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The Calm and the Storm—A Serious Loss and Great Gain—Bird-Catching Extraordinary—Saved at Last.

One day a deep death-like calm settled down upon the ocean. For some days before, the winds had been light and uncertain, and the air had been excessively warm. The captain cast uneasy glances around him from time to time, and looked with a sadder countenance than usual on the haggard faces of the men as they laboured slowly and silently at the oars.

“I don’t know what this will turn to, doctor,” he said, in a low tone; “I don’t like the look of it.”

The doctor, who was perusing Ailie’s journal at the moment, looked up and shook his head.

“It seems to me, captain, that whatever happens, matters cannot be made much worse.”

“You are wrong, doctor,” replied the captain quietly; “we have still much to be thankful for.”

“Did you not tell me a few minutes ago that the water was almost done?”

The doctor said this in a whisper, for the men had not yet been made aware of the fact.

“Yes, I did; but it is not quite done; that is matter for thankfulness.”

“Oh, according to that principle,” observed the doctor, somewhat testily, “you may say we have cause to be thankful for everything, bad as well as good.”

“So we have! so we have! If everything good were taken from us, and nothing left us but our lives, we would have reason to be thankful for that—thankful that we were still above ground, still in the land of hope, with salvation to our immortal souls through Jesus Christ freely offered for our acceptance.”

The doctor made no reply. He thought the captain a little weak in the matter of religion. If religion is false, his opinion of the captain no doubt, was right, but if true, surely the weakness lay all the other way.

That morning the captain’s voice in prayer was more earnest, if possible, than usual, and he put up a special petition for water, which was observed by the men with feelings of great anxiety, and responded to with a deep amen. After morning worship the scales were brought, and the captain proceeded to weigh out the scanty meal, while the men watched his every motion with an almost wolfish glare, that told eloquently of the prolonged sufferings they had endured. Even poor Ailie’s gentle face now wore a sharp, anxious expression when food was being served out, and she accepted her small portion with a nervous haste that was deeply painful and touching to witness. She little knew, poor child, that that portion of bread and meat and water, small though it was, was larger than that issued to the men, being increased by a small quantity deducted from the captain’s own allowance and an equal amount from that of Glynn. The latter had noticed the captain’s habit of regularly calling off the child’s attention during the distribution of each meal, for the purpose of thus increasing her portion at the expense of his own, and in a whispering conversation held soon after he insisted that a little of his allowance should also be transferred to her. At first the captain firmly refused, but Glynn said that if he did not accede to his wish he would hand over the whole of his portion in future to the monkey, let the result be what it might! As Glynn never threatened without a full and firm resolve to carry out his threats, the captain was compelled to give in.

When the water came to be served out that morning the captain paused, and looking round at the anxious eyes that were riveted upon him, said—

“My lads, it has pleased the Almighty to lay His hand still heavier on us. May He who has said that He will not suffer men to be tempted above what they are able to bear, give us strength to stand it. Our water is almost done. We must be content with a quarter of our usual allowance.”

This information was received in deep silence—perhaps it was the silence of despair, for the quantity hitherto served out had been barely sufficient to moisten their parched throats, and they knew that they could not exist long on the reduced allowance.

Jacko came with the rest as usual for his share, and held out his little hand for the tin cup in which his few drops of water were wont to be handed to him. The captain hesitated and looked at the men; then he poured out a few drops of the precious liquid. For the first time a murmur of disapproval was heard.

“It’s only a brute beast; the monkey must die before us,” said a voice which was so hollow and changed that it could scarcely be recognised as that of Tarquin, the steward.

No one else said a word. The captain did not even look up to see who had spoken. He felt the justice as well as the harshness of the remark, and poured the water back into the jar.

Jacko seems puzzled at first, and held out his hand again; then he looked round on the men with that expression of unutterable woe which is peculiar to some species of the monkey tribe. He seemed to feel that something serious was about to happen to him. Looking up in the sad face of his young mistress, he uttered a very gentle and plaintive “oo-oo-ee!”

Ailie burst into a passionate flood of tears, and in the impulse of the moment handed her own cup, which she had not tasted, to Jacko, who drained it in a twinkling—before the captain could snatch it from his hands.

Having emptied it, Jacko went forward as he had been taught to do, and handed back the cup with quite a pleased expression of countenance—for he was easily satisfied, poor thing!

“You should not have done that, my darling,” said the captain, as he gave Ailie another portion.

“Dear papa, I couldn’t help it,” sobbed the child; “indeed I couldn’t—and you need not give me any. I can do without it to-day.”

“Can you? But you shan’t,” exclaimed Glynn, with a degree of energy that would have made every one laugh in happier times.

“No, no, my own pet,” replied the captain. “You shan’t want it. Here, you must drink it, come.”

From that day Jacko received his allowance regularly as long as a drop of water was left, and no one again murmured against it. When it was finished he had to suffer with the rest.

The calm which had set in proved to be of longer duration than usual, and the sufferings of the crew of the little boat became extreme. On the third day after its commencement the last drop of water was served out. It amounted to a couple of teaspoonfuls per man each meal, of which there were three a day. During the continuance of the calm, the sun shone in an almost cloudless sky and beat down upon the heads of the men until it drove them nearly mad. They all looked like living skeletons, and their eyes glared from their sunken sockets with a dry fiery lustre that was absolutely terrible to behold. Had each one in that boat possessed millions of gold he would have given all, gladly, for one drop of fresh water; but, alas! nothing could purchase water there. Ailie thought upon the man who, in the Bible, is described as looking up to heaven from the depths of hell and crying for one drop of water to cool his tongue, and she fancied that she could now realise his agony. The captain looked up into the hot sky, but no blessed cloud appeared there to raise the shadow of a hope. He looked down at the sea, and it seemed to mock him with its clear blue depths, which looked so sweet and pleasant. He realised the full significance of that couplet in Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner—

“Water, water, everywhere,

But not a drop to drink.”

and, drawing Ailie to his breast, he laid his cheek upon hers and groaned aloud.

“We shall soon be taken away, dear papa!” she said—and she tried to weep, but the tears that came unbidden and so easily at other times to her bright blue eyes refused to flow now.

The men had one by one ceased to ply their useless oars, and the captain did not take notice of it, for he felt that unless God sent relief in some almost miraculous way, their continuing to row would be of no avail. It would only increase their agony without advancing them more than a few miles on the long, long voyage that he knew still lay before them.

“O God, grant us a breeze!” cried Mr Millons, in a deep, tremulous tone breaking a silence that had continued for some hours.

“Messmates,” said Tim Rokens, who for some time had leaned with both elbows on his oar and his face buried in his hands, “wot d’ye say to a bath? I do believe it ’ud do us good.”

“P’haps it would,” replied King Bumble; but he did not move, and the other men made no reply, while Rokens again sank forward.

Gurney and Tarquin had tried to relieve their thirst the day before by drinking sea-water, but their inflamed and swollen throats and lips now showed that the relief sought had not been obtained.

“It’s time for supper,” said the captain, raising his head suddenly, and laying Ailie down, for she had fallen into a lethargic slumber; “fetch me the bread and meat can.”

Dick Barnes obeyed reluctantly, and the usual small allowance of salt junk was weighed out, but there were no eager glances now. Most of the crew refused to touch food—one or two tried to eat a morsel of biscuit without success.

“I’ll try a swim,” cried Glynn, suddenly starting up with the intention of leaping overboard. But his strength was more exhausted than he had fancied, for he only fell against the side of the boat. It was as well that he failed. Had he succeeded in getting into the water he could not have clambered in again, and it is doubtful whether his comrades had sufficient strength left to have dragged him in.

“Try it this way, lad,” said Tim Rokens, taking up a bucket, and dipping it over the side. “P’raps it’ll do as well.”

He raised the bucket with some difficulty and poured its contents over Glynn’s head.

“Thank God!” said Glynn, with a deep, long-drawn sigh. “Do it again, Tim, do it again. That’s it,—again, again! No, stop; forgive my selfishness; here, give me the bucket, I’ll do it to you now.”

Tim Rokens was quickly drenched from head to foot, and felt great and instantaneous relief. In a few minutes every one in the boat, Jacko included, was subjected to this species of cold bath, and their spirits rose at once. Some of them even began to eat their food, and Briant actually attempted to perpetrate a joke, which Gurney seconded promptly, but they failed to make one, even a bad one, between them.

Although the cold bathing seemed good for them at first, it soon proved to be hurtful. Sitting and lying constantly night and day in saturated clothes had the effect of rendering their skins painfully sensitive, and a feverish feeling was often alternated with cold shivering fits, so they were fain to give it up. Still they had found some slight relief, and they bore their sufferings with calm resignation—a state of mind which was fostered, if not induced, by the blessed words of comfort and hope which the captain read to them from the Bible as frequently as his strength would permit, and to which they listened with intense, all-absorbing interest.

It is ever thus with men. When death approaches, in almost all instances, we are ready—ay, anxious—to listen with the deepest interest to God’s message of salvation through His Son, and to welcome and long for the influences of the Holy Spirit. Oh! how happy should we be in life and in death, did we only give heartfelt interest to our souls’ affairs before the days of sorrow and death arrive.

On the fifth morning after the water had been exhausted the sun arose in the midst of dark clouds. The men could scarcely believe their eyes. They shouted and, in their weakness, laughed for joy.

The blessing was not long delayed. Thick vapours veiled the red sun soon after it emerged from the sea, then a few drops of rain fell. Blessed drops! How the men caught at them! How they spread out oiled cloths and tarpaulins and garments to gather them! How they grudged to see them falling around the boat into the sea, and being lost to them for ever. But the blessing was soon sent liberally. The heavens above grew black, and the rain came down in thick heavy showers. The tarpaulins were quickly filled, and the men lay with their lips to the sweet pools, drinking-in new life, and dipping their heads and hands in the cool liquid when they could drink no more. Their thirst was slaked at last, and they were happy. All their past sufferings were forgotten in that great hour of relief, and they looked, and laughed, and spoke to each other like men who were saved from death. As they stripped off their garments and washed the encrusted salt from their shrunken limbs, all of them doubtless felt, and some of them audibly expressed, gratitude to the “Giver of every good and perfect gift.”

So glad were they, and so absorbed in their occupation, that they thought not of and cared not for the fact that a great storm was about to break upon them. It came upon them almost before they were aware, and before the sails could be taken in the boat was almost upset.

“Stand-by to lower the sails!” shouted the captain, who was the first to see their danger.

The old familiar command issued with something of the old familiar voice and energy caused every one to leap to his post, if not with the agility of former times, at least with all the good will.

“Let go!”

The halyards were loosed, and the sails came tumbling down; at the same moment the squall burst on them. The Maid of the Isle bent over so quickly that every one expected she would upset; the blue water curled in over the edge of the gunwale, and the foam burst from her bows at the rude shock. Then she hissed through the water as she answered the helm, righted quickly, and went tearing away before the wind at a speed that she had not known for many days. It was a narrow escape. The boat was nearly filled with water, and, worst of all, the provision can, along with Ailie’s sleeping-box, were washed overboard and lost.

It was of no use attempting to recover them. All the energies of the crew were required to bale out the water and keep the boat afloat, and during the whole storm some of them were constantly employed in baling. For three days it blew a perfect hurricane, and during all that time the men had nothing whatever to eat; but they did not suffer so much as might be supposed. The gnawing pangs of hunger do not usually last beyond a few days when men are starving. After that they merely feel ever-increasing weakness. During the fall of the rain they had taken care to fill their jars, so that they had now a good supply of water.

After the first burst of the squall had passed, the tarpaulins were spread over the boat, and under one of these, near the stern, Ailie was placed, and was comparatively sheltered and comfortable. Besides forming a shelter for the men while they slept, these tarpaulins threw off the waves that frequently broke over the boat, and more than once bid fair to sink her altogether. These arose in enormous billows, and the gale was so violent that only the smallest corner of the foresail could be raised—even that was almost sufficient to tear away the mast.

At length the gale blew itself out, and gradually decreased to a moderate breeze, before which the sails were shaken out, and on the fourth morning after it broke they found themselves sweeping quickly over the waves on their homeward way, but without a morsel of food, and thoroughly exhausted in body and in mind.

On that morning, however, they passed a piece of floating seaweed, a sure indication of their approach to land. Captain Dunning pointed it out to Ailie and the crew with a cheering remark that they would probably soon get to the end of their voyage; but he did not feel much hope; for, without food, they could not exist above a few days more at the furthest—perhaps not so long. That same evening, several small sea-birds came towards the boat, and flew inquiringly round it, as if they wondered what it could be doing there, so far away from the haunts of men. These birds were evidently unaccustomed to man, for they exhibited little fear. They came so near to the boat that one of them was at length caught. It was the negro who succeeded in knocking it on the head with a boat-hook as it flew past.

Great was the praise bestowed on King Bumble for this meritorious deed, and loud were the praises bestowed on the bird itself, which was carefully divided into equal portions (and a small portion for Jacko), and eaten raw. Not a morsel of it was lost—claws, beak, blood, bones, and feathers—all were eaten up. In order to prevent dispute or jealousy, the captain made Ailie turn her back on the bird when thus divided, and pointing to the different portions, he said—

“Who shall have this?” Whoever was named by Ailie had to be content with what thus fell to his share.

“Ah, but ye wos always an onlucky dog!” exclaimed Briant, to whom fell the head and claws.

“Ye’ve no reason to grumble,” replied Gurney; “ye’ve got all the brains to yerself, and no one needs them more.”

The catching of this bird was the saving of the crew, and it afforded them a good deal of mirth in the dividing of it. The heart and a small part of the breast fell to Ailie—which every one remarked was singularly appropriate; part of a leg and the tail fell to King Bumble; and the lungs and stomach became the property of Jim Scroggles, whereupon Briant remarked that he would “think as much almost o’ that stomach as he had iver done of his own!” But there was much of sadness mingled with their mirth, for they felt that the repast was a peculiarly light one, and they had scarcely strength left to laugh or jest.

Next morning they knocked down another bird, and in the evening they got two more. The day after that they captured an albatross, which furnished them at last with an ample supply of fresh food.

It was Mr Markham, the second mate, who first saw the great bird looming in the distance, as it sailed over the sea towards them.

“Let’s try to fish for him,” said the doctor. “I’ve heard of sea-birds being caught in that way before now.”

“Fish for it!” exclaimed Ailie in surprise.

“Ay, with hook and line, Ailie.”

“I’ve seen it done often,” said the captain. “Hand me the line, Bumble, and a bit o’ that bird we got yesterday. Now for it.”

By the time the hook was baited, the albatross had approached near to the boat, and hovered around it with that curiosity which seems to be a characteristic feature of all sea-birds. It was an enormous creature; but Ailie, when she saw it in the air, could not have believed it possible that it was so large as it was afterwards found to be on being measured.

“Here, Glynn, catch hold of the line,” said the captain, as he threw the hook overboard, and allowed it to trail astern; “you are the strongest man amongst us now, I think; starvation don’t seem to tell so much on your young flesh and bones as on ours!”

“No; it seems to agree with his constitution,” remarked Gurney.

“It’s me that wouldn’t give much for his flesh,” observed Briant; “but his skin and bones would fetch a good price in the leather and rag market.”

While his messmates were thus freely remarking on his personal appearance—which, to say truth, was dreadfully haggard—Glynn was holding the end of the line, and watching the motions of the albatross with intense interest.

“He won’t take it,” observed the captain.

“Me tink him will,” said Bumble.

“No go,” remarked Nikel Sling sadly.

“That was near,” said the first mate eagerly, as the bird made a bold swoop down towards the bait, which was skipping over the surface of the water.

“No, he’s off,” cried Mr Markham in despair.

“Cotched! or I’m a Dutchman!” shouted. Gurney.

“No!” cried Jim Scroggles.

“Yes!” screamed Ailie.

“Hurrah!” shouted Tim Rokens and Tarquin in a breath.

Dick Barnes, and the doctor, and the captain, and, in short, everybody, echoed the last sentiment, and repeated it again and again with delight as they saw the gigantic bird once again swoop down upon the bait and seize it.

Glynn gave a jerk, the hook caught in its tongue, and the albatross began to tug, and swoop, and whirl madly in its effort to escape.

Now, to talk of any ordinary bird swooping, and fluttering, and tugging, does not sound very tremendous; but, reader, had you witnessed the manner in which that enormous albatross conducted itself, you wouldn’t have stared with amazement—oh, no! You wouldn’t have gone home with your mouth as wide open as your eyes, and have given a gasping account of what you had seen—by no means! You wouldn’t have talked of feathered steam-engines, or of fabled rocs, or of winged elephants in the air—certainly not!

Glynn’s arms jerked as if he were holding on to the sheet of a shifting mainsail of a seventy-four.

“Bear a hand,” he cried, “else I’ll be torn to bits.”

Several hands grasped the line in a moment.

“My! wot a wopper,” exclaimed Tim Rokens.

“Och! don’t he pull? Wot a fortin he’d make av he’d only set his-self up as a tug-boat in the Thames!”

“If only we had him at the oar for a week,” added Gurney.

“Hoich! doctor, have ye strength to set disjointed limbs?”

“Have a care, lads,” cried the captain, in some anxiety; “give him more play, the line won’t stand it. Time enough to jest after we’ve got him.”

The bird was now swooping, and waving, and beating its great wings so close to the boat that they began to entertain some apprehension lest any of the crew should be disabled by a stroke from them before the bird could be secured. Glynn, therefore, left the management of the line to others, and, taking up an oar, tried to strike it. But he failed in several attempts.

“Wait till we haul him nearer, boy,” said the captain. “Now, then!”

Glynn struck again, and succeeded in hitting it a slight blow. At the same instant the albatross swept over the boat, and almost knocked the doctor overboard. As it brushed past, King Bumble, who was gifted with the agility of a monkey, leaped up, caught it round the neck, and the next moment the two were rolling together in the bottom of the boat.

The creature was soon strangled, and a mighty cheer greeted this momentous victory.

We are not aware that albatross flesh is generally considered very desirable food, but we are certain that starving men are particularly glad to get it, and that the supply now obtained by the wrecked mariners was the means of preserving their lives until they reached the land, which they did ten days afterwards, having thus accomplished a voyage of above two thousand miles over the ocean in an open boat in the course of eight weeks, and on an amount of food that was barely sufficient for one or two weeks’ ordinary consumption.

Great commiseration was expressed for them by the people at the Cape, who vied with each other in providing for their wants, and in showing them kindness.

Ailie and her father were carried off bodily by a stout old merchant, with a broad kind face, and a hearty, boisterous manner, and lodged in his elegant villa during their stay in that quarter of the world, which was protracted some time in order that they might recruit the wasted strength of the party ere they commenced their voyage home in a vessel belonging to the same stout, broad-faced, and vociferous merchant.

Meanwhile, several other ships departed for America, and by one of these Captain Dunning wrote to his sisters Martha and Jane. The captain never wrote to Martha or to Jane separately—he always wrote to them conjointly as “Martha Jane Dunning.”

The captain was a peculiar letter-writer. Those who may feel curious to know more about this matter are referred for further information to the next chapter.