W.H.G. Kingston (continued 4)

Our captain very quickly recovered himself, and passing his hand over his brow, as if to shut out some dreadful vision, ordered us in a calm tone to pull towards the approaching brig. As we pulled from the spot, the water appeared here and there tinged with a crimson tint; but scarcely a vestige of the unfortunate little schooner remained. The brig approached.

“She is the Rainbow, sir; there can be no doubt of it!” exclaimed Peter, who had been eyeing her narrowly over his right shoulder.

He was right. On her people seeing a boat she was hove-to, and we were very quickly on board. I need not describe the surprise of Mr Jones, the first mate, who had now command of her as captain, or of the officer who had been shipped instead of Mr Gale. Of course, we had all long been given over as lost.

Mr Jones very willingly gave up his command to Captain Helfrich, and re-occupied his post as first mate; but the new officer who had been shipped, in a most foolish way nourished a peculiar dislike not only for Mr Gale for superseding him, but towards all of us, and took every opportunity of showing it. The vessel had got a full cargo in, and was on her way back to Dublin. At first, however, he pretended that he wished to be very kind to me, in consequence of the hardships I had gone through, and the narrow escape I had of death from the Maroons. Of course, there was no reason for keeping that part of our adventures secret, so I gave him a full account of all that had occurred; but then he led me on to describe the hurricane, and our capture by the pirates; and from the interest he took in the questions he asked me, I felt that he had some sinister motive for his inquiries. This made me hold my tongue for the time; and when I told Peter all the mate had asked me, he told me that I was perfectly right not to give him any further information, as he was sure that he would make a bad use of it. We neither of us liked the expression of the man’s countenance, or his manner to his superiors, or us his inferiors. Time was to show us that we were right in our conjectures.

When the extra mate found that he could get nothing out of Peter or me he attacked the other men; and from what they confessed to us they had told him, we feared that he had obtained from them all the information he required. He left the brig directly we entered port, and immediately returned to Jamaica.

Captain Helfrich was received in Dublin as one who had returned from the dead; for the account of his supposed death had preceded us, and his wife had actually assumed widow’s mourning for him. His sudden appearance very nearly cost her her life.

We took the usual time to refit the brig, and then sailed once more for the same destination. We had the usual number of passengers, and all went well till we reached Kingston.

After we had lain a little time there, we saw from the captain’s manner that all was not going well with him; and Peter told me that from what he heard on shore, that he was accused of having been leagued with pirates; and that all sorts of things were said about him. This, to a man of the captain’s temperament, was very trying. Those who knew him best, must have been perfectly convinced that, for many years past, he could not possibly have been guilty of any act of piracy; although I could have little doubt that, in his early days, he must, in some way or other, have been connected with the person whom I knew alone by the name of Captain Ralph. It was a practical evidence of the truth of that saying of Holy Writ, that the sins of his youth rise up in judgment against a man in his old age.

We had little difficulty in tracing the reports to the malignity of the man who had acted as mate during the last passage home. In consequence of these reports, Captain Helfrich had considerable difficulty in obtaining a cargo for the brig; and so disgusted was he with all the annoyance he had received, that he resolved not to return again to the West Indies.

At last, however, we were ready to sail. The evening before we were to go to sea, a boat came alongside, pulled by black men, with one man only in the stern-sheets. He asked to see Captain Helfrich. I looked over the side, and recognised him as Michael, the tall negro who had been the means of rescuing us from the Maroons. Mr Gale sent me to let the captain know that a person wanted to see him, and of course I told him who he was. The captain accordingly directed me to invite him below at once. I did so, and remained in the cabin.

“I’ve come, captain,” said he, “to ask a favour of you.”

“Anything you ask I am bound to grant,” answered the captain.

“All I have to beg is a passage to England,” replied the negro. “I go to seek in your country that liberty which I can find nowhere else. For years have I been striving to instil into my unhappy countrymen a knowledge of their true position; but they are too ignorant, too gross-minded to understand me. I have had no wish to set them against their masters. In most instances, both parties have been born to the position they occupy, and cannot help themselves. All I want is, that the masters should do them justice, and should treat them as men—as human beings with souls, with like passions, with like thoughts as themselves—that they should do their best to improve their minds, to educate them, to prepare them for that liberty they must sooner or later obtain. The question is, how will it be obtained? By fair and gentle means, granted—not taken by force as a right, or by violence and bloodshed. I have tried all means. I have leagued with all classes of men to commence, in some way or other, the work. Thus, for a time, I associated with Captain Ralph; but he grossly deceived me, as he did everybody else. I joined the Maroon bands, in the idea that force might avail; but in that respect I found that I was totally wrong in my calculations. I have tried to influence the planters, to show them their true interests: that with a well-instructed peasantry they would get far more work done, and at a smaller cost, than they do now with their gangs of ignorant slaves; but they laugh my notions to scorn. They fancy, because they find the negro ignorant, brutal, and stupid, that he can never be anything else. They forget that they made him so when they made him or his ancestors slaves; and that it must take more than one generation of gentle, watchful, judicious education to raise him out of the wretched state in which he now grovels. No philanthropist would wish them to emancipate their slaves now without long previous training, to fit them for liberty. If they ever free them without that training, they will ruin their properties. I find fault with them for not commencing that training at once, for not teaching them the religion they themselves profess, for not in any way attempting to enlighten their ignorance. Perhaps I may induce people in England to advocate the negro’s cause; but yet if Christian men here, on the scene of their sufferings, do not care for them, how can I expect people at a distance to listen to their cries, to labour that they may obtain justice?”

Michael said much more on the same subject. Our captain listened, but did not clearly understand him; nor did I at the time. He, however, willingly granted him a passage, and treated him with the attention he deserved at our hands during it.

Michael was a man far beyond his time. Not many blacks are like him; but I have met some with comprehensive minds equal to those of any white men. The vicious system to which the generality are subject, stunts or destroys all mental development; but had they the advantages of the whites, I believe as many buds in the one case as in the other would bear rich fruit. Michael left us in Dublin, and it was not till long afterwards that I heard his subsequent fate.

We had a prosperous passage to Dublin, and nothing occurred during it worthy of being mentioned. The captain very slowly recovered his usual spirits, but was completely himself again before we reached home.

The Rainbow remained longer in dock than usual, and during the time I had charge of her, Peter took the opportunity of visiting his friends, who lived some miles from Liverpool.

My life was almost like that of a hermit’s though surrounded by multitudes. I scarcely spoke to anyone. I amused myself, however, in my own way. I cut out all sorts of things in wood and bone, and practised every variety of knot-and-splice. At last it occurred to me that I would try to make a model of the brig. I bought at a timber-yard a soft piece of white American pine, without a knot in it; and as I had charge of the carpenter’s tools, I got some of the chisels and gouges sharpened up, and set to work. With rule and compass I drew two lines for her keel on one side, and then pencilled out the shape of her deck on the other. I first, by-the-by, made a scale of so many parts of an inch to a foot, and measured every part of the brig I could reach. Having got the shape of her deck exact, and her depth, I used to go ahead and astern and look at her shape, and then come aboard again, and chisel away at my model. I shaved off very little of the wood at a time, and my eye being correct, I made one side exactly equal to the other. Then fixing the wood in a vice, I scooped out the whole of the interior with an even thickness on every side. At length the hull was completed very much to my satisfaction. Then I got a piece of thin plank for her deck, and built on her bulwarks, with the windlass, the binnacle, caboose, and combings of her hatchway complete. Next I commenced rigging her. I formed all the blocks, and expended many a penny in purchasing whipcord and twine of different thickness, as well as linen for her sails. Having often carefully watched the sailmakers at work, and helped them when they would allow me, I was able not only to cut out the sails properly, but to fasten on the bolt-ropes, and to mark exactly the divisions of the cloths. I had also to bring the painter’s art into play; and to fashion with a file various stancheons, and belaying-pins, and such like things, out of bits of iron and copper; indeed, I am vain to say that I made a very complete model. When she was perfectly completed, I walked round and round her with no little satisfaction, surveying her from every quarter, and placing her in every possible position—indeed, I was never tired of trimming sails. I had had a purpose in building her, for I wanted to present her to my kind captain for one of his little boys, whom I had seen occasionally on board.

Old Pat Hagan, though too advanced in years to be intrusted entirely with the charge of the ship, occasionally came down to enable me to take a run on shore. The first day, therefore, that he made his appearance, I started with my model on my head to the captain’s residence.

“Who has sent you here, Jack, with that pretty little craft?” asked Captain Helfrich, as I was shown into his parlour, where he with his wife and children were sitting.

“Why, sir, as I hoped that you would not think me taking too much on myself in offering it to Master James, I made bold to bring it myself,” I replied, looking down and feeling somewhat bashful at the praise my model was receiving.

“I cannot refuse your pretty gift, Jack, which, I am sure is given with a good heart. But where did you pick her up my man?” answered the captain. “But just let me look at her nearer. Why, she is the very model of the Rainbow!”

When I told him that I had built her myself, he still further praised me, as did his lady; and Master James was delighted with his present, and jumped about round her, and thanked me over and over again.

“I am very much pleased, my lad, with this little craft, and from the way you have built her, and, still more, from your general conduct, I tell you that you would be fitted to become an officer if you had but the necessary education. You must try and obtain that, and I will have my eye on you. The next time you come home, you shall go to school; and see if you cannot pick up some knowledge of reading during the voyage.”

I constantly think of the saying, “Man proposes, but Heaven disposes.” So I found it in this instance. My kind captain would have done all he intended, but his plans for my benefit were frustrated by circumstances then unforeseen by either of us.

A few days after this, we sailed for the Mediterranean. We had shipped a couple more guns, and four additional hands. In those days it was necessary for merchantmen frequenting that sea to be strongly armed, for it was sadly infested by pirates. There were Moorish pirates, Salee rovers, and others, who went to sea in large vessels as well as in boats, and robbed indiscriminately all vessels they could overpower; then there were Algerine pirates, who had still larger vessels, and were superior to them in numbers; and, lastly, there were Greek pirates, every island and rock in the Aegean Sea harbouring some of them. Long years of Turkish misrule and tyranny had thoroughly enslaved and debased the great mass of the people; and the more daring and adventurous spirits, finding all lawful exercise of their energies denied them on shore, sought instead for such excitement and profit as piracy could afford them afloat. Some of them darted out in small boats from the sheltered coves and bays when any unarmed merchantman was becalmed near them; while others, in well-formed and well-manned vessels of large size, cruised about in all directions in search of prizes. Sometimes their strongholds, when discovered by the Turks, were attacked and destroyed, but generally they carried on their system of rapine with perfect impunity; and though the people of other governments complained, they had no legal power to punish the subjects of a friendly nation. So the Greeks, rejoicing in impunity, grew more and more audacious, till they levied contributions on all the civilised nations of Europe whose traders ventured into the Levant. Such was the state of things when the Rainbow sailed on her first voyage to Smyrna. Captain Helfrich had been there before, and he knew the character of the people he had to deal with.

We met with bad weather soon after leaving the Channel, and had already been driven some way to the westward, when, as we were in about the latitude of Lisbon, it came on to blow harder than ever from the eastward. Had we been close in with the land, this would not have signified; but before we could beat up again, a continuance of northerly and easterly gales drove us to the southward of the Gut of Gibraltar. When there, they left us in a dead calm, with our sails idly flapping against the masts, and rolling bulwarks under in the heavy swell they had caused on Old Ocean’s bosom.

The sun arose over the distant Morocco coast—not then in sight, however—and sent his rays down on our decks with an ardour which made the pitch bubble and hiss up out of the seams. Not a ripple disturbed the rounded smoothness of the heaving swells, while even the bubbles thrown off from our sides refused to float to any distance from us. We were not the only occupants of our own horizon. Some eight miles off, or so, there was another brig rolling away much in the same fashion that we were. All hands were anxious for a breeze, as we in no way liked the heat after the cold of a northern clime, though it mattered nothing to us whether we made a quick or a slow passage. We whistled, as sailors always whistle when they want a breeze; but the breeze did not come the faster for all our whistling. I never knew it do so, with all my experience. What folly, indeed, in man to suppose that He who rules the winds and waves should alter his laws in consequence of their puny efforts to make a wind with their mouths! In those days, of course, I did not think about the matter. I whistled because others whistled; but if any of us had been asked on what ground we founded our hope that the wind would come in consequence, I suspect that we should have been very much puzzled to return a satisfactory answer.

“What countryman do you make that craft out there to be, Mr Gale?” said the captain, handing the mate the glass through which he had been looking.

“Not an Englishman, certainly,” was the reply, after the usual steady glance. “I should say, from the whiteness of her canvas, and her light upper-rigging, that she belongs to some of those turban-wearing people along the African coast in there, or up the Straits. They are seldom pleasant customers for an unarmed craft to come across.”

“I had formed the same idea of her,” observed Captain Helfrich. “We know pretty well, however, how to deal with such gentry: and if she come across us, she’ll find that she has caught a Tartar.”

I told Peter what I had heard; and he, I found, after looking through the telescope, formed much the same opinion of the stranger.

The day wore on, and still the calm continued, so that we in no way decreased our distance from her. Night also overtook us, while we lay rolling away helplessly as before. The swell, however, was going down gradually; as it did so, the brig became more steady in the water.

It was about the first hour of the morning-watch, which Peter and I were keeping, when he asked me suddenly if I did not hear oars. I listened: there could be no doubt about it. There was more than one boat, and the oars were pulled pretty rapidly too. The night was not dark, though there was no moon; but a mist floated on the surface of the water, and served to veil it from our sight, though right overhead the stars could still be seen glimmering faintly in the sky.

Peter instantly went and reported what he had heard to Mr Gale, who was officer of the watch. After listening for some time he could hear no sound, and seemed to doubt the correctness of our assertion. The boats had probably ceased pulling, for a purpose at which we could only then conjecture. At last the sound of the oars reached Mr Gale’s ears also.

“There’s something in this,” he exclaimed. “Jack, go and call the captain.”

Captain Helfrich was on deck in an instant.

“The crew of some vessel which has foundered, and taken to their boats,” suggested the mate.

“From what quarter does the sound come?” asked the captain, listening attentively. “Visitors from the brig we saw last night,” he cried out. “Depend on it, they come to us with no good intention.”

His experience in the West Indies and elsewhere had taught him to be prepared for any such emergency as the present. He was not above being prepared, and he knew that the greatest folly is to despise an enemy.

“Turn the hands up, Mr Gale. Get the arm-chest open, and the guns loaded and run out. We must be ready. No noise, though: if anyone intends to surprise us, it is as well that we should surprise them instead.”

The watch below were instantly on deck, and in a few minutes every preparation was made for the reception of an enemy. Still we could not see any boats, but the louder sound of oars in the rowlocks convinced us that they were approaching. Again the sound ceased.

“They are not quite certain of our position,” observed Mr Gale. “If they were people escaping from a wreck, and not aware that a vessel is near, they would have pulled steadily on.”

“You are right,” said the captain. “Have a torch ready to heave in among them, that I may make certain who they are before I give the word to fire. It won’t do to run the risk of hurting friends; but when once you hear the word, my men, blaze away with all your might. If they are enemies, they will not be such as will give us quarter, however loudly we may cry for it.”

A murmur ran round among the people, to signify that we would obey the captain’s orders. The atrocities committed of late years by the Algerines, and the subjects of the Emperor of Morocco, had made those people the dread of all sea-going people, and gained them a proportionate amount of hatred.

Once more the sound of oars was heard, and in a short time even their splash in the water could be distinguished. There are few things more trying to a man’s nerves than to know that an enemy is approaching, and not to be able to discover his strength or form, or the quarter from whence he is coming. Our cutlasses were buckled on, our muskets were ready to be seized, and the slow matches were in our hands, but concealed, so that the enemy might not perceive them. Mr Gale stood with a torch ready to light at a moment’s notice. Slowly the boats approached. Apparently they seemed to think some caution necessary, or perhaps they could not see how we lay, and wished to attack us according to some preconcerted plan. There was a pause. I know that my heart beat pretty quick to learn what would follow. Then there was a dash towards us, and we could hear the sound even from the rowers’ chests as they strained at their oars. Dark forms were seen gliding out of the darkness. Suddenly the bright light of a torch burst forth on our deck. Mr Gale waved it above his head, and threw it towards the boats, its glare showing us swarthy features, and turbaned heads, and coloured vests, and jewelled arms. There could be no doubt as to the character of our midnight visitors.

“Fire!” shouted the captain; “fire! and aim low.”

Our guns, loaded with langrage, sent forth a deadly shower among the pirate crew. Shrieks and groans arose in return. We followed it up with a discharge of musketry. The enemy were completely taken by surprise. Many, abandoning their oars, ceased pulling towards us. This gave us time to reload our guns and small-arms. Their leaders, it seemed, were attempting to rally them. Once more we could distinguish their dark forms amid the gloom of night.

“Fire!” again shouted our captain.

The shrieks and groans were redoubled, and the boats again disappeared in the darkness. We remained at our quarters expecting their return. They did not come. A light breeze from the southward and westward at length sprung up, and we were able to shape our course towards the Rock of Gibraltar, and when the morning broke no sail was in sight.

Chapter Nine.

A Ship without a Crew.

We touched at Gibraltar, that the captain might obtain information as to the ports he was to call at. Smyrna, we found, was to be our ultimate destination. He gave notice of the attack made on us by the pirate, and a brig of war was sent to look out for her. I shall have a good deal more to say about our turbaned friends by-and-by. Gibraltar I thought a wonderful place, with the face of its high rock, which stands out into the sea, cut full of galleries, and ports with heavy guns grinning from them in every direction. Of course, the seamen very often do not know at what port the ship is to touch, or whereabouts they are. Such was my case: I had never seen a chart of the Mediterranean. The first definite notion I got of it was from Peter, who afterwards drew one for me with a piece of chalk on the lid of his chest. I only knew that we were steering towards the east, and that we were likely to see several strange places and many strange people.

Some time after leaving Gibraltar, I had just come on deck one night to keep my watch, when out of the dark ocean, as it seemed, I saw a bright light burst forth and blaze up into the sky. I thought some ship must have blown up; but the light continued, and grew stronger and stronger, and reached higher and higher. The fire seemed to spout out, and then to fall in a shower on every side, something like the branches of a weeping ash, or some wide-spreading tree. The ship was standing towards it, and I thought we should certainly be burned.

“Oh, Peter, Peter,” I exclaimed, “what is the matter? Surely the world has caught fire, and we shall all be destroyed!”

“No fear of that just yet, lad,” he answered, laughing. “That’s only a burning island, which is called Stromboli. There are some mountains in these parts, as I have heard say, which send out such a quantity of hot stones, and ashes, and boiling earth, that whole towns, and villages, and fields are overwhelmed and buried. In those countries you may buy for a penny as much fruit as you can carry, and get as much wine as you can drink for twopence, while all sorts of other good things are very cheap; and the weather is almost always like summer. But, for my part, I would rather live in Old England, with the foul weather and the fair we get there, and a piece of beef, often somewhat hard to come at, than in a country where your house may any moment be knocked down by an earthquake or covered up with hot ashes. To my mind, all countries have their advantages and their drawbacks; and the great thing is, to be grateful for the one, and to learn how to guard against the other.”

We touched at several places on our passage. Malta was one of them. The English had not at that time taken possession of it.

At length we reached Smyrna, which is partly situated on level ground, the harbour backed by a lofty hill. There is more trade here than in any other place in the East. The climate, though hot, is very fine; but the place is often shaken by earthquakes, which have at times caused great destruction to lives and property. That dreadful scourge, also, the plague, is a frequent visitor. The former may truly be said to be beyond man’s control; but the latter is, I am certain, brought about very much by the dirty habits of the people, and their ill-ventilated and ill-drained habitations.

In the neighbourhood of Smyrna grow great quantities of figs, which are dried and packed in boxes and baskets. They formed part of our cargo home. We had likewise raisins and other dried fruits, and preserves, and rich silks and embroideries. None of the seamen were allowed to go on shore, for Christians were very likely to get insulted, if not ill-treated, by the Turks. In those days they used to look upon all Christians as dogs, and to behave towards them as such. Besides Turks, there were a great number of Jews and Greeks, and people from every part of the East, living at Smyrna; but all had to submit to the caprices and ignorance of the first.

I was not sorry when we once more made sail, with the ship’s head to the westward. We had a somewhat tedious passage down the Mediterranean, having frequent baffling or light winds. At times of the year gales, however, blow with great fury in that sea, though they seldom last long. Most to be dreaded are the sudden gales which, under the name of “white squalls,” have sent many a vessel, caught unprepared, to the bottom.

At last we reached Gibraltar again. The Captain inquired if anything had been seen of the pirate which had attempted to surprise us with her boats; but the brig of war had returned without hearing anything of her. We remained but a day at the Rock. We took on board there the crew of a ship which had foundered at sea, and had been brought in by a Greek brig which had picked them up, and, for a wonder, had not murdered them. However, as they were nearly naked, and had promised the Greeks a reward if they arrived in safety, more was to be got by keeping them alive than by killing them. We were thus very strongly manned.

Foul winds and a heavy gale made us stand a good way to the westward on our passage home, after getting clear of the Gut. Soon after sunrise one morning a sail was reported away to windward, running down towards us, the wind being about on her quarter. As she approached with all sail set, she appeared to be sailing very wildly; that is to say, instead of keeping a steady, straight course, her head went now on one side, now on the other, as if a drunken man was at the helm. The captain and mates were looking at her through their glasses.

“She looks like an English craft, by the cut of her canvas,” observed Mr Gale.

“I can make out the ensign at her peak, and there’s no doubt she is English,” answered the captain. “There is something wrong aboard her, however, depend on that. I suspect that they have had a fever among them, or the plague, and that all her people are sick, and they have not strength to shorten sail.”

“Perhaps there is a mutiny aboard, or the people are all quarrelling among each other,” observed Mr Gale. “I have known of such things: when the master and officers have ill-treated the men, the crew have risen against them, and either hove them overboard or confined them below, and carried the ship into an enemy’s port.”

I was surprised at the expression of the captain’s countenance while the mate was speaking. The words seemed to remind him, I thought, of some occurrence of his youth.

“Depend on it, Gale, no good ever came of such a deed,” he remarked. “Either the actors in such work have gone on all their lives afraid of detection, or have very speedily paid the penalty of it. Unless a man has become a hardened wretch, the recollection of such an act will throw a gloom over the whole of his after-life, and blight all his earthly prospects.”

“Not if he feels that he is forgiven, surely, sir,” said the mate, looking at him steadfastly. “Sincere repentance and firm trust in the merits of One who died for us will gain us that boon, I am certain. I am not learned in divinity, but this much I know and feel; and I believe that it is the sum and substance of what a Christian should know and feel.”

I had never heard Mr Gale speak in that way before. I did not know even that he was what is called a religious man. I certainly never heard him swear or abuse any of the men, or accuse them wrongfully, as too many officers do; but I just thought him a quiet, brave, amiable young man, who was content to do his duty and let other people follow their own ways. I afterwards had reason to know that he was even more than that. He was eminently judicious, and he now felt that the time had arrived when he might speak a word in season to good effect. The captain listened, and after some time I saw him put out his hand and grasp that of Mr Gale; but he said nothing in reply. Meantime the brig was drawing near to us.

“Have a boat ready to board her,” cried the captain, after he had again examined her through his glasses. “It is strange, indeed; I can see no one on her deck.”

The Rainbow was now hove-to, and a boat was lowered. I went in her; so did Peter. Mr Gale had charge of her. We all were, by the captain’s orders, strongly armed, and he directed the mate to approach cautiously, so as not to be taken by surprise. I never met a braver man than the captain, or one who, at the same time, was more cautious and careful of the lives of his people. During my apprenticeship with him, on several occasions, had it not been for this constant caution and care not to be taken by surprise, both he and all his people would have been destroyed.

While the boat pulled towards the stranger, the brig, with her guns run out, and the people at their quarters ready to fire, stood so as to cross her bows, and to punish her should any treachery be intended. We had to be careful in going alongside, lest she should run us down; for as her head now went in one direction, now in another, it was difficult to determine on which side she would come. She was a fine large brig, fully as large as the Rainbow, and it did look strange to see her sailing along over the wide Atlantic without apparently a human being to guide her course. Still, from what I had heard the captain say, I could not help fancying that there was some trick, and fully expected to see a number of men start up the moment we touched her side, and either send our boat to the bottom with a cold shot, or seize us and carry us as prisoners below. It was a satisfaction, however, to feel that, with the shipwrecked crew, we had plenty of men on board to carry the ship home, and to punish those who might injure us.

I must say that I felt rather curious as, giving way, we dashed alongside the stranger, and Peter with his boat-hook catching hold of the fore-chains, we, with our cutlasses in our mouths, scrambled on board. No one appeared. A perfect silence reigned over the deck. Our first business was to shorten sail, and round-to the ship. Mr Gale flew to the helm, and put it down, while we flattened in the topsail-braces, and clewed up top-gallant-sails, and brailed up the courses, throwing the foretop-sail aback. As this work occupied all our attention, we had no time to make any remarks as to the state of affairs on deck. As I was running forward, my foot slipped in a wet mass and I came to the deck. Jumping up again, I seized the rope at which I had been ordered to haul. When the work was done, and the ship hove-to, I looked at my hands. A cold shudder came over me: they were covered with blood!

I gave a cry of horror and disgust. It attracted the attention of my shipmates. We now looked along the deck. In several places were other dark clotted marks scarcely yet dry. Other signs there were which showed that plunder had been the object of the deadly attack, which, it was evident, had been made on the crew of the brig. Articles of dress were strewed about, and cases of provisions, nautical instruments, books and charts, and opened bales of merchandise; but there were no signs of a struggle—nothing to show that the hapless crew had even been enabled to fight for their lives.

“What has been the matter aboard?” shouted Captain Helfrich, as the Rainbow passed close to us.

“Murder, sir! foul murder!—there can be no doubt of it,” answered Mr Gale, who was about to descend the companion-hatch. I with others followed him.

What a scene of havoc, confusion, and wanton destruction the cabin presented, as seen in the dim light which came down the companion-hatch, for the covering of the skylight was on. There had evidently been a fierce strife there. A mirror over the stove was broken to atoms—the chairs were overturned—china-plates and cut-glasses lay scattered about in fragments amid clothing, and books, and boxes; the cabin lamp and a cabin compass, and stores of every sort, of which the lockers had been rifled—chests and trunks lay open, despoiled of their contents, but no human form, either alive or dead, was to be seen.

Mr Gale ordered the hands on deck to lift off the skylight. As the bright sunshine came down into the cabin, the full horror of the scene was exhibited. Among a mass of articles, such as I have enumerated, which lay on the cabin table, were six human heads with ghastly grins, holding pieces of meat in their mouths! They were placed at each side of the table, and knives, and forks, and plates with food, were placed before them! They had evidently thus been arranged in savage mockery by their ruthless murderers, as they were about to leave the scene of their atrocity. We searched about: no bodies were found. On one side of the cabin there was a complete pool of blood, though part of it had been lapped up by the bedclothes, which had been dragged from one of the berths. The beds in the other state-rooms had been undisturbed.

Everything in the cabin showed us that the vessel was English; and this was confirmed by opening the books, which were all in English. So, as far as we could judge, were the countenances of the murdered people—I will not say men; for on examining one of the heads, our horror was increased by discovering that one of them was that of a woman—young and beautiful she had been. Oh, what a scene of horror must her eyes last have beheld; with what anguish must her heart last have beat! Even in death the features of the murdered men wore various expressions. Horror on one was clearly portrayed—desperate determination on that of another—fierce rage showed itself on the face of another. So I fancied; but, at all events, had I known any of the people, I think that I should have recognised them. There were the same Anglo-Saxon features common to all. The complexions of some were fair, and of others sunburnt. There was one with a weather-beaten countenance, and large bushy whiskers, whom we took to be one of the officers of the ship, while most of the others had the smooth complexions of shore-going people, and were probably those of passengers.

What we had already discovered plainly told the story of the catastrophe. The brig had been surprised in the evening by some piratical miscreants, while the captain and passengers, and some of the officers probably, were below at supper. The watch on deck must have instantly been overpowered before those below had time to come to their assistance. Some, probably hearing a scuffle, and coming on deck, were instantly slaughtered, or, it might have been, secured and carried off all prisoners. The people in the cabin could not even have been aware of what was going forward, and the first announcement of the misfortune which had befallen them, was the appearance of the pirates rushing into the cabin. Rising from the table, they had seized whatever weapons came nearest to hand to defend themselves. Desperately they might have fought, but all in vain. One clearly had been dragged from bed, holding fast to the clothes. Most likely the unfortunate lady had been so treated, and deprived of life on the body of her husband.

Mr Gale’s opinion was, that the captain’s head was not among those in the cabin; but that, on first hearing the scuffle, he had sprung on deck, as being nearest the door, to ascertain its cause. This opinion was afterwards confirmed by the discoveries we made. As soon as they had been overpowered, their heads must have been cut off, perhaps to make the rest show where any valuables they might possess were concealed. However performed, at all events the butchery was complete. Never, indeed, have my eyes beheld a scene of greater horror. Death alone, we know, may bring peace and joy; but death under such outrageous aspects as those I have described, affrights the soul.

While some of the men went forward to ascertain the state of matters in the forepeak, Mr Gale kept Peter and me to look after the ship’s papers. We hunted about in a number of places for some time without avail. At last I went into what I concluded to be the master’s cabin, and in a tin case, under his pillow, I found them. I took them to Mr Gale, who glanced over them.

“The Dolphin, the vessel is called,” he observed. “Ah, and here’s a name I think I remember,—Walter Stenning, master. Why, Poplar, is not that the name of the young man we picked up at sea a few voyages back to the West Indies?”

“Yes, sir; the very same,” answered Peter. “I’ve had notice of him since then, and I heard say that he had become master and owner of a fine craft, and gone with his wife and family to live out in one of the colonies; I don’t know which.”

“Halifax, Nova Scotia, the brig hails from, I see. She was bound from Bristol to Demerara,” continued Mr Gale, reading on from the papers. “I suppose, though, we shall have to send her to Halifax, where, as far as I can make out, her owners reside, as well as the merchants who have shipped most of her freight.”

While the mate was still looking over the papers, Captain Helfrich, who had come on board in another boat, entered the cabin. He was more affected than any of us by the horrid sight which met his eyes.

“Who can have done this?” he exclaimed, casting his eyes round in every direction. “Ah, what is that I see in the corner there?” He pointed to what proved to be a Moorish turban; while near it lay a piece of a sabre, which, from its curved form, evidently belonged to the same people.

“This work was done, I doubt not, by the very villains who attempted to surprise us,” he observed, as I handed him the articles to examine. “We may truly be thankful that they did not find us unprepared, as they did the unfortunate people of this vessel, or their lot might have been ours.”

“Indeed we have cause of gratitude to God, who, in His mercy, preserved us,” responded Mr Gale. “I wish that we could find the people who did this work, to stop their committing further mischief.”

“The miscreants cannot be far-off,” exclaimed the captain. “If we could fall in with them, we might punish them in a way they little expect.”

“I suspect, sir, when the Moors let the brig go free, they must have hauled their wind, and kept away to the eastward,” observed Mr Gale. “They are not fond, in general, of keeping so far away from their own shores.”

“You are right, Gale,” said the captain. “However, though I think we might find them, I should not be justified in going out of our course to look for them. We must, therefore, consider how we are to dispose of the brig. As far as I can judge, without thinking more of the matter, I am bound to send her to Halifax at once to her owners, from whom we shall obtain the proper salvage. Now, as I shall be glad to do what I think will be of service to you, I will give you the command of her, with a few hands whom I can spare; while with the seamen whom we have as passengers on board, the Rainbow will still be sufficiently manned to reach home in safety.”

Mr Gale did not refuse the captain’s offer, and I was far from sorry when I found that he had selected Peter Poplar and me among the people who were to accompany him. Besides us, as the shipwrecked seamen were all anxious to reach England, and would not volunteer, we had only three other men; so that, considering the size of the Dolphin, we were somewhat short-handed.

Before committing the heads to the deep, we examined their features, and it was the opinion of all on board, who had known Walter Stenning, that none of them bore any resemblance to him; so that if the young man, who had for so long been on board the Rainbow, was the same person who lately commanded this unfortunate vessel, his fate was still uncertain. Too probably, however, he had been murdered by the miscreants on deck. Scarcely less melancholy would be his lot if he still survived, for he would have been carried away to Morocco, and there sold as a slave, to labour in the fields or gardens.

One or two other bits of arms and ornaments were found about the deck; and the captain, on examining them, gave it as his opinion that the pirate was one of those craft which had long been known under the name of Salee Rovers. At one time the greater number of vessels fitted out by the Moors to plunder on the high seas hailed from that port. Before the captain left the vessel, every part of her was examined, but not a trace of a living being could be found. Still, too clearly to be mistaken did she tell her own dreadful tale. The log-book showed that, three days before, she had been in a dead calm since sunrise, and that a strange sail was in sight. Little did her crew dream of the woe that stranger was to work them!

We were allowed to go on board the Rainbow to get our chests, and to wish our shipmates good-bye; and then I bade farewell to my old captain, and the craft I had learned to love as a seaman only can,—the vessel within whose wide timbers I had spent many a happy day, and which had carried me in safety across many a wide sea.

We found nearly everything we required on board the Dolphin. It took some time, however, to get her to rights, to wash out the stains of blood, and to put the cabin in order, and to remove all remnants of the horrid deed which had been enacted there. It was some time, however, before Mr Gale could prevail on himself to take possession of the cabin. At last all the necessary arrangements on board the Dolphin were made, and Captain Helfrich ordering Mr Gale to proceed on his voyage, bore away to the north-east, while we kept to the westward of north. I felt very strange as I found myself on board a new vessel, and saw the old one, in which I had served for so many years, sailing away from us. I should have felt very forlorn and melancholy if Peter had not been with me. I was also very much attached to Mr Gale, and was very glad that he was now my captain.

The Irish, I have observed, generally possess a considerable amount of imagination, and I conclude that I inherited no small share of that quality from my poor mother. I remember that the first night I passed on board the Dolphin, I fancied in my sleep that I saw again the whole of the scene of horror which had so short a time before been enacted there. Several times I jumped up, thinking that the rovers were coming on board, and that I had to fight for my life. Then I fancied that I heard the cries and the groans of the poor fellows who had slept where I was sleeping, and had met their death close to where I lay; and I looked out and saw them writhing and struggling in the hands of their barbarous murderers.

Peter, instead of laughing at me when I told him of my dreams, answered me that the surest way to banish all such thoughts, was to say my prayers earnestly at night whenever I turned in, and to pray that I might be preserved from all dangers, and especially from the fate which had overtaken these poor men. I was very fortunate in falling in, at this time of my life, with two such men as Mr Gale and Peter Poplar. The latter was uneducated, certainly, but had learned his religion from the Bible, and therefore he possessed the true principles, the essentials of a saving faith; and he was the instrument of gradually opening my mind and heart to them.

Captain Gale, for so I shall now call him, had a very sharp look-out kept lest we should again fall in with the Salee Rover, or any of his consorts, which, it was very probable, might still be hovering about in that part of the ocean. The first day after parting company with the Rainbow passed by without a single sail heaving in sight. The breeze had got round to the southward, so that we had a fair wind; and as it was light, we were able to carry all the canvas we could set. At night, however, as we were somewhat short-handed, the captain ordered us to furl top-gallant-sails, and to take a reef in the topsails, that we might be better prepared should it come on to blow. The second night, however, passed away, and the same fine weather continued.

The next morning, soon after daybreak, Captain Gale came on deck, and ordered us to loose top-gallant-sails. On going aloft to obey the order, as I cast my eyes round the horizon, I saw, right away on our weather-beam, just rising out of the water, the top-gallant-sails of a brig, close-hauled, standing, I judged, across our course. I hailed the deck to say what I had observed; and after the reefs were shaken out of the topsails, the captain told me to keep aloft to watch the movements of the stranger. She stood steadily on till she rose her topsails out of the water, and then, as I judged, on seeing us, kept more away, so as to cut us off. On hearing this, the captain himself went aloft to have a look at the stranger. He remained some time, examining her narrowly through his glass. The breeze had freshened up a good deal, and it was not a time, I should have supposed, to have made more sail; but the moment he came down, he ordered us to set studden-sails and royals.

“We must make the craft put her best leg foremost,” said he to Peter. “I do not altogether like the look of that ship out there. She is certainly not English; and by her movements she seems very much inclined to overhaul us. Just tell us what you think about the matter.”

Peter took the glass, and went aloft. He also was some time there. When he came down, he handed the glass to the captain without speaking.

“Well, Peter, what do you think of her?” asked the latter. Peter took off his hat, and passed his hand over his brow. “Why, to say the truth, Captain Gale, I don’t like her looks at all. If ever one craft was like another, she’s like that strange brig which lay becalmed near us the time when we were attacked before going up the Mediterranean. It’s difficult to tell one vessel from another, but I very much suspect that she’s the very same piratical rascal we before fell in with, and that this brig is no stranger to her either.”

The captain replied, that he was afraid his apprehensions were too well-founded.

The next question was, how we were to escape from the corsair, should the stranger really be her. A couple of hours passed away, and although we were going at a good rate through the water, there could be no doubt that she was coming up with us. It was now blowing a stiffish breeze, and I saw the captain and Peter often casting an anxious glance aloft, to see whether the masts and spars would bear the heavy strain put on them. Happily there was not much sea; and though the studden-sail-booms bent and cracked again, they held on bravely. Our great hope was, that we might be able to keep well ahead of the stranger till night came on; and then that, by hauling our wind, he might pass us in the dark. We had already got as much wind as the brig could stagger under, and thus one of the greatest dangers we had to apprehend was from carrying away any of our spars. Over and over again the captain looked up at the mast-head, and exclaimed, “Hold on, good sticks, hold on, and serve us a good turn!”

A stern chase is a long chase; and though this was not quite a stern chase, by-the-by, it was nearly one, and we hoped it might prove so long as to have no end. Still our pursuer kept after us. As he drew nearer, we had less and less doubt that he was the very Salee Rover we had before so much to do with. At the same time, our hopes of escaping him decreased. Peter had set himself down on the heel of the bowsprit to rest. I brought him his dinner there, for he had not left the deck for a moment since the morning. He did not look up for some time till I begged him to eat. Still he did not answer. At last I asked him what he was thinking about.

“Why, Jack, how we may manage to escape from the pirate,” he answered after some time. “A very curious idea has struck me, and if the captain will listen to me, we’ll put it into execution. It can do no harm, and if our pursuer comes up with us, I think it will make him haul his wind in a pretty considerable hurry.”

I asked Peter to tell me his plan, wondering what it could possibly be.

“I take it, you see, that the brig out there is the very same which attacked this vessel, and her crew, of course, know that there was not a living soul left on board, but that there were six heads in the cabin,” he answered, speaking very slow. “Now, in my wild young days, I was once for some time behind the scenes of a theatre, and if I had been a scholar I might have become a play-actor. When there, I saw what wonders a little paint, and canvas, and pasteboard could work. As there are six of us, I propose to put a false neck over each of our heads, and I’ll manage to paint in a quarter less than no time, six as ugly faces as you ever saw, on as many balls of canvas, which I’ll stuff with oakum. So each of us will have a head to hold in his hand. Unless some accident happens, we certainly can manage to keep ahead of the rover till nightfall. Then we’ll just mix up a number of lumps of gunpowder and sulphur, and place them about the deck before each of us. As soon as the rover ranges up alongside, we’ll fire them all at the same moment, and I shall be very much mistaken if the cut-throats don’t think that there’s a company on board they would rather not have anything to do with.”

I could not help laughing at Peter’s quaint notion—still, however little effect it might have on civilised people, I thought it was very likely to scare away the sort of men who composed the Moorish crew, and I advised him instantly to propose it to the captain. Peter, accordingly, bolting his dinner with a haste which showed that he was thinking more about his idea than it, went aft, and opened up the case. Captain Gale listened more attentively than I expected, and, after a little consideration, said that he thought it was very likely to succeed. The plan once adopted, all hands set energetically to work to make the required preparations.

There was, fortunately, an abundance of materials. I got out the paint-pots, and mixed the colours according to Peter’s directions. He himself, with canvas and palm needles, fitted the necks, cutting holes for us to see through them; the other men were employed in making six prodigious round balls for heads, and covering one part with shakings, to serve as hair. He undertook to stand at the helm, and to have his head at the end of the boat-hook by his side, that he might lift it up at the proper moment. All the frying-pans and shallow pots which could be found were collected, and the captain made with damp gunpowder a number of what schoolboys call “Vesuviuses.” These, however, were very much larger than the contents of a schoolboy’s purse would allow him to make. He tried one of them, and found it sent forth a lurid glare, which even in the day-time showed what effect it would produce at night.

Before sunset all our preparations were completed; and when dressed up, a very curious and horrid crew we most certainly did look. Had there been more of us, the effect might perhaps have been increased. We now waited almost with boyish impatience for the coming up of the rover to put our trick into execution. Captain Gale was, however, too wise to trust to it till all other means of escape had failed. The wind had rather fallen than increased, and this was an advantage to us in two ways: it enabled us to shorten sail with less difficulty than we should otherwise have done; and we found that, with less wind, we went faster in proportion through the water than did our pursuer.

It was with feelings such as I had very seldom before experienced, that I saw the sun sinking towards the ocean, surrounded with a blaze of glory; its bright rays falling on the loftier sails of the rover, while they still reached our courses. Down it went beneath its watery home, and I questioned very much with myself whether I should ever again see it rise. I had no great confidence in Peter’s trick, nor do I suppose that he had much himself, when he came seriously to think about the matter; but still, if overtaken, we had no other means of escaping—we could not fight, and still less could we have any hope from the mercy of our foes. I did not, however, mention my doubts to Peter, and far less would I have done so to any of the other men. Young as I was, I had seen enough of the world to have learned the value of discretion.

As the daylight disappeared, a grey canopy of clouds was spread over the sky, sufficiently thick to obscure the stars. Thus the night was more than usually dark. Still, as the atmosphere was free from mist, seamen’s eyes could distinguish objects at a considerable distance off. With much anxiety we watched the rover, in the hope that the growing darkness would hide her from our view; but still we could see her following closely in our wake, and thus, of course, there was every probability that she could see us. We could not expect that the darkness would increase; consequently there would have been no use in altering our course, as it would have been perceived on board; so all we could do was to stand boldly on as before. At the rate she was overhauling us, as the captain calculated, she would be up with us by midnight. I should have liked to have shortened sail, and brought the matter to an issue, but Captain Gale was not a man to act thus unwisely. He knew that we might fall in with some friendly vessel, or that the pirate might give up the chase, or that some sudden change in the weather might enable us to escape at the last moment. Everything, however, was prepared; and thus standing at our posts, we waited the result.

Nearer and nearer drew the pirate. We were within range of her guns, still she did not fire. On she came. She was close upon our quarter.

“Wait till I give the word,” said the captain, in a low voice. She was ranging up on our beam.

“Ready!” exclaimed the captain. “Now!”

In a moment a terrifically lurid glare was cast over our decks. Up went the helmsman’s gory head at the end of a boarding-pike, though he steered as steadily as before, while we all shook ours in our hands, and at the same moment gave vent to the most unearthly shrieks, and groans, and cries, our headless helmsman shrieking and shouting louder than any of us. At this we all again shook our ghastly heads. Peter had given the necks the appearance of dropping blood, and again we shrieked and groaned louder than ever.

The effect on board the rover was instantaneous. The crew must have fully thought that they had got hold of some demon-craft as a punishment for their crimes. Down went their helm; the tacks and sheets seemed all to be flying away together; and the topsails came down on their caps. Ropes were let go, but no one thought of hauling on others, or belaying them; no one seemed to know what they were about; and many even shrieked and cried out with terror and dismay. Nothing could have been more complete than the success of our trick.

We were all eagerly watching its effect, when, just as the vessels were parting, a figure was seen to spring into the main-rigging of the rover. We all saw him, and all recognised the person as no other than Walter Stenning, the late master of the Dolphin. On we sailed. The dark outline of the rover grew less and less distinct, till it was totally lost in the gloom of night.

Chapter Ten.

The Water-Logged Ship.

For the remainder of the night we kept anxiously looking over the taffrail, lest our enemy should have again made sail in chase. More than once I thought I saw the rover’s shadowy form stealing up towards us through the darkness; but just as I expected to make it out clearly, to my great relief it dissipated into mist. Voices, also, I thought, seemed to be shouting after us from out of the gloom; but neither did they ever assume any distinctness, and fancy, I found, had caused the creation of them both. Slowly the night passed away, and as soon as the first bright streaks of dawn appeared in the grey sky, the captain went himself aloft to take a survey of the horizon.

“There is not a sail in sight in any quarter,” he exclaimed to Peter, as he returned on deck. “To your clever suggestion we owe our own lives and the safety of the ship; but clever as it was, I would not advise others to try a similar one. They might not meet with enemies so easily deceived.”

“No, sir,” answered Peter, “certainly not; and, for my part, I would much rather have beat off the scoundrels in a fair stand-up fight than with such a play-acting trick as that; but then, you see, air, it was Hobson’s choice—neck or nothing with us!”

Peter’s curious contrivances were kept, that they might be shown as an evidence of the way in which we had escaped from the rover. The appearance of Walter Stenning on board the rover was a subject of constant conversation among us. There could be no doubt, then, that he had been carried on board the rover, and that his life had been preserved. This would be a satisfaction to his friends, though a melancholy one, as his ultimate fate must still be uncertain.

We had still a long passage before us to Halifax, and might meet with many adventures. At all events, we could scarcely expect to escape some bad weather, though it was not likely we should encounter the rover, or any of her consorts, as gentry of that class were not fond of venturing into northern latitudes. For more than a couple of weeks the fine weather continued, and we met with no event worthy of note. We had, however, to learn somewhat more of the sufferings which people meet with on the wide ocean.

One morning the sky became overcast; the water was of that dull leaden hue, striped with white foam, which gives so gloomy an aspect to the ocean; and heavy squalls compelled us to shorten sail as fast as all hands could get through the task. For the greater part of the day the squalls continued; but in the afternoon, though it was hazy, the weather again improved.

I was looking out, when I saw through the mist what I took to be a sail. There was something strange about her rig—I could not make it out. Accordingly, I reported it to the captain, who came on deck. He called Peter to him.

“She looks to me like a vessel in distress, with most of her spars and upper-rigging carried away,” he observed. She was about six miles off, on the lee-bow. Accordingly, the brig was kept away towards her.

Heavy squalls of rain occasionally blew over us, and for a time completely hid the wreck from view. When it cleared for an instant, we made out that she had an English ensign reversed secured to the main-rigging. Her mainmast alone was standing entire, her foremast had gone by the board, her mizzen-mast was carried away at the top, and part only of her bowsprit remained. Her maintop-mast-yard was still crossed; but the sail, torn to ribbons, now fluttered in the wind, and not another inch of canvas had she set.

“She looks dreadfully knocked about,” observed the captain. “And from the way she rolls in the trough of the sea, there can be no doubt that she is water-logged. If it were not for the signal flying, I should scarcely expect to find anyone on board.”

We had as much sail set as we could venture to carry, so that we could not make greater speed towards her; but the squalls increased in number, and night was coming on, so that we began to fear that we should be unable to get up to her before darkness hid her from our sight. Even when we had got up to her, unless she had her own boats, short-handed as we were, with a heavy sea running, we could scarcely hope to render her much assistance. Still Captain Gale was not the man to neglect making the attempt. Some, I am sorry to say, would have sailed on their way, and allowed any poor wretches who might have been on the wreck to perish miserably. As we approached the wreck, we could just distinguish through the driving mists and thickening gloom of night, several human beings leaning against the stumps of her masts, or sitting on her deck eagerly waving to us. The captain on seeing them exclaimed—

“Peter, we must do something to save those poor fellows.”

“I should think: so, sir,” was the answer. “If you let me have a boat, with Jack there, and one hand besides, I’ll undertake to get on board and bring them off. I know that it would leave you terribly short-handed if we were lost; but I don’t think that there’s any chance of that, and I’m sure that we shall be protected in doing what’s right.”

“You shall have your way, Peter; I cannot refuse you,” exclaimed the captain, warmly. “We’ll heave the brig to to leeward of the wreck, so that if you can manage to get the poor fellows into the boat, you can with less difficulty drop aboard of us again.”

According to this plan, we ran under the stern of the ship and rounded to. I never saw a more complete wreck yet floating on the surface. Her entire bulwarks, her boats, caboose, booms—indeed everything on deck—had been completely carried away, and the sea even now occasionally washed entirely over her. It was not an easy matter to lower our boat, but it was done without an accident; and Peter, Andrew Blair, a fine young fellow, and I, pulled away in her for the wreck. The unfortunate wretches on board waved us on. Several more made their appearance, as we approached, from behind a sail which had been triced up round the mainmast, which appeared to be the only shelter they had from the inclemency of the weather. They were all holding on to ropes secured to the masts or rigging, for without them they would certainly at once have been washed off the deck into the sea.

On getting nearer, we saw one or two heads looking at us from above the companion-hatch, which had escaped, and seemed to have afforded some shelter to others. We pulled as close to her as we could venture to go.

“Remember if we come alongside only four of you at a time must get into the boat, or we shall all lose our lives together!” shouted Peter. “Do you hear me there?”

They signified that they did hear; but Peter’s caution was very unnecessary, for few of them could do more than crawl, and none of them, without assistance, could have got into the boat.

“I see what must be done,” said Peter to us. “You two remain in the boat. There’s a rope towing overboard from the main-rigging; I’ll get hold of it, and haul myself on her deck, and then, as best I can, I’ll drop the poor fellows into the boat!”

To propose was with him to act. As the boat with the send of the sea approached the wreck, while we fended her off he seized the rope, which he found secure, and though the water, as it came pouring down to leeward, washed over him, he hauled himself up in a moment on her deck, and stood among the miserable wretches who peopled it. They crawled round him, and grasped his legs, to show their gratitude to him as their deliverer. I saw by his action that he was telling them that there was not a moment to be lost. Beckoning to us to approach, he seized one of them up in his arms as if he had been an infant, and grasping the rope with one hand, swung himself off from the side of the ship, and deposited his burden in the boat, or rather in our arms, as we stood ready to receive him. In a moment he was on the deck, and lifting up another human being, sprung as before into the boat.

“How many of you are there?” he asked of one who seemed to be the strongest of the crew, and looked by his dress like an officer. Once he had evidently been a stout, broad-shouldered, muscular young man, now he was a mere skeleton like the rest.

“Twelve or fourteen there were this morning, but I know not how many may since have died,” was the answer, given in a hollow tone scarcely audible.

“Then we’ll take four at a time to the brig, and we shall have to make three trips,” answered Peter. “We must not venture with more, though as to weight the boat would carry the whole of you. Now, my lad,” he continued, addressing the mate, for so the man who had spoken proved to be, “just do you come with us this trip. I’ll lend you a hand into the boat.”

“No, no!” answered the fine fellow; “take some of the others who are worse off than I am. There were a couple of women. They will be found aft under the companion-hatch.”

As no persuasion would make the mate alter his determination, Peter hurried aft, and diving under the hatch, returned with what looked like a long bundle of clothes in his arms. “Gently, now,” he sung out; “she has life in her, but very little of it.”

The clothes enveloped a female form, but so emaciated that she seemed to be of no weight whatever. Before placing her in the boat, Peter poured a few drops of liquid down her throat from a flask the captain had given him.

“There’s no use to bring the other poor thing; her sufferings are over,” he observed, as he lifted in another man. “And now, my lads, we’ll put these on board.”

We soon dropped down to the brig, and with less difficulty got the poor wretches up the side. The captain proposed sending the two other hands instead of Blair and me, but we begged that we might be allowed to return to the wreck.

Once more we pulled away from the brig, the boat, it must be remembered, tumbling and tossing about, now sunk in the trough of the sea, now rising to the top of a foam-crested wave; the sky overhead threatening and cloudy; a dense mist driving in our faces; and darkness rapidly coming on. We had the lives of fellow-creatures to save, and we persevered. Again the undaunted Peter sprung on board the wreck.

“Take care of that man!” exclaimed the mate, as an extraordinary-looking figure, in a long dressing-gown, with strips of canvas fastened about his head, ran up from behind the woman; “he is not altogether right in his mind, I fear.”

“Avaunt, ye pirates! ye plunderers! ye marauders!” shrieked out the person spoken of. “How dare ye venture on board my noble ship? Away with ye! away! away!” and flourishing a piece of timber which he had wrenched, it seemed, from the side of the ship, he advanced towards Peter.

My shipmate would have been struck down by the maniac’s blow, had he not sprung nimbly aside, and then, rushing in, he closed with the wretched being, and wrenched the weapon out of his grasp. The madman’s strength was exhausted.

“I yield! I yield me!” he cried; and though he was a tall man, Peter lifted him up as he had done the others, and handed him to us. He lay quiet enough in the bottom of the boat, regarding the wreck he was leaving with a stare of wonder.

Three other men were lifted in, but still the mate refused to leave while any remained alive on board. As we were leaving the wreck a second time, a man lifted himself up from the deck, and stood for a moment gazing at us.

“What! again deserted!” he exclaimed, shrieking frantically. “Oh, take me! take me!” and staggering forward, before the mate could prevent him he cast himself headlong into the sea. We endeavoured to put back, but he floated scarcely a moment, and then the foaming waters closed over his head. It was another of the numberless instances I have witnessed of the crime and folly of not waiting with calmness and resignation for what the Almighty has in his providence prepared for us. I trust that the poor man’s mind had given way in this instance; but even that result is often produced by a want of reliance on God’s mercy.

We put our hapless freight on board the brig, and a third time returned to the wreck. Besides the brave mate, Peter found only two more people alive on board. Several were dead. At the earnest solicitation of the mate, Peter helped him to commit them to the deep. It was a melancholy and loathsome task, for some had been long dead.

The delay also was of serious consequence. More than once I summoned Peter, for another thick squall of rain had come on, and when I glanced round for an instant to look for the brig, she was nowhere to be seen! A pang of dread ran through my heart, and all sorts of horrid ideas rushed into my head. I thought that the squall might have struck her, and that she might have capsized, or that she might have drifted so far to leeward that we might not be able to find her. I said nothing, however, but helped Peter to take the mate and the other two survivors off the wreck. Then, indeed, the question pressed on us, What has become of the brig?

“Cheer up, my lads!” cried Peter; “hold on yet a while; we’ll see her presently.”

We waited with intense anxiety, and the darkness seemed every instant increasing. It was, however, only the result of the tail of the squall passing by. Suddenly a bright light burst forth, which we knew must proceed from the deck of the brig.

“The captain has not forgotten the trick we played the pirates!” exclaimed Peter. “Shove off, my lads!”

With lightened hearts we pulled away to leeward, and were soon once more on the deck of the brig, with our boat hoisted up and secured. Every care and attention which we could possibly bestow was paid to the poor starving wretches. Captain Gale was enlightened as well as brave and generous, so that he knew well how to treat them. First he gave them only a little liquid—tea and cocoa; and then after a time a little simple arrowroot; afterwards he gave them some with broth; and, lastly, he mixed a few drops of wine with the arrowroot.

Scarcely, however, had we got them down below, than the gale which had been threatening came on; and while the captain went to the helm, all hands had to spring aloft to shorten sail. Happily the gale was in our favour, so that we were able to run before it, and keep our course. There can be little doubt that had we not providentially appeared that very night, everybody on board the wreck would have perished. We had hard work enough to do the duty of the ship and to attend to our passengers, who could for some days do nothing to help themselves. They were all too weak to speak without fatigue, so we forbore to question them as to the particulars of the events which had brought them into the condition in which we had found them.

For some days all we knew was, that the ship was the Eagle, from Quebec, laden with timber, and that she had been six weeks very nearly in the condition we found her—water-logged, with spars and sails carried away. The captain had died, and the lady we had rescued was his wife. Poor thing! at first she was almost insensible to everything; but when she recovered her health and strength, it was pitiable to see her grief.

The tall, gaunt man, whom we found deranged, had been a merchant’s clerk, and had gone out to Canada in the vain hope of finding employment. Disappointed in his expectations, he was returning home. At first he appeared to recover strength, but a relapse took place, and he rapidly seemed to grow weaker and weaker. I was sent to watch him. Suddenly he sat up in his berth, and glared wildly around.

“Where am I?—where am I going?—what has occurred?” he exclaimed. “Tell me, young man. I have had a horrid dream. For worlds I would not dream it again!” Then his voice lowered, and, rubbing his hand across his brow, he added, in a low, calm tone—

“I know all about it. I am going to a land where I have only one account to render; but my Judge will be great and just; and there is One in whom I trust who has taken all my sins on Himself. Young man, thank all those who have been kind to me. I am grateful. Good-night!” He fell back on his pillow, and was dead.

Among those saved was one other passenger. The rest consisted of the first mate, and the crew of the ship. With one of the crew, a young Canadian, who was making his second trip to sea, I formed a strong friendship; Adam De Lisle was his name. From him I learned the particulars of the disaster.

“You must know,” he observed, “that the timber which is sent from Canada to England is cut down from forests many hundreds of miles up the country. Numerous large and rapid rivers run into the great river Saint Lawrence. At the fall of the year gangs of woodcutters, under regular leaders, proceed up these rivers in canoes, with a supply of food, and every requisite, to enable them to spend the winter far from the haunts, of civilisation. Arrived at the forest they have selected for their operations, they build their habitations, and then set to work to cut down the trees they require. These, when shaped into square logs, as soon as snow has fallen, and ice covers the water, are dragged to the nearest stream. When spring returns, they are bound together in small rafts, and floated down towards the main river. Sometimes, when rapids occur, they are separated, and a few trees are allowed to glide down together. Slides have, of late years, been formed by the sides of the rapids, through which the timber descends without injury. At the foot of the rapids the rafts are re-formed, and ultimately, when they reach the Saint Lawrence, they are made so large that huts are built on them, in which their conductors live till they reach Quebec. This they frequently do not do till the end of the summer, when all the ships have sailed. The timber, therefore, remains in shallow docks at the mouth of the Charles River, which runs into the Saint Lawrence on one side of Quebec, till the following spring. The timber is often shipped through a large port in the bow of a ship, but a quantity is also piled upon deck, and lashed there to ring-bolts, making a ship with so great a weight above board very uneasy in a sea. Thus, I think, more accidents happen to the spars and rigging of timber-ships than to any other, though they have an advantage in floating longer than other craft.

“The Eagle was one of the first ships which left Quebec this year, with a crew of eighteen, all told fore-and-aft, with the captain’s wife and several passengers. Scarcely had we got clear of the Gulf when we fell in with bad weather; and about ten days afterwards, a heavy gale sprung up from the westward. It was night. The sea soon ran very high, and the ship being deep, and steering ill, before she could be got before the wind, it made a clear breach over her. There she lay helplessly in the trough of the sea, most of her bulwarks carried away, and the water pouring down her companion-hatch, and deluging the cabin. It soon found its way forward, and every instant we thought she would capsize. The captain ordered the main and mizzen topsail-sheets to be cut away, for there was no time to let them go, or clew-up the sails; but still the ship lay helpless and unable to answer her helm. Two men went to the helm, while others rigged relieving-tackles, and at length all the after-sail being taken off her, the headsail filled, and once more she ran before the wind. This was a great relief, but still the water was gaining on us. The seas continued rolling up after us high above the poop, and at length one broke on board, carrying the taffrail clean away, and sweeping the after-part of the deck. Had we not had safety-lines passed across the deck, the greater number of us would at once have been washed overboard. Our sufferings had now become intense, both from cold and hunger. All the provisions we could get at were spoiled with salt water, and the few clothes we had on were drenched also with water, and the wind pierced through them to our very bones. We still managed to keep a close-reefed foretop-sail on the ship, with a mainstay-sail and trysail, or we could not have avoided being constantly pooped. The gale, in a short time, increased in fury as the sea did in height. Again it made a clean breach over the ship. All the bulwarks were carried away; and the ring-bolts being torn from the decks, the deck timber, which consisted of large logs, was washed overboard, as were all our boats. At the same moment the foresail blew clean out of the bolt-ropes; and all those we could muster fit for duty had not strength sufficient to go aloft to set another. We knew well that our safety much depended on our being able to keep sail on the ship; but each man felt that his death would be the consequence if he attempted to go aloft, with that raging sea tumbling the ship about in every direction, the wind howling round him, and the torn sail flapping fiercely in his face. Still we managed to keep the ship before the wind, and thus, by easing the strain on her, she was prevented from going to pieces, which she would otherwise inevitably have done.

“Our first mate, James Carr, was a fine fellow. To look at him, you would not have supposed that he had so much endurance in his body. His spirit kept him up. When very few besides he and I could bear up, he went about the decks as if nothing unusual had occurred. He was a slight, fair man, and far from strongly-built; but he was a thoughtful, reading, and more than that, a religious man. Those who had led the wildest and most careless lives, and had no faith or hope to sustain them, were the first to succumb. I held out—first, because I believed that God would sustain me; and because I had a good constitution, which I had never injured by vice and debauchery, as too many of the rest had done. The captain was a good, kind man, and he did his best for us as long as his strength lasted. The little food we could get at was carefully husbanded, and all hands were put on short allowance. Many days thus passed away, the ship running before the wind, and still keeping together. At length the wind lulled, and we began to look forward with hope to the future. The caboose had hitherto stood, and the cook managed to light a fire in it, and to dress several meals, which we ate with comparative comfort. As long as there was a moderate breeze the ship ran steadily before it, but what many people would have thought an advantage, proved our greatest bane. Too much wind had injured us—too little almost destroyed us. It fell a dead calm; and this, far from bettering our condition, made the ship roll still more than ever, and soon reduced us to the condition in which you found us. The greater part of the bowsprit had already gone, the foremast was next rolled out of her, and then the mizzen-mast went—the mainmast must have been an unusually good stick, or that would have gone likewise. We had scarcely strength left to cut away the wreck. Hitherto, though all hands were growing daily weaker, no deaths had occurred, nor had anyone any particular sickness. However, anxiety of mind now helped to make our poor captain ill, and he took to his cot. The daily provision for each of us consisted also of but three ounces of bread, and half a pint of water. We agreed to this, because we felt that it was enough to sustain life for some time, and that it was better to have a little each day than have to go many days without any food at all. The officers proposed, however, before long, to diminish even this small allowance—though, by mixing a little spirits with the water, our food sustained us more than it would otherwise have done. Starvation, after a time, began to tell sadly on our tempers; and we, who had generally lived in good-fellowship with each other, spent the day in wrangling and peevishness. A breeze, however, had again sprung up, which seemed to steady the ship, though we could not keep her on her proper course. Such was the state of things, when one morning Mr Carr going on deck, as was his custom, to take a look-out, and to hoist our signal of distress, he shouted out, ‘Sail, ho!’

“How did our hearts leap with joy as we heard those words! We all crawled up as best we could to take a look at the stranger, which we hoped would save us. She saw us, and drew nearer. The captain got the mate and me to help him up on deck, and then, as he saw the approaching vessel, his heart bursting forth with gratitude, he called on us all to return thanks to God for the deliverance he hoped was at hand. His poor wife, who had held out bravely, and scarcely ever left his side, wept with joy at the thought that his life might yet be spared.

“‘Now, my lads, let’s see if we cannot get the ship somewhat clear of water,’ exclaimed Mr Carr, going to the pumps; ‘It will never do to have it said that we did nothing to help ourselves.’

“I believe he did this to employ the men’s minds till assistance could reach us. He set the example, which we all followed; and, weak as we were, we pumped away with such good-will that she rose perceptibly in the water, showing us that there was no leak to injure her.

“At last the stranger, a large brig, reached us, and heaving-to just to leeward, Mr Carr gave him an account of all that had happened to us.

“The master of the brig said that he was himself somewhat short of provisions, but would send us what he could venture to give in his own boat. We thanked him with grateful hearts. Still the boat did not come. There was some consultation on board; we could not tell what. A breeze from the westward again sprung up. It was a fair wind for the stranger.

“‘What’s he about now?’ exclaimed several voices, trembling with agitation.

“He put up his helm and filled his headsails.

“‘He’ll go about directly, and heave-to on the other tack,’ said Mr Carr.

“Still the stranger stood on.

“‘Where can he be going to?’ again exclaimed several of us.

“On, on he stood, steadily, with all sail set! Oh, how bitter were the words which followed him! Could that heartless stranger have heard them, would he have ventured to brave the fate to which he had left so many of his fellow-creatures? How completely had he forgotten that golden rule, ‘Do unto others as you would wish others to do unto you!’ What will be his thoughts some day when he is suffering from all the miseries to which we were exposed, when he remembers the wreck he deserted on the wild ocean! Hour after hour we watched him anxiously, scarcely believing, till his topsails dipped beneath the horizon, that so heartless a wretch existed in the creation.”

“Ay, it’s another proof of the depth of man’s vileness, and wickedness, and contempt of the laws of a God of mercy,” observed Peter Poplar. “I have known many such instances almost as bad; so I am not surprised.”

“When we found that we really were deserted, the spirits of all of us and the minds of some gave way. Several of the crew broke into the spirit-room, which they could now reach, and, broaching a cask of liquor, endeavoured to forget their miseries by getting drunk. The mate and I, and most of the passengers, abstained from the temptation. Those who indulged in it were the first to pay the penalty by a miserable death.

“Still discipline had been maintained. Mr Carr called on me to accompany him round the ship in search of anything which might serve as food to stay the cravings of hunger. We discovered a few pounds of candles, some bits of old leather, leather shoes, a rug, a couple of hides; but our greatest prize was about a gallon of lamp-oil, and some oil intended to mix with paint. These we brought into the cabin, to be kept in safety. While we were there, Mr Carr’s eyes fell on old Trojan, the captain’s favourite Newfoundland dog, as he lay almost dying under his master’s cot. The captain very naturally had not brought himself to order its death.

“‘I am sorry, sir,’ said Mr Carr, ‘to propose what I do; but that dog may be the means of preserving the lives of all of us. We must kill him.’

“‘You’ll be proposing to kill and eat each other before long,’ exclaimed the poor master, in a querulous tone.

“‘Heaven forbid!’ answered the mate. ‘But to take the life of a brute beast is a different matter. I don’t see how we can spare him. Even if we do, he will not live long, and now his blood alone will be of great importance.’

“At last the captain consented to the death of his favourite, and poor Trojan was led up on deck to be put to death. Before he was killed, we all of us took an anxious look round the horizon, to ascertain that no sail was near. We would gladly, even then, have saved the poor dog’s life. The cravings of hunger soon, however, drove all feelings of remorse from our bosoms. The faithful brute looked up into our faces, and his eyes said as clearly as if he had spoken the words, ‘I know that it is necessary—be quick about it.’ How carefully we husbanded every drop of the blood! The mate got a teaspoon, and served it out with that measure full to each of us at a time, while the flesh was reserved for another day.

“I cannot describe how those wretched days passed away. Except the mate and three others of us, no one could even stand. The captain lay in his cot growing worse and worse. I was on deck one afternoon with Mr Carr, steering and keeping the ship’s head to the eastward, when we were startled by a faint shriek from the cabin. Presently afterwards the captain rushed on deck.