Chapter Seven.
“Breakers Ahead!”
Our chief hope of escaping an unpleasant examination by the pirate existed in the possibility that we had not been observed from her deck. Had we had any sail set we could not fail to have been so. Not, we knew, that so small a craft as ours would be considered worth overhauling; but in case we might give information of the pirate’s whereabouts, it might be thought expedient to put us out of the way. So we feared. We therefore watched the progress of the Mignonne and the brig with intense interest, earnestly hoping that the latter would lead the pirate a long chase before she was captured, if she could not escape altogether, which of course we hoped she would. La Roche had certainly managed to inspire O’Carroll with an extraordinary dread and hatred of him, for brave and calm in danger as our friend had lately shown himself to be, he was now completely unnerved, and I saw him crouching down in the boat as if, even had she been seen, he could have been distinguished. On sailed the brig; gradually her sails began to disappear below the horizon. The pirate still continued the chase. For some time no one in the boat thought of working. We were roused up by finding that the water was rapidly gaining on us, and we all had to turn to and pump and bale harder than ever. We were in hopes that after all the brig might escape, when the boom of a gun came over the water, followed by another and another. It was too probable that the pirate had got her within range. Both vessels had now disappeared below the horizon, at the same time the wind where we were had completely died away. As far as the pirate was concerned, we began to breathe more freely; it was not likely that he would again pass near us. But the sun shone forth from the clear sky with intense heat, roasting our heads and the brains within them, and making whatever pitch remained between the planks of our deck bubble up as if it had been boiling. There we lay, our boat rolling from side to side, without a particle of shade to shelter us. Our little cabin was like an oven. When we were to rest it became simply a question whether in making the attempt we should be roasted on deck or baked below. We had not much time for idleness yet: though we worked very hard, it was not till nightfall that our rigging was set up sufficiently to enable us to make sail.
When the sun set there was not a breath of air, while the surface of the ocean was as smooth as a sheet of glass, though every now and then a swell rose under the boat’s keel, making her roll for ten minutes afterwards, while it glided slowly away in the distance. The only sounds were the clank of the pump and the dash of water from the scuppers or buckets, and an occasional snort of some huge fish, or the splash it made when plunging down into its liquid home. Thus the hours of the night passed away. We were so weary and sleepy that the instant we were relieved from the pump we lay down and were lost in forgetfulness. The day broke, the sun rose higher and higher, and beat hotter and hotter, and all around us was the same smooth, glassy ocean. Now and then the surface was broken by a flight of flying fish as they rose out of it and darted along through the air, glittering bright in the sunbeams, like a covey of silver birds.
“Ah, now! if some of you would just have the goodness to come aboard here, you would serve us nicely for breakfast,” exclaimed Trundle, as he observed them.
He had scarcely spoken when upwards of a dozen out of a large shoal leaped, or flew rather, right in among us, while as many more passed clean over the boat. It was a curious coincidence, and at all events afforded us not only a substantial, but a very delicious meal, cooked by the skilful hands of Monsieur Jacotot. It put us all in good spirits, and we began to look at the future in a tolerably hopeful spirit, till my midshipman brother exclaimed—
“I say, if this sun lasts much longer, what shall we do for grub? The sea-pie we have brought has gone bad, and I am afraid that the beef and pork won’t keep good many hours out of the brine.”
“You may put them in the past instead of the future tense, my boy,” observed Trundle, who had been examining the lockers; “I doubt if any stomach with less powers than a shark’s could swallow a bit of the meat we have got on board.”
“Then on what have we got to exist till we can reach the shore?” I asked, with a feeling of serious anxiety.
“Why,” answered William, “we have biscuits and half a cheese—at least we had half when we sailed, but it is rather gone—and a few mangoes, and bananas, and plantains, and a melon or two, and some tea and coffee, and sugar. I am afraid we haven’t much else, except a cask of water, and that was rather leaky, like this craft.”
“Then let us look to the cask, gentlemen,” said O’Carroll. “And don’t throw the meat away, putrid though it may be. The Frenchman may cook it so as to make it go down, and we don’t know how hard we may be pressed for food.”
The water-cask was examined, happily not altogether too late, but a third of the precious liquid had run out. I said nothing, but sad forebodings filled my mind. Even with a compass to steer by and a good breeze to carry us along, we might be several days reaching Port Louis, or, indeed, any habitable coast we could make. We might be kept out much longer, and then how could we exist? We could scarcely hope that another covey of flying fish would come on board, though we might catch some others if we could manufacture hooks, for I was afraid we had none on board. This calm might continue for a week, and then we might have another gale, for we were in the hurricane season. I advised that we should at once go on an allowance of food and water, a suggestion which was, of course, adopted. We had no fishing lines or hooks on board; a bit of an old file was, however, discovered, and with it and a hammer Jacotot undertook to make some hooks, while Kelson spun some fine yarn for lines.
“I shall have plenty of time,” observed the Frenchman, with a wan smile and a shrug of the shoulders, “for without the fish I shall have nothing to cook.”
Two days passed, and though the hooks were in use we caught nothing, and some of the party began to wish that the pirate had picked us up. Two days more passed: matters had become very serious. Hunger was gnawing at our insides, and what seemed even worse, thirst was parching our lips and throats. With the intense heat we were enduring, gallons of water would scarcely have satisfied us, and we each had but a small wineglass full three times a day. When that was gone, as long as our fuel lasted we could get a little water by condensing the steam from our kettle. Our thirst became intolerable; yet the few drops, we did get kept us, I believe, alive. I do not wish to dwell on that time. My own sufferings were great, but they were increased by seeing those of my young brother and his lighthearted companion, both of them about, as I feared, to pass away from the world they had found so enjoyable. The sun rose, and set, and rose again, and each day it appeared to send down its heat with an increased intensity of strength as we grew weaker and weaker. A new danger threatened us: we could even now scarcely keep the boat clear of water; should our strength fail altogether, as seemed but too probable, she would sink below us. Our lot was that which many poor seamen have endured, but that did not make it more supportable to us.
Our last particle of food had been eaten, the last drop of water nearly exhausted. The strongest might endure for a day or two, the weakest ones must sink within a few hours. Even O’Carroll, strong as he seemed, was giving way. He sat dull and unconscious, his eyes meaningless, only arousing himself by a great effort. My brother’s head rested on my arm, and I was moistening his lips with the few drops obtained from the cask. Suddenly Kelson, who had been gazing round the horizon, started up, crying out, “A breeze! a breeze! I see it coming over the water!”
I turned my eyes to the west, the direction to which he pointed. There I saw a dark-blue line quickly advancing towards us. Even already, on either side, cat’s-paws were to be seen just touching the surface, then vanishing again, once more to appear in a different direction as the light currents of air, precursors of the main body of the wind, touched the surface. The effect on our fainting party was magical; even the poor boys tried to lift up their languid eyes to look around. Another shout from Kelson a few minutes afterwards roused us all still more. “A sail! a sail! She’s standing this way too!”
Even Jacotot, who had completely given way to despair, started to his feet at the sound, and, weak though he was, performed such strange antics expressive of his joy on the little deck that I thought he would have gone overboard.
“If you’ve got all that life in you, Mounseer, just turn to at the pump again and make some use of it, instead of jigging away like an overgrown jackanapes!” growled out Kelson, who held the poor Frenchman in great contempt for having knocked under, as he called it, so soon.
Jacotot gave another skip or two, and then, seizing the pump-handle, or break, as it is called, burst into tears. The two midshipmen and boys soon relapsed into their former state, while O’Carroll seemed to forget that relief was approaching, till on a sudden the idea seized him that the stranger which was now rapidly nearing us was no other than the Mignonne, though she had been last seen in an opposite direction, and there had been a dead calm ever since. “Arrah! we’ll all be murdered entirely by that thief of the world, La Roche, bad luck to him!” he cried out, wringing his hands. “It was an unlucky day that I ever cast eyes on his ugly face for the first time, and now he’s after coming back again to pick me up in the middle of the Indian Ocean, just as a big black crow does a worm out of a turnip-field!”
In vain I tried to argue him out of the absurdity of his notion. He turned sharply round on me.
“It’s desaving me now ye are, and that isn’t the part of a true friend, Mr James Braithwaite!” he exclaimed. “Just try how he’ll treat you, and then tell me how you like his company.”
I saw that there was not the slightest use reasoning with him, but that it would be necessary to watch him, lest in his frenzy he should jump overboard. As the dreadful idea came on me that he might do so, I saw the black fin of the seaman’s sworn foe, a shark, gliding toward us, and a pair of sharp eyes looking wistfully up towards me, so I fancied, as if the creature considered the leaky boat and its contents a dainty dish prepared for his benefit. It made me set to work to bale with all the strength I could muster. Seeing me so employed, O’Carroll for a moment forgot his mad idea, and followed my example. Often and often I turned my gaze towards the approaching ship. It seemed even still open to doubt whether she would pass near enough to observe us.
At length the breeze reached us, and hoisting our sails as well as our strength would allow, we stood in a direction to come across the course the stranger was steering. I told Kelson, in a whisper, to assist me in keeping a watch on O’Carroll, for as we drew nearer the stranger, so did his uneasiness increase, and he was evidently still under the impression that she was the dreaded Mignonne. William and Trundle looked at her with lack-lustre eyes. I asked Kelson what he thought she was. “A small Chinaman, or a store-ship, maybe, sir,” he answered. “She’s English, certainly, by the cut of her sails.”
“You hear what he says,” I observed to O’Carroll. “I think the same myself. We shall be treated as friends when we get on board.”
“Ye are after desaving me, I know ye are,” cried the poor fellow, turning round and giving a reproachful glance at me. “Don’t ye see the ugly villain La Roche himself standing on the cathead ready to order his crew of imps to fire as soon as we get within range of their guns?”
This notion so tickled Kelson’s fancy that he fairly burst into a fit of laughter, in which I and the rest of the party faintly joined, from very weakness, for most of them had not heard what was said. Even O’Carroll himself imitated us. Suddenly he stopped. “It’s no laughing matter, though, let me tell you,” he observed gravely, after some time had elapsed, and the stranger had neared us so that we could see the people on deck. “But where’s La Roche? Oh, I see, he’s aft there, grinning at us as usual.” He pointed to a most respectable-looking old gentleman, who was, I supposed, the master of the ship.
“You are mistaken in that,” said I, feeling the importance of keeping him quiet till he could be got on board. “If that is the Mignonne, she has been captured, and is in possession of a British crew. You’ll see that I am right directly.”
The ship was shortening sail as I spoke. We were soon alongside. Even at a distance our pitiable condition had been observed. We were one after the other hoisted on deck, for even Kelson could scarcely get up without help. I gave a hint to the doctor to look after O’Carroll. “I am right,” I remarked to my friend. “If La Roche is on board, he is safe under hatches; so the best thing you can do is to turn in, and go to sleep. You want rest more than any of us.”
Led by the surgeon, he went quietly below, and I hoped with soothing medicine and sleep would be soon all to rights again.
The ship proved to be, not what Kelson had supposed, but a vessel with free emigrants bound out to the rising town of Sydney, in New South Wales—a colony generally called Botany Bay, established some few years before, by Captain Phillips of the navy, chiefly with convicts and the necessary soldiers to look after them. We had just told our tale, and the passengers had expressed their sympathy for us, when I heard Jacotot give a loud cry of dismay. On looking over the side the cause was explained—the masts of our unhappy little craft were just disappearing under the surface. This was the natural consequence of our neglecting to pump her out, and the ship, which was going ahead, dragging her through the water, when of course it rushed in through her open seams with redoubled speed. Poor Jacotot tore his hair and wrung his hands, and wept tears of grief for his wretched craft; but he did not gain as much sympathy as would have been shown him had he been more quiet, though our new friends congratulated us the more warmly in having got out of her before she met her fate. Food and rest quickly set most of us to rights, and the following day William and Trundle and I were able to take our places at the cabin table with the rest of the passengers. O’Carroll was kept in bed with fever, though he had got over his idea that La Roche was on board. The old gentleman he had mistaken for him proved to be a minister of the gospel, who had been invited to accompany a party of the emigrants.
We found that things were not going on in at all a satisfactory way on board. The master had died before the ship reached the Cape: the first officer, Mr Gregson, who had now charge, was obstinate and self-opinionated when sober, and he was very frequently intoxicated; the second was a stupid fellow and no navigator; and both were jealous of the third, who was a superior, intelligent young man, and in numerous ways they did their utmost to annoy him. This accounted for the good ship, the Kangaroo, being very much out of her proper course, which was far to the southward of where she picked us up. Most disastrous consequences were to occur. William and Trundle told me that they had been making their observations; that they wondered how the ship had got thus far, and that they should be much surprised if she got much farther. A very large proportion of the ships cast away and lives sacrificed are so in consequence of the habitual intoxication of the masters and their officers. I venture to make this distinct assertion from the very numerous instances I have known and heard of. We did not wish to alarm the passengers, none of whom had been at sea before, and were not aware of the danger they were running. Had our schooner still floated, I should have proposed taking her to the first island we could make and there repairing her. We asked Mr Gregson if he would undertake to land us at Port Louis, offering him at the same time payment if he would do so; but he positively refused, declaring that nothing should induce him to go out of his course, and that we must stick to the ship and work our passage till she reached her destination.
Believing that, as he was short-handed, his object in detaining us was to get more hands to work the ship, this we positively refused to do. “Very well, then, we’ll see who is master on board the Kangaroo,” he replied, with an oath. “You tell me that three of you belong to a man-of-war; but I find you in a French boat, and how do I know that you are not deserters or convicts? and I’ll treat you as such if you don’t look out.” This conduct was so unexpected, and so different from the kind way in which we had been treated by the passengers, that we did not know what to say. We agreed to wait till we could consult O’Carroll; and Trundle undertook to get a look at the chart the captain was using, and to try and find out where he had placed the ship. The wind had hitherto continued very light, so that we had made but little way since we came on board. The day following the unpleasant conversation I have described, O’Carroll was so much recovered that he was able to come on deck. Though Irishmen have not the character in general of being good seamen, I considered from what I had seen of him that he was an exception to the general rule. I told him what we had remarked.
“When the time comes I’ll see what I can do,” he answered; “but it is ticklish work interfering with such fellows as the present master of this ship, unless one advises the very thing one does not want done.”
“We may soon require the exercise of your skill,” I remarked. “It appears to me that there will speedily be a change in the weather.”
“Little doubt about that, and we shall have it hot and strong again soon,” he answered, looking round the horizon.
“Not another hurricane, I hope,” said I.
“Not quite sure about that,” he answered. “Were I master of this ship I should make all snug for it; but if I were to advise Gregson to do so, he’d only crack on more sail to show his superior seamanship. I’ve had a talk with the surgeon, McDow, a very decent sort of young fellow, and so I know the man we have to deal with.”
An hour or two after this, the wind had increased to half a gale, and the Kangaroo was tearing away through the sea with a great deal more sail than a prudent seaman would have carried. Unfortunately William or Trundle had remarked that it was much more important to shorten sail on the appearance of bad weather on board a short-handed merchantman, than on board a man-of-war with a strong crew. I saw O’Carroll looking anxiously aloft, and then again to windward. At last he could stand it no longer.
“You’ll let the wind take the topmasts out of the ship if you don’t look out, Captain Gregson,” he remarked.
“What business have you to come aboard this ship and to pretend to teach me?” answered the master, who was more than half drunk. “If you do, take care. I’ll turn you out of her, and let you find your own way ashore.”
While he was speaking a loud crack was heard, and the mizen-topmast was carried over the side. This made him order the crew aloft to shorten sail. “You go too, you lazy youngsters!” he exclaimed, seeing William and Trundle on deck.
They sprung up the rigging without a word of reply. I watched them with great anxiety, for the masts bent like whips, and I was afraid every moment to see the main share the fate of the mizen-mast, to the destruction of all on the yards. Still the master, as if indifferent to what might happen, was not even looking aloft. The two midshipmen had just reached the top, and were about to lie along the yard, when O’Carroll shouted: “Down, all of you; down, for your lives!”
His voice arrested their progress, and two of the men already on the yards sprang back into the top; but the warning came too late for the rest. A tremendous squall struck the ship. Over she heeled, till the lee bulwarks were under water. A loud crash followed. Away went the main-topmast, and yard, and struggling sail, carrying six human beings with it. Five were hurled off into the now foaming sea. We saw them for an instant stretching out their arms, as if imploring that help which it was beyond our power to give. The ship dashed onward, leaving them far astern. One still clung to the rigging towing with the spar alongside. The ship still lay almost on her beam-ends.
O’Carroll saw the possibility of saving the poor fellow. Calling out to me to lay hold of a rope, one end of which he fastened round his waist, he plunged overboard. I could scarcely have held it, had not William and Trundle with Kelson come to my assistance. O’Carroll grasped the man. “Haul away!” he shouted. In another instant he was on board again, with the man in his arms. The helm was put up, the ship righted, the man had got off the foreyard, and away the ship new, with the fore-topsail wildly bulging out right before the wind. In a few minutes it was blown from the bolt-ropes in strips, twisted and knotted together. The mainsail, not without difficulty, was handed, and we continued to run on under the foresail, the only other sail which remained entire, and it seemed very probable that that would soon be blown away.
All this time the terror of the unfortunate passengers was very great—the more so that it was undefined. They saw the captain, however, every now and then come into the cabin and toss off a tumbler of strong rum-and-water, and then return on deck, and shout out with oaths often contradictory orders. The gale all this time was increasing, until it threatened to become as violent as the hurricane from which we had escaped. I could not help wishing that we had not left our leaky little schooner. We might have reached some land in her. Now we did not know where we were going, except towards a region of rocks and sandbanks on which any moment the ship might be hurled. For ourselves it would be bad enough; but hard indeed for the poor women and children, of whom there were a dozen or more on board, several of them helpless infants.
As I looked on the man who was thus perilling the lives of his fellow-creatures by his senseless brutality, I could not help thinking what a load of guilt rested on his head. His face was flushed, his features distorted, his eyes rolling wildly, as he walked with irregular steps up and down the deck, or ever and anon descended to the cabin to gaze stupidly at his chart, which was utterly useless, and to take a fresh draught of the liquor which had brought him to that state. Yet he was a fine, good-looking fellow, and pleasant-mannered enough when sober and not opposed. I have known several such, who have for years deceived their owners and others on shore, led by outward appearance, till some fearful catastrophe has been the result of their pernicious habits.
Night came. The ship continued her mad career through the darkness; the wind howling and whistling, the loose ropes lashing furiously against the masts, and the sea roaring around. Below all was confusion. Numerous articles had broken adrift and were rolling about, the passengers crouched huddled together in the cabin endeavouring to avoid them. Mothers pressed their children to their bosoms; the men were asking each other what was next to happen. The answer came with fearful import. “Breakers ahead! Breakers ahead!” There was a tremendous crash, every timber in the ship shook. She was on the rocks.
Chapter Eight.
A complete Wreck.
“Cut away the masts—the shrouds first! Be smart, my men!” cried a voice.
“Who dares give that order?” shrieked out the captain; “she’ll be over this in no time.”
“I dare obey it!” exclaimed one of the seamen. “Come, lads, it’s the best chance of saving our lives.”
The men listened to the advice of their messmate, and, knowing where to find the axes, quickly severed the shrouds of the mizen-mast, and some attacked it, while others went to the mainmast, in spite of the mad cries of the captain to “hold fast.” Their object was thus to force the ship over the reef—if it was a reef we were on—head first, or closer to the shore if we were on an island. The seas came thundering against our sides, often dashing over the decks, so that with difficulty any of us could save ourselves from being carried away by them. Several poor people were thus swept away soon after the ship struck, and their despairing shrieks rang in our ears as they were borne away or hurled on the rocks amid the foaming breakers. We could see nothing beyond the ship except the troubled waters. Our chief hope rested on her not being wedged in the rocks. Now she lifted and drove on her bottom, grinding over the coral; now down she came again, and rocked to and fro in the surges. Directly the after masts were cleared away, her head paid off, and we drove on stern first. It was pitiable to hear the cries which rose from the terrorstricken passengers, but as we could as yet give them no comfort, I refrained from going below. William and Trundle, O’Carroll and I, stood together holding on to the stump of the mainmast; the Frenchman and his son had gone below at the commencement of the gale. I hoped that they were still there. The ship continued alternately grinding and bumping along, but still evidently progressing over the reef. She must have been new and well built, or she would have gone to pieces with the treatment she was receiving. Our anxiety was thus prolonged, for it was impossible to say, supposing the ship should drive over the reef, whether we should find land, and if not whether she would float. It seemed as if each blow she received must be knocking a hole through her planks. Oh! how we longed for daylight, at all events to see and face the dangers which beset us! In the dark we could do nothing but hold on for our lives and pray to be preserved from destruction.
At length the ship was lifted by a huge wave. On she drove. It seemed that the next time she came down on the hard rocks it must be to her destruction. On, on she went; the waters roared and hissed around her. Instead of the expected catastrophe, suddenly she appeared to be floating with comparative calmness; she had been forced over the reef, but the furious wind was still driving her before it.
“We should anchor this instant!” said O’Carroll; but neither the master nor his mates were on deck to give the necessary orders. “Stand by to anchor!” cried O’Carroll.
The two midshipmen, with Kelson and several of the crew, hurried to carry out the order. Some delay occurred in consequence of the darkness. At length the anchor was let go, but as the ship’s stern swung round it struck heavily on a rock. Again cries of terror came up from the passengers in the cabins; I therefore, as I could be of no use on deck, went below in the hopes of tranquillising their minds. They clung round me as I appeared, entreating to be told the truth. I assured them that there was no immediate danger, and that, though the ship had again struck on the rocks, there was so much less sea inside the reef than what she had already gone through, I hoped she might continue to hold together. In all probability we were not far off land. Some, on hearing this, especially those who had been most overcome with terror, expressed their joy in all sorts of extravagant ways, and seemed to consider that there was no longer any danger to be apprehended; others, again, would scarcely credit what I told them, and inquired what the captain thought on the subject.
“The captain! What does he know about anything?” exclaimed a young man, who appeared to be superior in education to most of the passengers. “If the ship is lost, and our lives sacrificed, on him will rest the blame. Look there!”
He threw open the door of the captain’s cabin, where he and the first mate sat, both far too tipsy to move, yet still trying to pour spirits down their throats.
“What’s that you say?” growled out the captain, with an indistinct utterance; “I’ll have no mutiny aboard this ship.”
He endeavoured to rise, but fell forward across the table, upsetting the bottle and tumblers. The mate was too far gone even to attempt to rise. He gazed at us with an idiotic glance for a minute or two, then his head dropped down on the little table at which he was sitting. It must be understood that all this time the ship was far from quiet; she was still grinding and striking heavily against the rocks, though the sea had not sufficient force to lift her over them. I hurried again on deck; my fear was that the ship would fill with water and drop off the rocks and sink. After hunting about we found the carpenter, and with his help sounded the well; already there were six feet of water in the hold. After waiting a short time we found that the water was increasing, the pumps must be set to work. Some of the crew said it was of no use, and refused; others came to our summons; and to help us we called up all the men passengers, while we set the example by labouring as hard as we could. Thus the night passed. It was indeed better for everybody that we had something to do. Dawn came at last. We eagerly looked out for the prospect which daylight was to reveal, whether we were to find ourselves amidst reefs just rising from the water, or near a mere sandbank, or on an inhabited shore. At first we could only see, as before, the white foam dancing up, then dark rocks and yellow sand, and beyond it brown hills and a few trees. As the light still further increased we discovered that the country was in a state of nature; in vain we looked for traces of inhabitants.
The passengers, hearing that we were close to land, came crowding on deck, all eager to get on shore. It was, however, no easy matter to do so. The sea came rushing round the ship, between which and the dry rocks the distance was considerable, so that anybody attempting to swim to them would have been swept away. One small boat alone remained, the rest had been knocked to pieces. In this only two rowers could sit, and a couple of passengers at the most. As far, however, as we could see on either side the surf broke too furiously to allow her to land, so that she could, we feared, be of no use.
At length my brother cried out, “We’ll go in her; there is one place just inside the ship where we can jump on shore with a line. If we can do that we’ll carry a hawser to the rocks, and all the people may land.”
The two mids and Kelson agreed to go in the boat, towing a light line. We watched them anxiously. The water tossed and foamed around them, and they had hard work to contend with the reflux of the sea. Earnestly I prayed that they might be protected and succeed, both for their sakes and ours. A shout of joy and thankfulness burst from the lookers-on as Kelson leaped on the rock, followed by the two midshipmen, who instantly hauled the boat up out of harm’s way. A hawser had been prepared, which they at once hauled on shore and secured. A cradle was next fitted to it by the seamen, under O’Carroll’s directions. It was a question who was to go forth to prove it. At that moment Jacotot made his appearance on deck. He was told that he must go on shore. He was secured forthwith to the cradle. In vain he struggled and protested: he was quickly drawn across. His son and Jack followed. Two men then went to assist in hauling the passengers across. They were placed, one after the other, in the cradle and landed in safety. I was thankful when they were all on shore. There they stood, grouped together, gazing helplessly at the ship, not knowing what to do. There was no one to guide them. Those wretches, the master and his mate, still remained utterly helpless in the cabin. Half the crew of the ship had been lost, and the young mate, who might have exercised some authority. From what I saw of the remainder of the crew I was afraid that they were mostly a very bad set. I dreaded their breaking into the spirit-room—which seamen often do under such circumstances. To prevent this it was necessary to keep them amply employed; we urged them, therefore, to land all the provisions that could be got out of the hold.
To expedite this proceeding we got another hawser carried on shore. Our lives might depend on the amount of provisions we could save. All day we worked on, till towards evening the water had risen so much in the hold that nothing more could be got out. The heat was intense, but so important was the work that we scarcely stopped even to take food. No one had thought all this time of the captain and mate, the real cause of their misfortunes. Suddenly I recollected that they had been left in a side-cabin asleep. I hurried down. I was but just in time; the water was up to their heads, and in another minute would have washed over their faces and drowned them as they lay sleeping off their debauch. I shouted out their names, and called them to come on deck. They started up, their countenances exhibiting their horror and alarm, as they believed that the ship was sinking beneath them. Out into the water they tumbled. The mate slipped, and caught hold of the captain to save himself. Over they went, struggling together. I fancy that they thought themselves overboard; right under the water they dragged each other, once more to get their heads out, spluttering and shouting, and swearing most fearfully. At last, fearing that they might after all be drowned, I seized the mate, who was the smaller man of the two, and dragged him on deck, calling out to O’Carroll to assist in getting up the captain. He came to my assistance, and we hauled both the men on deck. Their sea bath and the struggle had brought them to their senses; but when, after staring around for some time, they saw that the ship was a hopeless wreck, cast away on an apparently barren island, they very nearly lost them again. To find fault with them at such a moment would have been folly. “Come, I advise you to go on shore, for very likely the ship will go to pieces during the night, if the wind rise again,” I said quietly. They were far from disposed to thank me for my advice, though, after looking about for a few minutes, they took it, and were hauled on shore. After collecting everything of value to be found in the cabin, compass, charts, and some nautical books, I followed. O’Carroll was the last man to leave the ship. William and his messmate had been very active on shore, and got a tent rigged for the poor women and children, and some food cooked for them by Jacotot.
No sooner was a fire lighted than the Frenchman was himself again, hurrying about in search of the utensils necessary for his calling. He had cooked a capital supper for them, and he now offered to cook one for us. On collecting all the sails we had landed, we were able to form a shelter for ourselves, as well as for the seamen; and at length, weary with our exertions, we lay down to rest. The captain and mate were very silent, and I hoped ashamed of themselves. During the night there was a good deal of wind and sea. I was thankful that we were on shore, and when I looked out I almost expected to find that the ship had gone to pieces. There, however, she was, still holding fast together. Seeing this, the captain declared that he would get her off, and that if trees could be found in the island suitable for new spars, he could proceed on his voyage.
“If he knew of the bumping she got he wouldn’t say so,” observed O’Carroll. “That ship will never float again, and, strong as she is, another gale such as we had last night will break her to pieces.”
As there was nothing more to be done, we started to explore the island. It seemed to be the chief of a group of rocky islets, being about six miles long and half as broad. Though we made diligent search as we walked on, we could find no water. A few small casks of the precious liquid had been landed, but sufficient only for another day or two.
“And what shall we do when that is gone?” asked William. It was a serious question.
“We must trust in God, for vain is the help of man in such a case,” I answered; “at all events, we must use what we have got with the greatest economy.”
On returning to the camp and reporting our want of success in finding water, what was our dismay to find that every drop in the casks had been consumed! All the poor people could say was that they were so thirsty, and the children were so constantly crying out for water, that they could not help giving it to them. We were ourselves already suffering greatly from thirst after our ramble, yet not a drop of water did we obtain. Our lips were parched, our tongues dry: without water we could not eat, we loathed food, supperless we lay down to sleep. All night long I was dreaming of sparkling fountains and running brooks. As soon as it was daylight we again set out with a spade and pickaxe, prepared, if we could find no running stream, to dig wherever verdure showed that moisture was at hand. We walked on and on, searching in every direction round the shore, but no sign of a stream emptying itself into the sea could we discover, and when we dug we soon met the hard rock. Faint and weary we turned to the camp. We found a fire blazing, and Jacotot with several men standing round it: two were working a rough pair of bellows, others hammers and tongs. All were employed under his directions, while he was engaged in riveting a pipe into a large copper vessel.
“Why you trouble to look for water?” he asked. “There is salt water, there is wood to make fire, then we have plenty of fresh water. We make steam, steam come out and leave the salt in de kettle, and then find a cold piece of iron and drop, drop, down into this tub all fresh and good for drink.” He told us that he had seen a French doctor obtain fresh water from salt in that manner.
“Most men have their merits, if we could but discover them and put them in their right places,” I thought to myself. “We were inclined to laugh at Jacotot, but if he can produce fresh water out of salt, he may be the means of saving all our lives.”
We watched him anxiously, all eager to help him, but he would not be hurried. At length the machine was finished, and we hastened to fill it with salt water. It was placed on the fire, and slowly the drops of fresh water were distilled from it. How eagerly were they sought for by the poor creatures who stood round with lack-lustre eyes and parched lips. Jacotot insisted that the youngest should be served first. I think he was influenced by the wish to get his boy Auguste an early draught. That was but natural. Some of the crew grumbled, and so did the captain and mate, who were, in consequence of their late debauch, suffering fearfully from thirst; but O’Carroll, William, Trundle, Kelson, and two or three of the passengers formed a body-guard round the Frenchman, to enable him to do as he thought right. Only half a little liqueur glass of the precious fluid was served out to each person. It was pleasant to see the eyes of the poor children brighten as the pure water touched their lips. The younger ones, however, directly their allowance was gone, cried out for more. Several times we had to stop till more water was distilled.
While we were thus engaged, the wind had again got up, and the sea, dashing over the reef, began to burst with violence against the shore. The effect produced on the wreck was soon apparent. The remaining upper works began to give way. As the sea rolled in with increasing violence, plank after plank was torn off, then larger portions were wrenched from the hull, the deck burst up, and was soon dashed into pieces against the rocks. As soon as we had swallowed enough water somewhat to slake our burning thirst, we hastened to the beach to save what we could from the wreck. We hauled on shore all the planks and timber we could get hold of, with the vague idea that we might be able to build a raft of some sort, in which to make our escape. At all events the wood would be useful to construct huts for the women, or to burn. As darkness set in, a large portion of the wreck had disappeared, and even the captain was convinced that her keel would never leave its present position, except to be cast up in fragments on the rocks. He and the mate had been very quiet and low-spirited. They were craving for their accustomed stimulants, and several times I heard them grumbling at us for not having landed any liquor for them. Neither they nor the larger portion of their crew had exerted themselves in the slightest degree to assist us in our labours. Most of them sauntered along the beach with their hands in their pockets, or sat coolly watching us. Fatigued with our exertions, we at last returned to the camp, where Jacotot was able to give us a glass of water, and we then, thankful even for that small supply, lay down to rest.
It was not till late that any of us awoke; we then found that the captain and mate, and several of their men, had withdrawn themselves to a distance from the camp. We were glad to be rid of their company, though why they had gone away so suddenly we could not tell. We could not help suspecting, however, that they had done so with the intention of hatching mischief. When I speak of we, I mean our party from the Dorè, for we of necessity kept very much together. I have not particularly described the emigrants, for there was nothing very remarkable about them. Two or three were intelligent, enterprising men, who had made themselves acquainted with the character of the country to which they were going, and had tolerably definite plans for the employment of their capitals. The rest had mostly failed in England, and were rather driven by want into exile than attracted by the advantages the new colony had to offer. They were all married men with families, and this made them associate with each other for mutual assistance. The steerage passengers were generally small tradesmen, and had emigrated for much the same reason as the others. Three gentlemen of the first-class, who were bachelors, had begged leave to join our mess. One of them had already been in New South Wales, and was able to give us much interesting information about it. So much taken was I, indeed, with what I heard, that I resolved, should I be unable to find the Barbara, to visit the colony before returning home. We thus, as I have explained, formed three chief messes. We were not as yet either very badly off. We had saved provisions from the wreck sufficient, with economy, to last us a couple of months or more; and now that we could obtain fresh water, though but in small quantities, we were not afraid of dying of thirst. We were in hopes, too, of finding turtles and turtles’ eggs, and perhaps wild fowl, and we might also catch fish to add to our stock of provisions. Could we only find water, and some sort of vegetables, we might be able, we thought, to support existence for any length of time; and as far, indeed, as we could judge we might not have an opportunity of escaping from the island for months, or it might be for years. This was not, however, a subject pleasant to contemplate. I thought of my merchandise, William of his promotion, and of the opportunities he might lose of distinguishing himself, while Jacotot, though not idle, was unable to make money where he was. Toby Trundle, however, took things very easily. He laughed and joked as much as ever, and declared that he never was more jolly in his life. He used to say the same thing in the midshipmen’s berth; he had said it on board the boat, and I believe he would have said it under nearly any circumstances in which he could have been placed. The poor emigrants, on the contrary, were very far from content. Most of them had lost all they possessed in the world, and knew that, should they even ultimately arrive at their destination, they must land as beggars, dependent on the bounty of others. They were therefore naturally very loud in their complaints of the captain and his mate, while they were continually bewailing their own hard lot. Those persons had, as I observed, removed themselves to a distance from the rest of our shipwrecked band.
We had retired to tents for the night, and had lain down to sleep, when after some time I was awoke by sounds of shouting and laughter, followed by shrieks and cries, which seemed to come up from the beach where the captain and his associates had taken up their quarters. The noises increased, and O’Carroll awoke. He got up, and we went together to the entrance of our tent. The night was very calm. The stars shone forth from the dark sky with a brilliancy I have never seen surpassed; even the restless sea was quiet, and met the shore with an almost noiseless kiss; all nature seemed tranquil and at rest. A shot was heard, and then another, and another, followed by shouts and execrations. “There will be bloodshed among those madmen,” exclaimed O’Carroll. “They have got hold of some liquor unknown to us, and are fighting with each other: we must try and separate them.” Calling my brother and the rest of the party to come to our assistance, we hurried off in the direction whence the sounds proceeded.
Chapter Nine.
Life on the Island.
When we got sufficiently near the beach to distinguish objects, we saw the captain standing with a pistol in his hand, which was pointed at the mate, who held a long knife in his hand, with which he was about, it seemed, to make a rush at his opponent, while three or four men had arranged themselves on either side, and were nourishing various weapons. The shots we heard told us that they had already fired at each other several times, but were too tipsy to take a steady aim. One man, however, lay wounded on the ground, and from the gestures of the mate, he would in another instant plunge his knife in the bosom of the captain, unless stopped by the latter’s bullet.
“You knock up the skipper’s arm, while I seize the other fellow,” exclaimed O’Carroll to me, springing forward.
I did as he bid me; he ran a great risk of being shot. The mate turned on O’Carroll with an oath, and the captain snapped his pistol at me, but fortunately he had already discharged it, and in another instant I brought him, as he attempted to grapple with me, to the ground. O’Carroll had mastered the mate, and the other men stood staring at us, but offering no opposition. “Is this the way for men to behave who have just been saved from death, to make yourselves worse than the brute beasts? This—this is the cause of it!” exclaimed O’Carroll, kicking a cask from which a stream of spirit was even then running out. “It would have been no loss to us if you had killed each other, but we could not see our fellow-creatures perish without trying to save them.”
The bold and determined tone in which O’Carroll spoke, aided by the arrival of the rest of our friends, had such an effect on the seamen, that those who were still able to move slunk away to a distance, while the captain and his mate, when we let them go, sat down helplessly on the sand, forgetting entirely their quarrel and its cause. There they sat, laughing stupidly at each other, as if the affair had been a good joke. While O’Carroll was emptying the rum cask, which it appeared had been washed on shore and secreted by the captain, his men went to the wounded man. He did not speak: he seemed scarcely to breathe. I took his hand: it was already cold. All this time he had been bleeding to death: an artery had been shot through. We did our best in the dark to bind up the wound and stop the bleeding; the spirit which might have kept his heart beating till nature, in her laboratory, had formed more blood, was gone; indeed, probably in his then condition it would not have had its due effect. The wretched man’s breath came fainter and fainter. There was no restorative that we could think of to be procured. We lifted him up to carry him to the camp, but before we had gone many paces, we found that we were bearing a corpse.
“That man has been murdered,” exclaimed O’Carroll, turning to the captain. “By whose hand the shot was fired which killed him I know not, but I do know that his blood is on the head of the man who ought to have set a good example to his inferiors, and prevented them from broaching the cask they had found.”
Whether this address had any good effect we could not tell, but hoping that the men would remain quiet and sleep off the effect of their debauch, we returned to our tent, leaving the body on the ground. The next morning we returned to the beach. The captain and his drunken companions still lay on the sand asleep. They were out of the reach of the sea, but the hot rays of the rapidly rising sun, which were striking down on their unprotected heads, would, I saw, soon give them brain fever or kill them outright, if they were to be left long exposed to their influence. I therefore proposed that we should rouse them up, and advise them to go and lie down in the shade of some shrubs and rocks at a little distance.
“Before we do so, we’ll take away their weapons, and at all events make it more difficult for them to do mischief to us or to themselves,” said O’Carroll. Some of the men grumbled on being disturbed, as we turned them round to take away their knives. We left the unloaded pistols, which, as they had no powder, could do little harm. Having taken their arms to our tents, we returned and awoke them, not without difficulty, by shaking them and shouting in their ears. One after the other they got up, lazily rubbing their eyes and stretching themselves, and staring stupidly about them. The captain was one of the last to come to his senses. He started when he saw the dead body of his companion.
“Who killed that man?” he exclaimed, in an anxious tone.
“You did, most probably,” answered O’Carroll. “We heard shots fired and found the man dead.”
The captain felt in his pocket, and drew out a pistol with the hammer down: it had been discharged. “Then I am a murderer!” he exclaimed, in a tone of horror, his countenance expressing his feelings. “It wanted but that to make up the measure of my crimes.”
“It is but too true, I fear,” said O’Carroll.
“Yes, too true, too true!” cried the captain, rushing off towards the sea, into which he would have thrown himself, had not O’Carroll, William, and I held him back. It was some time before we could calm him sufficiently to leave him alone. He then went and sat down in the shade at a little distance from his companions, who looked on at him with dull apathy, while he gave way to the feelings which the prickings of his awakened conscience had produced. How he and the mate had got possessed of the pistols we could not guess, till we found the chest of one of the emigrants, a young man, broken open, and from this they had helped themselves. One of them soon after came for a spade which had been landed, and we saw them hurriedly bury the corpse, as if eager to get the silent witness of their crime out of sight. For the remainder of the day they were perfectly quiet, the mate coming humbly when the provisions were served out to ask for their share; still we could not trust them, as we knew that if they could get at more liquor, they would very quickly again be drunk. In the evening, indeed, they were seen walking along the beach, evidently watching for the chance of another cask being washed on shore. They did not find one, however, and the next morning were excessively sulky, keeping together and evidently plotting mischief. They, with the rest of us, were aroused, however, soon after breakfast by the appearance of a sail in the offing. The more sanguine at once declared that she was standing towards us, and that our fears regarding a prolonged stay on the island were groundless; others thought that she would pass by and leave us to our fate. Every spyglass was in requisition, and numerous were the surmises as to the character and nationality of the stranger.
“What if she is an enemy?” observed William.
“She will not find much plunder, at all events,” answered Trundle. “There is nothing like being at the bottom of the hill, so that you cannot be kicked lower.”
“Even an enemy would respect our condition,” remarked O’Carroll; “we have nothing to fear from one, I should hope.”
“No, but an enemy would leave us where we are: a friend would carry us away, or send us assistance,” said I. It was dinner-time, and Jacotot had prepared our messes with his usual skill; but so eager were the people watching the approaching stranger, that the food was scarcely touched, except by the children, who of course little knew how much depended on her character. At length there was no doubt that she was standing for the island, and the exhibitions of joy and satisfaction became general among the unfortunate emigrants. They would now be able to leave the island and reach their land of promise; every countenance beamed brightly except O’Carroll’s. After some time I saw his fall. It gained a more and more anxious look. He scarcely withdrew the glass from his eye.
“What do you make her out to be, O’Carroll?” I asked.
“Braithwaite, as I am a living man, she’s the Mignonne,” he answered, in a hoarse voice, his countenance still further showing the agitation of his mind: “if that villain La Roche gets hold of me again, he’ll not let me escape with my life. And these poor emigrants to have his lawless crew come among them,—it will be terrible; better rather that they had all gone to the bottom in their ill-fated ship with their drunken captain.”
Notwithstanding O’Carroll’s opinion, I doubted whether the stranger was the Mignonne, for she was still too far off, I thought, for him to be certain on the subject. I therefore tried to tranquillise his mind, wondering that a man so brave, and cool, and collected, as he generally was, should have such a dread of the French captain.
“I tell you yonder vessel is the Mignonne, and if you had been treated as I was, and had witnessed the scenes I saw enacted on board, you would not have a less horror of La Roche and his scoundrel crew than I have. My reason does not help me; I cannot think of that man without trembling.”
I understood him, for I have myself been affected in the same way with regard to one or two people who have done me some injury, or would, I have had reason to believe, do me one should they have the opportunity.
“The only way to escape the pirates is to remain concealed while they are passing,” he observed. “As there is no harbour here, and there are no signs of them having been here, they will, in all probability, go to the other side of the island, and we may escape them.”
As I still further examined the stranger I began to fear that O’Carroll was right in his conjectures, and I therefore agreed to assist him in trying to persuade the rest of the people to hide themselves till the privateer was out of sight. The emigrants, frightened out of their wits by the account O’Carroll gave of the privateer’s men, were ready enough to do as he advised, and began running here and there, not knowing where to hide themselves. We advised them simply to pull down the tent, to put out the fire, and to sit quiet among the rocks and shrubs till the ship had passed.
We then went on to see the captain and his men. As we got in sight of where they were, we saw that they had already got up a spar, which had been washed on shore, and were in the act of hoisting a man’s shirt to the top of it in order to attract the attention of the stranger. On this O’Carroll shouted out to them in no very gentle tones, “Fools! idiots! what are you about? would you bring an enemy on shore to murder us?” I then told them the character of the vessel in sight. “What’s that to us?” answered one of the men. “All masters are much the same to us; they’ll use us while they want us, and cast us adrift when they’ve done with us. Whether French or Spaniards, they’ll not harm us. They’ll have liquor aboard, and that is what we shan’t have as long as we remain here.”
It was useless attempting to argue with such men. I turned to the captain. He had lost all authority over his people, who treated him as an equal, or rather as an inferior. He shrugged his shoulders and walked away without speaking. I saw that it was time, therefore, to interfere, and William and I, rushing forward, hauled down the signal, which one of the men was on the point of hoisting. “If you are willing to become slaves, we are not!” I exclaimed, in a determined tone, seizing the halliards and hauling down the signal. The men threatened, but as they had no arms, and we were firm, they did not attempt to prevent us from carrying off the spar.
The ship approached, and as she passed along the coast so that we had a broadside view of her, I had no longer any doubt that she was the Mignonne. I observed that even the seamen, notwithstanding their bravado, kept so far among the rocks, that unless the privateer’s men had been especially examining the shore there was not much probability of our being discovered. We watched the vessel from the highest point of ground we could reach, and we conjectured that she must have touched at the other side of the island, concealed by an intervening ridge of elevated land. “If we are careful we shall escape all molestation from the privateer’s men,” I remarked, addressing the emigrants. “They are not likely to come to our part of the island.”
It was curious to observe the change which had come over O’Carroll. He was no longer the bold and sagacious seaman, but an anxious, nervous, timid man. At night I frequently heard him crying out in his sleep, thinking that the dreaded La Roche was on him, and was about to carry him on board the privateer. As we could not do without a fire to obtain fresh water, we were compelled to light one, though we thus ran the risk, should any of the privateer’s men wander into the country, of being discovered. Still that was a risk which must be run. It was curious, also, to observe the humble way in which, after a few hours, the seamen came to beg for a draught of the pure liquid. I was very glad of this, as I saw that it would enable us to exert an influence over them and to keep them in order. The wretched captain held out for some time, but at last came, with parched lips and bloodshot eyes, entreating even for a few drops of the precious fluid to cool the tip of his tongue. It raised our pity to see how the wretched man suffered, physically and mentally, and all the time without hope. In vain I urged him to seek for mercy as a penitent. “Impossible! impossible!” he exclaimed, with a wild laugh. “You do not know what I have done, what I am doomed to do.” And tearing himself away from me, he rushed off, and was hid from sight among the rocks and bushes. Day after day passed by, and we kept anxiously hoping that the privateer would take her departure. It was suggested that if she came to the island to refit, the Frenchman might possibly have a storehouse, with boats, perhaps, or means of building one, and that we might thus be assisted to make our escape. At last, so long a time had elapsed since her arrival, that we began to fancy that she had gone out of harbour during a moonlight night, and reached the offing without our perceiving her. To settle the point, William and Trundle volunteered to reconnoitre, and I, afraid that they might venture too far, resolved to go with them. We fixed on that very afternoon to start, our intention being to get as close to the harbour as we could before dark, and then to rest till the moon rose and afforded us light.
“I hope that you’ll have success, but it is a dangerous work you are going on, young gentlemen,” observed one of the emigrants, a Mr Peter Lacy, or Lazy, as he was generally called, for it was most difficult to arouse him to any exertion.
“Never fear, Mr Lazy, danger is a sweet nut we midshipmen are fond of cracking to get at the kernel—honour. We shall be back all safe before morning, and able to give a satisfactory report.”
In good spirits we set off, for a considerable part of the distance keeping along the shore, to avoid the tangled bush and rocks of the interior. As, however, we approached the harbour, or rather the place where we supposed the harbour to be, we left the beach and kept a more inland course, taking advantage of all the cover we could find to conceal ourselves. At last the sun went down and it quickly grew dark, so we called a halt, and ate some of our provisions with a good appetite. We listened attentively, but could hear no sound, so we agreed to push on directly the moon got up. As we did not speak above a whisper, a very soporiferous proceeding, I was not surprised that both Toby and William fell asleep. It was more necessary, therefore, that I should keep my eyes and ears open. At last I saw what looked like the illuminated dome of some vast cathedral slowly emerge from the dark line of the horizon; up it rose, till it assumed a globe-like form, and appeared to decrease in size, while it cast a bright silvery light over the hitherto obscured landscape. I roused up the two midshipmen, who were sleeping as soundly as if they had been in their hammocks. We worked our way onward among tangled underwood, not without sundry scratches and inconvenient rents in our clothing, till we reached a hill, up which we climbed. From the top we looked down, as we had expected to do, on the harbour. Below us lay the Mignonne, or a ship very like her; her sails were loose and bulging out with the land breeze, while from the sounds which reached us it was evident that her crew were heaving up the anchor preparatory to sailing; boats were moving backwards and forwards over the surface of the calm water of the harbour, on which the moon shone with a refulgence which enabled us to see all that was taking place. The anchor was shipped, the sails were sheeted home, and the privateer slowly glided out of the harbour on her errand of mischief; two, if not more, boats returned to the shore fully manned. Farther up the harbour lay three large hulks, with their lower masts only standing; they were high out of the water, showing that they had no cargoes in them. There were also several smaller craft, but all were dismantled, and looked as if they had been there for some time. The French, then, had a settlement on the island. The inhabitants were sure to be armed, and probably were as numerous as our party. If so, it would be unwise to attempt gaining anything by force, though of course we might surprise them. We waited till the people in the boats had had time to turn in and go to sleep, and then descended to reconnoitre the place more nearly. We crept cautiously on till we reached several scattered cottages, or huts rather, built, without any regularity, as the nature of the ground seemed most suitable. There were also two or three storehouses close to the water; indeed, we saw enough to show us that there was a regular settlement made by the French for the purpose of refitting their ships. The barking of several poodles in the cottages made us afraid of moving about much, lest their inmates should look out and discover us. We therefore retraced our steps to the hill.
“A magnificent idea,” exclaimed Trundle, as soon as we called a halt. “We’ll surprise and capture the place and hold it for the King of England. You’ll be made governor, Braithwaite, to a certainty.”
“To be turned out by the first French privateer which enters the harbour—to be thrown into prison and perhaps shot. Thank you,” said I, “I would rather not.”
“This establishment solves a mystery,” observed William. “We have often been puzzled to know what has become of vessels which have disappeared, and which, from the fineness of the weather, and for other reasons, we did not suppose had been lost. We should do good service if we could get away without being discovered, and send some of our cruisers to watch in the neighbourhood.”
I agreed with William; at the same time the idea of capturing the place was very attractive. If we should make the attempt and succeed, however, we should find liquor there, and the seamen would certainly get drunk and mutinous. No object would be gained, either, unless we could immediately send a vessel to sea, to give notice at the Mauritius of our success and obtain assistance. Discussions on these points occupied us till daylight, when we recommenced our journey to the tents. The news we brought was so far satisfactory to our companions, that we were not likely to be starved to death, and as peace would come some day or other, we might then hope to make our escape. No one, however, seemed at all desirous of attacking the French settlement; the risk was considerable, the gain problematical. It was finally agreed that we should remain quiet where we were, and only in case of extremity make ourselves known to our foreign neighbours. The more energetic of the party became, as may be supposed, very impatient of the inactive life we were compelled to lead. We could do little else than fish all day, and make expeditions in search of water. In this we were at last successful; the spring was more than a mile away, and it became a question whether we should move our camp there, the objection to our so doing being that it was so much nearer the French settlement. The next morning, on going near the spot where the captain and his companions had erected their tent, I saw no one moving. I called to them. There was no reply. I went to the tent. It was empty! It was supposed that they had gone to the newly-discovered spring, but those who had gone to bring water from it told us that they were not there. While we were wondering what had become of the men, as William happened to be sweeping the horizon with his telescope, he cried out that he saw a sail in the offing. In a short time afterwards another was descried, her topsails gradually rising out of the water. She was pronounced to be larger than the first which had appeared.
“It is that scoundrel La Roche again!” exclaimed O’Carroll, after eyeing the nearest stranger for some time. “I knew that it would not be long before he would be back again, and there he comes with a big prize, depend on it.”
“But suppose, instead of the big ship being his prize, he has been captured by one of our cruisers, and has been sent in first to show the way?” I suggested.
“No, no, the headmost craft is the Mignonne, and the big one is an Indiaman, her prize, depend on that,” said O’Carroll.
There seemed every probability that he was right, but this did not increase our satisfaction. The only thing that could be said was that we should now have companions in our misfortune. As may be supposed, however, we watched the approach of the two ships with the greatest interest, feeling assured that in some way or other they would have a considerable influence on our fate.