Owen Hartley; or, Ups and Downs Part 15

"Shure it's not for pleasure, sir," exclaimed Mike. "As soon as the sea chooses to be quiet, we will be quiet too."

His remark produced a laugh, even among those who appeared the worst.

In a short time they got better. The night as it approached threatened to be stormy, and some of the party expressed a wish that they were safe back again on the sand-bank.

"Suppose such another gale as we had before were to drive the water over it, where should we be?" asked Mr Sc.o.o.nes. "Depend upon it we are better off in a tight boat, with twice as much sea as we have running here."

Owen thought the mate was right. He did his best to keep up the spirits of his companions. The wind increasing, the sea got up more and more.

It was necessary to keep the boat's head close to the wind, sometimes indeed to put the helm hard down so that she might ride over the seas, which otherwise would have broken on board and swamped her. As it was, in spite of the additional streak, the water constantly fell on board, and two hands were kept continually baling it out. The least carelessness in steering would inevitably have caused the destruction of the boat. It seemed surprising, small as she was, that she could live.

All night long the wind continued to blow as hard as ever, and no progress was made. There was a fear, indeed, that they might drive back on the sand-bank. When morning broke Owen looked out anxiously to the southward, expecting to see it under their lee. He was, however, thankful to find, as the light increased, that they were out of sight of the dreaded bank.

For two days the same weather continued. Some of the people began to lose heart.

Owen did his best to cheer them up. "Depend upon it we shall have clear skies and a smooth sea before long; we shall then run along famously, and make up for lost time," he observed.

Mr Sc.o.o.nes kept up his character as a good seaman. For hours together he sat at the helm, and only gave it up to Bill Pratt, who was the next best hand to him. At last, as Owen had predicted, the wind fell, and the sea went down. Once more the boat was put on her course to the eastward. During the day they steered by the sun, and at night by the stars, which shone forth with great brilliancy. Although Owen had often gazed before at the Southern Cross and the other beautiful constellations of that hemisphere, he now watched them with greater interest than ever. With the fine weather the spirits of the party rose. Owen proposed that each man should recount his adventures, tell a story, or sing a song. His proposal was adopted; it served to beguile the time, and prevented the men from thinking of the dangers which might be in store for them. Mr Sc.o.o.nes did not interfere. He sat silent and gloomy, as usual. He might possibly have reflected that it was through his own obstinacy that the s.h.i.+p had been cast away, and the lives of so many of her crew sacrificed. Fis.h.i.+ng lines were also constantly kept out, and several fish were caught. The only means of cooking them was on a fire of chips on the lid of the fish-kettle. They proved a valuable addition to their fare, and a.s.sisted, with the dried fruit which had been saved, in warding off scurvy. The wind was, however, very light, and but slow progress was made. At length it became perfectly calm.

Mr Sc.o.o.nes immediately ordered the men to get out the oars. Owen set the example, and Nat and Mike obeyed, but the others grumbled, a.s.serting that the advantage to be gained was so slight that it was not worth while to exert themselves.

Mr Sc.o.o.nes became very angry, and standing up with the tiller in his hand, declared that he would knock the first man overboard who refused to obey his orders.

"You'd better not try it," answered the carpenter's mate, a powerful-looking man, seizing the hammer which lay near him. "Having three or four hundred miles to sail, as I understand, we can do little good in tiring ourselves out by pulling along at the rate of two knots an hour in this blazing sun. Let those boys and the Irishman put in their oars. They will only kill themselves if they keep at it."

Mr Sc.o.o.nes saw by this how slight was his authority over the men, and wisely gave up the attempt. After a time the calm became more difficult to endure than had been the gale. Owen and his two friends had their heads protected by the turbans which they had at first manufactured, but the others had taken no similar precautions. The straw hats they wore, which had been washed ash.o.r.e, afforded but a slight resistance against the penetrating rays of the sun. Night brought them all some relief.

Then all hands, excepting one who remained on the watch, lay down to sleep. When it was Owen's watch he saw the mate several times get up and look about him as if his slumbers were light and troubled. For upwards of four days the calm continued. Provisions were served out regularly, but Mr Sc.o.o.nes, believing that they would reach Batavia in ten days or so, had not put the people on an allowance of water; the consequence was that they drank away at the water casks without stint, as they had done at the spirit kegs. One of the casks was soon emptied.

Without telling Mr Sc.o.o.nes, they began upon a second. Even Owen was not aware how rapidly the water was being exhausted, until Nat told him that he was afraid they were half-way through the second cask. Owen at once informed Mr Sc.o.o.nes, who on this occasion had good cause for his anger.

"If you wish to live, you fellows must consent to be put on short allowance. We have not made good more than thirty miles of the distance we have to run, and for what we know, we may chance to meet with contrary winds and more calms, and if so, we shall soon all die of thirst. Being without water is, as you will find, worse than being without food."

These remarks brought the men to reason. The remainder of the kegs, including those which had been washed up upon the island, were therefore brought and kept aft by Mr Sc.o.o.nes, who served out half a cupful at a time twice a day to each man.

Owen, as before, tried to animate his companions.

"Here comes a breeze," he exclaimed, as a light blue ripple was seen advancing over the mirror-like surface of the ocean. The sails were trimmed, and the boat once more glided on at the rate of three or four knots an hour. Even should the breeze continue, however it would take them many days to reach Batavia. The wind lasted but a few hours, when they were again becalmed. Thus they lay, making no progress for another two days. Once more a breeze sprung up, but it was directly in their teeth. The boat was hauled on the wind and stood to the northward.

"We may have a long beat of it, but it cannot be helped," said Mr Sc.o.o.nes to Owen.

It was trying work; now they tacked to the south-east, now to the north-east. The imperfect observations they were able to take showed them, however, that they had gained some ground Owen cheered the men by reminding them that they were in the course of homeward and outward bound vessels, and that they might hope to fall in with one or the other.

Still day by day went by, and they were yet a long way from land. Once more the weather changed, and the wind s.h.i.+fted to the northward.

Night came on; Mr Sc.o.o.nes, unwilling to lose advantage of the breeze, continued to carry all sail, and it was evidently as much as the boat could bear. During the darkness a squall struck her. Before the sheets could be let go, the whole of the lighter canvas was blown away. Had not this happened, the boat would have been upset. She had now but her fore lug and foresail, so that she could no longer keep close to the wind without an after oar kept constantly going. The night, however, pa.s.sed away without any farther accident. It was not until noon, when the weather moderated, that all hands turned to and tried to repair the tattered sails. This operation was almost beyond their power. They managed, however, to patch up a mizen, which enabled the boat once more to stand on her proper course.

Several days pa.s.sed by; no land appeared in sight. Their provisions were almost exhausted. They had been on short allowance for some time; but a few pints of water remained in their last cask. Again the boat lay becalmed. The three men who had escaped with the mate from the camp--their strength previously weakened by drinking--had given in and lay at the bottom of the boat, or leaned against the side, unable to exert themselves.

Mr Sc.o.o.nes, strong and hardy as he had been, was utterly exhausted.

Owen, Nat, and Mike, though feeling weak, were by far the most active of the crew.

Another day pa.s.sed by; the carpenter's mate was the first to die, the other two quickly followed. Owen had endeavoured to restore them by moistening their parched lips with water; but it was of no avail. He felt himself imbued with a strength which surprised him. The dead bodies were lifted over board. No funeral ceremony was possible.

Owen then went aft to attend to the first mate, who lay in the stern sheets unable to move. Owen brought him some water; he drank it eagerly, and opened his eyes.

"Is there much more?" he asked.

"Very little, sir; but we will take only what will keep us alive, you can have the rest."

Owen, faithful to his promise, continued to give the apparently dying man a few thimblefuls at a time.

"Were a breeze to spring up we might yet be saved," said the mate. "Do you see any signs of one?"

"Not as yet, sir," answered Owen, after he had looked round the horizon; "but cheer up, sir, G.o.d may still think fit to preserve us, although we do not see how it is to be. I'll get you a little more water."

All day long Owen continued, as at first, to attend on the mate. Mike and Nat sat still, their spirits were too low to talk; but they were perfectly satisfied that the mate should have the water, though their own share was thus much diminished. They all ate sparingly of the provisions which remained. Fortunately among them was some of the dried fruit, which a.s.sisted to a.s.suage their thirst. The mate did not appear to grow worse, and Owen hoped that during the cool hours of the night he might revive. The sun went down in a cloudless sky, and the stars shone out brightly above their heads. Still no breeze came. The first mate occasionally spoke and inquired how the weather looked, but Owen could only give the answer as before. Morning was approaching.

"If we do not make the land, Hartley," said Mr Sc.o.o.nes, "or do not get picked up to-day, I shall not see another sun set."

"I hope you will hold out, sir," answered Owen; "we have still a little water, and our provisions are not quite exhausted. I trust you will not get worse."

He said this, though scarcely a couple of pints of water remained, while the provisions he spoke of consisted of a small piece of dry salt beef and half a dozen figs. Owen, feeling that he could hold out some time longer, was anxious to give the mate as large a share as possible, for he evidently required it more than any one.

Owen spoke to Nat and Mike, and they agreed that he should have a double allowance. The night air had revived him considerably. Owen gave him a few drops of water, after which he managed to chew some beef and eat a fig. Owen then gave him a further allowance of the precious fluid. He asked for more. "You shall have it, sir, but we are running very short," said Owen.

"How many gallons have you?" asked the mate.

"Gallons, sir! we have not more than a pint."

"Good heavens! a pint only, and that among four people, with such a sun as we shall have scorching down upon our heads before long," exclaimed the mate. "I feel my inside burning already."

"I would give you another draught, but you will want it more by-and-by than you do now, sir," said Owen. "Perhaps when the sun rises we may get a breeze and make the run you expect."

Although the mate kept crying out for more water, Owen was firm. The sun rose on a sky undimmed by a single cloud. The sea shone like a sheet of burnished gold, not a ripple played over it, excepting when, here and there, a fish rose to the surface, or leapt out of the water, sending far around a circle of tiny wavelets. Occasionally, too, a sea-fowl winged its flight through the blue ether, and ever and anon would plunge down to seize its prey from the ocean. The appearance of birds showed that land could not be far off, but not the faintest outline could as yet be discovered. The mate, dragging himself up to the side of the boat, gazed round with aching eyes, then sank down with a groan to his former position. Owen felt himself growing weaker and weaker. Poor Nat and Mike could scarcely raise their voices above a whisper.

"Water! water!" groaned the mate; "give me some if you would save my life."

The other two pointed to their lips, and gazed eagerly at the casks.

Owen dragged himself towards them. He could have drunk the whole of the water himself, and yet not have been satisfied. He poured out a small quant.i.ty and took it to the mate.

"Sip it slowly, sir," he said, "we have very little more remaining."

To his dismay, as he again went to pour some in the cup, he found there was scarcely sufficient left to fill it. He took what he believed to be his own share, and then carried the remainder to Nat and Mike. He put it to the lips of the first, who seized it with both his hands, and would have drained it to the bottom.

"Let go," cried Owen, "this is Mike's share as well as yours." With some difficulty he rescued it, and handed the cup to the Irishman, who swallowed it eagerly. Owen had not the heart to tell them there was no more. Before long they again cried out for water. Owen made no reply.

"Water! water!" groaned the mate. Owen shook his head. He had scarcely strength enough to crawl back and show that it was exhausted. The mate at last understood him.

"Is there none in any of the other casks?" he asked.

Owen knew that they had been emptied to the last drop. He crawled to where they were stowed, and tried one after the other. They were perfectly dry. Without water to moisten their lips, no one would be able to masticate the last remnants of food.