A sad chapter in my life. (continued 3)

Our new friend evidently compassionated our forlorn condition; indeed, now that the necessity for exerting ourselves was over, we both sank down utterly exhausted on the deck.

The Shetlanders would have carried us below, but we begged to remain where we were, that we might see what was going forward. They therefore left us, and having placed the captain’s body on the main hatch, covered by a flag, they proceeded to pull our raft to pieces and to hoist the spars composing it on board. This done, the four men jumped into the boat, and going ahead began to tow the brig, while the old gentleman went to the helm to steer.

Before long, however, a breeze from the eastward springing up, the boat returned alongside, the men hoisted the canvas, and we stood in towards the voe, as the gulf, we found, was called. I could just distinguish the high green hills, with here and there grey cliffs and rocks jutting out from these on either side, as we sailed up the voe, but my eyes grew dimmer and dimmer till the brig’s anchor was dropped, and I was just aware that we were being placed in the boat to be carried on shore.

When I came to myself I found that I was in a comfortable bed with curtains round it, the sun shining brightly through the open window of the room, which looked neater and prettier than any I had ever slept in.

Hearing a footstep, I peered through the curtains, and saw a lady and a little girl come in, carrying in their hands some things which they placed on the table.

“I think the poor boy is awake, auntie,” whispered the little girl. “I heard him move.”

“Perhaps he was only moving in his sleep, but I will see,” answered the lady, and she approached the bed.

I was looking all the time at the little girl, who seemed to me like an angel or a fairy, or some being altogether brighter than I had ever seen before—even than my sister Mary.

“Yes, marm, I am awake, thank you,” I said, as she opened the curtains, “and please, I want to get up and go aboard the brig to look after her and to see that our old captain is buried.”

“He was buried by the minister the day you came, and the brig is taken very good care of,” she answered. “My father, Mr Angus Troil, has written to the owners to inform them of what has happened to her and of your brave conduct. He hopes soon to hear from them.”

“Thank you, marm,” I again said, puzzled to know what the lady meant about hearing soon from Mr Gray, for I had supposed that Shetland was a long way from England. My first thought, however, had been about Jim.

“Please, marm, where is the other boy, my shipmate?” I asked.

“He was very ill only for three or four days, and is now well enough to go down to the brig with my father,” she replied. “But I must not let you talk too much. You were to have some food, the doctor said, when you came to yourself. Here, Maggie, bring the broth and toast.”

Thereon the little girl brought the tray to the bedside and gazed compassionately at me, while the lady put the food into my mouth, for I was too weak to do so myself.

It now dawned on me from what the lady said that I must have been in a state of unconsciousness for many days, and such I found was the case. I recollected nothing that had passed since I was placed in the boat. I could not speak much, but when I had finished the basin of broth I said—

“I am very thankful to you and your little daughter, marm, for all you have done for me.”

“You deserve to be taken care of, my boy,” she answered; “but this little girl is not my daughter. Her father was my brother. He was lost at sea while captain of a ship, and her mother has since died, so that she is very precious to us.”

I looked at little Maggie with even more interest than before, and I said—

“My father was also drowned, and so was my grandfather, and I believe his father before him, for I come of a seafaring family.”

“That has been likewise the fate of many of the Troils,” said the lady; “but I must not let you talk more now. Before long my father and your young shipmate will be returning, and they will be glad to hear from your own lips how you feel. In the meantime try to go to sleep again. The doctor says that the more you sleep the sooner you will regain your strength. Saying this, the lady, followed by the little girl, left the room.”

I thought over what she had said to me, and kept repeating to myself, “Margaret Troil! Margaret Troil! I know that name, I am sure!” but I did not think long before I forgot where I was and what had happened.

I saw Maggie’s sweet face peeping in at me when I woke, but as soon as she saw that my eyes were open she ran off, and shortly afterwards Mr Troil and Jim came into the room. The old gentleman spoke very kindly; told me that I must consider myself at home, and that though he hoped I should soon get well, I must be in no hurry to go away. He then went out, saying to Jim, “I can let you stay only five minutes with your friend. When the time is up I must call you.”

Jim could at first scarcely speak for joy at seeing me so much better. He then told me how highly Mr Troil spoke of me and him for the way we had kept the brig afloat, and brought her to the coast of Shetland.

“I told him as how it wasn’t us who did it,” continued Jim, “but that God sent the wind as blew us here; and he says to me, ‘To be sure, that was the case in one way, but then that God rewarded your efforts, and thus you deserve great credit for what you did.’ He promises to see that we are rewarded, and to do all he can for us himself. I told him as how you were really captain, and that I couldn’t have done anything by myself, except pump, and that I had done with a will, seeing I am bigger and stronger than you.”

I was inclined to smile at Jim’s modesty, though I felt very grateful to him for speaking so well of me, and was about to ask him what Mr Troil said in return, when our host called him out of the room. I was thus left to myself, except when the lady, who Jim had told me was Miss Troil, the old gentleman’s daughter, or little Maggie looked in to see if I wanted anything. Two days after this I was able to dress and sit out in front of the house, enjoying the sun and air, looking down on the voe in which lay our brig, with a small sloop and several fishing vessels and boats. On that side, looking to the south, there was a view of the voe and the opposite bank, but on all the others the house, a square stone building, was protected by a high wall close to it, built to keep off the biting cold winds and snow of winter. Jim was out with Mr Troil, and as Miss Troil was engaged, Maggie came and sat by me with a book, and read and talked to me for a long time, getting me to tell her all about myself and our perilous voyage, till her aunt summoned her to attend to some household affairs. When I returned to my room I found that my chest had been brought on shore and placed there. Miss Troil came in and took out the things, which, having become damp and mildewy, she wished to dry. While doing so she came upon my old Testament, which, chancing to open, she examined the inside of the cover with intense curiosity.

“Why, Peter, how did you come by this?” she asked.

The family had got by this time to call me Peter.

I told her that it had belonged to my father’s mother, and then for the first time since I came to Shetland I recollected that the name in it was spelt in the same way as that of my host.

“I must ask my father about this!” she exclaimed. “He had an uncle called Angus, after whom he was named, and who married a Margaret Halcro. There are none of the family remaining in Shetland, though at one time they were numerous. Peter, I should not be surprised if it turns out that you are a kinsman of ours. Should you like to be so?”

“Indeed I should!” I answered; “I feel as if I were one already, from the kind way you have treated me, even before you thought I might be a relative.”

When Mr Trail came in he listened attentively to what his daughter told him, and, having examined the handwriting in the Testament, asked me the ages of my father and grandmother, and all other particulars I could tell him.

“I have no doubt about your being a near relative of ours, Peter, and I rejoice to find you one, my dear boy,” he said; “though why my aunt Margaret Troil did not come back to her husband’s relatives after her husband’s death I cannot tell.”

“Perhaps she had not the means to make the journey, or my father had gone away to sea, and she was afraid that he might be unable to find her on his return if she left her home; or, now I think of it, I remember my father saying that she died soon after my grandfather was lost, when he himself was a little chap.”

“Well, all is ordered for the best, though we don’t see how,” said Mr Troil. “And now you have come you must stay with us and turn back into a Shetlander. What do you say to my proposal?”

“Oh, do stay with us, Cousin Peter!” exclaimed Maggie, taking my hand and looking up in my face.

“Indeed, I should like very much to do so,” I answered, “but there is my sister Mary, and I cannot desert her, even though I know that she is well off with Mr Gray.”

“Then Peter must go and fetch her!” exclaimed Maggie. “Oh, I should so like to have her here! I would love her as a sister.”

“A bright idea of yours, Maggie,” said Mr Troil. “What do you say to it, Peter? I will furnish you with ample funds, and you can be back here in a month, as I feel very sure that your friend Mr Gray will willingly allow Mary to come.”

I need not say that I gladly accepted my generous relative’s proposal, and it was arranged that as soon as I had quite recovered my strength I should go south in the first vessel sailing from Lerwick, accompanied by Jim, who wanted to see his friends, and hoped to be able to work his passage both ways, so that he might not be separated from me.

Chapter Thirteen.

A disastrous voyage.

I was soon myself again, and ready for the proposed voyage southward. Accordingly, Mr Troil having received directions from Mr Gray to send the Good Intent to Lerwick to be refitted, Tom and I, bidding farewell, as we hoped, only for a short season to Miss Troil and Maggie, went on board the brig to assist in carrying her there, intending to proceed by the first vessel sailing after our arrival. Mr Troil sent us a pilot and a good crew to navigate the vessel, and accompanied her himself in his sloop, that he might assist us if necessary.

The wind was fair and the sea smooth, and thus without accident we arrived in that fine harbour called Brassa Sound, on the shore of which Lerwick, the capital of the islands, stands. We there found a vessel shortly to sail for Newcastle. Having taken in a cargo of coals, she was thence to proceed to Portsmouth. This so exactly suited our object that Mr Troil at once engaged a passage on board her for Jim and me.

After Portsmouth the town appeared small, but the inhabitants have large warm hearts, and were very kind to Jim and me. As he remarked, it is better to have large hearts and live in a small place than small cold hearts and to live in a large place. They seemed never to tire of asking us questions about our voyage in the Good Intent, and how we two boys alone managed to rig jury-masts and to keep her afloat.

“By just knowing how to do our work and sticking to it,” answered Jim, to one of our friends.

If we had remained much longer at Lerwick we should have begun to fancy ourselves much more important persons than we really were; but the brig Nancy, Captain Gowan, was ready for sea, and wishing farewell to my kind relative, Mr Troil, who set sail in his ship to return home, we went on board. We soon afterwards got under way with a fair breeze, and before night had left Sumburgh Head, the lofty point which forms the southern end of the Shetland Islands, far astern.

The Nancy was a very different sort of craft from the Good Intent. She was an old ill-found vessel, patched up in an imperfect manner, and scarcely seaworthy. Jim and I agreed that if she were to meet with the bad weather we encountered in our old ship she would go to the bottom or drive ashore.

We discovered also before long that Captain Gowan was a very different person from our former captain. He had conducted himself pretty well on shore, so that people spoke of him as a very decent man, but when once at sea he threw off all restraint, abused the crew, quarrelled with the mate, and neglected us, who had been placed under his charge.

Jim, who had to work his passage, slept in the fore-peak, but I was berthed aft. I, however, did as much duty as anyone. Jim told me that the men were a rough lot, and that he had never heard worse language in his life. They tried to bully him, but as he was strong enough to hold his own, and never lost his temper, they gave up the attempt. Captain Gowan growled when I came in to dinner the first day, which I knew that I had a right to do, and he asked if every ship-boy was to be turned into a young gentleman because he happened to have saved his life while others lost theirs?

I did not answer him, for I saw an empty bottle on the locker, and another by his side with very little liquor remaining in it. After this I kept out of his way, and got my meals from the cook as best I could.

Jim and I agreed that if the Nancy had not been going direct to Portsmouth, we should do well to leave her at Newcastle, and try to make our way south on board some other vessel. Although we went, I believe, much out of our proper course, we at last entered the Tyne. Soon after we brought up, several curiously-shaped boats, called kreels, came alongside, containing eight tubs, each holding a chaldron; these tubs being hoisted on board, their bottoms were opened and the coals fell into the hold.

The kreels, which were oval in shape, were propelled by a long oar or pole on each side, worked by a man who walked along the gunwale from the bow to the stern, pressing the upper end with his shoulder while the lower touched the ground. Another man stood in the stern with a similar long oar to steer.

The crews were fine hardy fellows, known as kreelmen. I was astonished to hear them call each other bullies, till I found that the term signified “brothers.” So bully Saunders meant brother Saunders.

Jim and I had had the sense to put on our working clothes, which was fortunate, as before long, with the coal-dust flying about, we were as black as negroes, but as everything and all on board were coloured with the same brush, we did not mind that.

With the help of the kreelmen the Nancy was soon loaded, and we again sailed for the southward. Matters did not improve. The captain, having abstained from liquor while on shore, recompensed himself by taking a double allowance, and became proportionably morose and ill-tempered, never speaking civilly to me, and often passing a whole day without exchanging a word with his poor mate; and when he did open his mouth it was to abuse. The brig, though tolerably tight when light, now that she had a full cargo, as soon as a sea got up began to leak considerably, so that each watch had to pump for an hour to keep the water under. Jim and I took our turns without being ordered, but though accustomed to the exercise, it was hard work. When we cried “Spell ho!” for others to take our places, the captain shouted, “You began to pump for your own pleasure, now you shall go on for mine, you young rascals!” The men, however, though they at first laughed, having more humanity than the skipper, soon relieved us.

This was the third day after we sailed, when the wind shifting to the south-west, and then to the south, we stood away to the eastward in order to double the North Foreland. After some time it came on to blow harder than ever, but the brig was made snug in time, though the leaks increased, and all hands in a watch were kept, spell and spell, at the pumps. The captain behaved just as before, drinking all day long, though he did not appear to lose his senses altogether. The mate, however, looked very anxious as the vessel pitched into the seas each time more violently than before. I asked him if he thought she would keep afloat.

“That’s more than I can promise you, my boy,” he answered. “If the wind falls, and the sea goes down, we may perhaps manage to keep the leaks under; but if I were the captain I would run for Harwich or the Thames sooner than attempt to thrash the vessel round the Foreland.”

“Why don’t you propose that to him, and if he does not agree, just steer as you think best?” I said. “I suspect that he would not find out in what direction we were standing.”

“Wouldn’t he, though! Why, Peter, I tell you he would swear there was a mutiny, and knock me overboard,” answered the poor mate in a tone of alarm.

He was evidently completely cowed by the captain, and dared not oppose him. The night was just coming on; the seas kept breaking over the bows, washing the deck fore and aft, and the clank of the pumps was heard without cessation. The captain sat in his cabin, either drinking or sleeping, except when occasionally he clambered on deck, took a look around while holding on to the companion-hatch, and then, apparently thinking that all was going on well, went below again. When I could pump no longer I turned in, thinking it very probable that I should never see another sunrise. By continually pumping, the brig was kept afloat during the night; but when I came on deck in the morning, the mate, who looked as if he would drop from fatigue, told me that the leaks were gaining on us. We were now far out, I knew, in the German Ocean, and if the brig should go down, there was too much sea running to give us a chance of saving ourselves.

Some time after daylight the captain came on deck, and he had not been there long when there was a lull. “Hands about ship!” he shouted.

The watch below tumbled up, and the brig was got round.

“Will you take charge, sir?” humbly asked the mate. “I have been on deck all night, and can scarcely stand.”

The captain raved at him for a lazy hound. “I haven’t turned in, either,” he said, though he had been asleep in his chair for several hours. “I want my breakfast; when I’ve had that I’ll relieve you.”

The mate made no reply, and as soon as the captain went below he hurried forward to bid the cook make haste with the cabin breakfast. It was a difficult matter, however, to keep the galley fire alight, or the pots on it in their places. The weather seemed to be improving, but the men were well-nigh worn out with pumping. When the captain at last came on deck, in spite of their grumbling, he kept them labouring away as hard as ever, and ordered Jim and me to take our turn with the rest. This we did willingly, as we knew that unless all exerted themselves the brig must founder.

As noon approached, the captain brought up his quadrant, and sent below to summon the mate to take observations though the clouds hung so densely over the sky that there was but little chance of doing this.

“Might as well try to shoot the sun at midnight as now, with the clouds as dark as pitch,” growled the mate. “What was the use of calling me up for such fool’s work?”

“What’s that you say?” shouted the captain. “Do you call me a fool?”

“Yes, I do, if you expect to take an observation with such a sky as we have got overhead,” answered the mate.

“Then take that!” screamed the captain, throwing the quadrant he held in his hand at the mate’s head, not, for the moment, probably, recollecting what it was.

It struck the mate on the temple, who, falling, let his own quadrant go, and both were broken to pieces.

“Here’s a pretty business,” cried one of the men, “I wonder now what will become of us!”

Good reason we had to wonder. The mate, picking himself up, flew at the captain, and a fearful struggle ensued. Both were too excited to know what they were about, and the captain, who was the stronger of the two, would have hove the mate overboard had not the crew rushed aft and separated them.

The mate then went below, and the captain rolled about the deck, stamping and shouting that he would be revenged on him. At last he also went down into the cabin.

Fearing that he would at once put his fearful threats into execution and attack the mate, I followed, intending to call the crew to my assistance should it be necessary. I saw him, however, take another pull at the rum bottle, and then, growling and muttering, turn into his bed. I waited till I supposed that he was asleep, and then I went to the mate’s berth.

“There is no one in charge of the deck, sir,” I said. “And if it was to blow harder, as it seems likely to do, I don’t know what will happen.”

“Nor do I either, Peter, with such a drunken skipper as ours,” he answered. “What are the men about?”

“They have knocked off from the pumps, and if you don’t come on deck and order them to turn to again they’ll let the brig go down without making any further effort to save her,” I answered.

My remarks had some effect, for though the mate had himself been drinking, or he would not have spoken as he did to the captain, he yet had some sense left in his head. He at last got up and came on deck. All the hands, except the man at the helm, were crouching down under the weather-bulwarks to avoid the showers of spray flying in dense masses over us. The sea had increased, and though we had not much sail set, the brig was heeling over to the furious blasts which every now and then struck her; if she righted it was only to bend lower still before the next.

“Do you want to lose your lives or keep them, lads?” shouted the mate, after sounding the well. “Well then, I can tell you that if you don’t turn to at once and work hard, and very hard, too, the brig will be at the bottom before the morning.”

Still the men did not move. Jim was holding on near me.

“Come, let you and me try what we can do,” I said; “we have pumped to good purpose before now.”

Jim needed no second asking. Seizing the brakes, we began, and pumped away with all our might, making the water rush across the deck in a full stream. Before long one man got up and joined, then another, and another. When we got tired and cried, “Spell ho!” the rest took our places.

“I see you want to save your lives, lads,” cried the mate, who occasionally took a spell himself. “But you must keep at it, or it will be of no use.”

All that day we stood on, the crew pumping without intermission.

“If the wind moderates we’ll set more sail,” said the mate; “but the brig has as much on her as she can bear. We must be soon looking out for land, though. You, Peter, have a sharp pair of eyes—go aloft, and try if you can see it.”

Though the vessel was heeling over terribly at the time, I was about to obey, when Jim said, “No, you stay on deck; let me go, Peter.”

To this I would not agree.

“Then I’ll go with you,” said Jim.

So we both crawled up the weather-rigging together. Jim said he thought that he saw land on the starboard bow, but I did not get a glimpse of it, and felt sure that he was mistaken; at all events there was no land visible ahead. We remained aloft till darkness came on, and there was no use remaining longer.

We made our reports to the mate. He said that Jim was right, and that we had probably passed the South Foreland.

This was, however, I suspected, only to encourage the men to keep at the pumps. All night long, spell and spell, we laboured away. When the morning broke no land was in sight. By this time we were all pretty well knocked up, and most of the men declared that they could pump no longer.

The mate now tried to make them keep on, reminding them that if they did not they would lose their lives. Some answered that they would take their chance, but Jim and I and others kept at our duty. Even we, however, began to feel that the struggle would be useless unless we should soon make the land, for the mate could not deny that the water was gaining on us.

The wind, however, began to moderate, and the sun bursting forth from between the clouds cheered us up a little.

At last the captain came on deck. After looking about him for some time he told me to go below and get his quadrant. He was apparently sober, and seemed to have forgotten what had happened.

“Have you a second one, sir?” I asked.

“No; bring the one I always use,” he answered.

“You hove it at the mate yesterday, sir,” I said. “And he fell and broke his.”

“What lies are you telling, youngster?” he exclaimed, uttering a fearful oath. Then he shouted to the mate, who had gone forward to be out of his way.

“Did I heave my quadrant at you?”

“Yes, you did,” answered the mate. “You made me break mine, too, and if we lose our lives you’ll have them on your head.”

The captain made no reply. I think that the occurrence must have flashed on his mind. He looked at the compass, took two or three turns on deck, and then ordered more sail to be set, directly afterwards changing the ship’s course to north-west. I therefore supposed that we were steering for the Downs, or perhaps for Saint Helens. The men, though very tired, went on pumping far more willingly than before.

A bright look-out was kept for land, but no land appeared. For some hours the brig made fair progress, but as the evening drew on the wind again got up. The captain had gone below. He could not resist taking a pull at the rum bottle. We were carrying topsails and topgallantsails.

A sudden squall laid the brig over. The captain sprang on deck and shouted—

“All hands shorten sail! You, Peter and Jim, up aloft with you and hand the main-topgallant-sail.”

The blast had passed over and the brig had righted. Jim and I ran aloft to obey the order.

The rest of the people were still on deck except one man, who had gone up the fore-rigging, about to let fly the sheets and brail up; but, nearly worn out with labouring at the pumps, they must have very slowly obeyed the orders they received, for almost before a sheet was let go, another furious squall struck the brig. Over, over she heeled.

Jim and I slid down into the main-top.

“Hold on, whatever happens,” cried Jim.

The warning was given not a moment too soon. There was a fearful cracking sound, the mast quivered, it was almost right over the water, and just as the brig was on her beam-ends it gave way, tearing out the chain-plates on the weather side, and Jim and I were hurled with it into the raging sea.

I expected every moment that we should be washed off as the mast was towed along, and so we must have been had not the lee shrouds given way.

To regain the brig was impossible; the next instant the mast was clear and the brig drove on. Before she had got a cable’s length from us the foremast also went by the board.

We could see no one on it as it was towed along. A minute or more passed.

The mast to which we clung rose to the top of a sea, we saw the brig plunge into another. Again we looked, for one instant we saw her stern, and the next she was gone.

We were too far off to hear a cry. The foremast must have been drawn down with her. The boats were securely lashed. Nothing that we could see remained floating. We knew that our late shipmates had perished.

Our own condition was fearful in the extreme. At any moment we might be washed from our hold! Now our head were under water! Now we rose to the top of a sea and looked down into a deep gulf below us.

“Hold on; hold on, Peter,” cried Jim, who was clinging on the mast close to me. “Don’t give up. Here, I’ve cut a piece of rope for you. Lash yourself on with it. I’ll get a piece for myself presently.”

I wanted him to secure himself first, but he insisted that I should take the rope, and I lashed myself with it. He soon afterwards secured himself in the same way. We might thus prolong our lives; but should we be able to hold out till a passing vessel might pick us up? I asked myself.

We were far away from land, and hours, perhaps days, might go by before the mast was seen, and only our dead bodies would be found. We had no food, no fresh water; night was coming on. I did not tell my thoughts to Jim, nor did he say what was passing in his mind; but we tried to cheer each other up. For an instant the clouds broke asunder in the west, and the sun, just as he sank below the horizon, bursting forth, shed a bright glow over the foaming ocean.

“He’ll not be long down,” cried Jim, “and he’ll warm us on t’other side when he rises.”

Jim’s remark did me good. We had cause to hope for the best. The squall which had carried away the brig’s masts was the last of the gale. The wind rapidly fell, and the sea went down, so that in a short time we could keep ourselves almost entirely out of the water. The mast became more quiet. Had we not lashed ourselves to it when we fell asleep as we both did now and then, we might have dropped off. We talked as much as we could, both to keep up our spirits and to prevent ourselves from dozing. Thus the night passed. It seemed long enough, but not so long as I expected. I must have closed my eyes when I heard Jim shout, “A sail! A sail!” and opening them I saw a large ship under all sail about a couple of miles away, standing on a course which we hoped would bring her near us.

Chapter Fourteen.

Jim and I carried off against our will.

“Shall we be seen, Jim, think you?” I asked, after we had gazed at the ship some minutes without speaking.

“Ain’t quite certain,” answered Jim, in a sad voice; “if I thought so, I could sing for joy, that I could, but the ship’s a long way off, and maybe she’ll haul closer to the wind and pass us by.”

“Oh, Jim! Let us pray that she’ll not do that,” I exclaimed. “She’s standing, as far as I can make out, directly towards us, and why should we fancy that we are to be deserted? Cheer up, Jim! Cheer up!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” said Jim. “Still we must not make too certain. If she doesn’t pick us up another vessel may. We are in the track of ships going up and down Channel, and that’s one comfort.”

Jim did not say this all at once, for he stopped sometimes to take a look at the stranger, and every now and then a sea washed up and made us close our mouths. Still the seas were every instant growing less and less, and we at last unlashed ourselves that we might move about a little and stretch our limbs.

We were on the top, it must be remembered, so that we did not run the same risk of falling off as we should have done if we had had only the mast to support us.

With straining eyes we watched the ship. Still she held the same course on which she had been steering when we first saw her, and which was bringing her nearer and nearer to us.

“Hurrah, Jim! We shall soon be seen, depend on that,” I exclaimed, at last, “and perhaps before to-night we shall be safe on shore. Who can say that we shan’t be landed at Portsmouth itself?”

“I wish I could say I was as sure as you are, Peter,” observed Jim, in a doleful voice. “If she had seen us it would have been all right; she would pick us up, but she may alter her course. Even now the wind is shifting, and she may have to keep away.”

I could not contradict this; still I kept on hoping that we should ere long be seen. I had a white handkerchief in my pocket, although it was rolled into a ball by the wet. I pulled it out, and waved it above my head as high as I could reach. Even now we might have attracted the attention of those on board the stranger, although we could distinguish no signal made to us in return.

“She’s a thumping big ship, whatever she is,” I remarked.

“She’s high out of the water, and that makes her look bigger,” observed Jim. “I have seen some like her brought up at Spithead, and to my mind she’s a South Sea whaler, outward bound. That’s the reason she looks so high. Yes, I am right, for I can make out her boats hoisted up at the davits.”

“I think you are right,” I said; “but even if she is an outward bound ship, she’ll put us on board another vessel homeward-bound, or land us on some part of the coast, the back of the Isle of Wight, or Portland.”

“First let us get on board her before we talk of where we shall be landed,” said Jim. “It seems to me as if she was going about. The head sails are shaking.”

“No, no! the man at the wheel was not minding his helm,” I answered. “I’ll wave again.”

“They won’t see that little bit of a rag,” cried Jim, “I’ll try what I can do. Here, Peter, just take hold of my jacket,” he continued, as he stripped it off, and then loosening his waistband he pulled his shirt over his head, and began to wave it frantically. I waved my handkerchief, and then in our eagerness we shouted out at the top of our voices, as if the faint sounds could be carried as far as the ship.

Presently our hearts sank, for there was no doubt that the ship was keeping away. Still, should anyone on board be using a spy-glass, and turn it towards us, we should, we hoped, be observed. We waved and shouted even more vehemently than before, but even I was almost in despair.

“She’s going to pass us after all,” cried Jim, “and there’s not another sail in sight.”

Just as he spoke there came a puff of smoke with a bright flash, from the ship’s bows, followed by a sharp report.

“We are seen! We are seen!” shouted Jim. “That’s a signal to us. Hurrah! Hurrah!”

The ship now came rapidly on, and we had no longer any doubt about being rescued. This very circumstance caused a reaction in our feelings, and, strange as it may seem, we both burst into tears. We recovered ourselves, however, very soon, and continued waving, still having an idea that the ship might sail away from us, but on and on she came. Presently her courses were brailed up, and she hove-to about three cables’ lengths from our mast. Almost at the same instant one of her boats was lowered, and came pulling towards us as fast as the men could bend their backs to the oars. In a few minutes kindly hands were stretched out to help us into the boat.

“Are you the only two?” asked the mate, who was steering.

“Yes, sir; all the rest are gone,” I answered.

“Well, we’ll hear all about it when we get you on board, lads, for you both seem as if you wanted looking after,” he said.

The boat leaving the mast, returned rapidly towards the ship.

While most of the crew scrambled up the sides, the tackles were hooked on, and we were hoisted up in the boat, from whence we were speedily handed down on deck. I could not have stood if I had not been supported, and Jim was much in the same condition.

We were soon surrounded by strange faces, some looking compassionately upon us, others with indifference, as if it was a matter of very little consequence that two boys should have been saved from perishing.

Meantime the yards were swung round and the ship stood on her course.

“We must have the lads below at once,” said one of the persons standing round. “They have been many hours wet through and exposed on the mast, and even now, if we don’t look out, they may slip through our fingers.”

“Very true, Doctor Cockle,” said another, who was, I saw by his dress, an officer. “One of them may be put into my cabin, where you can look after him better than for’ard.”

“And the other can go into mine,” said the doctor, the person who had first spoken.

No one had asked us any questions; probably they saw by our condition that we should have been unable to answer them, for both Jim and I were fast verging towards unconsciousness.

We were at once carried below, when I was put into the mate’s cabin, where my clothes were stripped off by the doctor’s orders, and, being rubbed dry, I was placed between the blankets. The doctor, who had been looking after Jim, soon came and gave me something out of a glass, which seemed to warm me up wonderfully. But even then I could not have spoken if my life had depended upon it.

“Get some warm broth as quickly as you can,” I heard the doctor say to someone, he in the meantime rubbing my feet and hands and chest. It seemed as if scarcely more than two or three minutes had passed when a basin of hot broth was brought me, which I drank without difficulty, and it did me more good than the stuff in the glass.

“You may go to sleep now, my lad,” said the doctor, in a kind tone; “you’ll do well. You shall tell us by-and-by how you and your companion came to be on the mast.”

I obeyed the doctor’s orders, and scarcely had the door been closed than I was fast asleep. I was awakened by the doctor coming in, accompanied by a boy who brought some more soup and some bread, and which, being very hungry, I thankfully swallowed.

“You can eat something more substantial now,” said the doctor, and he told the boy to bring in some fowl and more bread from the breakfast-table.

By this I guessed that I must have had a long spell of sleep, and that a whole day and a night had passed since we were taken on board. I eagerly ate all that was given me.

“You may get up now, my boy, and dress, and we will find another berth for you; we must not keep Mr Griffiths out of his bed,” said the doctor.

“I would not do that on any account, sir,” I said; “I feel quite strong, and am accustomed to live forward.”

I soon dressed, and was glad to see that Jim also was up. There were two apprentices on board, who lived on the half-deck, and the doctor said that the first mate promised to have some berths knocked up for us with them.

“How did you come to be on board the vessel which went down?” asked the doctor, when I accompanied him on deck.

From the kind way he spoke I was encouraged to give him a full account of myself and Jim, so I told him that he and I belonged to Portsmouth, and had gone in the Good Intent to Bergen; and how she had lost her masts, and the crew had been washed overboard. How the captain had died, and we had done our best to keep the brig afloat, and had been driven in close to Shetland, and that I had found a relative there, and was coming south in the Nancy to fetch my sister. He then asked me about my father, and I told him that he had been lost at Spithead, and that mother had died, and old Tom had taken care of Mary and me, and how, after he had been blown up in the ship at Spithead, Jim and I had managed to gain our bread and support Mary and Nancy till a claimant appeared for old Tom’s property, and our boat had been taken from us, and we had been turned out of the house, and should have been in a bad way if the good Quaker, Mr Gray, had not come to our assistance.

The doctor listened attentively, and he then asked me what sort of man my father was, and whether I had a brother in the navy.

I described my father, and then said that Jack had gone away on board the Lapwing brig of war, but that he was supposed to have been cut off by savages in one of her boats when in the Indian seas. At all events, that we had never since heard of him.

“That’s very strange,” he observed; “I think, Peter Trawl, that we have met before, when you were a very little chap. Do you remember your father taking off the doctor and the mate of a ship lying at Spithead, when you and your brother Jack were in the boat, and he was to be put on board the brig?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, looking up at his face: “I recollect it perfectly, as it was the last time I saw Jack, though I little thought then that I should never see him again.”

“I was the doctor, and the first mate of this ship was my companion. When I first heard your name, as it is a peculiar one, I all of a sudden recollected that it was that of the boatman who took Mr Griffiths and me off on the occasion I speak of. We are now brothers-in-law, and have ever since gone to sea together—that is to say, when we have gone to sea, for both of us have taken long spells on shore. If it hadn’t been for that, Mr Griffiths would have been a captain years ago.”

“I am very glad to meet you and him again, sir,” I said; “and now I look at you I fancy I recollect your countenance, as I did your voice. You were not as well accustomed to the sea then as you are now.”

“No,” he answered, laughing. “That was my first voyage. I sometimes wish that I had lived comfortably on shore, and made it my last, but I got accustomed to a roving life, and having no regular business or tie, when circumstances compelled Mr Griffiths—who married my sister—to come to sea again, I agreed to accompany him.”

I felt sure from the kind way in which Doctor Cockle spoke that he would wish to serve me.

I asked him if the ship was going to put into Saint Helens, or if not, would he get the captain to land Jim and me at Portland?

“We are some way to the westward of Portland, already,” he answered. “It is possible that he may land you at Plymouth or Falmouth, or if not put you on board some pilot or fishing boat, or any vessel we may fall in with coming up Channel.”

“Surely, sir, he would not carry us away from home? I would give anything to be on shore, where my young sister is expecting me, and it would break her heart to fancy I was lost, which she would do if I did not appear,” I said.

“As Mr Griffiths and I only joined the ship at Hull, ten days ago, we are not very intimate with the captain: but I hope he would not refuse your request.”

The doubtful way in which he spoke made me feel very unhappy. Still, I hoped that when I told the captain the strong reasons I had for wishing to be put on shore as soon as possible, he would not refuse.

The doctor left me to attend to one of the men who was sick forward, and I joined Jim, who had also come on deck. I had a long talk with him about the matter. He fancied we were only then just abreast of the Downs, and that the captain would put in willingly enough for the sake of getting rid of us. It was a great disappointment to find that we were so far down Channel, and that we should thus, at all events, have a long journey back to Portsmouth. Still we neither of us doubted for a moment that we should be put on shore somewhere to the westward, as I saw by a look I had at the compass that we were standing for the land.

While we were talking, the captain, whom we had not yet seen, came on deck. He was a fine, tall, sailor-like looking man, with a handsome countenance and large eyes, which seemed to take in everything at a glance—a person of whom the roughest crew would stand in awe.

His bright eyes fell on Jim and me; he beckoned us to come up, and, looking at me, bade me give him the particulars of the loss of the brig, about which Mr Griffiths and the doctor had told him.

I gave him the account as he desired, and then thought that I might venture to ask him to put Jim and me on shore, for that, as may be supposed, was the thing uppermost in my mind.

“We will see about that, my lads,” he answered. “If the wind holds as it now does it won’t cause us any delay, but I can make no promises. Boys at your age ought to wish to see the world, and we can find employment for you on board. You are sharp fellows, I can see, or you would not have saved your lives. One of the apprentices isn’t worth his salt, and the other will slip his cable before long, I suspect. His friends insisted on my taking him, fancying that the voyage would restore him to health.”

The captain spoke in so free-and-easy a way that the awe with which I was at first inclined to regard him vanished.

The wind, I should have said, had shifted to the westward of south. We were standing about north-west, a course which would carry us over to the English coast before long. We were obliged to be content with the sort of promise that the captain had made, and I hoped that when the doctor and Mr Griffiths spoke to him, that he would not refuse to put us on shore.

Though Jim and I were well enough to walk about the deck, we were too weak to venture aloft, or we should have been at the masthead looking out for land. We went forward, however, keeping our eyes over the starboard bow, where we expected every instant to see it.

Several of the men spoke to us good-naturedly, and were as eager as the officers had been to hear what had happened to us. While we were standing there looking out, a lad came up and said, “So I hear you fellows are to be our messmates. What are your names?”

I told him.

“Mine’s Ned Horner,” he said, “and I hope we shall be friends, for I can’t make anything of the fellow who messes with me, George Esdale. There’s no fun in him, and he won’t talk or do anything when it’s his watch below but read and sing psalms.”

“I shall be glad to be friends with you,” I answered, “but I don’t suppose it will be for long, as I expect we shall leave the ship to-night or to-morrow morning.”

“That may or may not be,” he remarked, with a laugh. “Have you been long at sea?”

I told him that I had been brought up to it from my boyhood.

“Well, you have the advantage of me, for this is my first voyage; and Esdale didn’t know the stem from the stern when he first came on board. Now come along to the half-deck; he and I are going to dinner; I suppose you’ll join us?”

Jim and I were beginning to feel hungry, and willingly accepted Horner’s invitation.

The savoury whiffs which came out of the caboose as we passed made me feel more eager than ever for something to eat.

Horner took us down to the half-deck, where we found Esdale, of whom he had spoken, seated on a chest reading. He was a pale, sickly-looking youth, taller a good deal than Jim.

He put down his book and held out his hand to shake ours.

“It’s your turn to go for the dinner,” he said to Horner, “and it must be ready by this time, but I’ll go if you wish it.”

“Well, you may go,” said Horner; “I want to do the honours to these fellows. Take care that you don’t capsize with the things as you come along the deck.”

Then, without another word, Esdale got up, and putting his book into the chest, went forward.

“I make him do just what I like,” said Horner, in a contemptuous tone. “Take care that you don’t treat him in the same way, for if he has too many masters he may be inclined to kick.”

Before long Esdale returned with a bowl of pea-soup, and a plate at the top of it containing some potatoes, and a piece of fat boiled pork.

“Now fall to, youngsters,” said Horner, in a patronising tone. “I am sorry not to be able to offer you better fare.”

While he was speaking he got out of a locker four plates and two metal spoons and two wooden ones.

We did ample justice to the dinner, as we had been accustomed to nothing better while we were on board the Nancy. After the meal was finished we returned on deck, though Esdale did not offer to accompany us, as he spent his watch below, as Horner had said, in reading, writing, or singing in a low voice to himself.

We passed the afternoon looking out for the land. At length, when night came on, in spite of my anxiety to see the coast, and the long sleep I had had, I felt scarcely able to keep my eyes open. Still, I should probably have remained on deck after dark had not the doctor come to us and said, “I have spoken to the captain, lads, and he promises to put you on shore to-morrow morning; so now go and turn in, for you require sleep.”

We went to the half-deck, where we found that the carpenter had knocked up some rough bunks, in which some mattresses and blankets had been placed. We were both glad enough to turn in. I observed that Esdale, before he did so, knelt down and said his prayers. It was Horner’s watch on deck, so that he was not present.

Chapter Fifteen.

The voyage of the “Intrepid” begun.

I slept right through the night, and was surprised to find when I opened my eyes that it was daylight. Jim and I at once turned out and went on deck.

There was the land, broad on the starboard bow, still at some distance. When I looked aloft I saw that the yards were square, and studding-sails on either side. A strong north-easterly wind was blowing, and we were running down Channel.

The captain, the first mate, and the doctor were on deck. Jim and I gazed eagerly at the land.

I went up to the doctor.

“Whereabouts are we, sir?” I asked.

“We are off the Start, my lad.”

“Off the Start!” I exclaimed. “Oh, sir, won’t the captain put into Plymouth to land us as he promised? Do speak to him, sir.”

“These lads are very anxious to be landed, Captain Hawkins,” he said. “It is of the greatest importance to young Trawl here, and it would not much delay us.”

The mate spoke in the same way, and entreated the captain even in stronger language than Dr Cockle had used.

“No, no,” he answered. “Very likely they do wish to be put on shore, but we cannot lose a moment of this fine breeze. The trip won’t do them any harm, and they’ll thank me for it by-and-by.”

Jim, when he heard this, was too angry on my account to speak, but I lifted up my hands and implored the captain to have pity on my young sister, if not on me.

“Very fine, my lad,” he answered, with a laugh; “but you are not quite of so much importance as you suppose. It might delay us not only for a few hours, but for days, perhaps, and, doctor, I cannot listen to you. We’ve got a favourable breeze, and I intend to make the best use of it.”

Once more I implored and entreated that the captain would not carry us away from home. All was of no use; he would not listen either to the doctor or the mate, or us. At length, growing angry, he said he would not hear another word on the subject, and Jim and I, by the doctor’s advice, went for’ard to be out of his way. There we stood, watching with straining eyes the shore, past which we were running, and at length the Land’s End came in sight.

“Cheer up, my lads,” said our kind friend, who came for’ard to us. “The wind may change, and we may be driven back, or we may be able to put you on board some homeward-bound ship. Cheer up! Cheer up!”

The land, as I stood gazing at it, rapidly sank below the horizon. I strained my eyes—the last faint line had disappeared. I could have cried, but my grief was too bitter for tears. Not that I cared for being carried away on my own account, but I thought of the sorrow my kind relatives in Shetland would feel—Mr Trail and his daughter, and dear little Maggie, and more than all how Mary would feel as she waited day after day for the arrival of the brig which was never to appear, and then, when all hope was gone, how she would mourn for us, and Nancy also would, I knew, share her feelings.

If I could have sent but a line to my sister to tell her I was safe, though I might be long absent, it would not have so much mattered. Mr Gray would take very good care of her, and she would have written to Mr Troil to explain what had happened; but as it was I could scarcely bear it.

“The doctor told us to cheer up, and that’s what I say to you, Peter,” cried Jim, trying to console me. “Maybe we shall fall in with a homeward-bound ship after all, though I don’t think there’s much chance of our seeing the shores of old England again for a long time to come if we don’t, as it looks as if the wind would hold in its present quarter till we are well out in the Atlantic.”

Jim was right. With yards squared and every stitch of canvas the ship could carry, we bowled along at a rate which soon left our native land far astern.

I had been too long at sea, and knew the duties of a sailor too well, to feel for myself so much as many fellows of my age under similar circumstances would have done. Jim also tried to rouse me up, so instead of moping I determined to exert myself. I still had the hope to support me that before long we might fall in with a homeward-bound ship, and I concluded that the captain would, without hesitation, put Jim and me on board her.

The day after we took our departure from the Land’s End he saw us both together on deck.

“What are those youngsters idling there for?” he exclaimed, turning to Mr Griffiths. “Put them in a watch at once, and let me see that they do their duty. If they don’t, let them look out for squalls!”

“Ay, ay, sir!” answered the mate, who, though of a very independent spirit, always spoke respectfully to the captain.

He considerately placed us both in the same watch, knowing that we should like it, as we should be able to talk at night when we were on deck and had no especial duty to perform.

We had no reason to complain of the way the men treated us, rough as some of them were. The doctor and Mr Griffiths always behaved kindly, but the captain took no further notice of us, except when he ordered Jim or me to do something. To my surprise, I found that the ship was the Intrepid—the very one my father and I had put Mr Griffiths and the doctor on board so many years before. She was then quite a new ship, and, being strongly-built, she was as sound as ever. I have spoken of her as a ship, but she was barque-rigged, as almost all whalers are, barques being more easily handled than ship-rigged craft. The Intrepid was upwards of three hundred tons burden, with a crew of thirty hands all told, and stored, I found, for a cruise of two years or more. She carried six whale-boats, and materials for building others should any of them be lost. There were three mates, a carpenter and cooper and their mates; an armourer, a steward, and cook; four boat-steerers, four able seamen, six ordinary seamen, the doctor, two apprentices, Jim, and me.

I had never before been on board a whaler, and as I listened to the long yarns of the men describing their hairbreadth escapes and the exciting chases after the monsters of the deep, I felt, had I not had such cogent reasons for returning home, that I would very gladly have gone out to the South Seas to witness with my own eyes the scenes the men spoke of. Still I longed as much as ever to get back to England.

Jim and I made it out pretty well with the two apprentices. Horner was inclined to look down upon Jim for his want of education. Esdale treated us both alike with gentleness and consideration, and offered to teach Jim to read and write if he wished to learn. It had never occurred to me to try and do so. Indeed, although we had been so much together, I had not had many opportunities.

The second night we were on board I was awakened by feeling some hairy creature nestling by my side. I sung out, not a little frightened.

“What’s up?” cried Horner, who had just come below to rouse Jim and me out to keep our watch.

“A great big brute of some sort has come into my bunk; I wonder it hasn’t bitten me,” I answered.

“Why, I’ve got another here!” exclaimed Jim, who just then awoke. “What in the world is it?”

Horner laughed loudly.

“Why, they’re our ferrets,” he answered. “Didn’t you see them before?”

“No, and I never wish to see them again,” answered Jim, as he flung the creature down on the deck.

Horner then told us that the captain had taken a couple on board at Hull to kill the rats, and that although a hutch had been made for them the creatures always managed to get out at night for the sake of obtaining a warm berth, and that if we put them into their hutch they would be sure to find their way back again into his or Esdale’s bunks before they had been many minutes asleep.

The truth was the ferrets were more afraid of the rats than the rats were of them. We bore the annoyance for three nights more, and then, by the unanimous consent of our mess, we got Horner to carry them down into the hold, from which they never ascended, and we concluded that they either got drowned in the bilge water or were eaten up by the rats.

We had not been long at sea before a heavy gale sprang up, but as the wind was from the westward we were able to lay our course.

To Jim and me it mattered very little, although the waves were much higher than I had seen them in the North Sea, but poor Esdale suffered very much, and Horner’s conceit was taken down a good many pegs. Jim and I did our best to look after them, and to try to get them to eat something, but they could only swallow liquids.

“Oh, let me alone! Let me alone!” cried Horner.

The doctor came to see Esdale frequently, and advised that he should be taken to a spare berth in the cabin, but the captain would not allow it.

“All lads get sick when they first come to sea if there’s a gale of wind, and he’ll come round again by-and-by,” he remarked in his usual off-hand way.

This was not told to Esdale, who said, indeed, that he preferred remaining where he was.

As the weather was tolerably warm, I believe that he was as well off on the half-deck as he would have been in the cabin.

At last the gale came to an end—or rather we ran out of it. Esdale got somewhat better again, but I observed that he had changed greatly in appearance since we came on board.

I had now to abandon all hopes of the ship putting back, but there was still a possibility of getting on board a homeward-bound vessel.

Two days after the gale had ceased, while I was below, I heard the cry of “Sail, ho!” from the man at the masthead.

I hurried on deck. We had the wind abeam, and so had she—a soldier’s wind as it is called. We should meet the approaching vessel before long and pass each other, with not a cable’s length between us.

I watched her eagerly. We drew closer and closer to each other. When we got nearly abreast I went up to the first mate and asked him what she was.

“She’s from the Brazils, bound for Liverpool,” he answered.

Just then I saw the captain come on deck. Forgetting what he was I rushed up to him.

“Oh, Captain Hawkins, will you put Jim and me on board her?” I exclaimed. “You don’t know how much I want to get home; it won’t delay you ten minutes to put us on board.”

“Ten minutes of this fine breeze lost for the sake of a boy like you,” he answered, with a scornful laugh. “I expended more than ten in heaving to to pick you up, and that was as much as you are worth. Go forward, you young monkey, and give me no more of your impudence.”

Undaunted by his heartless answer, I again and again implored that he would put me on board the Liverpool ship, but he stood looking contemptuously at me without uttering a word, till Jim, seeing that I was making no way, coming up, hat in hand, exclaimed—

“If you’ll put Peter here on board yonder ship, sir, that he may go home to his young sister and friends, I’ll stay here and work for you, and be your slave for as many years as you may want me. Do, sir—do let poor Peter go!”

“Off with you for’ard,” thundered the captain, with a fierce oath. “How dare you speak to me? Away, both of you! Somebody has been putting you up to this, I know.” And he glanced angrily at Dr Cockle and the mate.

“If you mean me, Captain Hawkins, I know that the lad has very good reasons for wishing to return home, but I did not advise him or Jim Pulley to speak to you. I certainly wish that you would put Peter Trawl on board that homeward-bound ship.”

“You may wish what you like, but I am not going to allow what I choose to do to be found fault with by you or any other man on board this ship!” cried the captain, turning on his heel. “So look out for yourself,” he added, glancing half over his shoulder.

The ordinary salutes were exchanged, and the two vessels stood on their course.

My heart felt as if it would burst with indignation and sorrow. Had the wind been light, I might, perhaps, have been able to put a letter on board, even although the captain would not have let me go.

Esdale tried to comfort me, and advised me to have one written ready to send should another opportunity occur.

The first land we made soon after this was Madeira. Except the coast of Norway, I had seen no foreign country, and as we passed it within a quarter of a mile, it struck me as very beautiful and fertile.

The wind being light we tarred down the rigging, and a few days afterwards, when we were about eight hundred miles from the land, one morning, on coming on deck, I noticed that the shrouds and every freshly-tarred rope looked as red as if they had been just painted. I asked the doctor, who allowed me to speak to him in a familiar way, what had caused this, and he told me that it was the red sand blown off the coast of Africa, and that it was a common occurrence in these latitudes.

We passed in sight of the Cape de Verde islands, one of which, called Fogo, seemed of a prodigious height. The first place we touched at was the island of Brava, into which the captain put to obtain fresh provisions.

“Now is my time,” I thought. “If I can go on shore here, I shall be able to get back by the next homeward-bound vessel which calls at the place.”

Jim proposed that we should smuggle ourselves on board some shore-boat, but to this I would not agree.

“We will go with the captain’s leave,” I answered, “and he surely will not refuse it now that he has no excuse for doing so.”

I therefore went up to him as soon as he came on deck.

“Captain Hawkins,” I said, in as firm a voice as I could command, “again I ask you will you allow Jim Pulley and me to leave your ship and wait on shore until we can get a passage home?”

“Peter Trawl, if that’s your name, I shall do no such thing,” he answered. “If I find you attempting to go on shore I shall put you in irons.”

I knew from previous experience that there was no use in expostulating. When I told the doctor, he could scarcely conceal his indignation.

“I feel inclined to help you, my lad, at every risk,” he said, “but we must be cautious. Wait until the evening, and then we will see what can be done.”

I thanked him heartily, and promised to follow his advice. Jim was ready for anything.

The doctor said he would go on shore and then send off a boat which would wait under the starboard bow, and that we must manage to slip into her as soon as it was dark.

The captain in the meantime had landed, but returned very shortly with four tall negroes, whom he had engaged to pull the ’midship oars in the whale-boats. They are, I should say, first-rate oarsmen, and have a gentle disposition, ready to obey, and are happy under all circumstances. Besides the negroes, two boats loaded with fresh provisions came alongside.

These were soon hoisted on board, when the captain ordered a gun to be fired and Blue Peter to be hoisted, a signal to all those on shore to return immediately.

Dr Cockle and the third mate, with the cooper, whom the captain thought he could trust, had landed.

Presently the captain ordered another and then another gun to be fired to hasten them, and then to my bitter disappointment he directed Mr Griffiths to loosen sails and heave up the anchor.

According to Esdale’s advice I had begun a letter to Mary, but had not had time to finish it. Hoping that I should not be missed by the captain, I ran below to add a few lines and then to close it, under the belief that I should be able to send it off by a shore-boat. I had to get out Esdale’s ink-bottle and pen, which he had before lent me; the pen would not write, so I had to search for his penknife, and to try and mend it as well as I could, but having little experience in the art, this took me some time. I at last got the letter closed with a wafer, and directed to the care of Mr Gray, when I sprang with it on deck. Just then the eye of the captain fell on me.

“Come aft here, youngster,” he shouted. “Where have you been away from your duty?”

I had the letter in my hand.

“I wanted to get this ready to send on shore, sir,” I answered, holding it up.

“No excuse for leaving your station. Take that!” he cried, as he gave me a blow on the side of the head with his half-clenched fist, which brought me to the deck, and nearly stunned me. When I recovered myself the first person I saw was Dr Cockle, who, looking at me compassionately, said, “Come below, Peter, and I’ll try to put your head to rights, for you seem to be much hurt. How did it happen?”

“I can’t tell you now, sir, for I much want to send this letter off by a shore-boat,” I answered.

As I spoke I observed that the crew were hoisting away and sheeting home the sails. I ran to the side and jumped on to the main chains. The only remaining boat was just shoving off. I shouted to the people in her to come and take my letter; but they did not understand me, or did not care to remain alongside, as the ship was rapidly gathering way; another stroke of their oars and they were at a distance from the ship. I waved and shouted to them to come back, but they did not heed me, and just then I heard the captain calling to me in an angry tone to attend to my duty. I was obliged to obey, expecting another cuff harder than the last; but when he saw me begin to pull and haul with the rest he said no more. Perhaps he observed the blood streaming from my head. The sails were now sheeted home, the yards trimmed, and the Intrepid stood away from the land.

Another opportunity of making my escape was lost.

Chapter Sixteen.

We cross the Line and attempt to round Cape Horn.

Jim was always saying, “Cheer up, Peter, cheer up!” but it was a very hard matter to be cheery when I thought of the cruel way in which I had been treated, and the sorrow my sister must be feeling at my supposed loss. I tried, as advised, to keep up my spirits, and did my best to obey the orders I received.

Jim observed that it was all the same to him. His friends would not grieve much over his loss, and, as far as he was concerned, he would as soon be chasing whales in the Pacific as working a wherry in Portsmouth Harbour.

As we approached the line I found that the men were making preparations for going through the ceremony which was performed on board most vessels in those days. One of the boat-steerers, Sam Ringold, who stood six feet four in his shoes, and was proportionably broad, was chosen to act the part of Neptune, and the cooper’s mate, who was as wide as he was high, that of his wife. The armourer took the part of the barber, and the carpenter’s mate, who was lank and tall, the doctor.

Three of the ordinary seamen, the smallest fellows on board, were their attendants. All the chests were searched for the required dresses, and some curtains belonging to the cabin found their way forward to form a petticoat for Mrs Neptune. Some gold paper and pasteboard were manufactured into crowns, and some fishes’ tails were ingeniously formed for the attendants. I discovered the preparations going forward, but was charged not to let Horner, or Esdale, or Jim know anything about them. I was more favoured than the rest of my messmates by the men, who seemed to have taken a liking to me; whether it was because they had heard how I had assisted to save the Good Intent, or thought that I was ill-treated by the captain, I do not know, but so it was. No one ever abused me, or gave me the taste of a rope’s-end.

We had been sailing on with light winds when one morning, after the decks had been washed down and the other duties of the ship performed, having run on for a short distance, we lay almost becalmed with the sea as smooth as a mill-pond. The captain and his mates were seen to be taking an observation, and soon afterwards it became known that we were just crossing the line.

“I’ve often heard about it, but I can’t say I see any line,” said Jim.

“Nor can I!” cried Horner, who was looking out eagerly.

Presently a gruff voice was heard, hailing from forward.

“What ship is that, shutting out the light from my palace window?”

“The Intrepid” answered Captain Hawkins, who with the mates and doctor were standing aft.

“Then go ahead, will you, or I’ll indict you for a nuisance,” cried the voice, the remark producing a general laugh.

“I can’t think of standing on until I have had the pleasure of a visit from Daddy Neptune,” said the captain.

“Ay, ay! Glad to hear that. Then I’ll come aboard in a jiffy with my royal missus and some of our precious young family; and maybe, captain, you’ll have something to give them, for they’re very fond of any hot potions which may come in their way.”

“Be smart about it, then, Daddy, for I see a breeze springing up, and I may have to run you out of sight before you and your precious family have had time to take a sip apiece,” cried the captain, who seemed to be in far better humour than usual.

All this time Jim and Horner were standing with me abaft the main hatchway, with their eyes staring and their mouths agape, wondering what was going to happen.

Presently, over the bows, appeared the strangest group I had ever set eyes on.

First there came Daddy Neptune with a glittering crown, a beard of oakum reaching to his middle, a girdle of rope yarn round his waist, a cloak covered with strange devices, and a huge trident in his hand.

His wife wore a crown like that of her husband, with ringlets of the same material as his beard, a huge sash of some gaily-coloured stuff, and a cloak formed out of a blanket. The barber had in his hand a pot containing lather, a big bowl tucked under one arm, with a razor a yard long and a shaving brush of huge size under the other; while the children or attendant imps—for it was hard to say what they were—waddled about in green clothing, looking like sea monsters, behind them.

“Well, I have heard of strange things, but these chaps are stranger than ever I saw,” cried Jim. “Where do they come from?”

“From the bottom of the sea, I suppose,” said Horner, who evidently did not admire their looks as they advanced aft.

The captain, after a little palavering, ordered the steward to bring up some grog and serve it out to them. Then retiring a short way forward, Neptune commanded all who had not before visited his dominions to come and pay their respects to him.

We all did so, not feeling very comfortable as to what was to follow, when his attendants got hold of Jim and me. Horner tried to escape, but was quickly captured and brought back.

No one interfered with Esdale, who had, I found, crossed Neptune’s hand with a crown-piece; which, of course, none of us were able to do. A huge tub of water had been placed in front of his majesty. The barber now came forward and insisted on shaving all those who were for the first time crossing the line. Three of the ordinary seamen were novices like us.

The barber first lathered our chins with some abominable mixture from his pot, and then, scraping it off with his razor, finally ducked our heads into the tub. Horner, when undergoing the operation, had the brush several times thrust into his mouth, and his whole face and head daubed over. When he opened his mouth to expostulate, in again went the brush. As he kicked and screamed and spluttered, he was treated worse and worse.

Jim, taking a lesson from me, kept his mouth shut. I was let off even more easily than he was. Once Horner got loose, but instead of wisely remaining on deck and holding his tongue, he ran up the rigging and began abusing Daddy Neptune and his gang, whereupon he was again captured and compelled to undergo the same operation as before.

Blacky the cook next brought out his fiddle, and Neptune and his party—indeed, the whole crew—began dancing round and round, singing and shouting every now and then as an interlude, catching hold of the “green hands” and pitching them into the tub, chase being always made after those who attempted to escape.

The grog circulated so rapidly among the crew that they would all soon have been intoxicated had not the captain, in a thundering voice, ordered them to knock off and bring their tomfoolery to an end.

They obeyed. Neptune and his followers dived below, and presently returned like stout seamen as they were.

The order was given to brace the yards sharp up, and, with an easterly wind, we stood on our course.

The next land we made was a solitary islet. Near it stood a remarkable rock called the “Ninepin,” detached from the land. The doctor told me that it is eighteen hundred feet in height. It had the appearance of a monument standing out of the ocean. There are no inhabitants on the island, nor any good landing-place, but fresh water is to be obtained there, as well as pigs and vegetables.

We soon after this began to fall in with stormy weather. We found our ship, which had remarkably sharp ends, very wet, and as we were now approaching the land of storms in the dead of winter, with the days scarcely more than seven hours long, the greatest caution was deemed necessary. The royal masts were sent down and replaced by stump topgallant masts. The flying jib-boom was sent in and the studding-sail booms were also sent down. All the boats except one were got in, the hatches were battened down, and everything was done to make the ship light aloft.

We were nearly off the River Plate when there were indications of an approaching gale. The hitherto blue sky was overcast, and the scud flew rapidly along, as if impelled by a hurricane.

“You youngsters will have to look out for yourselves before long,” said Tom Ringold, the boat-steerer, who had acted the part of Neptune. “We shall be having old Harry Cane aboard here, and he’s a precious deal more difficult to tackle than Daddy Neptune, who paid us a visit on the line.”

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wonder what we shall do?” cried Horner, who did not exactly understand what was going to happen.

“Why, hold on to the weather-rigging, if you haven’t to be pulling and hauling, and duck your head if you see a sea coming,” answered Jim, who understood the joke about Harry Cane.

In a short time the captain ordered the topsails to be reefed and the mainsail to be stowed and all the lighter sails handed. Jim and I were sent aloft to the fore-topgallant sailyard to furl the sail. We were laying out when, to my horror, I saw Jim disappear. I nearly fell from the yard myself, from thinking that he would be dashed to pieces, and that I should lose my staunchest friend.

“Jim! Jim! Oh, save him! Save him!” I shouted out, not knowing what I was saying, or considering how useless it was to shout.

“Here I am all right, Peter,” cried Jim, and his voice seemed to come not far from me.

What was my joy to discover that he had been caught in the belly of the sail, and there he lay as if he had been in a hammock, the reef tackle having been hauled out just at the time he fell. He quickly scrambled on to the yard again, resuming his duty as if nothing particular had occurred. We having finished our work came down. Scarcely was this done when the gale struck us, taking us right aback. The cabin dead-lights not being properly secured, the cabin was nearly filled with water. The carpenter and his mates hurried aft to close them, and we youngsters were sent below to help him, and put things to rights.

When this was done down came the rain in such torrents that it seemed as if it would swamp the ship, while as she fell off into the trough of the sea, she began to roll in a way which threatened every instant to shake the masts out of her. It seemed wonderful that they stood. Had the rigging not been well set up they must have gone. The only accident I have to mention was that one of our remaining pigs was killed, but this did not grieve the crew, for as we had no salt on board, and the meat would not keep, the portion not required for the cabin was served out to us.

Another, and what might have proved a far more serious matter, occurred. Tom Ringold was steering, when a sea striking the rudder with tremendous force knocked him over the wheel, carrying away several of the brass spokes as it flew round, and sent him against the bulwarks. For a moment everyone thought he was killed, but he picked himself up, and although he could not use his arm for two or three days, at the end of that time he was able to do his duty as well as ever.

That storm soon came to an end, but the old hands told us that we might look out for others, and so the captain seemed to think, for although he was anxious to get round Cape Horn we were always under snug canvas at night, and during the day a bright look-out was kept, lest one of those sudden squalls called Pamperos might come off the land and whip the masts out of the ship, or lay her on her beam-ends, as frequently happens when the hands are not ready to shorten sail. We, however, got to the southward of the Falkland Islands without accident.

My poor friend and messmate Esdale severely felt the cold which we now began to experience. He came on deck to attend to his duty, but a hacking cough and increasing weakness made him very unfit for it. The doctor at last insisted on his remaining below, although Esdale declared that he would rather be on deck and try to do his best.

“But I insist on your remaining in your bunk until we round Cape Horn and reach a warmer latitude,” said Dr Cockle. “I will see the captain, and tell him plainly that he will be answerable for your death, should he insist on your doing duty any longer.”

Esdale still pleaded, but the doctor was peremptory.

“It is his only chance,” he said to me; “I cannot promise that he will live. He will, however, certainly die if he is exposed to this biting wind and constant rain. I intend to tell the captain, but you, Trawl, go and stay with him whenever you can; it will cheer him up, poor fellow, to have someone to talk to, and that dull Horner cannot speak two words of sense.”

Before the doctor had time to do as he proposed, Captain Hawkins, missing Esdale from the deck, ordered me to tell him to come up.

This I determined not to do, for it was blowing hard at the time from the south-west and the wind would have chilled him through in a minute. I, however, went below, and after remaining a little time, I returned, and said—

“Esdale is very ill, sir, and is not fit to come on deck.”

“How do you know that, youngster?” asked the captain, in an angry tone.

“Dr Cockle has seen him and says so,” I answered boldly.

“Tell him to come up, or I’ll send a couple of hands to bring him neck and crop,” thundered the captain.

I was as determined as before not to tell Esdale, knowing that he would come if sent for.

“Go below and bring up that lazy young rascal,” shouted the captain to Tom Ringold and another man standing near him.

I immediately dived below to persuade Tom to let Esdale remain in his bunk.

“It will be his death if he is exposed to this weather,” I said.

“I am not the fellow to kill a shipmate if I can help it,” answered Tom. “Tell him to stay and I’ll take the consequences.”

When Tom returned on deck, the captain enquired in a fierce voice why he had not carried out his orders.

“Because he is too ill to be moved, Captain Hawkins,” answered Tom, promptly.

The captain, uttering an oath, and taking a coil of rope in his hand, was just about to go below when Doctor Cockle came on deck, and guessing, from the few words he heard, what was the captain’s intention, came up to him and said—

“It would kill the lad to bring him up, and as he is my patient, I have told him to stay below.”

“Am I to be thwarted and insulted on board my own ship?” cried the captain. “Whether he is ill or well, up he comes.”

And going down to the half-deck, he asked Esdale why he had not obeyed his orders.

Esdale, of course, had not received them, and said so, beginning at the same time to dress. Before, however, he could finish putting on his clothes the captain seized him by the arm and dragged him up. Scarcely, however, had he reached the deck when the poor fellow fainted right away. Tom, on seeing this, lifted him in his arms and carried him down again.

“I warn you, Captain Hawkins, that you will cause the death of the lad if you compel him to be on deck in this weather,” said the doctor firmly, as he turned to follow Tom and Esdale.

The captain, making no remark, walked aft, and did not again interfere.

Whether that sudden exposure to the cold had any serious effect I do not know, but Esdale after this got worse and worse. Whenever I could I went and sat by his side, when he used to talk to me of the happy land for which he was bound. He did not seem even to wish to live, and yet he was as cheerful as anyone on board. The doctor and first mate used also to come and talk to him, and he spoke to them as he did to me, and urged them to put their trust where he was putting his. I believe that his exhortations had a beneficial influence on them, as they had on me. When I said how I hoped that he would get better after we were round the Cape, he answered—

“I shall never see the Horn, Peter; I am as sure of that as I can be of anything.”

Two days after this land was sighted on the starboard bow. It proved to be Staten Island; but scarcely were we to the south of it when we encountered a furious gale blowing from the westward.

For two days; by keeping close hauled, the captain endeavoured to gain ground to the westward, resolved, as he declared, “to thrash the ship round the Cape.” On the third day, however, while I was on deck, a tremendous sea came rolling up.

“Look out! Hold on for your lives, lads!” shouted the first mate.

Every one clung to whatever was nearest to him. One poor fellow was to leeward. There was no avoiding the sea, which, like a mountain topped with foam, struck the bows. The ship plunged into it, and for a few seconds I thought would never rise again. On swept the roaring torrent, deluging the deck; and had not the hatches been battened down, would have half filled her.

A loud, crashing sound followed, and when the water had passed over us nearly all the lee bulwarks were gone, and with them our shipmate who had been standing a minute before as full of life as any of us. He was not again seen, and must have gone down at once.

The captain was compelled at last to heave the ship to, and there we lay, now rising to the top of a sea, now sinking into the trough, with walls of water, half as high as the main-top, round us. The seas in the German Ocean and Bay of Biscay were nothing to be compared to those we encountered off the Horn, though, perhaps, equally dangerous.

As soon as I went below, I hurried to the side of Esdale. He asked what had happened. I told him.

“Some one was carried overboard?” he inquired.

“Yes,” I said. “Poor Jack Norris,” wondering how he knew it.

“And I shall soon follow him,” he replied.

His words proved true. That very night, as I came off my watch and was about to turn in, I heard my messmate utter my name in a low voice. I went to him.

“I’m going,” he whispered. “Good-bye, Peter; you’ll remember what I have said to you?”

I promised him I would, and told him I must run and call the doctor.

“No, stay,” he said. “He can do me no good. Tell him I thank him for his kindness. Good-bye, Peter.”

The next instant his hand relaxed its hold of mine, and stooping down over him I found he had ceased to breathe.

So died one of the most amiable and excellent young men I have ever met. The next morning he was sewn up in canvas, with a shot at his feet, and brought on deck. The captain stood aft watching the proceedings. Whether he felt he had hastened Esdale’s death I know not; but his countenance was stern and gloomy as night. The boldest seaman on board would not have dared just then to speak to him. Hail and sleet were driving in our faces; a furious gale threatening to carry our only sail out of the bolt-ropes was blowing; the mountain seas raged round us; there was scarce time for a prayer, none for form or ceremony. A foaming billow came thundering against the bows; over the deck it swept. We clung for our lives to ropes, stanchions, and ring-bolts. When it had passed we found that it had borne our young shipmate to his ocean grave.