Jack knew less of the world, if possible, than most of his shipmates,
and not being much wiser, his wealth very rapidly disappeared. How it
went he could scarcely tell. He had just enough left to pay for an
outfit, when he found himself pressed on board the _Tribune_ sloop of
war, fitting out for the East Indies. This time, greatly to his sorrow,
he was parted from Sambo, who had got his old rating as cook on board a
large frigate. Away sailed the _Tribune_ for the lands of pearls and
pagodas, diamonds and marble temples, elephants and ivory palaces,
scorching suns and wealth unbounded; but what cared Jack whether he went
to the tropics or the poles, provided he had a stout ship under his foot
and trusty companions by his side.
India was reached, and over those bright calm seas the frigate glided,
visiting many a port, where many a strange scene was beheld, and where
communication was opened with many strange people. The _Tribune_ was
continuing her voyage towards the rising sun--shortening each day in her
progress--when, as she was sailing by some spice-bearing isle, a soft
breeze wafting the sweet odours of many a fragrant flower from off the
land, a change came over the smiling face of the blue deep,--sudden--
terrific--like the work of magic. A loud, tremendous roar was heard,
with a milling, hurtling, crashing sound. The tall palm-trees bent low
before the blast, torn up by the roots, with roofs of houses, entire
cottages, and whole crops, the produce of rich lands and days of
wearying toil: they were swept like chaff before it. All hands were
called, quick aloft they flew to shorten sail, tacks, sheets, and
halliards quickly were let go. The topsail yards were speedily lowered,
but the gale was down upon them before the sails could be handed.
Wildly they fluttered, bursting all restraint, and then flew in tattered
shreds from the bolt-ropes. Not a sail remained entire. Fluttering
wildly in the gale the strips of canvas twisted and turned, flapping
loudly, driving the hardy seamen from the yards, till it had formed
thick, folds and knots which no human power could untie. Not till then
could it be cut from the yards. On, on flew the ship, what could stop
her now? The fierce typhoon howled and whistled through the rigging. A
yard parted; away it was carried; two brave men were on it. Both
together were hurled into the seething, hissing, foaming water, through
which the ship was madly rushing. Could any human aid avail them?
Alas! the cry was heard of a strong swimmer in his agony. He turned his
longing eyes towards the ship fast leaving him, as still with giant
strength he struggled on, cleaving the yielding waters with his brawny
arms, his head lifted above the white foam thrown from her eddying wake,
in the vain hope--he knows it vain--to overtake her. Yet he had never
given in throughout his life's combat with the world, and would not now
till remorseless death had claimed him as his own. His shipmates grazed
astern with aching eyes, till his head alone was dimly seen in the far
distance amid the snow-white track the ship had left behind.
"Who was it fell?" was asked from the quarter deck.
"Jack Buntline," many a voice replied. "Alas, 'twas poor Jack
Buntline."
"But two men were carried away with the broken yard," exclaimed the
officer of the watch; "I saw them fall."
A voice, faint and struggling for utterance, at that moment was heard
from alongside. A rope from aloft was trailing overboard, and at the
end a human form was clinging. Numbers hurried to assist their
shipmate. "Be careful now, my men, or he also will be carried away,"
cried the officers. A rope with a bight was hove to him, but the
struggling sailor durst not attempt to clutch it, lest on quitting one
he might miss the other, and be borne, like his comrade, far away
astern. Oh, not another instant could he cling on. If help cannot be
sent him he too certainly must let go. Another rope was hove. This
time more successfully, the bight fell over his shoulder. He passed an
arm through it. "Now haul away," was the cry. He was hoisted half
fainting on the deck. The surgeon was ready to attend him. "Who is
it?" was asked. "Jack Buntline," was the answer.
Once again Jack Buntline was preserved from sudden death, and what death
more dreadful than to feel the life blood flowing freely through the
veins, with youth, and strength, and many a fancied joy in prospect,
friends looking on, eager to save yet powerless, and to be left alone on
the cheerless boundless ocean, the stout ship flying fast and far away,
and unable to return till long, long after the strongest swimmer must
have sunk in the cold grasp of death. Jack knew and acknowledged with a
grateful heart the arm which saved him. Away, away flew the ship. The
sky overhead a clear deep-dazzling blue, not a cloud but that wind must
have blown it from the atmosphere; the sea beneath was one mass of
seething, hissing, foaming, madly-leaping waves; not upward, but rushing
in frantic haste one over the other, the spray, like thickest snow
drifts, following fast astern, torn, as it seemed, from the summit of
the seas. Royal masts, and topgallant masts and yards had from the
first been struck, top masts were housed,--still frantically onward flew
the ship, scudding under bare poles.
"What sea room has she?" was asked with many an anxious look into each
others' eyes.
"Not much on either hand--isles and reefs and rocks on every side
abound," was the whispered answer.
The typhoon howled louder than before. Land could be seen blue and
distinct broad on the starboard beam, but though a sheltering port is
there, the ship cannot be steered to reach it, but must run on, whatever
may be the dangers ahead.
On, on she went: night was approaching. A startling cry was heard,
"breakers on the starboard bow--breakers on the port bow--breakers
ahead--breakers abeam." High over the hidden rocks the wild sea leaps.
The stoutest ship which ever floated on old ocean, if once amid them but
for a moment, would be shattered into a thousand fragments; and not for
an instant could a human being struggle among those roaring waters and
live. All on board know this. Where can they look for safety? Can
they alter their course and beat the frigate out of that dangerous bay
of rocks? Impossible! Not a yard of canvas can be stretched to meet
that terrific gale. On they must steer; neither on one hand nor the
other did an opening appear by which they might escape. The faces of
even the bravest of that hardy crew were blanched with dread, as calm
and collected they stood contemplating their approaching doom. There
were lookouts ahead,--lookouts on the fore-yard-arms with straining
eager eyes, endeavouring to find, even against hope itself, some passage
among the reefs through which the ship might run.
There was a shout. At one spot, a little on the starboard bow, there
appeared to be a break in the line of dancing foam. It was scarcely
perceptible among the thickening gloom dealing over the ocean. The helm
was put to port. With voice and hand the helmsman was directed how to
steer. The frigate rushed towards the spot. In an instant more her
fate would be sealed. The breaking waters, in cataracts of foam, leaped
up on either side, but on she rushed without impediment. Still all knew
that ere another instant the fatal crash may sound, and then masts,
spars, and rigging will all come hurtling down; the deck on which they
now scarcely stand, the oaken timbers and the stoutest planking will all
be wrenched asunder, and wildly tossed amid their mangled bodies, till
cast on some lone, far-off shore, or till the sea itself is summoned to
give up its dead.
Who, at such a moment, can freely draw a breath? Yet the crash came
not. The ship flew plunging on; reef after reef, covered with foaming
waves, was passed in safety. What hand, with mercy in its palm, came
down to guide that ship? No human knowledge or experience availed the
captain or his officers: no chart could help them: in an unknown sea
they scudded on. Did any of them believe that chance or Fate stood near
the helm and conned the ship? Did any of them dare in that awful moment
to pray to chance, or fate, or fortune to preserve them, and steer them
clear of all dangers? If any did--and surely many of the bravest lifted
up the voice of prayer--it was to Him who made heaven and earth, the
sea, and all things in them, and governs them with wisdom infinite.
It was no deceptive passage the frigate had entered. It widened as she
advanced, the water becoming smoother; but still before her lay
stretched out the moonlit ocean; the stars, also, glittering with an
almost dazzling brilliancy in heaven's dark blue arch. The channel was
passed through, but still who could tell the numberless dangers which
might yet remain to be encountered. Before another watch was set,
"breakers ahead--breakers abeam!" was once more echoed along the decks.
"Then, to my mind, our sand has pretty well run, and we and our brave
old ship are doomed," exclaimed Ned Faintheart, putting his hands in his
pockets, with a deep sigh.
"Doomed by whom?" cried Jack. "I tell you what, mate, I haven't
forgotten, and I hope I never may, the saying of an old friend, a black,
as good a foul as ever lived, when we both lay expecting little better
than a felon's death, though undeserved, at the hands of our fellow men,
`Never mind, Jack, something save us this time, too. We trust in God.'"
The breakers roared as loudly as before over the coral reefs, but, still
unharmed, the British frigate flew quickly by them. A graze almost from
the outer point of the rugged surface of a reef might hurl her to
destruction; but neither coral reef, nor rock, nor sandbank stopped her
course. Day came at last, and what a wide expanse of troubled waters
broke upon the sight of the weary seamen! No one had that night turned
in; all kept the deck, steady at their stations, ready to do what men
might do to save the ship or their lives; at all events to obey their
officers to the last. When the sun with an ensanguined glow shot upward
from the ocean, his beams glanced on a dark object which lay ahead. The
lookouts soon proclaimed it to be a dismasted ship. As on they rushed
in their still headlong course, not only did they see that she was
dismasted but was keel upward, the seas constantly breaking over. A
turn to starboard of the helm carried the frigate clear, but how their
hearts wrung with sorrow and regret--alas! unavailing--when they saw
clinging to the keel some eight or more of their fellow creatures.
Some, apparently, could scarcely move, their fast waning strength barely
enabling them to hold on; but others wildly waved their hats and caps,
shouting, though their voices could not be heard, for help. Utterly
impossible would it have been to lower a boat. Again the poor wretches
shouted in chorus and held out their hands imploringly as the frigate
drove onward by them. On, on she went. Many a heart, like Jack
Buntline's, bled for them, and he and others kept their eyes on them;
and there they clung and knelt along the keel, holding out their hands
till the frigate sailed far beyond their sight. Still on the frigate
flew, yet through every danger they passed unharmed. "Messmates," said
Jack, "God has been with us. God dwells on the deep. God is
everywhere."
The typhoon's fury ceased, and at length in a quiet harbour the frigate
rode at anchor. Some, who during the gale had stood with blanched cheek
and silent tongue, now began to talk as loud as ever and to boast what
they would have done; how they would have swum on shore if the ship had
struck some island coast, and how they would have lived a life of ease
and indolence among the harmless natives. Among the loudest of the
talkers was a man named Richard Random. He was bold, and often seemed
to be among the bravest, but in the night just passed scarcely a man
appeared to be more unnerved. Religion was his scorn, while the holy
name of God he never uttered but to blaspheme. Now, pretending to
forget all his late fears, he began openly to deny the existence of a
God. Jack urged him to beware lest vengeance should overtake him before
long. He laughed all such warnings to scorn. He was a bold, strong
swimmer, no man in the ship could compete with him. He boasted that he
could swim for many hours, that he feared neither sharks nor any other
monsters of the deep. Why then should he be afraid of what spirits of
evil or angels of vengeance could do to him? He defied them. He was
not afraid of man, angel, or devil. To men of sense, the wickedness he
spoke might have done no harm, but there were many youths on board who
listened with admiration to whatever Random said. To the ears of such
his words were rankest poison. Foolish as himself, they thought his
folly wisdom. He was a bully, too, and brawler, and often had he caused
a quarrel when a soothing word would have brought peace about. To give
him but his due, he was a most pestiferous and dangerous fellow among a
crew.
Boasting one day of what he could do; "I'll undertake," he said, "to
swim a dozen times or more around the ship, or, if you please, a mile
away and back, if the water is but calm. Who'll dare to follow me?"
Jack could no longer bear this boasting. "When young Seaton fell
overboard, did you jump overboard to save him? Was it not our gallant
first lieutenant, though wounded in the arm and twice your age, while
you stood hesitating because you had seen a shark swimming around the
ship?"
The question silenced Random for the time. Several days passed away.
The frigate bent new sails, set up her rigging, and once more all hands
put to sea. Traversing the blue Pacific she steered her course far to
the south. A gentle breeze wafted her along, the sea was smooth as
polished glass. All sail alow and aloft was set. Some block at the
yard-arm required fresh stopping. Random was sent to do the duty.
Thoughtless of danger he went aloft and sat carelessly on the yard.
Suddenly he lost his balance, a falling form was seen, a splash was
heard.
"A man overboard--a man overboard!" cried the sentry at the gangway.
Random rose to the surface. "Never fear me," he sung out; "I can take
good care of myself. Who's afraid?" He shouted this in bravado. All
the officers were looking on he saw, and, vain of his powers, he fought
to gain their admiration.
Just ere he fell the breeze had strengthened suddenly, and with all her
canvas set the ship was running quickly through the water. The order
was promptly given to shorten sail,--the crew as promptly flew aloft to
obey it. While studden-sail-sheets, and halliards were let fly, and all
the lighter canvas was fluttering loosely in the wind, Random swam
bravely on. Still he was dropping fast astern.
A boat was quickly lowered and hastening towards him. "How calm the
ocean! what reason can any have for fear?"
"That man swims well," observed the captain, "I never saw a finer
swimmer."
But the right arm of God, so oft stretched out to save, can as assuredly
reach the hardened sinner when the cup of his iniquities is full. See
from afar the minister of vengeance comes. From out of the clear blue
sky a speck of white is seen. On wings of lightning rapidly it cleaves
the air. What is it? An albatross,--the giant of the feathery tribe
which skim the ice-bound ocean of the southern pole, with eye so bright
and piercing that objects invisible to human sight it sees when it
cannot be seen itself. On, on it came, for an instant hovering over the
proud swimmer's head, and then with a fell swoop downward it plunged--
its beak sharp as an iron lance, with neck outstretched approached him.
He saw too clearly the monster bird coming from afar. With eye of dread
he marked its rapid flight. He saw his doom--quick, quick as thought it
came--horror of great darkness filled his soul. In vain he lifted up
his hands to ward the expelled blow. In vain--in vain he shouted to his
shipmates, or to frighten off the bird. Downward, with terrific force,
there came a wedge of bone. Deep into his skull it pierced, and with a
shriek of agony and fear he sunk from fight. All who looked on beheld
the spectacle with horror, and many shuddered when they remembered some
last words they had heard uttered by that godless man.
But think a moment. A death as sudden, if not as dreadful, may be that
of any one, and then, what may our last words have been? As we are
living, as we think and speak every day, such will be our state when
summoned to stand before the Judge of all the earth. A sailor's life is
scarcely more uncertain than that of those who live on shore. Jack drew
a lesson from Random's end. May those who read this draw one likewise.