Chapter 20. Overboard

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_ Chapter Twenty. Overboard

We had been some weeks at sea. Captain Slack showed his evil disposition by throwing every impediment in the way of Mr Newton when he attempted to hold a service on board. He could not, however, prevent him from having prayers in his own cabin, to which I and Dick, and those who were willing to come, were invited. Among them was a half-caste lad, called Bill Gennill, of a not over-prepossessing countenance, to whom I had spoken. While others scoffed, he listened, and had before we reached Sydney gladly accepted the truth. This exposed him to the sneers, and often to the ill-treatment, of his messmates, though Dick and I did our best to protect him. He expressed his gratitude, and, opposing gentleness to brutality, showed every day more and more earnestness. Mr Newton encouraged him to persevere. Miss Kitty often spoke kindly to him, and frequently brought up her Bible, and read such portions as he could best understand.

"I think that Bill understands the fundamental truths of the gospel," she said to me: "that being all sinners by nature, and outcasts from God, and become again His dear children by simple faith in the glorious fact that Christ died, and was punished instead of us, and that our debt to God being thus paid, our sins are blotted out of His remembrance, and that we being clothed with the righteousness of Christ, we can approach boldly the throne of grace, and are made heirs with Him of that kingdom which He has gone before to prepare for us. He knows, too, that, being possessed of these privileges, we are called on by the aid of the Holy Spirit to try and imitate Christ, to live pure and blameless lives, to make His name known to others, and do all the good we can to our fellow-creatures, especially to those of the household of faith. I am thankful to find, Charley, that you, too, know these truths, and are not ashamed of Christ."

"I have not understood them many months, though I ought to have known them long ago," I answered. "Now that I do know them, I feel that nothing is so disgraceful to a Christian as to be ashamed of confessing the Master he serves, and therefore it is that Satan is always endeavouring to make us conceal our belief in the presence of our fellow-men. I feel how necessary it is to pray for grace for those who do not really acknowledge Christ, although they would be very angry if told that they were not Christians."

"I found that to be the case in Sydney," said Miss Kitty, "although during the time I spent with Mr and Mrs Newton it was a difficulty I did not experience. The poor heathens among whom I lived were sincere; they had discovered the worthlessness of their own idols, and felt their sinfulness, and, consequently, heard with joy the simple plan of salvation which God in His mercy has prepared for man. In Sydney, I found people so well satisfied with their forms and ceremonies, their attendance at their churches and chapels, and their almsgiving and moral conduct, that they stared when I spoke of the love of Jesus, which brought Him down from heaven to suffer for man, and of the utter inability of man to save himself; they apparently believing that they themselves were doing the work which was to merit salvation, making the sacrifice of Christ of no effect. This, it appears to me, is the belief of a large number of nominal Christians, while a still larger number live on from day to day without giving a thought to the future, or caring whether they are to pass it in glory, or to be cast out for ever from the presence of God. I cannot bear to think that those I know should be existing in so dangerous a state without trying to make the truth known to them, and urging them to accept salvation while the day of grace lasts."

I mention this conversation, because it so exactly describes my own feelings, and the state of the greater number of people I have since met.

"How earnestly I pray that my dear father may have accepted the truth," continued Miss Kitty. "I had almost despaired of again seeing him, when a sailor, who had been wrecked in the Pacific, made his way to our island. While conversing with the poor man, who was dying, he told me that he had been on board an outward-bound ship which had picked up an English officer, who had made his escape from a French prison; and I was certain, from the name and from the description he gave me, that the officer must have been my father. The ship touched nowhere till she was wrecked on some rocks in the Southern Ocean, between the Mauritius and Australia. My father was among those who escaped. They were rescued by a South Sea whaler, which my informant quitted to join another ship, leaving him on board. Where my father was going to he could not tell, but concluded that he intended returning home. Even should he have done so, he would have been unable to hear of me, and this makes me anxious in the extreme to return home, to try and find him out."

I sympathised with Miss Kitty when she gave me this account, and told her how glad I should be to assist her in the search.

Some days after this, one of those furious gales which occasionally blow over the usually calm waters of the Pacific came on, and we unexpectedly made an island not marked in the charts, to avoid which our course was being altered, when a squall laid the ship almost on her beam-ends. Throwing off my jacket, that my arms might be perfectly unfettered, I sprang aloft with others yet further to shorten sail, when the main-topmast and the yard on which I hung were carried away. The next moment I found myself struggling amid the foaming waters. The ship flew on. To heave-to or lower a boat I knew was impossible. I gave myself up for lost: still I struck out with the instinct of self-preservation. The seas dancing wildly around circumscribed my view, and I could only just see the masts of the ship as she receded from me. Several other poor fellows I knew had been hove into the sea off the yard with me. Though dressed only in a light shirt and trousers, I was nearly exhausted. Had I retained my jacket, I believe that I should have been unable to keep myself afloat. Just then a shout reached my ears, and I saw Bill seated astride a piece of timber, not far from me. With my remaining strength I made towards it, and he, seizing me by the shirt, hauled me up, and made me fast with some rope attached to the spar.

"Glad to find you, Charley," he said. "I saw the timber, when I thought there was no hope, and got on to it. Now we must trust that the ship will come back to pick us up, or that the wind will drive us to the shore, otherwise we shall be badly off."

I thought so too; but having escaped immediate death so wonderfully, I could not help hoping that further means would be sent us for preserving our lives.

"We must trust in God," I answered. "It is a happy thing for you and me, Bill, that we are ready to go into His presence, knowing that He will receive us as loved children."

"Ah, yes, Master Charley, that's what I have been thinking," said Bill. "I knew you were on the yard, and the moment I was in the water I prayed that He would save you as well as me, and you see He has done so."

We, however, could talk but little; indeed, what we said was uttered in disjointed sentences; for the foaming sea kept tossing the log on which we sat up and down, so that we could with difficulty hold on to it. The sea-birds kept wildly screaming over our heads, while nothing could be seen around us but the foaming, troubled waters. In vain we looked out for the ship. Evening was coming on, and the gloom increased. Had it not been for the rope, we could not have maintained our hold of the log. Each time after a sea had swept over us I looked up, hoping to discover the ship, but she was nowhere visible, and even had she been near, the increased darkness would have shut her out from our sight.

Hour after hour passed by, and, faint and exhausted, I felt that I could not hold on much longer. Poor Bill seemed in even a worse condition. I could hear his voice every now and then, amid the roaring of the waters, uttering a prayer, and I joined him in my heart. At last I fell into a state of almost insensibility, and I knew not how the hours went by. Again I aroused myself, and it seemed to me that the night must have well-nigh passed by. At length the roaring sound of the waters increased: it was that of a heavy surf breaking on the shore. Daylight appeared. As the log rose to the summit of the sea, I caught sight of a rocky coast close at hand. In a few minutes more the log might be cast on it, but the danger we ran was greater than ever, for if turned over and over by the surf, we might be crushed beneath it. I cast off the lashings which bound me, holding on instead tightly to the ropes, and urging Bill to do the same. He did not appear to comprehend me. I stretched out my hand to assist him, and had just succeeded in casting loose the rope which held him, when a foaming sea took me, and I was carried forward in its embrace towards the shore. What happened to my companion I could not see, for I lost all consciousness. Confused by the roaring and hissing of the waters in my ears, it appeared to me that I was lifted up and down, and swept backwards and forwards; then I felt my hands and feet touching the shore. I struggled on. Another sea came hissing up; I dug my hands into the sand ere it passed away. Exhausted, I could exert myself no further. Had another sea overtaken me, it would have carried me helplessly off.

How long I thus remained I know not, when I felt my head lifted from the ground, and opening my eyes, I saw an old man with long hair and beard, and a benignant expression of countenance, bending over me. Taking me in his arms, he carried me some way from the water, and then again placed me on the ground, unable to proceed farther.

"How came you here, lad?" he asked, when he saw that I had sufficiently recovered to speak. "Has your ship been cast away?"

I told him how I had been carried overboard, and inquired whether my companion had been saved.

"I have seen no one," he said. "Indeed, I only just now came down to the spot to bathe, as it is one of the few places on the shore free from rocks; but I will search for him as soon as you are more recovered."

I begged him to go at once, assuring him that I already felt better.

"I must give you some food first," he said, hurrying away. He brought some fish and yams, which much restored my strength; but when I tried to get up and accompany him, I was unable to walk.

He went off with a long pole and a rope in his hand, telling me that I might rest without anxiety, as there were neither savages nor wild beasts in the island to injure me.

The warm sun soon dried my clothes, and, creeping under the shade of a rock, I fell asleep. I was awoke by hearing voices, and to my great joy, on looking up, I saw the old man, accompanied by Bill, who told me that he had clung to the timber, which had been drifted some way along the shore into a sheltered bay, where it had grounded. Thence he had scrambled over the rocks, and after searching in vain for me, had sat down in deep grief, under the idea that I had been lost.

Assisted by Bill, the old man led me to his hut, built against the side of rock at the foot of a high hill. Here he placed before us some more food.

"I cannot but welcome you, my lads," he said; "for I have spent three weary years in solitude since I was wrecked off this island, I being the sole survivor of a whole ship's company. Though I have constantly been on the look-out since then, not a sail has come near enough to see my signals--the flag I have hoisted by day, and the beacons I have kept burning at night. When I caught sight of your ship yesterday, I was in hopes that she was approaching; but when the gale came on I knew she could only do so with great peril, and was thankful when I saw her weather the island."

I was glad to know from this that the _Phoebe_ had escaped.

I knew by the tone of voice and manners of the old man that he was a gentleman, and, from his expressions, I guessed that he was a naval officer; but I felt a delicacy in putting questions to him, though I was anxious to learn who he was.

"We must not eat the bread of idleness," I said, when the meal was over. "Is there no work you would wish us to do?"

"All you can do now, my lads, is to lie down and rest," he answered, smiling. "When you are recovered, you will have to put up a hut for yourselves, and to cultivate some ground, as perhaps you may have to remain here as long as I have done."

"We must not go to sleep without thanking God for His great mercy to us," said Bill.

I felt rebuked. Without hesitation, I knelt down with my companion near a heap of dried grass and matting, which our host had prepared for us. He looked on, slightly astonished, but I heard him utter "Amen" at the end of my prayer.

Worn out with fatigue, we slept on till nearly daybreak the following morning. _

Read next: Chapter 21. Reunion

Read previous: Chapter 19. Dick's Lesson Not Lost

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