Читать книгу The War of the Axe; Or, Adventures in South Africa - J. Percy Groves - Страница 4

The land, thus unexpectedly reported in sight, proved to be a small rocky island, which the second mate, after a careful examination through his glass, declared was inhabited.

“My eyes don’t often play me false,” said that officer to Captain Ladds, who had followed him into the fore-top; “and I’m a’most sartin that I can make out people moving about on yonder shore. Please to look for yourself, sir,” he added, handing his glass to the skipper.

“Yes—no—and yet—yes, I’m inclined to think you are right, Weatherhelm,” said Captain Ladds, bringing the mate’s glass to bear on the island. “But my eyesight is not so good as it was ten years ago, and I cannot be positive.”

“Ay, but I am, sir,” retorted the mate, who was a thorough outspoken “salt” of the old school; one who, having “come in through the hawse-holes,” had worked his way to his present position by acquiring a sound practical knowledge of his profession, and attending strictly to his duties. “It’s possible that the crew of some craft—probably a whaler, for we’re pretty well out o’ the track of other vessels—have been cast away there.”

“Quite possible,” the captain assented, “and we will stand in a little closer. It is our duty to make sure whether such is the case; for we have been mercifully preserved through one of the worst gales that I have ever experienced, and should therefore be all the more ready to render assistance to those who have been less fortunate.”

“That’s truth, sir,” rejoined old Weatherhelm, as they descended the fore-rigging, “and ’tis a pity that others don’t see things in the same light as you do. We hear a sight too much of distressed vessels being passed by, by those who could help ’em if they’d only the will.”

So the barque’s course was altered, and she stood towards the island.

When the passengers heard that there was reason to suppose the island was inhabited, their recent sufferings were forgotten in their excitement; and many and marvellous were the speculations amongst them, as to who, and what, the mysterious islanders could be.

One old gentleman declared that they must be savages—probably cannibals—and expressed his decided opinion that the captain had no business to go near them; he was immediately, and most deservedly, snubbed by the ladies, whereupon he retired to his cabin in high dudgeon. Another suggestion was, that some of the passengers and crew of the ocean steamer President (which left New York in March, 1841, and was never seen or heard of afterwards) might have escaped and got ashore on the island; and this notion found great favour with the fair sex, until Captain Ladds, on being appealed to, hinted that they were a few degrees too far to the southward to expect to fall in with any survivors of the long-missing ship—even if such survivors existed, which was not within the bounds of probability.

“No, my friends, there can be very little doubt that the President foundered off the banks of Newfoundland,” said he, with a mournful shake of the head; “and that poor Roberts and his crew and passengers went down in her. If there are people on yonder island, they will most likely prove to be the crew of some Yankee whaler.”

As the Surat Castle approached the island all doubt as to its being inhabited was dispelled, for standing on the summit of a conical rock were three wild-looking individuals frantically waving their arms. The barque was then hove-to, and one of the quarter-boats lowered.

“May I go in her, Captain Ladds?” asked Tom Flinders, all alive at the prospect of an adventure.

“Very well, my boy; only don’t get into mischief,” replied the good-natured skipper. “Remember that I promised your good mother to keep an eye upon you, and unless I can hand you over with a whole skin, I shall not dare show my nose at Rustenburg Farm.”

“No fear of my coming to grief, sir,” laughed Tom, as he went down the side and seated himself in the stern-sheets of the boat. “They taught us to take care of ourselves at Rugby!”

“But not to keep your legs in a gale of wind!” retorted Captain Ladds. “Don’t forget the header you took down the companion-ladder, young man! Are you ready, Mr. Weatherhelm?”

“All ready, sir.”

“Then shove off, if you please; and mind that you are cautious in approaching the island.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” responded the officer. And at his command the bowman pushed off, and the sailors, bending to their oars, sent the light boat through the smooth water in a style that would not have discredited a man-o’-war’s crew.

It was now discovered that the land consisted of two low-lying rocky islets, divided by a narrow channel, the entrance to which was barred by a dangerous reef, over which the waves broke with considerable force; the southmost of the islets terminating in a lofty “sugar-loaf” peak. When within a hundred yards of the shore, Mr. Weatherhelm ordered his men to rest on their oars, while he looked out for a likely spot to run the boat ashore. Just then a tall, gaunt man appeared from behind the sugar-loaf rock, and hailing the boat, pointed to a narrow strip of beach some yards away to his left.

“You can land there,” he shouted, in a husky voice. “Steer between those rocks right ahead of you—port a little—steady! now give way!”

The next moment the boat’s keel grated on the shingle, and the man ran forward to meet it. He was followed by a lad, apparently about Tom’s own age, and a young girl of eleven or twelve, whose long fair hair hung down her back almost to her waist, its golden colour contrasting strangely with her skin, which was so tanned by exposure to the fierce rays of the tropical sun, that the child was as brown as any gypsy.

The poor creatures looked thin and careworn; their cheeks were hollow, their eyes were unnaturally bright, and wore an anxious expression of mingled hope and doubt—an expression rarely seen except in the faces of those whose hearts have been sickened by hope long deferred. Their only garments consisted of a sack-like tunic made of goat-skin which reached some inches below the knee, but left the arms and neck bare.

With what delight and emotion did the castaways welcome their rescuers!

“Are you alone on this island?” inquired Mr. Weatherhelm, wrapping his pea-jacket round the girl’s shoulders.

“We are,” the man answered, tears of joy and thankfulness coursing down his sunken, weather-beaten cheeks. “These are my children, and here have we been for more than twelve weary months. My name is Weston, and I was owner and commander of the Sea-mew, whaler, which was wrecked on this island after the crew deserted her.”

“Just what I thought!” exclaimed the old mate. “But we mustn’t waste time palavering; get your traps together—”

“They are here,” interrupted Mr. Weston, holding up a battered tin deed-box. “This is all I care to bring away.”

“Then jump into the boat and let’s be off,” cried Weatherhelm. “Now, Missy! I’ll take care of you.”

The castaways needed no second bidding, and in another half-hour they found themselves safe on board the Surat Castle.

Captain Ladds received the unfortunate strangers with the utmost kindness, expressing his deep commiseration at their sorry condition, and heartily congratulating them on their providential release from their seagirt prison. Mr. Weston thanked him in broken tones, but was too overcome with feelings of emotion to say very much, and presently he asked that he and his children might be allowed to retire to rest; so the captain took him down to his own cabin, whilst the lady passengers carried off the little girl, and Tom Flinders marched the boy to his single state-room, and insisted on his taking possession of the only berth.