The Boy Tar

Captain Mayne Reid (continued 6)

Reading edition

Next came the idea as to how the measurement was to be made, so that it would exhibit the relative proportions of ships; and that was very fittingly done by ascertaining in each the length of keel, the breadth of beam, and the depth of the hold. These three, when multiplied together, will give relative sizes of ships, if these skips be properly constructed.

A law was thus obtained sufficiently just for taxation purposes, and you would think (if you are a superficial thinker) that this law could in no way exert any bad influence, except on those who had the tax to pay.

Not so; that simple, unsuspicious-looking law has caused more evil to the human race, more waste of time and loss of life, more consumption of human means, than would buy up at the present moment all the slavery existing in the world!

How has it done this? You will ask the question with surprise, I have no doubt.

Simply, then, by its not only having retarded the progress of improvement in ship-building—one of the most important arts in the possession of man—but actually by its having thrown the art backward by hundreds of years. And thus came the evil to pass: the owner—or he who was to be the owner—of a new ship, seeing no means of avoiding the heavy tax, was desirous of reducing it as much as possible, for dishonesty of this kind is the certain and natural result of over-taxation. He goes to the ship-builder; he orders him to build a vessel with such and such measurements of keel, beam and depth of hold—in other words, of such tonnage as will be required to pay a certain amount of tax. But he does not stop there: he desires the builder, if possible, to make the vessel otherwise of such capacity that she will actually contain a third more of measured tonnage than that for which the tax is to be paid. This will lighten his tax upon the whole, and thus enable him to cheat the government that has put such a grievous impost upon his enterprise.

Is it possible to build a ship of the kind he requires? Quite so; and the ship-builder knows he can accomplish it by swelling out the vessel at the bows, and bellying her out at the sides, and broadening her at the stern, and altogether making her of such a ridiculous shape, that she will move slowly, and become the grave of many a hapless mariner. The ship-builder not only knows that this can be done; but, complying with the wishes of the merchant-owner, he does it, and has done it for so long a period that he has grown to believe that this clumsy structure is the true shape of a ship, and would not, and could not, build any other. Nay, still more lamentable to state: this awkward form has so grown into his thoughts, and become part of his belief, that after the foolish law is repealed, it will take long, long years to eradicate the deception from his mind. In fact, a new generation of ship-builders will have to be waited for, before ships will appear of a proper and convenient form. Fortunately, that new generation has already sprung up beyond the Atlantic, and by their aid we shall get out of this hundred years’ dilemma a little sooner. Even they have been half a century in arriving at what is yet far from perfection in the art; but, unsaddled by the incubus of the tax, they have been looking at the fishes in the sea, and drawing a few ideas from the mechanism of nature; and hence their present superiority.

Now you will better understand what I mean by the assertion that political science is the most important study that can occupy the minds of men.

Chapter Fifty Seven.

A very grand Obstacle.

The good ship Inca, then, was like most others built to the merchants’ order. She was “pigeon-breasted,” and bulged out along the sides in such a fashion, that her hold was far wider than her beam; and, looking up from the bottom of the hold, the sides appeared to curve towards each other, and converge over you like a roof. I knew that this was the shape of the Inca, for it was then the universal shape of merchant vessels, and I was somewhat used to noticing ships of all kinds that came into our bay.

I have said that, while trying through the slits of the top of the box with my knife, I felt something soft, which I took to be a bale of linen; but I had also noticed that it did not extend over the whole lid. On the contrary, there was about a foot at the end—that end contiguous to the ship’s timbers—where I could feel nothing. There were two slits, and I had run my blade through each without touching any substance, either hard or soft. I concluded, therefore, that there was nothing there, and that about a foot of space behind the bale of linen was empty.

This was easily explained. The bale standing on the two large cloth-cases, was at that height where the side of the ship began to curve inwards; and as its top would lie in contact with the timbers higher up, the bottom angle would evidently be thrown out from them to the distance of a foot or so, thus leaving a three-cornered space quite empty, being only large enough to hold small packages of goods.

I reasoned, therefore, that if I were to proceed vertically upward, I should soon come in contact with the side timbers of the ship, constantly curving inward as high as the deck itself, and that I should meet with many obstacles, such as small packages, which I knew would be more difficult to deal with than large cases and boxes. For this reason, then, but more for the others already assigned, I came to the determination to make my next move in a horizontal direction.

You will perhaps wonder that I should have taken so much pains to determine this point; but when you reflect upon the time and labour which it required to cut through the side of a box, and then through the adjacent side of the next—in short, to make a “stage” in advance—when you reflect that a whole day might be so occupied, you will then perceive how important it was not to act rashly, but, if possible, to proceed in the right direction.

After all, I was not quite so long in choosing which way to go, as I have here been in narrating my reflections about it. It only required a few minutes for me to make up my mind; but I was so pleased at being once more on my legs, that I remained standing for nearly half an hour.

When sufficiently rested by this, I placed my arms inside the upper case; and then, drawing myself up, prepared to go on with my work.

I experienced a thrill of joy as I found myself in this upper box. I was now in the second tier of the packages, and more than six feet from the bottom of the hold. I was full three feet higher than I had yet been; three feet nearer to the deck and the sky—to my fellow-creatures—to liberty!

On minutely examining the end of the case through which I intended to make an aperture, I was further joyed to find that this part of my work would not be difficult. One board was already loose—the looseness having been caused by my tearing out the large piece at the bottom. Moreover, the blade of my knife told me that the object that was beyond, did not stand close up to the case, but was several inches from it. In fact, I could only just reach it with the tip of the blade. This was a manifest advantage. I should be able, by a strong push or kick, to start the board outward, and then dispose of it on one side or the other between the two packages.

And this I finally succeeded in doing. Booted for the purpose, I laid myself back, and then commenced beating a tattoo with my heels.

In a short while the “scranching” sound announced that the hoops and nails were giving way; and after another kick or two the board flew out, and slipped down between the boxes quite out of my reach.

I was not slow in thrusting my hands through the aperture thus made, and endeavouring to ascertain what sort of an article was to come next; but though I could feel a broad surface of rough plank, I was unable to make out what sort of a package it was.

I knocked out another piece from the end of the cloth-case, and then a third—which was all there was of it—so that I had now the whole end open before me.

This gave me a fine opportunity to explore beyond, and I continued my examination. To my surprise, I found that the broad surface of rough deal extended in every direction beyond my reach. It rose vertically, like a wall, not only covering the whole end of the cloth-case, but stretching beyond it, upward and on both sides—how far I could not tell, but so far that, after thrusting my arms up to the elbows, I could feel neither edge nor corner.

This, then, was certainly a case of different shape and size from any I had yet encountered; but what kind of goods it contained, I had not the slightest idea. Cloth it was not likely to be, else it would have resembled the other cases; nor yet linen—and there was some gratification in knowing it could not be this.

In order to ascertain what it really was, I inserted my blade through the slits of the rough deal. I felt something like paper; but I could perceive that this was only an outside covering, for immediately under it a hard substance resisted the point of my blade, almost as hard and smooth as marble. By pressing the knife forcibly, however, I could feel that it was not stone, but wood, some kind that was very hard, and that appeared to be polished finely on the surface. When I struck suddenly against it, it gave out an odd echo—a sort of ringing sound, or “twang,” but for all this, I could not imagine what it was.

There was no help for it but to cut into the case, and then perhaps I should become better acquainted with the contents.

I followed a plan I had tried already. I selected one of the boards, of which the great case was made, and with my knife cut it across the middle. It was nearly twelve inches in width, and the work occupied me for many long hours. My knife had become as “dull as a beetle,” and this added to the difficulty of the task.

The section was completed, at length; and, laying aside the knife, I contrived to draw one end of the cut plank outwards. The space between the two cases gave me room to move the board upward and downward, till at length the nails at the end were twisted out, and the board fell down along with the others.

The second half was displaced in a similar manner; and I had now made an opening in the great case, large enough to enable me to examine its contents.

There were sheets of paper spread over the surface of something hard and smooth. These I dragged outwards, and laid the surface bare; and then I ran my fingers over it. I perceived that it was some kind of wood, but polished till it was as slippery as glass. It felt to the touch just like the surface of a mahogany table; and I might have mistaken it for one, but on rapping it with my knuckles, it gave forth that same ringing hollow sound I had already noticed. Striking it with still greater violence, I could hear a prolonged musical vibration, that reminded me of an Eolian harp.

But I had now become aware of the nature of this huge object. It was a Pianoforte. I had seen one like it before. One used to stand in the corner of our little parlour, upon which my mother often made most beautiful music. Yes, the object whose broad smooth surface now barred my way, was neither more nor less than a Piano.

Chapter Fifty Eight.

Turning the Piano.

It was with unpleasant feelings I arrived at this knowledge. Beyond doubt, the piano would be a difficult obstacle, if not a complete barrier, to my further progress in that direction. It was evidently one of the grandest of “grand pianos,” far larger than the one I remembered to have stood in my mother’s cottage parlour. Its upper side, or table, was towards me, for it had been placed upon its edge; and I could tell by the echo given back to my blows that this table was a piece of mahogany of an inch or more in thickness. It appeared, moreover, to consist of one solid board, for I could feel no crack or joining over its whole extent; and to get through this board, therefore, a hole would have to be made by sheer cutting and carving.

With such a tool as I handled, to make a hole big enough to creep through, even had it been common deal, would have been a work of no ordinary magnitude; but through a solid plank of mahogany doubly hardened by a process of staining and polishing, was a task that appalled me.

Besides, even could I succeed in doing so—even could I cut through the table-top—which, though a severe and tedious labour, would not have been impossible—what then? There were all the inside works to be got out. I knew little of the arrangement of the interior. I only remembered having observed a great many pieces of black and white ivory; and vast numbers of strong wire strings. There were shelves too, and pieces that ran lengthwise, and upright pieces, and then the pedals—all of which would be very difficult to detach from their places. Beyond these, again, there would be a bottom of hard mahogany, to say nothing of the case on the other side, and through these another aperture would have to be made to let me out.

Still, other difficulties stared me in the face. Even should I succeed in getting the works loose, and drawing them out, and disposing of them behind me, would I then find room enough within the shell of the instrument to enable me to cut through its opposite side and also the case, and, still more, to make an entrance into whatever case or box lay beyond? This was a doubtful point, though not very doubtful. It was rather too certain that I could not do so.

Still, I might work upwards once I had cleared out the shell; but the clearing out the shell was of itself the most doubtful point; for that I feared I should not be able to effect at all.

On the whole, the difficulty of this enterprise quite dismayed me; and the more I thought about it, the less inclination I felt to attempt it. After considering it in all its bearings, I abandoned the idea altogether; and instead of trying to make a breach through the great wall of mahogany, I resolved upon “turning” it.

I was considerably chagrined at being forced into this resolution, the more so that I had lost half a day’s labour in hewing through the outside case; and all this, as well as the opening of the end of the cloth-box, now counted for nothing. But it could not be helped. I had no time to spend in idle regrets; and, like a besieging general, I commenced a fresh reconnaissance of the ground, in order to discover what would be my best route to outflank the fortress.

I was still under the belief that it was a bale of linen that lay on the top, and this quite hindered me from thinking of going upward. My attention was turned, therefore, to the right and the left.

I knew that by tunnelling either way I should gain no advantage. It would not bring me an inch nearer the desired goal; and even after I should have made a stage in either direction, I should still be only in the “second tier.” This was discouraging enough—more loss of labour and time—but I dreaded that horrid bale of linen!

One advantage I had gained by knocking out the whole end of the cloth-case. I have already said there was a space of several inches between it and the great coffin that contained the piano. Into this space I could insert my arm beyond the elbow, and ascertain something about the sort of goods that lay right and left of me.

I did so. I was able to perceive that on each side was a box or case—both of which, as near as I could guess, were similar to that in which I was—that is, both were cloth-cases. This would do well enough. I had now obtained such practice in breaking open these chests, and rifling them of their contents, that I considered it a mere bagatelle; and I should not have desired anything better than that the cargo had consisted entirely of those goods, for which the West of England has long been so famous.

While groping along the sides of these cases, it occurred to me to raise my hand upward, and just ascertain how far the bale of linen projected over the empty cloth-case. To my astonishment it did not project at all! I say to my astonishment, for those bales I had already examined were as near as possible of the same size as the cases of broadcloth; and as this one wanted quite a foot of being “flush” with the inner end of the case, I concluded I should find it that much over at the other end. But it was not—not an inch over; and therefore, thought I, it must be a smaller package than the others.

While making this reflection something suggested that I should scrutinise the bale more closely. I did so, both with my fingers and the blade of my knife, and was now agreeably surprised to find that it was not a bale at all, but a wooden box. It was covered all over with a soft thick substance—a piece of rush matting—and this it was that had led to my mistake.

The possibility of tunnelling in a vertical direction was now apparent. I could easily hew off the rush matting and then deal with the box as I had done with the others.

Of course, I thought no longer of taking the roundabout way by the right or the left; but at once changed my intention, and determined to travel upward.

I need hardly describe how I made my entry into this mat-covered box. Suffice it to say, that I began by cutting one of the lid boards of the empty cloth-case, and then drawing it downwards till I pulled it out. The open space by the side of the ship proved an advantage to me while making the cross-section, as it allowed me to ply my blade freely through the planks.

Having succeeded with one board, I was enabled to detach another without any more hewing; and this gave me enough space to work on the bottom of the covered case.

By dint of cutting and tearing I soon got the rushes out of the way, and then the wood was revealed to my touch; and by this delicate sense I perceived that, like the others, it was a case of common deal.

I only rested a moment before beginning my attack upon it. As it lay twelve inches from the timbers of the ship, one of its angles was quite within my reach; and on running my hand along it, I could feel the heads of the nails, that did not appear to be either numerous or very firmly driven. This gave me satisfaction, and still more was I rejoiced to find that there was no hooping upon it. I should, perhaps, be enabled to prise off one of the boards, and this would save me the long, wearisome task of cutting it crossways.

At the moment this appeared a fortunate circumstance, and I congratulated myself upon it. Alas! it proved the cause of a sad misfortune, that in five minutes had plunged me once more into the deepest misery.

Half-a-dozen words will explain.

I had inserted the blade of my knife under the board, and was trying if it felt loose. Not that I believed I could prize it off with this; but rather to ascertain what resistance there was, in order to look out for some more proper lever.

To my sorrow, I leant too heavily upon the piece of steel; for a short, sharp crack, startling me worse than a shot would have done, announced that the blade was broken!

Chapter Fifty Nine.

The Broken Blade.

Yes, the blade was broken quite through, and remained sticking between the pieces of wood. The haft came away in my hand; and as I passed my thumb over the end of it, I could perceive that the blade had snapped off close to the end of the back-spring, so that not even the tenth of an inch of it was left in the handle.

I cannot describe the chagrin which this incident caused me. I at once recognised it as a misfortune of the very gravest kind, for without the knife what could I do?

Without it I was, as might be said, unarmed and helpless. I could make no further progress with my tunnel; I should have to abandon the enterprise so lately conceived, and upon which I had built such hopes of success; in other words, I might now renounce my design of proceeding farther, and resign myself to the miserable fate that once more stared me in the face.

There was something awful in this reaction of my spirits. It was painful in the extreme. The very suddenness of the change rendered the shock more acute. But the moment before, I was full of confidence, making fair progress in my enterprise, and cheered with partial success. This unexpected misfortune had interrupted all, and plunged me back again into the gloomy gulf of despair.

For a long while I remained wavering and undecided. I could not make up my mind to do anything. What could I do? I could not continue my work: I had no tool to work with!

My mind seemed to wander. Several times I passed my thumb along the handle of my knife, till it rested upon the short stump of the broken blade, or rather upon the neck, for the blade was all gone. I did this in a sort of mechanical way, to assure myself that it was really broken off; for so sudden had been the misfortune, that I could yet hardly believe in its reality. In truth, it had quite bewildered my senses, and in this state they remained for several minutes.

When the first shock was over, my self-possession slowly and gradually returned. Assured at length of the sad reality, and knowing the worst, I began to reflect whether something might not still be done with the broken weapon.

The words of a great poet, which I had heard at school, came into my mind: “Men better do their broken weapons use, than their bare hands;” and the suggestion that this wise saying afforded, I now took to myself. It occurred to me, then, to examine the blade. The haft I held in my hand, but the blade still remained in the angle of the box, where it had broken off.

I drew it out, and passed my finger over it. It was still entire, and as much of a blade as ever; but, alas! without the handle, what use could I make of it?

I grasped it round the thick end, and made trial whether I could still cut with it. It was some satisfaction to find that I could—a little. The blade was a good long one, and this was a fortunate circumstance. By wrapping a piece of rag around the thick end, I might yet make it available; though, of course, any cutting I might hereafter do with it, would be a slow and painful operation.

The idea of setting the blade in the haft again was out of the question. It is true I entertained it at first, but I soon discovered a difficulty not to be got over; and that was the removal of the back-spring.

Could I only have got this out of the way, the haft would still have served for a handle. I could easily have inserted the broken end of the blade between the scales; and as I had plenty of good string, I might have tied it firmly there. But I had nothing to draw the well-riveted nail, and the back-spring resisted all my efforts to detach it.

The haft, therefore, was of no more use than an ordinary piece of stick—indeed, not so much, for just then it occurred to me that a piece of stick might serve my purpose better. Out of a proper piece, I might be able to make some sort of a handle that would serve to hold the blade, so that I might still cut with it.

The encouragement which this idea gave me, once more roused my mind to new activity, and I set to thinking how I might make a new haft for the broken blade.

Necessity sharpened my ingenuity; and I was not long in conceiving my design, nor a great while either about the execution of it; for in about an hour’s time I held in my hand a knife with a complete handle. It was but a rude one at best; but I felt satisfied it would serve my purpose nearly as well as that which I had lost; and this belief once more restored me to confidence and cheerfulness.

The new haft I had made in the following fashion:—Having procured a piece of wood from one of the thick boards, I first whittled it to the proper shape and size. This I was enabled to do with the blade, which, although without a handle, served well enough for light work like that. I then contrived to make a cleft in the stick, to the depth of two inches from its end; and into this cleft I inserted the broken end of the blade. To lap this tightly with a string, was my next idea; but I perceived at once that this would not do. The string would be stretched by the action of the blade, and the latter would soon get loose. If the sharp edge only came against the twine, while the blade was being worked backwards and forwards, it would instantly sever it, and then the blade would pull out, perhaps drop down among the boxes, and so get lost. Such an accident would be fatal to my prospects; and, if possible, I must not risk it.

What could I find that would fasten the blade more securely in the cleft? If I could have obtained a yard or two of wire, it would have been just the thing; but there was no wire near me. What! thought I, no wire near me? The piano! the strings! surely they are of wire?

Once more the piano became the object of my attention; and if I could at that moment have reached the inside of it, I should certainly have robbed it of one of its strings. But, then, to get at the string?—that was a difficulty I had not thought of, but which the next moment came up before me. Of course, with my knife in its present condition, to cut my way into the piano would be a sheer impossibility, and I was forced to abandon the idea.

But in that instant I thought of another expedient—I thought of the iron hooping, of which there was plenty within my reach. The very thing. A piece of this would serve my purpose equally as well as wire. It was thin and pliable, and one or two turns of it around the haft, by the neck of the blade, would hold the latter in its place admirably, and prevent it from budging either backwards or forwards. A string, lapped tightly over all, would keep the hoop from getting loose, and thus I should have a complete handle.

No sooner thought of than done. The piece of hoop was at once searched for and found. It was neatly wound round the neck of the blade and haft; and having been firmly tied with strong twine, I found myself once more in possession of a knife. The blade was of course much shorter than before, but I believed it would still be long enough for cutting through the thickest planks I should encounter; and with this belief I felt satisfied.

The different operations I have detailed must have occupied me for twenty hours at least. I was worn and wearied, and should have sought rest much sooner; but after the breaking of the blade, I could not think of resting. It would have been of no use attempting to sleep: my misery would have kept me awake.

The new knife, however, had restored my confidence; and I could no longer resist the desire to take that repose which, both in mind and body, I so much stood in need of.

I need hardly add that hunger compelled me to resort once more to my miserable larder; but, strange as it may appear to you—and as it does now to me—I felt no hardship in the kind of diet; but, on the contrary, ate my rat-supper with as much relish as I should now do the choicest of dishes!

Chapter Sixty.

A Triangular Chamber.

I passed the night—I should rather say the hours of rest—in my old apartment, behind the water-butt. Whether it was night or day, I no longer knew nor cared. On this occasion I slept well, and awoke refreshed and strengthened. My new diet, no doubt, aided in producing this effect; for, however repugnant it might be to a dainty palate, it served well enough for a famished stomach.

I was not loath to make my breakfast upon it, which I did the moment after awaking; and that finished, I again crawled back through my “gallery,” and entered the empty box, where I had already spent nearly the whole of a day and night.

As I climbed into the same place, I could not help thinking how little way I had made during my last spell of twenty hours; but some secret thought inspired me with the hope, that on this occasion I should be more fortunate.

My intention was to continue the work which had been interrupted by the breaking of my knife. Before that unlucky accident befell me, I had noticed that the board was not very firmly nailed on. It could be started easily enough with a proper tool; I fancied that even a good piece of stick would do it.

I was careful not to make any more rash experiments with the blade of my knife. Now, more than ever, did I value this precious weapon; for I was fully sensible that my life depended on its endurance.

“If I only had a piece of some hard wood!” thought I.

I remembered that in making an entrance into the brandy-cask I had cut large pieces from the oaken staves. Perhaps one of these would do?

With the thought, I hurried back to the little chamber where I knew they were lying.

After removing some pieces of cloth, I found them; and having groped among the cuttings, I possessed myself of a piece that appeared as if it would suit my purpose.

Getting back to the box, I even shaped out a little crowbar, by giving the stick a wedge end with my knife; and this thin end I inserted under the plank, and drove it inward as far as I could, by striking it with a heavy piece of board.

It soon took hold; and then grasping it by the end, and jerking it downwards, I had the gratification to hear the creaking of the nails as they started outward. My fingers now took the place of the little lever; and the board came “skreeking” out of the bottom of the box.

That contiguous to it was more easily detached; and the two left me an aperture large enough to get out the contents, whatever they might be.

They were oblong packages, shaped like pieces of cloth or linen, but they felt lighter and more elastic than either. Better still, they could be pulled out more easily, and without the necessity of being taken out of their envelopes.

I had no curiosity to know what they were, since I could tell they were nothing eatable, and perhaps I should not have known till this day, but that in drawing out one more tightly wedged than the rest, its wrapper was torn off; and as I passed my fingers between the folds of the soft light fabric, I guessed from their smooth silken surface that I was dealing with the finest of velvet.

The box was soon emptied, and its contents carefully stowed in the most convenient space behind me; and then, with a joyous heart, I mounted into the space I had cleared out. One more stage nearer to liberty!

I had been less than two hours in accomplishing this great advance. Such success was ominous of future good fortune. It was a day well begun; and I resolved not to throw away a minute of time, since the fates appeared so propitious.

After going down to refresh myself with a grand draught of water, I returned to the ci-devant depository of the velvet, and there entered upon a new series of explorations. As in the case of the cloth-box, I saw that the end of this, which also abutted against the pianoforte, could be easily kicked out; and without waiting to ascertain farther, I set my heels against it, and began playing my old tattoo.

This time I did not finish it so soon. I was pinched for want of room, the velvet-box being much smaller than that which contained the cloth; but I effected my purpose at length, and out went the end-boards, one after another, dropping down into the interstices between the cases of goods.

Doubling myself over upon my knees, I leant forward to make a new reconnaissance. I expected, or rather dreaded, to find the great wall-like piano-case shutting up the whole space I had opened. Certainly, the huge case was there—for I at once laid my hand upon it—but I could scarce restrain an exclamation of joy, when I found that it extended scarce half-way across the opening! What delighted me still further was, that, in groping around its edge, I observed that opposite the opening in that part to which the piano-case did not extend, there was a large space entirely empty—a space almost big enough to have contained another case of velvet!

This was a very joyful surprise, and I at once perceived the advantage thus thrown in my way. It was so much of my tunnel ready made to my hand.

On thrusting my arm outside the end of the box and upward, I became acquainted with a new source of joy. I perceived that the empty space continued for ten or twelve inches higher than the top of the box—in fact, to the top of the piano-case itself. It also opened about the same distance below where my knees rested. There I perceived that it ended in a sharp angle; for I had already noticed that this little chamber was not of a square shape, as we say, but of the form of a triangle, with its apex pointing downwards. This was caused by the peculiar construction of the piano-case, which resembled a great parallelopipedon, with one corner sawed off. It was standing upon its larger end, and it was where this corner should have been that the place remained empty.

In all likelihood the triangular shape of this space rendered it inconvenient for any package which there was among the merchandise, and hence was it unoccupied.

So much the better for me, thought I, as I stretched forth my arms, and leant my body over into it, with the design of giving it a more thorough exploration.

Chapter Sixty One.

A Milliner’s Box.

I was not long about this business. I soon perceived that the back of the empty space was closed in by a large box, and a similar one blocked up the right side. The left was the diagonal edge of the case itself, about twenty inches or two feet in width.

But I troubled myself very little either about back, left, or right. It was the ceiling of the little chamber that had the greatest interest for me; for it was in that direction I intended, if possible, to continue my tunnel.

I knew that I was now far enough in the horizontal direction; for the chief advantage I had gained by the discovery of the empty space was, that it carried me the thickness of the piano-case—about two feet, as I have said—in this course, besides the distance that was open, upwards. Neither forward, then, nor to the right or left, did I wish to go, unless forced to do so by an obstacle. Upward was the echo of my thoughts. Excelsior! excelsior! Two or three stages more—perhaps less, if no obstacle intervened—and I might be free. My heart beat joyfully as the prospect passed before my mind.

It was not without a keen anxiety that I raised my hand to the ceiling of the empty chamber. My fingers trembled as they touched what I well knew to be canvas, and involuntarily they recoiled from it. O, mercy!—once more that hated fabric—a bale of linen!

I was not so sure of this however. I remembered the mistake I had already made in this regard. I must examine farther.

I closed my fist, and gave the bottom of the package a smart rap with my knuckles. Ha! it was a pleasant sound that answered to the blow. It was not a bale of linen, then, but a box, covered, like many others, with several folds of coarse cheap canvas. It could not be cloth, either; for instead of the dull report which the cloth-boxes give out when struck, the one in question returned a hollow sound, precisely that of one that was empty!

This appeared strange enough. It could not be empty, else why was it there? and yet if not empty, what did it contain?

I hammered upon it with the haft of my knife—still the same hollow sound!

“Good!” thought I. “If empty, all the better; but if not, surely there is something in it of a light nature—something that may be easily got rid of. Good!”

After making this reflection, I resolved to waste no more time in conjectures, but to satisfy myself of the contents of this new box, by making my way into it; and in a trice I had ripped off the canvas that protected its bottom.

I found the position in which I stood inconvenient. The triangular space, narrowing acutely towards the bottom, hindered me from standing fairly on my feet; but I soon remedied this defect, by filling the angle with some pieces of cloth and velvet that were near at hand. I then proceeded more comfortably with my work.

I need not detail the mode in which I burrowed through the bottom of the box. It was just as with the others, and succeeded as well. I had to make one cross-cut, and in this my newly-hafted blade behaved admirably; after which, I pulled out the divided pieces.

I was not a little surprised when I arrived at the inside, and ascertained the contents of the box. It was some time before I could make them out by the “feel,” but when I had succeeded in getting one separated from its fellows, and ran my fingers over its outline, I at length recognised what they were. They were bonnets!

Yes, ladies’ bonnets, and nothing but that—all apparently full “trimmed,” and garnished with their feathers, flowers, and ribbons.

Had I at that time possessed a more intimate knowledge of the costumes of the Peruvians, I should have been more surprised, perhaps, to find such an odd “item” in the list of their imports. I should have known that such a thing as a bonnet is never seen upon the beautiful head of a Peruvian lady. But I knew nothing of this then, and I was only surprised by the oddity of such an article occurring in the cargo of a great ship.

The explanation was given me afterwards, thus:—that there were English and French ladies living in many of the South American cities—the wives and sisters of English and French merchants resident there, as well as of various representative officials—and that these, although so very far distant from their homes, still obstinately persisted in following the fashions of London and Paris, notwithstanding (it was added) the ridicule with which such an absurd headdress was regarded by their fair sisters of Spanish America.

For these sojourners, then, the box of bonnets had been intended.

I am sorry to add that for that season their expectations must have been disappointed. The bonnets could never have reached them, or, if they did, it must have been in such a state as to render them unfit for any purpose of adornment. Mine was an unmerciful hand; for, once inside that box, it never ceased from wreck and ruin till the whole of those beautiful “ducks” were crumpled up and stowed away in less than a tenth part of the valuable space they had hitherto occupied.

No doubt many an imprecation was afterwards heaped on my devoted head; and the only apology I can make is to speak the simple truth—that with me it was a matter of life or death, and the bonnets had to go. It was not likely that this would be satisfactory in the quarter where the bonnets were expected. I never heard whether or no. I only know that I was enabled afterwards—but long afterwards—to satisfy my own conscience about the matter, by paying the damage claimed by the Transatlantic milliner.

Chapter Sixty Two.

Half Suffocated.

Having disposed of the bonnets, my next step was to climb up into the empty box; and, if possible, get the lid, or part of it, removed. But, first, I endeavoured to ascertain what was on the top of it, and for this purpose I adopted a plan that had already served me more than once—of feeling through the slits with the blade of my knife. Unfortunately, this was now shorter, and not so suitable for such a service, but it was still long enough to reach through a piece of inch plank, and two inches beyond, and this would no doubt enable me to determine whether the next obstacle to be encountered was a hard or a soft one.

Once within the bonnet-box, I stuck my blade up through the lid. The package above was composed of something soft and yielding. I remembered that there was a canvas cover, but I drove the blade in to its hilt, and still it encountered nothing like wood—nothing that resembled the boarding of a box.

But I was equally certain that it was not linen, for the blade penetrated as freely as it would have done into a mass of butter, and this would not have been the case had it been a bale of linen. Knowing it could not be this, my mind was easy. I would rather have had to deal with anything else.

I tried in several places—in fact, all over the top—and at every point I could bury my blade as far as the haft would let it go, with a very slight effort used to push it in. Certainly the package consisted of some substance I had not before encountered, but as to what it was I could form no idea.

However, it did not feel as though it would present a serious obstacle to my progress; and under this pleasant impression, I went to work to undermine it, by taking a board out of the lid upon which it lay.

This, of course, required me to go through the tedious and painful process of making a cross-section with my knife—a kind of work that absorbed more of my time, and caused me more labour, than all the rest put together. But it was absolutely necessary, for there was no other plan by which I could tunnel through the tops of the boxes. On each rested the heavy weight of the packages above, and to start one of the planks, with this weight pressing down upon it, was impossible. It was only by cutting them across that they could be removed.

The lid of the bonnet-box did not prove so difficult to cut through. It was of thin deal, and in about a half or three quarters of an hour I had the middle piece of the three—for there were just three boards in it—cut into twain. The sections were easily bent downwards, and removed.

A patch of the canvas covering was then hacked off, and I could now get my hand upon the unknown package that was resting on the top. I recognised the object at once. I had been enough about my uncle’s barn to know the feel of a sack. This, then, was a sack.

It was full of something: of what?—wheat, or barley, or oats? No, it was not grain—something softer and finer: was it a sack of meal?

I should soon ascertain that. My blade entered the sack, and a slit was cut large enough to admit my fist. I had no need to thrust my hand inside, for as I held it under the vent thus opened, I felt a soft, powdery substance streaming downward, with which my palm was instantly filled; and as my fingers closed upon it, I felt satisfied that I had got hold of a fistful of flour. My hand went straight to my lips, and a single taste of the precious dust confirmed my conjecture. It was a sack of flour.

This was a joyous discovery. Here was food, and enough to last me for months! No more danger of starvation—no more rat diet. No. On flour and water I could live like a prince. What matter if it was raw? it was sweet, and palatable, and wholesome.

“Heaven be praised! I am no longer in danger!”

Some such exclamation escaped me, as I arrived at a full appreciation of the importance of my new discovery.

I had now been at work for many hours, and once more needed rest. I was hungry, too, and could not resist the desire to make a grand meal on the new article of diet; and, filling my pockets with the flour, I prepared to return to my old lair behind the water-butt. I took the precaution to stanch the wound I had made in the flour-sack, by sticking a piece of loose canvas into the vent, and then I commenced my descent. The rats, bag and all, were chucked into the first convenient corner that offered, with the hope that no necessity would ever require me to draw them out again; and, then, having mixed me a large quantity of flour paste, I made as hearty a meal upon it as if it had been the nicest hasty pudding that ever was cooked.

A few hours of good sleep again refreshed me; and, on awaking, I ate another hasty meal of the paste, and after that commenced ascending my now greatly-extended gallery.

As I climbed through the second tier of boxes, I was surprised to feel on all sides of me a soft, powdery substance, resembling dust scattered over the boards wherever they lay horizontally; but on passing into the triangular space by the piano-case, I found the lower half of this cavity filled with the same dust, so that, as I stepped upon it, I sank up to the ankles. I perceived, moreover, that a shower of this soft substance was falling down upon my head and shoulders; and, as I inadvertently turned my face upwards, it came rushing into my mouth and eyes, causing me to sneeze and cough in the most violent manner.

I felt for a moment as if I was in danger of being suffocated, and my first impulse was to beat a speedy retreat, and get back to the rear of the water-butt. But I had no need to go quite so far; for on getting out to the old biscuit-box, I perceived that there the dust no longer reached me.

I was not long in arriving at an explanation of this singular phenomenon. It was the flour that was causing such a “stoor.” The movement of the ship had shaken out the canvas rag with which I had stopped the vent, and the flour was escaping. No doubt this was the cause of the wastage.

The idea that all the flour would be lost rushed into my mind, and, as a consequence, that I should once more be forced to return to the rat diet. It would be necessary, therefore, to ascend to the sack, and stop the wastage at once.

Notwithstanding some apprehensions I had on the score of suffocation, I perceived the necessity of action; and closing both mouth and eyes, I scrambled as fast as I could towards the empty bonnet-box.

I felt flour lodged on all sides as I went up, but I fancied it was no longer showering downwards. This was in reality the fact; for on reaching the bonnet-box, I found that it had ceased to run out of the sack, and for the best of reasons—it was now all out of it. The sack was empty!

Perhaps I should have regarded this as a greater misfortune, but I saw that the flour was not all lost. A good deal, no doubt, had filtered through the crevices, and got down to the bottom of the hold; but a large quantity—as much as I would be likely to need—had lodged upon the pieces of cloth that I had placed in the bottom of the triangular cavity, and also in other places where I could get at it whenever I wanted.

It mattered little, however; for in another moment I had made a discovery that drove all thoughts of the flour out of my head, and rendered any calculation about my future provision—either of food or water—a subject of the most trifling importance.

I had stretched up my hand to ascertain if the sack was quite empty. It appeared so. Why, then, should I not pull it through the aperture, and get it out of the way? No reason why I should not; and I at once dragged it down, and flung it behind me.

I then raised my head through the end of the box into the space where the sack had lain.

Merciful heavens! What did I behold? Light! light! light!

Chapter Sixty Three.

Light and Life.

Yes, my eyes were once more cheered with heavenly light, producing within my heart a joy sudden and complete. I could not describe the happiness I felt. Every fear at once forsook me. I had no longer the slightest apprehension. I was saved!

The light I saw was but a very slender beam—a mere ray—that appeared to penetrate through a crack between two planks. It was above me, not vertically above me, but rather in a diagonal line, and apparently about eight or ten feet distant.

I knew it could not be through the deck that the light came. There are no open spaces between the planks of a ship’s deck. It must be through the hatchway; and very likely the crack I saw was through the boarding of the hatch, at a place where the tarpaulin might be off or torn.

While gazing on this tiny beam, shining like a meteor above me, I thought it the loveliest object I had ever looked upon. No star in the blue sky had ever appeared to me half so brilliant or beautiful; it was like the eye of some good angel smiling upon me, and bidding me welcome again to the world of life.

I did not remain long in my position within the bonnet-box. I believed myself near the end of my labour, and the accomplishment of my hopes, and had no inclination to pause upon the threshold of deliverance. The nearer to the goal, the more earnest had I become to reach it; and therefore, without further hesitation, I set about widening the aperture already made in the lid of the box.

The fact of my seeing the light had convinced me of one important truth, and that was that I had reached the top of the cargo. Since it appeared in a diagonal direction, there could be no boxes or other packages intervening between it and my eyes, and, therefore, the space was empty. This emptiness could only be above the cargo.

But the matter was soon set at rest. It did not take me twenty minutes to widen a hole big enough to pass my body; and, scarcely waiting to make this of sufficient size, I squeezed myself through, and wriggled out on to the top of the box.

I lifted my arms over my head, and extended them all around me. Only behind could I perceive anything—and there I could feel boxes, and bales, and sacks piled up still higher—but in front there was nothing but empty air.

I remained for some moments seated on the lid of the box, where I had climbed out, with my legs hanging down outside of it. I was cautious not to step off, lest I might fall into some great cavity. I remained gazing upon the beautiful beacon that was now shining still nearer to my face.

Gradually my eyes became accustomed to the light; and, though the chink admitted only a few slender rays, I began to perceive the forms of objects that were near. I soon made out that the empty space did not extend far. It was a little pit, of an irregular, circular form—a sort of amphitheatre, shut in on all sides by the huge packages of merchandise that were piled around it. It was, in fact, a space that had been left under the hatchway, after the cargo had been all stowed; and a number of loose barrels and bags that were strewed over it appeared to contain provisions—no doubt stores for the crew—thus placed so that they could be readily reached when wanted.

It was on one side of this little amphitheatre I had emerged from my gallery; and no doubt I was just under the edge of the hatchway. It only needed to advance a pace or two, knock upon the boards over my head, and summon the crew to my assistance.

But although a single blow, and a single cry, were all that were needed to procure my liberation, it was a long while before I could muster the resolution to strike that blow, or utter that cry!

I need not give you the reasons of my reluctance and hesitation. Think only of what was behind me—of the damage and ruin I had caused to the cargo—a damage amounting perhaps to hundreds of pounds—think of the impossibility of my being able to make the slightest restitution or payment—think of this, and you will comprehend why I paused so long, seated upon the edge of the bonnet-box. An awful dread was upon me. I dreaded the dénouement of this dark drama; and no wonder I hesitated to bring it to its ending.

How could I ever face the stern wrath of the captain?—the brutal anger of that savage mate? How could I endure their looks—their words, their oaths, and, likely enough, their blows? Perhaps they would pitch me into the sea?

A thrill of terror ran through my veins, as I dwelt on the probability of such a fate. A sudden change had passed over my spirits. But the moment before that twinkling ray had filled my bosom with joy; and now, as I sat and gazed upon it, my heart was throbbing with fear and dismay!

Chapter Sixty Four.

An Astonished Crew.

I tried to think of some way by which I might be enabled to make reparation for the loss; but my reflections were only foolish, as they were bitter. I owned nothing in the world that I knew of—nothing but my old watch—and that—ha! ha! ha!—would scarce have paid for the box of crackers!

Yes, there was something else that belonged to me—and does still (for I have kept it till this hour)—something which I esteemed far more than the watch—ay, far more than I would a thousand watches; but that something, although so highly prized by me, would not have been valued at a single sixpence. You guess of what I am speaking? You guess, and rightly, that I mean that dear old knife!

Of course, my uncle would do nothing in the matter. He had no interest in me farther than to give me a home, and that was a thing of choice rather than responsibility. He was in no way bound to make good my damages; and, indeed, I did not permit myself for a moment to entertain the idea.

There was but one thought that held out to me the slightest hope—one course that appeared to be tolerably rational. It was this: I could bind myself to the captain for a long period. I could toil for him as a boy-sailor—a cabin-boy—a servant—anything that would enable me to work off my debt.

If he would only accept me for this purpose (and what else could he now do, unless, indeed, he really did toss me overboard), then all might yet be right.

The thought cheered me; and I resolved, as soon as I should reach the captain’s presence, to make the proposal.

Just at that moment I heard a loud stamping noise above me. It was a continued series of thumps, that resembled the heavy footsteps of men passing backward and forward over the decks. They were on both sides of the hatchway, and all around it, upon the deck.

Then I heard voices—human voices. Oh, how pleasant to my ears! First, I heard shouts and short speeches, and then all of them mingling together in a chant or chorus. Rude it may have been, but during all my life never heard I sounds that appeared to me so musical or harmonious as that work-song of the sailors.

It inspired me with confidence and boldness. I could endure my captivity no longer; and the instant the chorus ended, I sprang forward under the hatch, and with the wooden handle of my knife knocked loudly upon the planks overhead.

I listened. My knocking had been heard. There was a parley among the voices above, and I could distinguish exclamations of surprise; but although the talking continued, and even a greater number of voices appeared to take part in it, no attempt was made to take up the hatch.

I repeated my knocking louder than before; and added to it the summons of my voice; but I could myself perceive that my voice was tiny and feeble as that of an infant, and I doubted whether it could have been heard.

Again I listened to a volley of loud exclamations that betokened surprise; and from the multitude of voices I could guess that the whole crew was around the hatchway.

I knocked a third time, to make sure; and then I stood a little to one side, in anxious and silent expectation.

Presently I heard something rubbing over the hatches. It was the tarpaulin being removed; and, as soon as this covering was taken off, I perceived that light shot in through several chinks at the joining of the planks.

But the next moment the sky suddenly opened above me; and the flood of light that poured down upon my face, rendered me quite blind. It did more—it caused me to faint and fall backward against the boxes. I did not lose consciousness all at once, but swooned gradually away under a feeling of strange bewilderment.

Just as the hatch was lifted upwards, I noticed a ring of rough heads—human heads and faces—above the edge, all around the great opening, and I observed that all of them were drawn suddenly back with an expression of extreme terror. I heard cries and exclamations that betokened the same; but the shouts gradually died upon my ears, and the light dimmed and darkened in my eyes, as I lapsed into a state of unconsciousness, as complete as if I had been dead.

Of course, I had only swooned; and was insensible to what was passing around me. I did not see the rough heads as they reappeared over the edge of the hatch frame, and again reconnoitre me with looks of alarm. I did not see that one of them at length took courage, and leaped down upon the top of the cargo, followed by another and then another, until several stood bending over me, uttering a volley of conjectures and exclamatory phrases. I did not feel them as they tenderly raised me in their arms, and kindly felt my pulse, and placed their huge rough hands over my heart to see whether it was still beating with life—no more did I feel the big sailor who lifted me up against his breast and held me there, and then, after a short ladder had been obtained and placed in the hatchway, carried me up out of the hold and laid me carefully on the quarter-deck: I heard nothing, I saw nothing, I felt nothing, till a shock, as if of cold water dashed in my face, once more aroused me from my trance, and told me that I still lived.

Chapter Sixty Five.

The Dénouement.

When I came to my senses again, I saw that I was lying upon the deck. A crowd was gathered around, and look in what direction I might, my eyes rested upon faces. They were rude faces, but I noticed no unkindly expression in any one of them. On the contrary, I perceived looks of pity, and heard words of sympathy.

They were the sailors—the whole crew was around me. One was bending over my face, pouring water into my lips, and cooling my temples with a wet cloth. I knew this man at the first glance. It was Waters—he who had carried me ashore, and presented me with my precious knife. Little knowledge could he have at the time of the great service it was to do—and had since done—me.

“Waters,” said I, “do you remember me?”

He started at my words, uttering, as he did so, a sailor’s exclamation of surprise.

“Shiver my timbers!” was the phrase. “Shiver my timbers! if ’tain’t the little marlin-spike as boarded us a-port!”

“Him as wanted to go a seelorin?” cried several in a breath.

“The same, for sartin’.”

“Yes,” I answered, “it is; I am the same.”

Another volley of ejaculations followed, and then there was a momentary silence.

“Where is the captain?” I asked. “Waters, will you take me to the captain?”

“You wish to see the capten? he’s here, my lad,” answered the big sailor, in a kind tone; and then, stretching out his arm, he made an opening in the ring that encircled me.

I glanced through this opening. I saw the same well-dressed man whom I had before recognised as the captain. He was only a few yards off, standing in front of the door of his cabin. I looked in his face. The expression was stern, but yet it did not awe me. I fancied it was a look that would relent.

I hesitated for a moment what course to pursue, and then, summoning all my energy, I rose to my feet, tottered forward, and knelt down before him.

“Oh, sir!” I cried, “you can never forgive me!”

That, or something like it, I said. They were all the words I could utter.

I no longer looked him in the face. With my eyes fixed upon the deck, I awaited his reply.

“Come, my lad! rise up!” said a voice, in a tone of kindness; “rise up, and come with me into the cabin.”

A hand was placed upon mine, I was raised to my feet, and led away. He who walked by my side, and conducted me as I tottered along, was the captain himself! This did not look like giving me to the sharks. Was it possible that the ending should be of this merciful complexion?

As I passed into the cabin, I beheld my shadow in a mirror. I should not have known myself. My whole body was as white as if it had been lime-washed; but I remembered the flour. My face alone was to be seen, and that was almost as white as the rest—white, and wan, and bony as that of a skeleton! I saw that suffering and meagre fare had made sad havoc with my flesh.

The captain seated me on a sofa, and, having summoned his steward, ordered him to fill me out a glass of port wine. He uttered not a word till I had drunk it; and then, turning to me, with a look in which I could read nothing of sternness, he said—

“Now, my lad, tell me all about it!”

It was a long story, but I told it from first to last. I concealed nothing—neither of the motives that had led me to run away from my home, nor yet any item of the vast damage I had done to the cargo. This, however, was already well-known to him, as half the crew had long since visited my lair behind the water-butt, and ascertained everything.

When I had gone through every circumstance, I wound up with the proposal I had resolved to make to him; and then, with an anxious heart, I awaited his response. My anxiety was soon at an end.

“Brave lad!” he exclaimed, rising to his feet, and going towards the door, “you wish to be a sailor? You deserve to be a sailor; and by the memory of your noble father, whom I chanced to know, you shall be a sailor!”

“Here, Waters!” he continued, calling to the big tar, who was waiting outside, “take this youngster, have him fresh rigged; and, as soon as he is strong enough, see that he be properly taught the ropes.”

And Waters did see that I was taught the ropes—every one of them, and in the proper manner. For many years afterwards he was my shipmate, under that same kind-hearted captain, until I rose from the condition of a mere “boy tar,” and was rated upon the Inca’s books as an “able seaman.”

But my promotion did not end there. “Excelsior” was my motto; and, assisted by the generous captain, I soon after became a third mate, and afterwards a second mate, and, still later, a first mate, and, last of all, a captain!

In course of time, too—still better than all—I became captain of my own ship.

That was the crowning ambition of my life; for then I was free to go and come as I pleased, and plough the great ocean in any direction, and trade with whatever part of the world I might think proper.

One of my very first and most successful voyages—I mean in my own ship—was to Peru; and I remember well that I carried out a box of bonnets for the English and French ladies resident at Callao and Lima. But these arrived safe, and no doubt disgusted the eyes of the fair Creoles, who were expected to admire them!

The crumpled bonnets had been long ago paid for; so, too, the spilt brandy and the damage done to the cloth and velvet. After all, it did not amount to such a vast sum; and the owners, who were all generous men, taking the circumstances into account, dealt leniently with the captain, who, in his turn, made the terms easy for me. In a few years I had settled for all, or, as we say in sailor language, “squared the yards.”

And now, my young friends! I have only to add, that having sailed the seas for many long years, and by careful mercantile speculations, and a fair economy, having acquired sufficient means to keep me for the remainder of my days, I began to grow tired of wave and storm, and to long for a calmer and quieter life upon land. This feeling grew upon me, every year becoming stronger and stronger; till at last, unable to resist it any longer, I resolved to yield to its influence, and anchor myself somewhere upon shore.

For this purpose, then, I sold off my ship and sea stores, and returned once more to this pretty village, where I have already told you I was born, and where I have also made known to you, that it is my intention to die!

And now, good-day! and God bless you all!

The End.