Читать книгу Jack Buntline - Kingston William Henry Giles - Страница 5

At length the night passed away, and the sun rose and struck down on their unprotected heads. They had no food and no water. Anxiously they gazed around. Not a sail was in fight. Death – a miserable death – was the fate they had in prospect. Their condition has been that of many a poor seaman, and oh, if we did but think what consolation, what support, would a saving knowledge of religion present to men thus situated, we should rejoice at finding any opportunity of affording it to them. The day wore on, Jack felt as if he could not endure another. He could hold very little conversation with his companion. The night came. He had to secure himself to the raft to save himself from falling off, so drowsy had he become.

The sun was once more shining down on his head, when an exclamation from Sambo roused him up. Not a quarter of a mile from them was a large ship passing by them. But, oh, what agony of suspense was theirs, lest no one on board should see them! They shouted – they waved their hands. Jack had a handkerchief round his neck, – he flew it eagerly above his head, – he almost fainted with joy. The ship’s lighter sails were clewed up. She was brought to the wind, a boat was lowered and pulled towards them. They were saved. The ship was an outward bound Indiaman. Humane people tended the poor sufferers. A little liquid was poured down their throats: a little food was given them: they were put into clean hammocks. For many a day Jack had not enjoyed so much luxury. He had hitherto been accustomed only to kicks and blows. He thought Sambo the only good man alive. Kindness won his heart, and he learned to love others of his race.

The voyage was prosperous. India was reached in safety. With a fresh cargo the ship then sailed for China. What wonders Jack saw in that strange land I cannot stop to describe. Laden with tea the good ship, the Belvoir Castle, returned to England, and Jack’s first and eventful voyage was ended.