Chapter Eight.
Several days passed quietly away, most of the party going out for a few hours at a time to endeavour to shoot any animals or birds which might serve to vary their diet. At length, however, they fancied themselves strong enough to prosecute their journey, and a day was fixed on which to commence it. One morning the party, as was their custom, went out in pairs to hunt. Jack accompanied Sambo. They were later than usual, but on their return they saw no signs of a fire at their hut, nor any sounds from their companions. Jack’s heart sunk within him. On reaching the hut his apprehensions were verified. It was stripped almost of everything. The articles too bulky to be carried off were broken in pieces. What had become of their companions? “Me fear killed,” said Sambo, who had been looking anxiously about. He beckoned to Jack, and penetrating through the wood to a short distance they found the dead bodies of two of their late companions. Sambo, after examining the marks on the ground, declared it his belief that their other two companions had been carried off by the Indians, Jack’s first impulse was to run away from the fatal spot, but on consulting with Sambo they agreed that the Indians, having carried off every thing, were not likely to return: besides, without the mate to guide them, they were unable to find their way to the European settlements. He, with the other man, had probably been carried away by the Indians. All they could hope for was that some vessel might visit that part of the coast and take them off.
They had guns, but a very small supply of powder, and this they determined to keep to make a signal should it be necessary. As, however, Sambo knew a variety of methods of trapping both birds and beasts and of catching fish, and also what roots and fruits were wholesome and unwholesome, they were not likely to want food. Day after day, and week after week, and month after month passed away, till Jack lost all count of time and began to fear that no vessel would ever come to take them off. Several times in the summer they met with traces of Indians, but Sambo was always able to avoid them. Numberless were the adventures they met with and the risks they ran. Jack had reason to be thankful that he had so intelligent a companion and faithful a friend as Sambo, though they had not much power of interchanging ideas. “What matters the colour of our skin?” thought Jack. “The same God made us both, and I love him as a brother.” At length Jack began to be very anxious to get away. He thought that he might have to live there for ever. Sambo was much more contented with his lot.
Some twenty months or so had passed away since the shipwreck, when one morning, as Jack went to the top of a cliff to take his usual look for a vessel, he saw a large brig standing along the shore about a mile to the northward. He hurried back to the cave to call Sambo, and to get their musket with the few rounds of ammunition they had left. The two returned to the shore. Jack’s heart beat quicker than it had ever before done. Off he set, followed by Sambo along the beach in the direction of the brig. He was afraid she might stand off shore again without any on board observing them. At length they came abreast of the brig. They shouted and waved their handkerchiefs; still no notice was taken of them. “We must fire,” said Jack. But the powder flashed in the pan. He tried again. “Make haste! make haste!” shouted Sambo. They were standing on the summit of a rock which lay on the beach, with a wide extent of open country which sloped up from the shore behind them. There, galloping towards them at full speed, were a band of mounted Indians. Jack again primed the musket. It went off. He loaded and fired again. The signal was observed on board the brig, and a gun was fired in return. The reports of the firearms had the effect of making the Indians rein in their steeds and look about them. At the same time a boat put off from the brig. She was immediately perceived by the Indians, and again they advanced, but more cautiously than before. Jack and Sambo looked anxiously at the boat. It was doubtful whether she or the Indians would reach them first. They rushed down to the beach and waded into the water. The crew of the boat saw their danger. On came the Indians with terrific yells, flourishing their lassoes high above their heads. Jack and Sambo saw that narrow indeed was their chance of escape. The brig had been standing in shore. Just then she brought her broadside to bear, and opening her ports sent a shower of round shot among the Indians. Two or three of their saddles were emptied and they again halted. The delay enabled Jack and Sambo to spring into the boat. Scarcely had her head been pulled round, when the Indians, again galloping on, dashed into the water and endeavoured to throw their lassoes over their heads. One man was very nearly caught, but he had a sharp knife ready to cut the rope as it reached his neck. Others among the Indians shot arrows at them, but the boat’s crew having no arms could not retaliate, and Jack’s musket had got wet. By smart pulling they were soon safe on board the brig.
Chapter Nine.
Jack and his companion found the brig was in search of a spot further to the south where good water could be got. Having visited it, Jack and Sambo were able to pilot her there, and thus at once obtained favour with their captain. They had not been many days on board before Jack became suspicious of the character of the Sea Hawk, such was the name of the brig. “Don’t ask questions,” was the only answer he got when he inquired under what flag she sailed. He found that she was neither English nor American; still she was strongly armed, and from the bandages which decked the heads and arms of several of the crew, and the marks of shot in her hull and rigging, it was evident she had only lately been engaged. The people also were of all nations and colours, and dressed in every variety of costume. Watching his opportunity he mentioned his doubts to Sambo. The black shook his head. “Berry bad, me fear,” he replied. “This brig one big pirate—nothin’ else.” Jack had once seen some pirates hanging in chains, and had a wholesome fear of their character. He was therefore not a little anxious to get out of their company. He, however, said nothing, and went about his duty cheerfully.
In spite of the lawless manners of the crew, there was strict discipline maintained on board, and a sharp look out kept. From their conversation, Jack guessed that they were on the watch for some of the homeward-bound Spanish ships from Peru or Mexico, supposed to be freighted with gold and other valuable commodities. No one was more constantly on the alert than the captain. Every one paid him the greatest respect. Jack at first could not tell why. His outward appearance had nothing about it of the ferocious pirate. Captain John was a little man, somewhat sunburnt and wizened, and no beauty certainly, but with usually a calm, rather benignant expression of countenance, and a gentle soft voice. If, however, any thing went wrong or in any way displeased him, his eye kindled up, and his voice gave out a note between the roar of a lion and the croak of a raven, and on these occasions Jack always felt inclined to get away from him as far as he could.
Several weeks passed away and no prize had been made. A thick fog had hung over the sea since daybreak, shrouding every thing near or far from sight. A breeze springing up soon after noon, the fog lifted, when away dead to leeward a ship was descried, her maintop just appearing above the horizon. Instantly all sail was made in chase. No one doubted but that at length a prize long waited for was to be theirs. They rapidly overhauled the stranger, who, apparently unsuspicious of danger, was holding her course to the northward. As the Sea Hawk neared her, she seemed to be a large ship, her build, her paint and rigging shewing her to be a merchantman. At the same time, as a Spanish ship of her size would certainly carry guns, and as her crew might possibly fight them to defend their freight, the pirates went to their quarters to be prepared for the strife. However, when the brig drew still nearer she seemed in no way inclined to begin the combat. This made the pirates fancy that she would not fight at all, and that they would obtain an easy victory. “We must not let one of the people escape to bear witness against us,” said the mild-looking Captain John as he eyed the stranger. Sad was the fate awaiting all on board the merchantman. Nearer and nearer drew the two vessels. So completely did the pirate brig outsail the other that the Sea Hawk might be likened to a spider with a fly in his toils.
The brig, hoisting her accursed black flag, sure harbinger of death and destruction, was about to pour in her broadside, when an exclamation escaped the pirate captain. Large folds of canvas were drawn up from the ship’s sides, down came tumbling sundry other bits from aloft, the muzzles of twenty guns looked grinning out of her ports, up went the glorious British ensign at her peak, and at the same moment the frigate, for such she was, sent forth a terrific shower of round shot and langrage, which made the pirate brig tremble to her keel, and struck down many a fierce desperado never to rise again.
The pirate captain now seemed in his element, though he must have known his case to be desperate. Ordering his man to fire high, wishing to disable his opponent, he braced up his yards in the hopes of getting off to windward; but the hitherto slow sailing frigate showed that she had a quick pair of heels of her own, and was immediately after him. Jack was endeavouring to get away, that he might not fire on his countrymen; but the pirates drove him back to his gun, with the threat of shooting him if he attempted to desert them again. Sambo, on account of his general intelligence, had been made captain of his gun, and he seemed to be as eager in working it as any one else; but he gave Jack a hint that no one on board the frigate would be the worse for any shot he fired. Now began a scene of the most terrific carnage. The pirates fought like demons; but were struck down by numbers at a time, till the deck became a complete shambles. Still Jack and Sambo were unhurt. Some of the pirates gave signs of a desire to haul down their flag; but their captain shot a man who was attempting the operation, and that made the others desist. At length Captain John received a wound and fell to the deck, and the crew rushing aft struck to the frigate. After giving them a couple of extra broadsides—for pirates are seldom treated with courtesy—the victor sent his boats, well armed, to take possession. No further opposition was made, though the little captain, as he lay writhing on the deck, urged his crew to heave cold shot into the boats as they came alongside. The British seamen climbed up the sides with their cutlasses in their teeth, and took possession of their prize.
Chapter Ten.
Some dozen men only of the pirates remained unhurt. They, with Jack and Sambo, were forthwith transferred to the frigate and placed in irons below. “I’m no pirate,” said Jack to the men who were handcuffing him. “Oh, no,” they answered with a laugh; “you looks like a lamb, and that ’ere craft there with the black flag flying is just an honest trader.” Poor fellow, he was begrimed with powder and smoke and blood, and looked very unattractive. He felt very wretched, for he saw no means of proving that he was innocent. His only comfort was that Sambo was near him. They could thus carry on a conversation in an undertone. Sambo had been so knocked about the world, and had been in so many strange positions, that he was not easily cast down. “Neber mind, Jack—something save us dis time too—we trust in God.”
The Lion frigate, which had captured the pirate, had been dispatched from the West India squadron expressly to look for him, and now shaped a course for Jamaica with her prize. From what Jack heard from the pirates and from the crew of the frigate, he had no doubt that all of them would be hung, as a warning to other evildoers. Uncomfortable as he was, he was in no hurry to have the voyage over. He did not like the prospect at its termination. He tried in vain to get the ear of some of the officers of the ship that he might tell his tale. There was no chaplain, or he would have spoken to him.
At length the frigate reached Jamaica, and Jack and his companions were transferred to the prison on shore. They were there constantly visited by a minister of the gospel, and Jack seized an early opportunity of telling him how he had come to be on board the pirate brig. The clergyman listened attentively to his tale, and cross-questioned both him and Sambo on the subject. He often spoke to them, losing no opportunity of turning their minds to eternal things. Still they were left in doubt whether or not he believed their story.
The day of the trial arrived; Jack and Sambo and the other prisoners were brought into the court of justice. The evidence against them was so clear that their counsel had little to plead in their defence. Jack simply repeated his story, describing how he and others, escaping from the burning Indiaman, had been picked up by the whaler, and afterwards wrecked on the coast of South America.
“I can corroborate one part of the story,” said a gentleman, rising in the court, “I was on board the Indiaman, and remember that young seaman and the black, who both at different times performed some service for me.”
“I felt sure, also, that they were innocent,” added the chaplain of the prison; “they were the only two of all the pirate crew who from the first knelt in prayer, and were resigned to the will of God, acknowledging his justice and goodness.”
“There’s no doubt about their innocence,” exclaimed a sunburnt, broad-shouldered man from the crowd, whom Jack recognised as his friend Mr Collins. “I was second officer of the Indiaman,” he continued; “I was wrecked in the whaler, carried off by the Indians, and have only just escaped from them, and found my way here.”
Still as Jack and Sambo had been found on board a pirate, and the frigate wanted hands, though their lives were spared, it was on condition that they should enter on board her. Three days afterwards the survivors of the pirate crew were seen swinging on gibbets,—a punishment they richly deserved.
This event having taken place, the Lion frigate put to sea. Jack soon found himself rated as an able seaman, and well able was he to do his duty, to hand and reef and steer with any man in the ship. No one would have recognised in the active, well-built, intelligent, sunburnt seaman the poor little spirit-cowed workhouse lad, who a few years before had left the shores of England.
After serving for some months on board the frigate, Sambo was raised to the dignity of ship’s cook, his chief qualification being his power of enduring heat. For a better reason Jack was made captain of the mizen-top, whence he might hopefully aspire to become captain of the maintop. War, which had only lately been concluded by a peace, again broke out, and the frigate was sent to cruise in search of an enemy. Jack’s heart beat high at the thought of meeting one. The last time he had stood at his gun in action, its muzzle was turned against the very ship on board which he now served, and he longed to show how he could fight in a rightful cause.
He had not long to wait. The frigate, having the island of Barbadoes some fifty leagues or so to the westward, caught sight of a stranger, her topsails just showing above the horizon to the eastward. Sail was made in chase, and as they rose her courses, she was pronounced to be an enemy’s cruiser of about equal force. The private signals were unanswered, and as soon as the ships got within range of each other’s guns the action commenced. As the wind was from the westward, the British frigate had the weather-gauge,—an advantage she kept,—and so well were her guns served, that it was soon evident the enemy were getting the worst of it. Still the enemy fought well, and many of the Lion’s crew lost the number of their mess. At length it was resolved to close, and carry her by boarding, for the night coming on it was feared she might escape in the dark. Jack buckled on his cutlass with no little glee, and, following the first lieutenant, as the ships’ sides touched each other, was one of the first on board the enemy. The decks were slippery with blood; oaths, and cries, and shrieks, and groans, and clashing of steel, and flashing and rattling of pistols, resounded on every side, interrupted by loud roars, as both ships continued to work their heavy guns as they could be brought to bear. Numbers were falling on both sides; but the intrepid courage of the English bore down all opposition, and the enemy being driven below or overboard at last cried out for quarter. It was granted, and their flag being hauled down, the well-won prize was taken possession of.
A violent south-westerly gale springing up soon afterwards, the frigate and her prize were driven so far to the north-east that the captain ordered a course to be shaped for England. There, in seven weeks or so, they arrived, and the ship being shortly afterwards paid off, Jack found himself in possession of no small amount of prize money.
Chapter Eleven.
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.
Chapter Twelve.
The Tribune’s course was now held among the clustering islands of the Pacific. They are mostly bountifully supplied with all the varied productions of the generous tropics. Scarcely a fruit or vegetable of those sunny regions but which in ample abundance is found among them. There various kinds of the bread-fruit tree flourish in the greatest perfection; so likewise the banana and plantain and milk-giving cocoa-nut grow in profusion; yams, pumpkins, cucumbers, guavas, pine apples, shaddocks, oranges, lemons, the tomato, arrow root, the much cultivated taro and sugar cane, with numberless other fruits, vegetables, and nutritious roots, afford an abundant supply of food for man. How warm and genial is the atmosphere! the cold of winter is altogether unknown; storms may blow, but they are necessary to purify the air; rains at times descend to fertilise the earth, but generally a bright blue sky is seen overhead, and the rays of the glorious sun sparkle on the blue waters of a placid sea. All nature is beautiful and excellent, but savage man is the dark and loathsome spot which defiles it; not as he was when first he walked in Paradise, but as sin and all his evil passions have made him. Jack and his shipmates heard the character of these islanders, and though not much given to shuddering, shuddered as they heard the tale.
Nowhere on the face of the globe did more bloodthirsty cannibals exist, especially among the chiefs. To satisfy their horrible and unnatural craving for human flesh, they murdered every one who was shipwrecked on their coast. Even if a canoe was cast on shore with their own people they claimed the crew as their victims; they went to war for this sole object; they lay in wait and carried off helpless women and children, even their slaves they often killed to feed upon. When a war canoe was finished they dragged her over the writhing bodies of their captives, and when first she put to sea they murdered others on her deck. When a chief’s house or a temple was built, men were compelled to descend and hold the upright posts, when the earth was shovelled in upon their heads.
When a chief died, all his wives were strangled or burnt; mothers destroyed their infants—children compelled their aged parents to descend living into a tomb when weary of supporting them—and young men, when disappointed of some object, would desire to be buried; and their own parents would assist seemingly with pleasure at the horrible ceremony. Their only religion seemed to be an unwilling worship of evil spirits; not from love or reverence, but to avert the mischief they might otherwise work upon them.
The minds and hearts and souls of all those island tribes seemed to be sunk into the lowest depths of darkness. Such was their condition when the Tribune visited them. They gazed with wonder on her snow-white sails and frowning battery of guns. They had often before seen whalers, and other smaller vessels; but never since Captain Cook, in days gone by, came to their shores, had they seen a ship comparable to her in size.
The Tribune soon cast anchor in a beautiful and sheltered bay, the shores of which, down nearly to the water’s edge, were ornamented with a feathery fringe of palm and other graceful trees. While Jack and his shipmates were looking towards the smooth and yellow sand, over which the waves gently rippled, they saw numerous natives running along, as if in eager haste; and presently several large canoes, like two boats lashed together, put off towards them. The canoes were allowed to come alongside; and the seamen with good-natured frankness received their savage-looking guests, as they stalked along the decks examining everything with curious eye, and evidently longing to possess the wonders they beheld. Several appeared to be chiefs; but no person could be discovered to have greater authority than all the rest. All day, canoes full of natives came off to the ship, and even when night drew on they seemed in no way inclined to take their departure. At last it was necessary to use some gentle force to make them go; but it was intimated to them by signs that they might return on the morrow, and signs were made to them that fowls and vegetables would be acceptable.
The night drew on—the stars were shining brightly on the placid waters of the bay; the sentries were at their posts; the watch on deck lay concealed under the bulwarks; Jack was stationed forward. As his keen eye glanced towards the shore, he saw several dark objects crossing the light streaming on the water. They increased in numbers. The whole surface of the bay was alive with canoes. What could be the intention of the savages? He ran aft to report the circumstance to the officer of the watch. The sentries at the gangways and quarters now sung out that there were canoes surrounding the ship. In an instant the watch was called; and probably to the surprise of the savages, they discovered that the crew of a British man-of-war are not to be found napping. Silently, as it had approached, the dark flotilla disappeared again into the darkness. The next morning the savages returned on board with smiling and friendly countenances, as if no act of treachery had been intended; and so completely did this apparent frankness lull suspicion asleep, that it was believed no treachery had been contemplated.
The next day a boat was sent to explore the coast, and to select a more secure harbour for the ship; Jack formed one of the crew. Meantime, a most friendly intercourse was maintained with the natives; a number of the officers and crew constantly visiting the shore. While the boat was away a sudden gale sprung up, and the ship was obliged to put to sea to avoid the risk of being driven on shore. Meantime the boat in which were Jack and his companions was driven towards a reef a short distance from the land. The lieutenant in command urged them to pull hard to save their lives. Of course they pulled as they had not often pulled before, but their efforts were of no avail. High rose the foaming breakers around them, and the black rock appeared beneath their keel. Down came the boat upon it and was shattered into a thousand fragments. Jack thought his last moments were come. Still he struck out boldly, though blinded by the spray he could not see where he was going. At length he discovered that he was inside the reef with four of his companions near him, some clinging to oars and bits of the wreck and others swimming. There had been nine in all, four were missing. Jack looked back. He saw a person still struggling in the breakers. Throwing off his shoes and jacket and grasping an oar he bravely swam back, and just as the drowning man was giving up the struggle in despair, he seized him by the collar, and placing his hands on the oar towed him into smooth water. It was the lieutenant. The other poor fellows could nowhere be seen.
Expecting a kind reception from the friendly natives the survivors made towards the shore. Naked, bruised, and bleeding, they reached the yellow shell-strewed sands. They climbed up the bank and approached a village. Before many minutes they were discovered, and some twenty or more savages were seen rushing towards them. Jack was assisting the officer whose life he had saved. They were a little apart from the rest. Near them was an odd looking building, with a hideous figure in the centre, shaded by trees.
“Come in here,” exclaimed the officer. “Follow me, my men.”
Jack and he reached the temple and got hold of the idol. Before the rest could follow their example the savages with hideous yells were upon them with their clubs, and to his grief and horror Jack saw every one of them struck down and killed. The bodies were instantly stripped, and being placed on litters, were carried away by some of the savages, while the rest approached Jack and the lieutenant.
Among them was one who was evidently a chief. He took their hands, but they refused to let go the idol. Jack was heartily ashamed of his position, but he did not forget, that he must look for protection from above. The chief intimated that if they would trust to him they would be safe.
“I don’t believe in a word he says,” observed Jack to the lieutenant; “but as we can’t stay here for ever, I’ll just teach him to have a little respect for us at all events.”
Saying this, Jack sprung on the chief, and clasping him round the body almost squeezed the breath out of him; then lifting him up sat him astride on the back of the idol. The proceeding very much astonished all present, but it had the effect of making the savages respect the bold seaman. His companion, the lieutenant, was, however, dragged away; while the chief, getting down from his unusual seat and taking Jack by the hand, made a long speech to the bystanders, clearly to the effect that he intended to be his friend and protector. Very different was the treatment the unfortunate officer received. No sooner was the speech over than the savages, without warning, set on him with their clubs, and before Jack could go to his assistance clubbed him to death. Poor Jack fully expected to share the same fate, but the savages seemed to have no intention of injuring him. The chief, on the contrary, led him away to a hut, and in a little time several natives appeared bringing a variety of dishes, nicely cooked, on clean plantain leaves, and some liquor in cocoa-nut cups, which was far from unpalatable. Had Jack not witnessed the sad fate of his companions he would not have considered himself badly off. He was, however, a prisoner; for after what had occurred he was very certain that the savages would not let him return to the frigate. All night he lay awake on his bed of leaves thinking how he should escape. Twice he got up, resolved to run off to the shore and to endeavour to swim on board, but each time he found a savage with a long spear sitting at the door of the hut, and a significant gesture made him retreat.
Next day, as he was wandering about attended closely by two or three guards, the sound of music and shouting attracted him to the neighbourhood of the temple. A number of persons, evidently chiefs, were assembled in a shaded dell, while a mob of the common people stood around at a distance. There were large ovens near, from whence a thick vapour ascended into the blue sky. A feast was going forward. Jack stood riveted to the spot with horror as he beheld the scene, and discovered the dreadful fare on which the savages were feasting. He now knew too well why his companions had been so mercilessly slaughtered. His captors were the most cruel of cannibals. He could gaze no longer on the dreadful scene, but ran shrieking from the spot. He was followed closely by his guards, who seemed highly amused at the delicacy of his nerves. For many a day, notwithstanding all the care bestowed on him, he could not banish the idea that he was reserved for the same fate which had befallen his companions. His chief occupation was climbing every height he could reach to look for the frigate.
One day he was sitting, solitary and sad, on a lofty rock overlooking the blue ocean, pondering on the means of escaping from his thraldom, when his eye fell on a white speck in the horizon. For a moment he thought it was but a snowy-winged sea bird, but larger and larger it grew, till he knew it to be the white canvas of a ship; and then as sail after sail rose out of the water, and nearer and nearer she drew to the land, his heart beat high with hope, for he recognised the gallant frigate to which he belonged. On she sailed till she cast anchor in a neighbouring bay. He would have rushed down to the beach and swam off to meet her, but as he was hurrying on with eager feet, several dark savages rose up before him, and by significant gestures impeded his further progress. The frigate’s boats came on shore, and the natives went off to her as before. Jack every day suspected that some diabolical treachery was meditated, and longed to warn his shipmates of their danger, but he was too closely watched to have the slightest chance of communicating with them. How his heart longed to be on board his ship with his brave companions. In vain—in vain he watched an opportunity to escape. At length she sailed; the captain, as Jack suspected, satisfied that the boat had been lost, and that all hands had perished.
Chapter Thirteen.
No sooner had the frigate sailed than Jack found himself restored to comparative liberty; but liberty among such cannibals brought no sweets to him. Still he saw that the appearance of contentment was more likely to throw his captors off their guard than the constant exhibition of his misery; so he set himself to work to build a hut after their style, and to cultivate a garden, and to manufacture numerous articles of domestic furniture, as if he had resolved to make himself at home. He was fortunate in discovering a saw, and plane, and other carpenter’s tools, which had either been given in barter to the natives or been stolen by them. These he managed to use very skilfully, greatly to their wonder, as he performed ten times as much work as they could in the same space of time.
He thus gained their respect, and then he bethought himself that he might influence them in some way for good. He rapidly learned their language. He endeavoured to shew them the horrors of cannibalism, and many of their other disgusting practices. Many listened with attentive ears, and to his surprise acquiesced in the truth of his remarks. He pointed out to them the beauty of his own religion, and the pure practices inculcated by it. They drank in deeply what he said. He shewed them what even this world would be without wars, and murders, and violence and deceit, and treachery and wrong; and then he strove to lift their thoughts to another world, where all is pure and holy, and sinless and painless, and full of joy and thanksgiving, where the spirit, freed from this frail casket, having put on an incorruptible body, will, with freedom unfettered, ever be employed in joyously executing the commands of its Almighty Creator. Little thought the rough sailor, for rough he was, though his mind was enlightened, of the fruit which the seeds he was sowing was destined to bring forth.
Months, years passed by, still Jack was a prisoner. Yet he had won the affection of many of the natives, some had even abandoned their worst practices at his instigation.
At length a vessel came from Australia with a party of men to collect a cargo of sandal wood. Some of the chiefs were still anxious to prevent his departure, but, aided by the friends he had made, he was enabled to reach the vessel. He was welcomed by the master and promised protection. The Gipsy was a small schooner. She put into another port to complete her cargo. There, as usual, the natives came on board. He took care not to let it be known that he understood their language. By their looks and behaviour he suspected treachery. He warned the master of the Gipsy, but his warnings were laughed to scorn. Nearly half the crew were on shore. The canoes of the natives came thronging round the schooner. Some of the savages were clambering on board, when Jack discerned through a spyglass a disturbance on shore. The report of firearms was heard.
“What think you of that, sir?” asked Jack of the master.
“That the savages are murdering my people. Cut the cable, loose the sails, we must stand in to defend them. Heave those fellows overboard.”
In another moment the savages would have gained the deck, but while they were driven back with boarding pikes and cutlasses by some of the crew, others sprang aloft to make sail, and before they had time to concert a fresh plan of attack the schooner with a fine breeze ran from among them. As she swept close to the shore firing among the savages, two boats put off to her; but many on board were desperately wounded, while several more men lay dead on the beach. The canoes no longer dared approach her. The savages deserved punishment. The survivors of the schooner’s crew wreaked a severe vengeance on their heads, and then sailed away for their destination, leaving the natives to retaliate on the next vessel which might visit their shores.
Jack reached Sydney in safety, and quitting the schooner, entered on board a merchant brig, the Hope, bound for England.
“I think that I should like once more to visit my native land after all the adventures I have gone through,” observed Jack to a shipmate; but he experienced the truth of the saying, “Man proposes, but God disposes.”
“Yes,” replied his shipmate; “nothing shall stop me from getting there, depend on that.”
“There’s many a thing may stop you, Bill,” answered Jack. “We may be cast away or founder, or be taken by the enemy, or you may fall overboard and be drowned, or fifty other things may happen to you. I would not dare to make so sure if I were you.”
“All nonsense, Jack,” said the other; “when a man has a mind to do a thing he may do it. That’s my opinion. I don’t care who knows it.”
On sailed the Hope on her voyage, but in crossing the Indian Ocean she got into a dead calm. The sun sent its almost perpendicular rays with intense fury down on the heads of the crew. The water shone like a slab of polished steel. Not a breath of air came to fan their cheeks or to move the sluggish sails hanging uselessly against the masts. The heat on deck was intense, the water looked as if it must be cooler and more refreshing.
“Who’s for a swim?” cried one.
“I am, I am,” answered several voices, and in a few seconds a considerable number of the crew were overboard, swimming about like fish in the clear water. How they kicked and splashed about and revelled in the cool fluid. They felt like prisoners set free from their dark cells. Every man who could swim but a few strokes, and some even of those stupid fellows who had neglected to learn one of the most requisite of ordinary accomplishments for landsmen as well as seamen, let themselves down over the ship’s side by ropes, and holding on tight kicked and splashed, and shouted with the rest. Jack, among the boldest of the swimmers, made large circuits round the ship, accompanied by his messmate, Bill Sikes. One encouraging the other they increased their distance from the vessel.
“It’s time we were homeward bound,” observed Jack at last: indeed more than one signal had been made to them from the ship to return. Still Bill in his folly wanted to go farther off. At length they turned with their faces to the ship. As they swam round Jack saw close to them a black triangular object moving along just above the surface of the water: he knew it at a glance to be the fin of that remorseless monster of the deep, a shark. He was afraid of telling his companion what he had seen, lest it should unnerve him; but he himself instantly began to kick and beat the water, and shout in the hopes of keeping the shark at a distance.
“What’s all that about?” asked Bill surprised.
“Do as I do,” answered Jack, splashing more furiously than before; “it will be the better for both of us.”
They swam on thus for some way, but that ominous black fin kept even way with them.
“If either of us stop for a moment the brute will have one or both of us,” thought Jack, and he wished that he had not been so foolhardy as to go so far from his ship. He looked up at the tall masts and dark hull, and the delicate tracery of the rigging, and the white sails, which hung against the masts and were reflected as in a mirror on the tranquil deep, and they seemed still a long, long way from him; but Jack knew in Whom he trusted. He had been foolish and disobedient in going so far from the ship; but he felt that he was under the protection of One, merciful and long suffering, who had the power to save him even from the jaws of the ravenous fish, and to that Great Being he prayed fervently, unceasingly, for aid as he swam on. Not for a moment did he lose heart; still, as now and again he turned his head, there, close to him, was the dark ominous fin, and through the clear water glittered the bright cruel eye of the monster of the deep. As long as the fin was seen Jack knew that the shark was not about to make his attack, but he dreaded every instant to see it disappear; for a shark must always turn on its back to seek its prey.
It was some minutes before Sikes discovered the vicinity of their dreaded companion. Where was now his boasting and his courage? On whom had he now to trust? On his own strength? What could that avail him? Unhappy man. He had never learned to trust in God, who alone can help him now. He cried out piteously to his messmate.
“Jack, Jack, what shall we do now?”
Jack did not taunt him, as he might have done, for his boasting and self-confidence. Far from his heart was such an idea.
“Trust in God, Bill, and keep up your courage,” he shouted with a cheerful voice; “strike away, we shall soon reach the ship.”
“I can’t, mate, I can’t,” answered Sikes, “I don’t know how to trust in him. He won’t listen to such as me.”
“Pray to him, He’ll hear you, depend on it,” replied Jack.
“I don’t know how to pray—I’ve never prayed,” replied the unhappy man. “Oh, Jack, help me—help me. The shark came close to me, I felt him touch my leg,” he shrieked in a piteous voice.
“Swim on, swim on, man cannot help you, Bill,” said Jack in return; “don’t let your heart faint. Keep praying, I say.”
Alas, alas! How many must find out when too late, that the man on a bed of sickness, or in the hour of danger, who has never prayed before, can seldom or never pray then! The fresh morning of youth, the time of health and strength, of safety and peace, is the time for prayer. Depend on it, the man who does not pray in fair weather never will pray well in foul. So Bill Sikes found when the shark was swimming alongside him. Lustily and well the two seamen plied their arms and feet. Most of their shipmates had climbed on board.
“A shark, a shark!” shouted Jack as he drew near, anxious to warn others of the danger he was himself incurring.
No one needed a second warning, and Jack and Bill were the only ones of the crew left in the water. Several ropes were hove to them, and eager friendly faces looked down on them, and ready hands were stretched out to help them. Jack swam up to a rope, manfully striking out and vehemently splashing the water to the last. Bill with a faint heart followed his example, but the greedy shark was not to be altogether disappointed of his prey. All on board had kept their eyes fixed on that dark fin. Suddenly it disappeared.
“Quick, quick, seize the rope,” they shouted.
Jack had got hold of one, and was hauling himself up. Bill made a grasp at a rope and his hand had clutched it, but ere his fingers had got a firm hold a shriek of agony and despair burst from his lips, and down, down he was dragged, the ensanguined water shewing the cause of his disappearance. There was a cry of horror. It served as the funeral knell of the boaster. As Jack drew himself out of the water, a long snout rose to the surface: it was that of another shark. The white throat of the fierce fish glanced brightly in the sunbeams as he swam off disappointed of his prey. All rejoiced that Jack was saved, and even the captain forgot to lecture him for going so far from the ship, though horror filled the hearts of all as they thought of the fate of Bill Sikes. Why was this? In his health and strength, boaster as he was, Bill was admired by many. Who thought of rebuking him for his impiety? Till his fate was sealed, till God’s threatenings were fulfilled, no one believed the warnings of His Holy Word. So has it been since Noah entered into the ark, so will it be till all things are accomplished.
“This is the second time since I left home that I have seen the scorner meet with a fearful end,” observed Jack, yet he spake in no spirit of self-congratulation. “Oh, mates, whatever you do, put your trust in God, and be assured that He will not fail to guide us for our good if we will but rely on His mercy and kindness.”
The Hope sailed on in the prosecution of her voyage, and the fate of Bill Sikes was soon forgotten. Yet nearly a thousand miles had to be traversed before the Cape of Good Hope could be reached. Hitherto the voyage had been unusually favourable, but a change came quickly over the face of the sky and sea. Dense clouds were gathering from the south, the wind howled fearfully, the surface of the deep was torn up into foam-topped mountains and deep dark valleys of water. Now the brig lay rocking in one, and then, lifted up on high, she seemed to be about to be plunged headlong into another yet deeper than the first, a watery wall threatening to overwhelm her. To make any way on her proper course was impossible, but still sail was kept on her in the hopes that the might thus ride more easily. Jack had been in many a gale, but he had never been in a worse one.
Night came on, sea after sea broke on board. No one expected to see the morning’s sun; the bulwarks were knocked to pieces, so were the boats, with the exception of one: the main-topmast was carried away. The caboose and all spare planks and spars were washed overboard. Thus passed the night, the ship plunging fearfully, and the sea breaking over her. In spite of the just apprehensions of the crew, they saw the morning sun’s bright beams bursting forth from a break in the dark clouds, and tingeing the snow-capped summits of the waves with a golden hue. The gleam came and was gone in a moment, and the storm raged fiercer than before. Now a mountain sea came rolling towards the helpless brig.
“Hold on, hold on,” was the cry. Over it it broke. Jack held on, but the stauncheon he held to was carried away, and he and two of his shipmates were washed overboard into the boiling sea. What hope now for him or them? Those who remained on board with sorrow watched them struggling among the blinding foam; but again the wave rose, struck by an opposing one it seemed, and Jack and one of his companions found themselves cast back with violence on to the deck of their ship. They clutched fast hold of friendly ropes, and the water as it passed away left them clinging to the ship. That heavy sea had done more damage than at first appeared. A leak was sprung. Pale with terror the seamen heard the news.
“How long can she swim? Will she survive the gale?” one asked the other.
“We must labour hard at the pumps; we’ve still one boat uninjured amidships; we may build a raft. Don’t let’s be down-hearted. Let’s trust in God,” said Jack.
The pumps were manned, but the water gained rapidly on them. The gale blew fiercer than ever.
“We shall go down, there’s no doubt of it,” said more than one.
“Let’s keep the ship afloat till the gale goes down rather,” cried Jack working away at the pumps.
The captain and officers all took their spell, but none worked harder than he, and yet none trusted more firmly to the only arm which could save them. Higher and higher rose the water in the hold. Fearfully the ship laboured. Still most of the crew worked bravely at the pumps. All hopes of saving the ship had been abandoned, but yet they trusted that they might keep her afloat till the storm should subside. Vain even that hope. Some in their despair and folly rushed to the spirit casks.
“She is sinking—she is sinking,” was the cry.
The officers and Jack, with those who had kept firm at their posts, leaped into the boat, the lashings were cut loose, some provisions and water had already been put into her. The oars were got out. The brig made a plunge forward into a mountain sea. She never rose again.