as he resumed
his place.
"Well, well, boy; lie down and take a sleep. It's too hard on you. Eat
a biscuit first though before you lie down, and I'll keep the boat's
head right with the oar."
The captain made no remark, but the moon, which had just arisen, shone
on his hard features, and showed that they were more fierce and lowering
than at the beginning of the night.
Billy gladly availed himself of the permission, and took a biscuit out
of the bag. Before he had eaten half of it he fell back in the
stern-sheets of the boat, dropt into a sound sleep, and dreamed of home
and his mother and Tottie.
Hour after hour the men pulled at the oars. They were strong men both
of them, inured to protracted exertion and fatigue. Still the night
seemed as if it would never come to an end, for in those high southern
latitudes at that time of the year the days were very short and the
nights were long.
At last both men stopped rowing, as if by mutual consent.
"It's a pity," said Gaff, "to knock ourselves up together. You'd better
lie down, cap'n, an' I'll pull both oars for a spell."
"No, no, Gaff," replied Graddy, with sudden and unaccountable urbanity;
"I'm not a bit tired, and I'm a bigger man than you--maybe a little
stronger. So do you lie down beside the boy, an' I'll call ye when I
want a rest."
Gaff remonstrated, protesting that he was game to pull for hours yet,
but the captain would take no denial, so he agreed to rest; yet there
was an uneasy feeling in his breast which rendered rest almost
impossible. He lay for a long time with his eyes fixed on the captain,
who now pulled the two oars slowly and in measured time as before.
At last, in desperation, Gaff gave Billy a poke in the ribs which roused
him.
"Come, boy," said his father almost sternly, "you've slept long enough
now; get up an' steer. Don't you see the cap'n's pullin' all alone!"
"All right, daddy," said Billy, uttering a loud yawn and stretching
himself. "Where am I? Oh! oh!"
The question was put before he had quite recovered consciousness; the
terminal "oh!" was something like a groan of despair, as his eye fell on
the forbidding countenance of the captain.
Billy took the tiller in silence. After a little while Gaff drew his
son's ear near to his mouth, and said in a low whisper--
"Billy, my lad, I _must_ have a sleep, but I dursn't do it unless you
keep a sharp eye on the captain. He's after mischief, I'm quite sure o'
that, so give me a tremendous dig in the ribs if he offers to rise from
his seat. Mind what I say now, lad. Our lives may depend on it."
Billy promised to be watchful, and in less than two minutes afterwards
Gaff was sunk in deep repose.
The boy was faithful to his trust. Without appearing to be watching
him, he never for one moment removed his eyes so far from where the
captain sat labouring at the oars as to give him a chance of moving
without being seen. As time passed by, however, Billy found it
difficult to keep awake, and, in proportion as this difficulty
increased, his staring at the captain became more direct and intense.
Of course Graddy perceived this, and the sneering smile that crossed his
visage showed that he had made a shrewd guess at the cause of the lad's
attentions.
By degrees Billy's eyes began to droop, and he roused himself frequently
with a strong effort, feeling desperately alarmed lest he should be
overcome. But nature was not to be denied. Again and again did his
head fall forward, again and again did he look up with a startled
expression to perceive that Graddy was regarding him with a cold
sardonic smile. Gradually Billy's eyes refused to convey a correct
impression of what they rested on. The rower's head suddenly became
twice as large as his body, a sight which so alarmed the boy that he
started up and could scarce restrain a cry, but the head had shrunk into
its ordinary proportions, and the sardonic smile was there as before.
Oh! what would not Billy have given at that time to have been thoroughly
wide-awake and fresh! He thought for a moment of awaking his father,
but the thought was only half formed ere sleep again weighed down his
spirit, causing his eyelids to blink despite his utmost efforts to keep
them open. Presently he saw Graddy draw the right oar quietly into the
boat, without ceasing to row with the left one, and slowly draw the
knife which hung at his belt.
The boy tried to shout and arouse his father, but he was paralysed with
horror. His blood seemed to curdle in his veins. No sound would issue
from his lips, neither could he move hand or foot while the cold glassy
eye of the captain rested on him.
Suddenly Graddy sprang up, and Billy's voice found vent in a shrill cry.
At the same moment Stephen Gaff awoke, and instinctively his hand
grasped the tiller. He had no time to rise, but with the same force
that drew the tiller from its socket in the helm he brought it forward
with crashing violence on the forehead of Graddy, who was stooping to
plunge the knife into his breast. He staggered beneath the blow.
Before he could recover himself it was repeated, and he fell heavily
back into the bottom of the boat.
"Thank the Lord," murmured Gaff, as he leaned over his fallen foe, "the
villain's hand has bin stopped short this time. Come, Billy, help me to
lift him up."
Gaff's blows had been delivered with such vigour that Graddy's head was
much damaged, and it was a long time before the two could get him
restored sufficiently to sit up. At length, however, he roused himself
and looked with a bewildered air at the sun, which had just risen in a
flood of golden light. Presently his eyes fell on Gaff, and a dark
scowl covered his face, but being, or pretending to be unable to
continue long in a sitting posture, he muttered that he would lie down
and rest in the bow of the boat. He got up and staggered to the spot,
where he lay down and soon fell fast asleep.
"Now, Billy lad, we'll let him rest, an' I'll take the oars. You will
lie down and sleep, for you've much need of it, my poor boy, and while
I'm pullin' I'll consider what's best for to be done in the
circumstances."
"Better let me take one o' the oars, daddy. I'm wide-awake now, and not
a bit tired."
"No, boy, no. Lay down. The next time I require to sleep I must have
you in a more wakeful condition--so turn in." Gaff said this in a tone
of command that did not admit of remonstrance; so Billy lay down, and
soon fell into a deep slumber.
For a long time Gaff rowed in silence, gazing wistfully up into the sky,
which was covered with gorgeous piles of snowy clouds, as if he sought
to forget his terrible position in contemplating the glories of heaven.
But earth claimed the chief share of his thoughts. While he rowed with
slow unflagging strokes during these calm morning hours, he did indeed
think of Eternity; of the time he had mis-spent on earth; of the sins he
had committed, and of the salvation through Jesus Christ he had for so
many years neglected or refused to accept.
But invariably these thoughts diverged into other channels: he thought
of the immediate danger that menaced himself and his son; of death from
thirst and its terrible agonies--the beginning of which even at that
moment were affecting him in the old familiar way of a slight desire to
drink! He thought, too, of the fierce man in the bow of the boat who
evidently sought his life--why, he could not tell; but he surmised that
it must either be because he had become deranged, or because he wished
to get all the food in the boat to himself, and so prolong for a few
days his miserable existence. Finally, his thoughts reverted to his
cottage home, and he fancied himself sitting in the old chimney-corner
smoking his pipe and gazing at his wife and Tottie, and his household
goods.
"I'll maybe never see them agin," he murmured sadly.
For some minutes he did not speak, then he again muttered, while a
grieved look overspread his face, "An' they'll never know what's come o'
me! They'll go on thinkin' an' thinkin', an' hopin' an' hopin' year
after year, an' their sick hearts'll find no rest. God help them!"
He looked up into the bright heavens, and his thoughts became prayer.
Ah! reader, this is no fancy sketch. It is drawn after the pattern of
things that happen every year--every month--almost every week during the
stormy seasons of the year. Known only to Him who is Omniscient are the
multitudes of heartrending scenes of protracted agony and dreary death
that are enacted year by year, all unknown to man, upon the lonely sea.
Now and then the curtain of this dread theatre is slightly raised to us
by the emaciated hand of a "survivor," and the sight, if we be
thoughtful, may enable us to form a faint conception of those events
that we never see. We might meditate on those things with advantage.
Surely _Christians_ ought not to require strong appeals to induce them
to consider the case of those "who go down into the sea in ships, who do
business in the great waters!" And here let me whisper a word to you
ere I pass on, good reader:--Meditation, unless it results in action, is
worse than useless because it deepens condemnation.
While Gaff was gazing upward a bright look beamed in his eyes.
"That's not a bad notion," he muttered, drawing in both oars, and
rising. "I'll do it. It'll give 'em a chance, an' that's better than
nothin'."
So saying he put his hand into the breast-pocket of his jacket, and drew
out a letter, which he unfolded, and tore off a portion of the last leaf
which was free from writing. Spreading this upon the thwart, he sought
for and found a pencil which he was in the habit of carrying in his
vest-pocket, and prepared to write.
I have shown elsewhere that Gaff could neither read nor write. Yet it
does not follow that he had no knowledge whatever of these subjects. On
the contrary, he understood the signification of capital letters when
printed large and distinct, and could, (with inconceivable pains and
difficulty no doubt), string a few simple words together when occasion
required. He could also sign his name.