The creaking and groaning of the timbers, the tossing and plunging of
the ship, and the heavy beating of the waves upon her sides, tended to
drive away sleep, without the accessories of pale and anxious faces,
wringing hands, and here and there a kneeling form and supplicating
murmur. Now and then came a heavy crash, and the good ship shook and
quivered beneath the tons of water poured sweeping along the deck; and
once the news was somehow circulated among the helpless passengers, that
three of the sailors had been swept overboard, and that the life-buoy,
with its blazing light, had been cut adrift, when as it floated away, a
man was seen clinging to it, with the glare shining upon his pale and
agonised face. And we knew that it was but to prolong his torture, for
in such a storm no boat could go to his aid--that he would cling there
for a while, and then would come the end.
It was a fearful night, and, one and all, we thought of the words of the
Psalmist. We who had come down to the sea were seeing His wonders; and
now we thought of the utter insignificance--the littleness--the
helplessness of man in the grand strife of the elements. With all man's
skill, with all his ingenuity in building, our barque seemed frail, and
but a few slight planks to save us from death--from being cast away upon
the further shore; and but for the knowledge of One mighty to save, who
held the seas in the hollow of His hand, at such a time despair would
have swept over us as a flood. Homeward bound, we had left the sunny
shores of the Austral land, with a fair wind, and for the past fortnight
the thoughts of the old country had grown stronger in us day by day. I
saw again the sweet old hills of Surrey, and looked in fancy, as I had
in reality, half a score years before, over many a rounded knoll glowing
with the golden blossoms of the furze; then at the hill-side and hollow,
brown and purple with the heath; and then again at fir-crowned sandy
heights, relieved by verdant patches of cultivated land.
Home, sweet home; dearer than ever when distant, and in spite of
success, and the prodigality of my adopted land, it was with swelling
heart, and even tear-dimmed eyes, that I thought of the old country that
I had left in poverty, but was returning to in wealth.
Over the bright dancing waters we sped, night and day, ever onward
across the trackless waste. Seeing the watch set night by night, and
then seeking my cot with the feeling stronger and stronger upon me of
how completely we are in the hands of our Maker, and how slight a
barrier is all our care and watchfulness against the power of the
elements.
Farther south we sailed, and the weather grew colder, and at last, one
night, with a howl and a roar, as if raging at us for daring to intrude
upon its domains, the storm came down and shrieked in the rigging. But
we had a staunch man for captain, and he had made his arrangements in
time, for he had seen the enemy coming, and prepared to battle with him.
I stood holding on by the bulwarks, and watched the masts bend, and the
shrouds upon one side tighten as upon the other they bellied out beneath
the fury of the gale. There was not a cloud to be seen overhead, but
all keen and bright starlight; while instead of burning brightly and
clearly, the various orbs seemed to quiver and tremble as the
tremendously agitated atmosphere swept between earth and sky. As for
the waves, they were changed in a moment from inky blackness to white
churned foam, as the gale swept over them, tearing away the spray, and
drenching all upon deck.
"Are we in danger?" I said to the captain, as he came and stood close
by me.
"Well," he said, almost shouting, so great was the force of the wind, "I
always consider we're in danger from the day we leave port till we cast
anchor again, but I do my best, and hope for the best."
Then the thought came upon me as I listened to the tremendous din
around, that we should never see land again; and a dreadful feeling of
despair seemed to take possession of my spirit, for standing there
helpless and inactive was so oppressive at such a time. If I could have
been busy, and toiled hard, it would have been different; for then the
feeling that I was of some service would have cheered me on, while the
thought of standing still and drowning, without an effort to save life,
was fearful.
And now it was the second night, and the piercing gale blowing harder
than ever. Three men lost, and the rest worn-out, anxious, and numbed
with the cold. I could not stay below, for the scene was awful, and at
last gladly crawled on deck at the risk of being swept overboard. There
were two poor fellows lashed to the wheel, and every few minutes I could
see the captain there, evidently whispering words of encouragement, and
truly they were needed at such a time. All around, the waves seemed to
be rising about us as if to overwhelm the ship and bear her down, and in
spite of every care upon the captain's part, now and then down came a
huge volume of water upon the deck, over which it seemed to curl, and
then rushed along, sweeping everything before it. Two boats had gone,
and a great piece of the bulwark been swept away as though of cardboard;
and yet, in spite of all, the captain appeared to be as cool and quiet
as if we were in a calm.
Once only did he seem moved, and that was when one of the sailors came
up from below and whispered to him, but he was himself again in an
instant; the hatches were already secured with tarpaulins over them, but
I soon understood the new danger; for the pumps were rigged, and turn
and turn, sailors and passengers, we worked at them to lighten the ship
of the water, which was creeping snakelike in at many a strained seam.
But few of us knew, as the gale slowly abated, how narrow an escape we
had had, but the shrunken crew, and the torn bulwarks showed but too
plainly how sharp had been the tussle; and yet before long all seemed
forgotten, and we were gently parting the waters with a light breeze
astern bearing us homeward.
Young people form very romantic notions as to the wonders to be seen in
travelling; and all such castle-builders must be sadly disappointed in
the incidents and sights presented by a long sea voyage. The deep blue
sea is certainly beautiful, and it is interesting to watch the fish
playing below the ship's keel, far down in the clear water; the sunrise
and sunset, too, are very glorious, when ship and rigging seem to be
turned to gold, and the sea, far as the eye can reach, one mass of
glorious molten metal, gently heaving, or here and there broken by a
ripple. But day after day the same monotony: no change; nothing but sea
and sky, far as the eye could reach, and in the deep silence of the
mighty ocean there is something awe-imposing and oppressive to the
spirit. I had seen it in its wildest mood, and when the waves lightly
danced and sparkled; and now, one day, when the voyage was about half
over, came a calm, with the sun beating down day by day with a fervent
heat that rendered the iron-work of the ship too hot to be touched,
while the pitch grew soft in every seam. The sea just gently heaved,
but there was not the slightest breath of air to fan our cheeks, and
sailors and captain walked impatiently about waiting for the coming
breeze, which should take us farther upon our way.
We were about four hundred miles, I suppose, from the nearest land, and
for days the only thing that had taken our attention was the occasional
ripple made by a shoal of fish, or the slow, sailing, gliding flight of
a huge albatross, seeming in its sluggish way to float up and down in
the air, as though upon a series of inclined planes.
I was standing one afternoon beneath the awning, talking to the captain,
when one of the men aloft announced a boat on the lee bow.
"What is she?" said the captain.
"Boat or canoe, sir," said the man.
"Any one in her?" said the captain.
"Can't see a soul, sir," said the man.
Well, this was a change, to break the monotony. A boat was soon manned
and put off, with both the captain and myself in the sternsheets; and
then the men bent to their oars and rowed in the direction pointed out.
Before long we could see the canoe, for such it proved to be, lightly
rising and falling upon the gentle swell; but it seemed unoccupied, and
we rowed on till we were close up, but still no one showed.
At last the bow-man stood up with his boat-hook; and, as we closed up,
laid hold of the light bark canoe, and drew it alongside. But it was
not unoccupied.
There in the bottom, with fish that he had caught lying by him, in
company with a spear and several fishing-lines and roughly-made hooks,
was the owner of the canoe--a fine-looking, dusky-hued, half-clad
savage, lying as though asleep, but quite dead--evidently from want of
water; for there were fish enough in the canoe to have sustained life
for some days.
To judge from appearances, it seemed that the poor fellow had either
been borne out by some powerful current, or blown off the shore by one
of the gales which sweep down from the coast; and in imagination I could
paint the despair of the poor wretch toiling with his paddle to regain
the land which held all that was dear to him. Toiling in his frail
skiff beneath the fervour of the tropic sun, and toiling in vain till
faint with the heat and parched with thirst, with the bright and
sparkling water leaping murmuringly round, till exhausted he fell back,
with the dull film of despair gathering on his eyes, and sank into a
dreamy stupor filled with visions of home, green trees waving, and the
gurgling of a stream through a cocoa-grove. Then to wake once more with
renewed energy--to paddle frantically for the dim coastline; but still
to find that his unaided efforts were useless, and that every minute he
was farther away from the wished-for goal. Only a savage--untutored,
unlettered; but yet a man made in God's own image, and with the same
passions as ourselves. Only a savage--and yet in his calm, deep sleep,
noble, and lordly of aspect; and there he lay, with all around him
placed orderly and neatly, and it seemed that, after that wild struggle
for life, when nature prompts, and every pulse beats anxiously to
preserve that great gift of the Creator--it seemed that he had quietly,
calmly, let us say, too, hopefully--for dark is the savage mind indeed
that has not some rays of light and belief in a great overruling
Spirit--hopefully lain him down in the bottom of the canoe and gone to
sleep.
There was not a man there, from the captain to the roughest sailor, but
spoke in an under-tone in the presence of the remains of that poor
savage; for now they were by the sacred dead--far away upon the mighty
ocean, solemn in its calm, with the sun sinking to his rest, and sending
a path of glory across the otherwise trackless waters--the sky glowing
with his farewell rays, and everywhere silence, not even the sigh of the
gale or the gentle lapping of the water against the boat.
I started as the captain gave the order to give way; and then found that
the canoe was made fast, and slowly towed back to the ship, where it was
hoisted on board.
An hour afterwards we were all assembled on deck, and bareheaded. The
unclouded moon was nearly at the full, and shone brightly upon the
scene, for in the latitudes where we then were night follows quickly
upon sunset. Sewn up in a piece of sailcloth, and resting upon a plank,
was the body of the poor savage; while taking their cue from the
captain, sailors and passengers stood grouped around, silent and grave,
as though the calm sleeping form had been that of a dear companion and
friend.
Not another sound was heard, as in a deep, impressive voice the captain
commenced reading the service for the burial of the dead. Solemn and
touching at all times, but doubly so now, far out in the midst of the
great wilderness of waters; and, besides, there was something mournful
in the poor fellow's fate, which made its way to the hearts of even the
rudest seaman present.
And still the captain read on till the appointed time, when one end of
the plank was raised, and the form slowly glided from the ship, and
plunged heavily beneath the wave; the waters circled and sparkled in the
moonlight for a few moments, lapping against the ship's side, and then
all was still again but the deep, solemn voice of the captain as he read
on to the end, when the men silently dispersed and talked in whispers,
while the canoe which lay upon the deck reminded us at every turn of the
sad incident we had witnessed.
The next day down came a fair wind: sails were shaken out, the cordage
tightened, the vessel heeled over, and once more we were cleaving our
way through the dancing waters; but the recollection of the dead savage
floating alone upon the great ocean clung to us all for the remainder of
the voyage.