Chapter 7

________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER SEVEN.

Dawn at last appeared, and as the light increased, Owen and his companions on looking out discovered, to their joy, that the water had gone down considerably, and that other parts of the sand-bank were appearing above the hissing foam, although the water at intervals still swept around them. The wind, also, had abated. Their first care was to look after the boat. She lay broadside to the beach, proving that she had been in no small danger of being carried off, but happily she had escaped any serious damage. Small as she was, she would carry their now diminished company.

They all agreed that it was important that they should get away with as little delay as possible from the sand-bank, and either reach some higher island or make their way to Batavia. There was a possibility also of their being picked up by some passing vessel. Owen, who knew that the distance to the Straits of Sunda could not be much less than 800 miles, and perhaps very much more, earnestly hoped that they might be fortunate enough to meet with a vessel.

Although the mate talked of going to Batavia he seemed far less confident in his manner than usual; indeed he appeared greatly out of spirits.

"Do you think, sir, that we could make Batavia?" asked Owen, finding himself alone with the mate.

"Yes, and we might go twice as far in our boat; but you have got a head on your shoulders, as you have lately shown, and should recollect that we cannot make a voyage of five or six days without water, and we may be twice as long as that. Why, those small casks you have will be exhausted before the boat can be got ready."

The mate's spirits rose considerably when Owen in reply told him that there were two other casks concealed in the sand. "Oh, then we need not stint ourselves as we have been doing," he answered. "We shall probably get another shower before long, only I wish that we had some good liquor to mix with it."

"But we may not get a shower, and the small supply we possess can only, with the greatest economy, last us two or three weeks," remarked Owen.

The mate did not reply, but shortly afterwards, going to one of the casks, took a large draught of water. His thirst seemed insatiable-- again and again he applied his mouth to the cask--had it contained spirits he would have done the same, and would speedily have become as tipsy as before. Owen was thankful that such was not the case, but regretted having told the mate, who had thus exhibited his utter selfishness, of the two casks concealed in the sand. He resolved at length to appeal to the men, and to advise them to insist that an equal and limited allowance of water should be served out to each person, a measure absolutely necessary for the preservation of their lives. Bill Pratt, to whom he first spoke, agreed to this, as did the rest, and Bill undertook to be the spokesman. The mate was overawed, and having drunk as much water as he just then required, sulkily agreed to the proposal.

Happily, in a short time, another large cloud was seen coming up with the wind, the last, apparently, of the vast mass which had lately overhung the sand-bank; the casks were got ready, the cloth stretched out. Anxiously the shipwrecked seamen gazed at the approaching cloud. The rain was seen falling into the sea. Would it cease before it reached them? On it slowly came. They could hear the precious rain as it reached the ocean. In another instant down it came upon them. The casks were filled. With proper economy they would have enough water to last them for many a day. How to repair the boat was the next question. The tools and nails which Owen and Nat had saved had been left at the camp, and, too probably, had been washed away. Unless they could find some more tools in one of the chests thrown up they could scarcely hope to fit the boat for sea. There were spars and planks enough, but they could not shape them with their knives alone for the purpose. They searched in vain, however, and found only a few nails sticking in some of the planks, but not a tool of any description. Nat had set out to look along the beach, while the rest of the party were consulting about the boat. He made his way in the direction of the camp.

As the tide had now fallen to its usual level, the intermediate ground was perfectly dry. He had been absent for some time. The mate directed the rest of the party to collect all the spars, planks, and cordage they could find.

"We might live on here for months, lads," said Mr Scoones, "but should another gale spring up somewhat rougher than the last, we may all be swept away; so depend upon it, the sooner we get off this sand-bank the better. Where there's a will there's a way; and as we have no other tools we must do the best we can with our knives. It will be a long business, and we must take care not to break them. The first thing we have to do is to stop the leaks in the boat; we must then form some oars from the spars we have got and the staves of the casks. They won't be very shapely, but they will serve to move the boat along, and the ends of the ropes will afford us oakum. We have cotton enough to make a suit of sails, although they might not be fit to stand a strong wind. We have also spars for masts and yards."

The mate having got over his drunken fit, was now completely himself again, and, although he was occasionally surly and overhearing, Owen was thankful that he had been saved. He was certainly better able to carry out the proposed plans than any one else.

Owen suggested that while they were repairing the boat they should not lose the chance of being seen by any passing vessel. The flagstaff was therefore again erected near where it had before stood, and the drift wood collected to dry in the sun in order that it might serve to form a beacon-fire at night. The first thing to be done was to caulk the boat. Mr Scoones and the carpenter's mate undertook to do this and to nail such planks as had been started, which was no easy matter, as not a stone could be found, and they had only the handles of their knives. But patience and perseverance had overcome greater difficulties than theirs. The carpenter's mate looked grave as he surveyed the boat.

"If it keeps calm she will swim, sir; but if it comes on to blow, heavily loaded as she will be, my idea is that she will swamp to a certainty. Had we the tools, I should have raised her a streak all round and put a bit of a deck on her fore and aft."

"No use to talk about that," said Mr Scoones, with a sigh; "it is beyond our power."

While they were thus employed Nat's voice was heard in the distance, and he was seen running from the direction of the old camp. He was holding aloft what they soon discovered to be a saw.

"Hurrah! I have found this and many things more," he exclaimed, as he drew near.

On coming up to the party, he explained he had found that the sea had barely washed over the higher part of the bank, on which the tent had stood.

This latter, though knocked over, still remained, with a quantity of cordage and other heavy articles, besides some provisions. On hearing this, Mr Scoones took possession of the tools and nails, with which he and the carpenter's mate worked away at the boat, while he despatched the rest of the party to bring up the other articles. It was heavy work toiling over the sand, but Owen, setting the example, the rest cheerfully obeyed. It took several days to fit the boat for sea. The tools were blunt, and no means existed to sharpen them.

Every day at sunrise the flag was hoisted, and every night the beacon-fire lighted, but the signals were observed by no passing vessel. While Mr Scoones and the carpenter's mate were working at the boat, the rest of the party were engaged in arranging the provisions, repairing two of the water casks which leaked, in picking oakum, or in other work. No one could afford to be idle.

"It would be a fine thing now if we could only pick up a keg of spirits," said Bill Pratt to Mike, as they were working at the water casks.

"Do you think so, mate?" observed Mike. "Shure wasn't it the spirits cost all the rest of the poor fellows their lives, and well-nigh your own? I am thinking that it would be a good thing if there was never another dhrop of the crathur brewed in the world. How was it that the ship came to be cast away, I should like to know? Look at the mate there; he is steady enough now, but let him get liquor to his lips we don't know what mad freak he would play. No, no; if we find a keg, the best thing we can do will be to knock in the head at once, before any one is tempted to touch it."

Fortunately no keg of spirits was found, for the force of the gale had dashed everything which came out of the wreck to pieces, and had not the shipwrecked party secured a sufficient supply of provisions at first, they would have run great chance of starving. The hull of the boat was now complete. The flagstaff had to be taken down to be cut up into masts, spars, and oars. Mr Scoones, partly with the canvas which had served for a tent, and partly with cotton cloth, had fitted a suit of sails.

At length all was ready; the boat was launched, and appeared to be tolerably seaworthy. Her cargo was piled up on the beach. The men had to wade up to their middles to carry it on board. When everything was in her she was somewhat heavily laden, but with the prospect of a long voyage before them they were unwilling to leave either water or provisions behind.

All climbed on board. The sand-bag which served as her anchor was hauled up, the oars got out, and they pulled away to the northward, clear of the reefs. The sails were then hoisted. They consisted of three lugs and a foresail, for, from the light materials of which they were formed, it was considered more prudent to have several small sails than two large ones. The wind blew from the northward, and was thus abeam, and her course was about E.N.E.

The wind soon increased, and it became necessary to close reef all the sails, while the quick motion of the boat, as she danced lightly over the seas, made every one, with the exception of Mr Scoones and Owen, very ill. The mate abused them for giving way.

"Shure it's not for pleasure, sir," exclaimed Mike. "As soon as the sea chooses to be quiet, we will be quiet too."

His remark produced a laugh, even among those who appeared the worst. In a short time they got better. The night as it approached threatened to be stormy, and some of the party expressed a wish that they were safe back again on the sand-bank.

"Suppose such another gale as we had before were to drive the water over it, where should we be?" asked Mr Scoones. "Depend upon it we are better off in a tight boat, with twice as much sea as we have running here."

Owen thought the mate was right. He did his best to keep up the spirits of his companions. The wind increasing, the sea got up more and more. It was necessary to keep the boat's head close to the wind, sometimes indeed to put the helm hard down so that she might ride over the seas, which otherwise would have broken on board and swamped her. As it was, in spite of the additional streak, the water constantly fell on board, and two hands were kept continually baling it out. The least carelessness in steering would inevitably have caused the destruction of the boat. It seemed surprising, small as she was, that she could live. All night long the wind continued to blow as hard as ever, and no progress was made. There was a fear, indeed, that they might drive back on the sand-bank. When morning broke Owen looked out anxiously to the southward, expecting to see it under their lee. He was, however, thankful to find, as the light increased, that they were out of sight of the dreaded bank.

For two days the same weather continued. Some of the people began to lose heart.

Owen did his best to cheer them up. "Depend upon it we shall have clear skies and a smooth sea before long; we shall then run along famously, and make up for lost time," he observed.

Mr Scoones kept up his character as a good seaman. For hours together he sat at the helm, and only gave it up to Bill Pratt, who was the next best hand to him. At last, as Owen had predicted, the wind fell, and the sea went down. Once more the boat was put on her course to the eastward. During the day they steered by the sun, and at night by the stars, which shone forth with great brilliancy. Although Owen had often gazed before at the Southern Cross and the other beautiful constellations of that hemisphere, he now watched them with greater interest than ever. With the fine weather the spirits of the party rose. Owen proposed that each man should recount his adventures, tell a story, or sing a song. His proposal was adopted; it served to beguile the time, and prevented the men from thinking of the dangers which might be in store for them. Mr Scoones did not interfere. He sat silent and gloomy, as usual. He might possibly have reflected that it was through his own obstinacy that the ship had been cast away, and the lives of so many of her crew sacrificed. Fishing lines were also constantly kept out, and several fish were caught. The only means of cooking them was on a fire of chips on the lid of the fish-kettle. They proved a valuable addition to their fare, and assisted, with the dried fruit which had been saved, in warding off scurvy. The wind was, however, very light, and but slow progress was made. At length it became perfectly calm.

Mr Scoones immediately ordered the men to get out the oars. Owen set the example, and Nat and Mike obeyed, but the others grumbled, asserting that the advantage to be gained was so slight that it was not worth while to exert themselves.

Mr Scoones became very angry, and standing up with the tiller in his hand, declared that he would knock the first man overboard who refused to obey his orders.

"You'd better not try it," answered the carpenter's mate, a powerful-looking man, seizing the hammer which lay near him. "Having three or four hundred miles to sail, as I understand, we can do little good in tiring ourselves out by pulling along at the rate of two knots an hour in this blazing sun. Let those boys and the Irishman put in their oars. They will only kill themselves if they keep at it."

Mr Scoones saw by this how slight was his authority over the men, and wisely gave up the attempt. After a time the calm became more difficult to endure than had been the gale. Owen and his two friends had their heads protected by the turbans which they had at first manufactured, but the others had taken no similar precautions. The straw hats they wore, which had been washed ashore, afforded but a slight resistance against the penetrating rays of the sun. Night brought them all some relief.

Then all hands, excepting one who remained on the watch, lay down to sleep. When it was Owen's watch he saw the mate several times get up and look about him as if his slumbers were light and troubled. For upwards of four days the calm continued. Provisions were served out regularly, but Mr Scoones, believing that they would reach Batavia in ten days or so, had not put the people on an allowance of water; the consequence was that they drank away at the water casks without stint, as they had done at the spirit kegs. One of the casks was soon emptied. Without telling Mr Scoones, they began upon a second. Even Owen was not aware how rapidly the water was being exhausted, until Nat told him that he was afraid they were half-way through the second cask. Owen at once informed Mr Scoones, who on this occasion had good cause for his anger.

"If you wish to live, you fellows must consent to be put on short allowance. We have not made good more than thirty miles of the distance we have to run, and for what we know, we may chance to meet with contrary winds and more calms, and if so, we shall soon all die of thirst. Being without water is, as you will find, worse than being without food."

These remarks brought the men to reason. The remainder of the kegs, including those which had been washed up upon the island, were therefore brought and kept aft by Mr Scoones, who served out half a cupful at a time twice a day to each man.

Owen, as before, tried to animate his companions.

"Here comes a breeze," he exclaimed, as a light blue ripple was seen advancing over the mirror-like surface of the ocean. The sails were trimmed, and the boat once more glided on at the rate of three or four knots an hour. Even should the breeze continue, however it would take them many days to reach Batavia. The wind lasted but a few hours, when they were again becalmed. Thus they lay, making no progress for another two days. Once more a breeze sprung up, but it was directly in their teeth. The boat was hauled on the wind and stood to the northward.

"We may have a long beat of it, but it cannot be helped," said Mr Scoones to Owen.

It was trying work; now they tacked to the south-east, now to the north-east. The imperfect observations they were able to take showed them, however, that they had gained some ground Owen cheered the men by reminding them that they were in the course of homeward and outward bound vessels, and that they might hope to fall in with one or the other.

Still day by day went by, and they were yet a long way from land. Once more the weather changed, and the wind shifted to the northward.

Night came on; Mr Scoones, unwilling to lose advantage of the breeze, continued to carry all sail, and it was evidently as much as the boat could bear. During the darkness a squall struck her. Before the sheets could be let go, the whole of the lighter canvas was blown away. Had not this happened, the boat would have been upset. She had now but her fore lug and foresail, so that she could no longer keep close to the wind without an after oar kept constantly going. The night, however, passed away without any farther accident. It was not until noon, when the weather moderated, that all hands turned to and tried to repair the tattered sails. This operation was almost beyond their power. They managed, however, to patch up a mizen, which enabled the boat once more to stand on her proper course.

Several days passed by; no land appeared in sight. Their provisions were almost exhausted. They had been on short allowance for some time; but a few pints of water remained in their last cask. Again the boat lay becalmed. The three men who had escaped with the mate from the camp--their strength previously weakened by drinking--had given in and lay at the bottom of the boat, or leaned against the side, unable to exert themselves.

Mr Scoones, strong and hardy as he had been, was utterly exhausted. Owen, Nat, and Mike, though feeling weak, were by far the most active of the crew.

Another day passed by; the carpenter's mate was the first to die, the other two quickly followed. Owen had endeavoured to restore them by moistening their parched lips with water; but it was of no avail. He felt himself imbued with a strength which surprised him. The dead bodies were lifted over board. No funeral ceremony was possible.

Owen then went aft to attend to the first mate, who lay in the stern sheets unable to move. Owen brought him some water; he drank it eagerly, and opened his eyes.

"Is there much more?" he asked.

"Very little, sir; but we will take only what will keep us alive, you can have the rest."

Owen, faithful to his promise, continued to give the apparently dying man a few thimblefuls at a time.

"Were a breeze to spring up we might yet be saved," said the mate. "Do you see any signs of one?"

"Not as yet, sir," answered Owen, after he had looked round the horizon; "but cheer up, sir, God may still think fit to preserve us, although we do not see how it is to be. I'll get you a little more water."

All day long Owen continued, as at first, to attend on the mate. Mike and Nat sat still, their spirits were too low to talk; but they were perfectly satisfied that the mate should have the water, though their own share was thus much diminished. They all ate sparingly of the provisions which remained. Fortunately among them was some of the dried fruit, which assisted to assuage their thirst. The mate did not appear to grow worse, and Owen hoped that during the cool hours of the night he might revive. The sun went down in a cloudless sky, and the stars shone out brightly above their heads. Still no breeze came. The first mate occasionally spoke and inquired how the weather looked, but Owen could only give the answer as before. Morning was approaching.

"If we do not make the land, Hartley," said Mr Scoones, "or do not get picked up to-day, I shall not see another sun set."

"I hope you will hold out, sir," answered Owen; "we have still a little water, and our provisions are not quite exhausted. I trust you will not get worse."

He said this, though scarcely a couple of pints of water remained, while the provisions he spoke of consisted of a small piece of dry salt beef and half a dozen figs. Owen, feeling that he could hold out some time longer, was anxious to give the mate as large a share as possible, for he evidently required it more than any one.

Owen spoke to Nat and Mike, and they agreed that he should have a double allowance. The night air had revived him considerably. Owen gave him a few drops of water, after which he managed to chew some beef and eat a fig. Owen then gave him a further allowance of the precious fluid. He asked for more. "You shall have it, sir, but we are running very short," said Owen.

"How many gallons have you?" asked the mate.

"Gallons, sir! we have not more than a pint."

"Good heavens! a pint only, and that among four people, with such a sun as we shall have scorching down upon our heads before long," exclaimed the mate. "I feel my inside burning already."

"I would give you another draught, but you will want it more by-and-by than you do now, sir," said Owen. "Perhaps when the sun rises we may get a breeze and make the run you expect."

Although the mate kept crying out for more water, Owen was firm. The sun rose on a sky undimmed by a single cloud. The sea shone like a sheet of burnished gold, not a ripple played over it, excepting when, here and there, a fish rose to the surface, or leapt out of the water, sending far around a circle of tiny wavelets. Occasionally, too, a sea-fowl winged its flight through the blue ether, and ever and anon would plunge down to seize its prey from the ocean. The appearance of birds showed that land could not be far off, but not the faintest outline could as yet be discovered. The mate, dragging himself up to the side of the boat, gazed round with aching eyes, then sank down with a groan to his former position. Owen felt himself growing weaker and weaker. Poor Nat and Mike could scarcely raise their voices above a whisper.

"Water! water!" groaned the mate; "give me some if you would save my life."

The other two pointed to their lips, and gazed eagerly at the casks. Owen dragged himself towards them. He could have drunk the whole of the water himself, and yet not have been satisfied. He poured out a small quantity and took it to the mate.

"Sip it slowly, sir," he said, "we have very little more remaining."

To his dismay, as he again went to pour some in the cup, he found there was scarcely sufficient left to fill it. He took what he believed to be his own share, and then carried the remainder to Nat and Mike. He put it to the lips of the first, who seized it with both his hands, and would have drained it to the bottom.

"Let go," cried Owen, "this is Mike's share as well as yours." With some difficulty he rescued it, and handed the cup to the Irishman, who swallowed it eagerly. Owen had not the heart to tell them there was no more. Before long they again cried out for water. Owen made no reply.

"Water! water!" groaned the mate. Owen shook his head. He had scarcely strength enough to crawl back and show that it was exhausted. The mate at last understood him.

"Is there none in any of the other casks?" he asked.

Owen knew that they had been emptied to the last drop. He crawled to where they were stowed, and tried one after the other. They were perfectly dry. Without water to moisten their lips, no one would be able to masticate the last remnants of food.

"I knew it would be so," groaned the mate. "Any sign of a breeze?"

"None that I can perceive, sir," answered Owen. He dragged himself up by the mast so as to obtain a wider range of observation. Unable to stand long he soon sat down again. After a lapse of some time the mate again asked in a faint voice, "Any sign of a breeze?"

Owen once more looked out. He was about to sink down on the thwart, when his eye fell on a white spot in the horizon. He gazed at it without speaking; it might be only a sea-bird's wing. Again and again he looked with straining eyes.

"A sail! a sail!" he exclaimed. His voice sounded hollow and strange; he fancied some one else was speaking.

"Are you mocking us?" asked the mate.

"No, sir, I am certain it is a sail," answered Owen.

His voice aroused Nat and Mike, who turned round and looked over the side. The mate, who just before appeared to have entirely lost his strength, dragged himself up and took Owen's place at the mast.

With what sounded like an hysterical laugh, "Yes," he cried out, "a sail! no doubt about it; she is bringing up a breeze, and standing this way. We are saved! we are saved!"

He kept his post, grasping the mast tightly, and watching the approaching sail. Owen returned to his seat, from whence he could well observe the stranger. A long time must pass before she could be up to them, and before then she might alter her course. They wore but a speck on the water, and might be passed unperceived. Still the mate kept his post, waving his hand and trying to shout out, as if at that distance he could be either seen or heard. By his behaviour Owen thought he must have lost his senses. Nat and Mike every now and then uttered strange exclamations, showing that they were much in the same condition. The stranger's royals had first been seen, then her topgallant sails, and now the heads of her topsails appeared above the horizon. She was evidently a large ship, and, as her courses came in sight, the mate pronounced that she was a man-of-war, a frigate, or perhaps a line-of-battle ship. She stood steadily on, as if steering for the boat, which, however, could scarcely yet have been discovered. As the expectation of being saved grew stronger, Owen felt his energies--which he had hitherto by great effort maintained, when the lives of his companions seemed to depend on his retaining his senses--giving way.

He saw the hull of the ship rise above the water, he could count her guns, he knew that she was a frigate; he was certain that the boat was discovered, and then he lost all consciousness. _

Read next: Chapter 8

Read previous: Chapter 6

Table of content of Owen Hartley; or, Ups and Downs: A Tale of Land and Sea


GO TO TOP OF SCREEN

Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book