Ocean waifs: A story of adventure on land and sea

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THE
CEAN WAIFS;
A STORY OF
ADVENTURE ON LAND AND SEA.
CAPTAIN MAYNE REID,
AUTHOR OF "the DESERT nOlIE," "THE BOY HUJiTEltS," ETC., ETO
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
BOSTON:
\MES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY
Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co.
1872.
New York, January 1st, 1869.'
Messrs. Fields, Osgood, & Co. : — '
I accept the terins offered, anil hereby concede to you the exclusive right"
publication, in the United States, of all my juvenile Tales of Adventure, ku'
as Boys' Novels.
WAYNE REIC
^
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V
University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co.,
Cambridge.
gjUJH BBOWU DRA¥G^IOi« LIBRARY
JUDUBN. ALftBJUWA 36830
^^e.c-
Chapter
FEB 6 78
'^^'WONTENTS.
—*-^
Paob
I. The Albatross ......•• 1
n. Ship on Fiee 8
III. The Lord's Prayer 8
IV. Hunger. — Despair 12
V. Faith. — Hope 15
VI. Flying-Fish .
18
. A Cheering Cloud 22
. A Canvas Tank 25
A Pleasant Siiower-Bath 29
The Pilot-Fish ~; . 32
^ A Lenten Dinner 38
Flensing a Shark ....-•• ^^
% The Sucking-Fish ^^
A Sail of Shark-Flesh 49
^'' "'. The Mysterious Voice
XVI. Other Waifs
XVII. How Snowball escaped from the Slaver . • 60
XVIII. Snowball amid the Drift ^^
XIX. Snowball at Sea on a Hencoop 68
XX. The Flash of Lightning ''^
75
XXI. io THE Oars
XXn. Ship Ahoy! ^^
CO
XXin. Thz Rafts en rapport
XXIV. P-CONSTRUCTING THE EaFT °5
XXV. The Catamaran ^^
XXVI. Littlf. William and Lilly Lalee . . • •
92
OR XXVn. Too Late!
XXVIII. "Overboard!" *'
IV CONTENTS.
XXIX. Saved! .
XXX. The Zyg^na ....
XXXI. Face to Face ....
XXXII. A RiKG Perf-ormance .
XXXIII. The Chase of the Catamaran
XXXIV. The Sail out of Sight .
XXXV. Waiting for Death .
XXXVI. A Chest at Sea
XXXVII. An iMrnoviSED Life-Preservee
XXXVIII. Conjectures about the Catamaran
XXXIX. Down the Wind ....
XL. Launching the Life-Preserver .
XLI. A Look-out from Aloft .
XLII. Once moiie Aboaisd
XLIII. Refitting the Raft .
XLIV. The Albacores ....
XLV. The Swoku-Fish ....
XLVI. The Swordsman of the Sea
XLVII. Angling for Albacore
XLVIIT. The Frigate-Bird ....
XLIX. Between two Tyrants
L. Snowball making a Somersault
LI. A Thrust through and through
LII. An awkward Grip ....
LIII. Gloomy Prospects
LIV. Thanksgiving
LV. Snowball sees Land
LVL Is IT Land"?
LVII. The King of the Cannibal Island
LVIII. Very like a Whale
LIX. Aboard the Body of a Whale
LX. A Curious Cuisine .
LXI. An Assembly of Sharks .
LXII. A Dangerous Equilibrium .
LXIII. A Harpoon well handled
LXIV. The Thick Waters
LXV. A Whale on Fire!
LXVL The Big Raft ....
CONTENTS.
LXVIT. A Crew of Cannibat.s
LXVIII. The Lottery of Life and Death
LXIX. A Challenge Declined .
LXX. An Unexpected Termination
LXXL Le Gros upon Trial...
LXXn. A Duel to the Death .
LXXIIL Hate against Hate .
LXXIV. A Light!
LXXV. Towards the Beacon!
LXXVL A Double Darkness
LXXVn. A Whispered Conspiract
LXXVnL A Foul Deed done in a Fog
LXXIX. Dousing the Glim .
LXXX. Suspicious Sounds....
LXXXL Unpleasant Conjectures
LXXXIL An Informal Inquest .
LXXXIII. Slipping the Cable .
LXXXIV. The Chase . . . . .
LXXXV. Nearer and Nearer .
LXXXVL Cut in Twain
LXXXVII. An Unlooked-for Deliverance
LXXXVIIL A Threatened Storm .
LXXXIX. A Startling Shriek
XC. A Madman in Mid-Ocean .
XCI. The Insane Swimmer
XCII. Boarding the Boat
XCIII. The Catamaran abandoned .
XCIV. A " School" of Sperm-Whales
XCV. Worse off than Ever .
XCVI. The darkest Hour
XCVn. A Cheering Cup ....
XCVin. A Phantom Ship or a Ship on Fire
XCIX. A Whaler " Trying Out " .
C. The End of the " Yarn " .
91^'
THE OCEAN WAIES
CHAPTER I.
THE ALBATROSS.
THE " vulture of the sea," borne upon broad wing, and
wandering over the wide Atlantic, suddenly suspends
his flight to look down upon an object that has attracted his
attention.
It is a raft, with a disc not much larger than a dining-ta-ble,
constructed out of two small spars of a ship, —the dol-phin-
striker and spritsail yard, — with two broad planks and
some narrower ones lashed crosswise, and over all two or
three pieces of sail-cloth carelessly spread.
Slight as is the structure, it is occupied by two individuals,
— a man and a boy. The latter is lying along the folds of
the sailcloth, apparently asleep. The man stands erect, with
his hand to his forehead, shading the sun from his eyes, and
scanning the surface of the sea with inquiring glances.
At his feet, lying among the creases of the canvas, are a
liandspike, a pair of boat oars, and an axe. Nothing more is
perceptible on the raft, even to the keen eye of the albatross.
The bird continues its flight towards the west. Ten miles
farther on it once more poises itself on soaring wing, and
directs its glance downward.
Another raft is seen motionless upon the calm surface of
the sea, but differing from the former in almost everything
1 A
2 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
but tlie name. It is nearly ten times as large ; constructed
out of the masts, yards, hatches, portions of the bulwarks,
and other timbers of a shi^D ; and rendered buoyant by a
number of empty water-casks lashed along its edges. A
square of canvas spread between two extemporized masts,
a couple of casks, an empty biscuit-box, some oars, hand-spikes,
and other maritime implements, lie upon the raft
;
and around these are more than thirty men, seated, standing,
lying, — in short, in almost every attitude.
Some are motionless, as if asleep ; but there is that in
their prostrate postures, and in the wild expression of their
features, that betokens rather the sleep of intoxication. Oth-ers,
by their gestures and loud, riotous talk, exhibit still surer
signs of drunkenness ; and the tin cup, reeking with rum, is
constantly passing from hand to hand. A few, apparently
sober, but haggard and hungry-like, sit or stand erect upon
the raft, casting occasional glances over the Avide expanse,
with but slight show of hope, fast changing to despair.
Well may the sea-vulture linger over this group, and con-template
their movements with expectant eye. The instincts
of the bird tell him, that erelong he may look forward to a
bountiful banquet
!
Ten miles farther to the west, though unseen to those
upon the raft, the far-piercing gaze of the albatross detects
another unusual object upon the surface of the sea. At this
distance it appears only a speck not larger than the bird it-self,
though in reality it is a small boat, —a ship's gig, — in
which six men are seated. There has been no attempt to
hoist a sail ; there is none in the gig. There are oars, but
no one is using them. They have been dropped in despair ;
and the boat lies becalmed just as the two rafts. Like them,
it appears to be adrift upon the ocean.
Could the albatross exert a reasoning faculty it would
know that these various objects indicated a wreck. Some
vessel has either foundei'ed and gone to the bottom, or has
caught fire and pei'ished in the flames.
SHIP ON FIRE. 3
Ten miles io (he eastward of the lesser raft might be dis-covered
truer traces of the lost ship. There might be seen
the debris of charred timbers, telling that she has succumbed,
not to tlie storm, but to fire ; and the fragments, scattered
over the circumference of a mile, disclose further that the
fire ended abruptly in some terrible explosion.
Upon the stern of the gig still afloat may be read the
name Pandora. The same word may be seen painted on the
water-casks buoying up the big raft ; and on the two planks
forming the transverse pieces of the lesser one appears Pan-dora
in still larger letters : for these were the boards that
exhibited the name of the ship on each side of her bowsprit,
and which had been torn off to ^.ocstruci the little raft by
those who now occupy it.
Beyond doubt the lost ship was the Pandora.
CHAPTER II.
SHIP ON FIRE.
THE story of the Pandora has been told in aU itc teiri-ble
details, A slave-ship, fitted out in England, pnd
lailing from an English port, —alas ! not the only one by
scores, —manned by a crew of ruffians, scarce two of then?
owning to the same nationality. Such was the bark
Pandora.
Her latest and last voyage was to the slave coast, in the
Gulf of Guinea. There, having shipped five hundred
wretched beings with black skins, — " bales " as they are
facetiously termed by the trader in human flesh, — she had
started to carry her cargo to that infamous market, —ever
open in those days to such a commodity,—the barracoons of
Brazil.
4 THE OCKAX WAIFS.
In mid-ocean she had caught fire, — a fire that could not
be extinguished. In the hurry and confusion of launching
the boats the pinnace proved to be useless ; and the long-boat,
stove in by the falling of a cask, sank to the bottom of
the sea. Only the gig was found available ; and this, seized
upon by the captain, the mate, and four others, was rowed
off clandestinely in the darkness.
The rest of the crew, over thirty in number, succeeded in
constructing a raft ; and but a few seconds after they had
pushed off from the sides of the ship, a barrel of gunpowder,
ignited by the flames, completed the catastrophe.
But what became of the cargo ^ Ah ! that is indeed a
tale of horror.
Up to the last moment those unfortunate beings had been
kept under hatches, under a grating that had been fastened
down with battens. They would have been left in that situ-ation
to be stifled in their confinement by the suffocating
smoke, or burnt alive amid the blazing timbers, but for one
merciful heart among those who were leaving the ship. An
axe uplifted by the arm of a brave youth — a mere boy —
struck ofi" the confining elects, and gave the sable sufferers
access to the open air.
Alas ! it was scarce a respite to these wretched creatures,
•— only a choice between two modes of death. They escaped
from the red fiames but to sink into the dismal depths of the
ocean, — hundreds meeting with a fate still more horrible :
for there were not less than that number, and all became
the prey of those hideous sea-monsters, the sharks.
Of all that band of involuntary emigrants, in ten minutes
after the blowing up of the bark, there was not one above
the surface of the sea ! Those of them that could not swim
had sunk to the bottom, while a worse fate had befallen those
that could, — to fill the maws of the ravenous monsters that
crowded the sea around them !
At the period when our tale commences, several days had
SHIP ON FIRE. 5
succeoded this tragical event ; and the groups we have de-
.'ibed, aligned upon a parallel of latitude, and separated
one from another bj a distance of some ten or a dozen miles,
will be easily recognized.
The little boat lying farthest west was the gig of the Pan-dora,
containing her brutal captain, his equally brutal mute,
the carpenter, and three others of the crew, that had been
admitted as partners in the surreptitious abstraction. Under
cover of the darkness they had made their departure ; but
long before rowing out of gun-shot they had heard the wild
denunciations and threats hurled after them by their betrayed
associates.
The ruffian crew occupied the greater raft; but who were
the two individuals who had intrusted themselves to that
frail embarkation, —seemingly so slight that a single breath
of wind would scatter it into fragments, and send its occu-pants
to the bottom of the sea ? Sucli in reality would have
been their fate, had a storm sprung up at that moment ; but
fortunately for them the sea was smooth and calm, — as it
had been ever since the destruction of the ship.
But why w^ere they thus separated from the others of the
crew : for both man and boy had belonged to the forecastle
of the Pandora ?
The circumstance requires explanation, and it shall be
briefly given. The man was Ben Brace, — the bravest
and best sailor on board the slave bark, and one who would
not have shipped in such a craft but for wrongs he had
suffered while in the service of his country, and that had
inducted him into a sort of reckless disposition, of which,
however, he had long since repented.
The boy had also been the victim of a similar disposition.
Longing to see foreign lands, he had run away to sea ; and
by an unlucky accident, through sheer ignorance of her char-acter,
had chosen the Pandora in which to make his initia-tory
voyage. From the cruel treatment he had been sub-
6 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
jectcd to on board the bark, he had reason to see his folly.
Irksome had been his existence from the moment he set foot
on the deck of the Pandora ; and indeed it would have been
scarce endurable but for the friendship of the brave sailor
Brace, who, after a time, had taken him under his especial
protection. Neither of them had any feelings in common
with the crew with whom they had become associated ; and
it was their intention to escape from such vile companionship
as soon as an opportunity should offer.
The destruction of the bark would not have given that
opportunity. On the contrary, it rendered it all the more
necessary to remain with the others, and share the chances
of safety offered by the great raft. Slight as these miglit
be, they were still better than those that might await them,
exposed on such a frail fabric as that they now occupied.
It is true, that upon this they had left the burning ves-sel
separate from the others ; but immediately after they
had rowed up alongside the larger structure, and made fast
to it.
In this companionship they had continued for several
days and nights, borne backward and forward by the vary-ing
breezes ; resting by day on the calm surface of the
ocean ; and sharing the fate of the rest of the castaway
crew.
What had led to th^ir relinquishing the companionship ?
Why was Ben Brace and his "protege separated from the
others and once more alone upon their little raft ?
The cause of that separation must be declared, though
one almost shudders to think of it. It was to save the boy
from being eaten that Ben Brace had carried him away
from his former associates ; and it was only by a cunning
stratagem, and at the risk of his own life, that the brave
sailor had succeeded in preventing this horrid banquet from
being made !
The castaway crew had exhausted the slender stock of
SHIP ON FIRE. 7
provisions received from the wreck. They were reduced (o
that state of hunger which no longer revolts at the filtliie.-t
of food ; and without even resorting to the custoraaiy
method adopted in such terrible crises, they unanimously
resolved upon the death of the boy,—Ben Brace alone
raising a voice of dissent !
But this voice was not heeded. It was decided that the
lad should die ; and all that his protector was able to obtain
from the fiendish crew, was the promise of a respite ibr
him, till the following morning.
Brace had his object in procuring this delay. Durmg
the night, the united rafts made way under a fresh breeze ;
and while all was wrapped in darkness, he cut the ropes
which fastened the lesser one to the greater, allowing tlie
former to fall astern. As it was occupied only by him and
his protege, they were thus separated from their dangerous
associates ; and when far enough off to run no risk of
being heard, they used their oars to increase the distance.
All night long did they continue to row against the wind
;
and as morning broke upon them, they came to a rest ui)on
the calm sea, unseen by their late comrades, and with ten
miles separating the two rafts from each other.
It was the fatigue of that long spell of pulling—with
many a watchful and weary hour preceding it—that had
caused the boy to sink down upon the folded canvas, and
almost on the instant fall asleep ; and it was the appre-hension
of being followed that was causing Ben Brace to
stand shading his eyes from the sun, and scan with unea^^y
glances the glittering surface of the sea.
THE OCEAN WAIFS.
CHAPTER III.
THE lord's prater.
AFTER carefully scrutinizing the smooth water towards
every point of the compass, —but more especially to-wards
the west, —the sailor ceased from his reconnoissance,
and turned his eyes upon his youthful companion, still
soundly slumbering.
"Poor lad!" muttered he to himself; "he be quite
knocked up. No wonder, after such a week as we 've had
o't. And to think he war so near bein' killed and ate by
them crew o' ruffians. I 'm blowed if that was n't enough
to scare the strength out o' him ! Well, I dare say he 's
escaped from that fate ; but as soon as he has got a little
more rest, we must take a fresh spell at the oars. It 'ud
never do to drift back to them. If we do, it an't only him
they'll want to eat, but me too, after what's happened.
Blowed if they would n't."
The sailor paused a moment, as if reflecting upon the
probabilities of their being pursued.
"Sartin!" he continued, "they could never fetch that
catamaran against the wind ; but now that it 's turned dead
calm, they might clap on wi' their oars, in the hope of over-takin'
us. There 's so many of them to pull, and they 've
got oars in plenty, they might overhaul us yet."
*' O Ben ! dear Ben ! save me, — save me from the
wicked men !
"
This came from the lips of the lad, evidently muttered in
his sleep.
" Dash my buttons, if he an't dreaming ! " said the
sailor, turning his eyes upon the boy, and watching the
movements of his lips. " He be talkin' in his sleep. He
thinks they 're comin' at him just as they did last night on
THE LORD'S PRAYER. 9
the raft ! Maybe I ought to rouse him up. If he be a
dreamin' that way he '11 be better awake. It 's a pity, too,
for he an't had enough sleep."
" Oh ! they will kill me and eat me. Oh, oh !
"
" No, they won't do neyther,—blow'd if they do. Will'm,
little Will'm ! rouse yourself, my lad."
And as he said this he bent down and gave the sleeper a
shake.
" O Ben I is it you ? "Where are they, — those mon
sters,?"
" Miles away, my boy. You be only a dreamin' about
'em. That 's why I 've shook you up."
" I 'm glad you have waked me. Oh ! it was a frightful
dream ! I thought they had done it, Ben."
" Done what, Will'm ?
"
" What they were going to do."
" Dash it, no, lad ! they an't ate you yet ; nor won't, till
they 've first put an end o' me,—that I promise ye."
" Dear Ben," cried the boy, " you are so good, —you 've
risked your life to save mine. Oh ! how can I ever show
you how much I am sensible of your goodness ?
"
" Don't talk o' that, little Will'm. Ah ! lad, I fear it
an't much use to eyther o' us. But if we must die, any-thing
befoi'e a death like that. I 'd rather far that the
sharks should get us than to be eat up by one's o^\ti sort.—
Ugh ! it be horrid to think o't. But come, lad, don't let
us despair. For all so black as things look, let us put our
trust in Providence. We don't know but that His eye
may be on us at this minute. I wish I 'knew how to pray,
but I never was taught that ere. Can you pray, little Wil-l'm
?"
"I can repeat the Lord's Prayer. Would that do,
Ben?"
" Sartain it would. It be the best kind o' prayer, I 've
heerd say. Get on your knees, lad, and do it. I '11 kneeJ
1*
10 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
myself, and jotn with ye in the spirit o' the thing, tho' I *in
shamed to say I disremember most o' the words."
The boy, thus solicited, at once raised himself into a kneel-ing
position, and commenced repeating the sublime prayer
of the Christian. The rough sailor knelt alongside of him,
and with hands crossed over his breast in a supplicating
attitude, listened attentively, now and then joining in tlie
words of the prayer, whenever some phrase recurred to his
remembrance.
When it was over, and the " Amen " had "been solemnly
pronounced by the voices of both, the sailor seemed to have
become inspired with a fresh hope ; and, once more grasjjing
an oar, he desired his companion to do the same.
" We must get a little farther to east'ard," said he, " so
as to make sure o' bein' out o' their way. If we only pull
a couple of hours afore the sun gets hot, I think we '11 be in
no danger o' meetin' them any more. So let's set to, little
Will'm ! Another spell, and then you can rest as long 's
you have a mind to."
The sailor seated himself close to the edge of the raft,
and dropped his oar-blade in the water, using it after the
fashion of a canoe-paddle. " Little Will'm," taking his
place on the opposite side, imitated the action ; and the
craft commenced moving onwai-d over the calm surface of
the sea.
The boy, though only sixteen, was skilled in the use of
an oar, and could handle it in whatever fashion. He had
learnt the art long before he had thouglit of going to sea ;
and it now stood him in good stead. Moreover, he was
strong for his age, and therefore his stroke was sufficient to
match that of the sailor, given more gently for the purpose.
Propelled by the two oars, the raft made way with con-siderable
rapidity,—not as a boat would have done, but still
at the rate of two or three knots to the hour.
They had not been rowing long] however, when a gentle
THE L(5rD'S prayer. 11
Drev^ze sprung up from the west, wliicli aided their progress
ID the direction in which they wished to go. One would
have thought that this was just what they sliouid have
desired. On the contrary, the sailor appeared uneasy on
perceiving that the breeze blew from the west. Had it
been from any other point he would have cared little
about it.
" I don't like it a bit," said he, speaking across the raft to
ftis companion. " It helps us to get east'ard, that 's true ;
Sut it '11 help them as well ; and with that broad spread o'
eanvas they 've rigged up, they might come down on us
^ster than we can row."
" Could we not rig a sail too ? " inquired the boy. Don't
you think we might, Ben ?
"
" Just the thing I war thinkin' o', lad ; I dare say we
ian. Let me see ; we 've got that old tarpaulin and the
lying jib-sail under us. The tarpaulin itself will be big
enough. How about ropes ? Ah ! there 's the sheets of the
jib still stickin' to the sail ; and then there 's the handspike
ind our two oars. The oars '11 do without the handspike.
Let's set 'em up then, and rig the tarpaulin between 'em."
As the sailor spoke, he had risen to his feet ; and after par-lially
drawing the canvas off from the planks and spars, he
Boon accomplished the task of setting the two oars upright
upon the raft. This done, the tarpaulin was spread between
them, and when lashed so as to lie taut from one to the
other, presented a surface of several square yards to the
breeze,—quite as mucb sail as the craft was capable of
carrying.
It only remained for them to look to the steering of the
raft, so as to keep it head on before the wind ; and this could
be managed by means of the handspike, used as a rudder or
steering oar.
Laying hold of this, ^nd placing himself abaft of the
spread tarpaulin, Ben had tlie satisfaction of feeing that the
12 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
sail acted admirably ; and as soon as its influence was fairly
felt, the raft surged on through the water at a rate of not less
than five knots to the hour.
It was not likely that the large raft that carried the
dreaded crew of would-be cannibals was going any faster
;
and therefore, whatever distance tbey might be off, there
would be no great danger of their getting any nearer.
This confidence being firmly established, the sailor no
longer gave a thought to the peril from which he and his
youthful comrade had escaped. For all that, the prospect
that lay before them was too terrible to permit their ex-changing
a word,— either of comfort or congi-atulation,—
and for a long time they sat in a sort of desponding silence,
which was broken only by the rippling surge of the waters,
as they swept in pearly froth along the sides of the raft.
CHAPTER IV.
HUNGER. DESPAIR.
THE breeze proved only what sailors call a catspaw,—
rising no higher than just to cause a ripple on tbe
water, and lasting only about an hour. When it was over,
the sea again fell into a dead calm ; its surface assuming the
smoothness of a mirroi*.
In the midst of this the raft lay motionless, and the ex-temporized
sail was of no use for propelling it. It served a
purpose, however, in screening off the rays of the sun,
which, though not many degrees above the horizon, was
beginning to make itself felt in all its tropical fervor.
Ben no longer required his companion to take a hand at
the oar. Not but that their danger of being overtaken was
HUNGER. — DESPAIR. 13
as great as ever ; for although they had made eastevly some
five or six knots, it was but natural to conclude that tho
great raft had been doing the same ; and therefore the dis-tance
between the two would be about as before.
But whether it was that his energy had become prostrated
by fatigue and the hopelessness of their situation, or whether
upon further reflection he felt less fear of their being pursued,
certain it is he no longer showed uneasiness about making
way over the water ; and after once more rising to his feet
and making a fresh examination of the horizon, he stretched
himself along the raft in the shade of the tarpaulin.
The boy, at his request, had already placed himself in a
similar position, and was again buried in slumber.
" I'm glad to see he can sleep," said Brace to himself, as
he lay down alongside. " He must be sufferin' from hunger
as bad as I am myself, and as long as he 's asleep he won't
feel it. May be, if one could keep asleep they 'd hold out
longer, though I don't know 'bout that bein' so. I 've often
ate a hearty supper, and woke up in the mornin' as hungry
as if I'd gone to my bunk without a bite. Well, it an't no
use o' me tryin' to sleep as I feel now, blow'd if it is ! My
belly calls out loud enough to keep old Morphis himself from
nappin', and there an't a morsel o' anything. More than
forty hours ha'e passed since I ate that last quarter biscuit.
I can think o' nothing but our shoes, and they be so soaked
wi' the sea-water, I suppose they '11 do more harm than good.
They '11 be sure to make the thirst a deal worse than it is,
though the Lord knows it be bad enough a'ready. Merciful
Father !—nothin' to eat ! —nothin' to drink ! God. hear
the prayer little Will'm ha' just spoken and I ha' repeated,
though I've been too wicked to expect bein' heard, ^gi'e us
this day our daily iread'/ Ah ! another day or two without
it, an' we shall both be asleep forever !
"
The soliloquy of the despairing sailor ended in a groan,
that awoke bis young comrade from a slumber that was a^
best only transient and troubled.
1-i^^ THE OCEAN WAIFS.
" "What is it, Ben ? " he asked, raising himself on his
elbow, and looking inquiringly in the face of his protector.
" Nothing partikler, my lad," answered the sailor, who did
not wish to terrify his companion with the dark thoughts
which were troubling himself.
" I heard you groaning,—did I not ? I was afraid you
had seen them coming after us."
" No fear o' that,—not a bit. They 're a long way off,
and in this calm sea they won't be inclined to stir,—not as
long as the rum-cask holds out, I warrant ; and when that 's
empty, they '11 not feel much like movin' anywhere. 'T an't
for them we need have any fear now."
" O Ben ! I 'm so hungry ; I could eat anything."
" I know it, my poor lad ; so could I."
" True ! indeed you must be even hungrier than I, for you
gave me more than my share of the two biscuit. It was
wrong of me to take it, for I 'm sure you must be suflfering
dreadfully."
" That 's true enough, Will'm ; but a bit o' biscuit would n't
a made no difference. It must- come to the same thing in
the end."
" To what, Ben ? " inquired the lad, observing the shadow
that had overspread the countenance of his companion, which
was gloomier than he had ever seen it.
The sailor remained silent. He could not think of a way
to evade giving the correct answer to the question ; and
keeping his eyes averted, he made no reply.
" I know what you mean," continued the interrogator.
" Yes, yes,—you mean that we must die !
"
" No, no, Will'm,—not that ; there 's hope yet, —who
knows what may turn up ? It may be that the prayer will
be answered. I 'd like, lad, if you 'd go over it again. I
think I could help you better this time ; for I once knew it
myself,—long, long ago, when I was about as big as you
;
and hearin' you repeatin' it, it has come most o' it back into
my memory. Go over it again, little Will'm."
FAITH. — HOPE. 15
The jouth once more knelt upon the raft, and in the
ehadow of the spread tarpauhn repeated the Lord's Prayer, —the sailor, in his rougher voice, pronouncing the words
after him. v
"When t-hej had finished, the latter once more rose to his
feet, and for some minutes stood scanning the circle of sea
around the raft.
The faint hope which that trusting reliance in his Maker
had inspired within the breast of the rude mariner exhibited
itself for a moment upon his countenance, but only for a
moment. No object greeted his vision, save the blue, bound-less
sea, and the equally boundless sky.
A despairing look replaced that transient gleam of hope,
and, staggering back behind the tarpaulin, he once more flung
his body prostrate upon the raft.
Again they lay, side by side, in perfect silence,—neither
of them asleep, but both in a sort of stupor, produced by
their unspoken despair.
CHAPTER V.
FAITH. HOPE.
HOW long they lay in this half-unconscious condition,
neither took note. It could not have been many
minutes, for the mind under such circumstances does not
long surrender itself to a state of tranquillity.
They were at length suddenly roused from it,—not, how-ever,
by any thought from within,—but by an object striking
on their external senses, or, rather, upon the sense of sight.
Both were lying upon their backs, with eyes open and up
turned to the sky, upon which there was not a speck of cloud
to vary the monotony of its endless azure.
l^ THE OCEAN WAIFS.
Its monotony, however, was at that moment varied by a
number of objects that passed swiftly across their field of
vision, shining and scintillating as if a flight of silver arrows
had been shot over the raft. The hues of blue and white
were conspicuous in the bright sunbeams, and'those gay-colored
creatures, that appeared to belong to the air, but
which in reality were denizens of the great deep, were at
ones recognized by the sailor.
** A shoal o' flyin'-fish," he simply remarked, and without
removing from his recumbent position.
Then at once, as if some hope had sprung up within him
at seeing them continue to fly over the raft, and so near as
almost to touch the tarpaulin, he added, starting to his feet
as he spoke,—
" What if I might knock one o' 'em down ! "Where 's the
handspike ?
"
The last interrogatory was mechanical, and put merely to
fill up the time; for as he gave utterance to it he reached
towards the implement that lay within reach of his hands,
and eagerly grasping raised it aloft.
With such a weapon it was probable that he might have
succeeded in striking down one of the winged swimmers that,
pursued by the bonitos and albacores, were still leaping over
the raft. But there was a surer weapon behind him,—in
the piece of canvas spread between the upright oars ; and
just as the sailor had got ready to wield his huge club, a
shining object flashed close to his eyes, whilst his ears were
greeted by a glad sound, signifying that one of the vaulting
fish had struck against the tarpaulin.
Of course it had dropped down upon the raft : for there it
was flopping and bounding about among the folds of the
flying-jib, far more taken by surprise than Ben Brace, who
had witnessed its mishap, or even little William, upon whose
face it had fallen, with- all the weight of its watery carcass.
If a bii'd in the hand be worth two in the bush, by the sajue
FAITH. — HOPE. _ 17
rule a fish in the hand should be worth two in the water, and
more than that number flying in the air.
Some such calculation as this might have passed through
the brain of Ben Brace ; for, instead of continuing to hold
his handspike high flourished over his head, in the hope of
striking another fish, he suffered the implement to drop down
upon the raft ; and stooping down, he reached forward to
secure the one that had voluntarily, or, rather, should we
say, involuntarily, oifered itself as a victim.
As it kept leaping about over the raft, there was just the
danger that it might reach the edge of that limite^ area, and
once more escape to its natural element.
This, however naturally desired by the fish, was the object
which the occupants of the raft most desired to prevent ; and
to that end both had got upon their knees, and were scram-bling
over the sailcloth with as much eager earnestness as a
couple of terriers engaged in a scuffle with a harvest rat.
Once or twice little William had succeeded in getting the
fish in his fingers ; but the slippery creature, armed also with
its spinous fin-wings, had managed each time to glide out of
his grasp ; and it was still uncertain whether a capture might
be made, or whether after all they were only to be tantalized
by the touch and sight of a morsel of food that was never to
pass over their palates.
The thought of such a disappointment stimulated Ben
Brace to put forth all his energies, coupled with his greatest
activity. He had even resolved upon following the fish into
the sea if it should prove necessary, —knowing that for
the first few moments after regaining its natural element it
would be more easy of capture. But just then an oppor-tunity
was offered that promised the securing of the prey
without the necessity of wetting a stitch of his clothes.
The fish had been all the while bounding about upon the
spread sail-cloth, near the edge of which it had now arrived.
But it was fated to go no farther, at least of its own accord;
B
18 thp: ocean waifs.
for Ben seeing his advantage, seized bold of the loose selvage
of the sail, and raising it a little from the raft, doubled it
over the struggling captive. A stiff squeeze brought its
struggles to a termination ; and when the canvas was lifted
aloft, it was seen lying underneath, slightly flattened out
beyond its natural dimensions, and it is scarcely necessary to
say as dead as a herring.
Whether right or no, the simple-minded seaman recognized
in this seasonable supply of provision the hand of an over-ruling
Providence; and without further question, attributed
it to the potency of that prayer twice repeated.
" Yes, Wili'm, you see it, my lad, 't is the answer to that
wonderful prayer. Let 's go over it once more, by way o'
givin' thanks. He who has sent meat can also gie us drink,
even here, in the middle o' the briny ocean. Come, boy ! as
the parson used to say in church, — let us pray ! " .
And with this serio-comic admonition —meant, however,
in all due solemnity—the sailor dropped upon his knees,
and, as before, echoed the prayer once more pronounced by
his youthful companion.
CHAPTER VI
FLYING-FISH.
THE flying-fish takes rank as one of the most conspicuous
'' wondei's of the sea," and in a tale essentially devoted
to the great deep, it is a subject deserving of more than a
passing notice.
From the earliest periods of ocean travel, men have looked
with astonishment upon a phenomenon not only singular at
first sight, but which still remains unexplained, namely, a fish
i'L"V ING-FISH. 19
and a creature believed to be formed only for dwelling un-der
water, springing suddenly above the surface, to the height
of a two-story house, and passing through the air to the dis-tance
of a furlong, before falling back into its own proper
element
!
It is no wonder that the sight should cause surprise to the
most indifferent observer, nor that it should have been long
, a theme of speculation with the curious, and an interesting
subject of investigation to the naturalist.
As flying-fish but rarely make their appearance except in
Avarm latitudes, few people who have not voyaged to the
tropics have had an opportunity of seeing them in their flight.
Very naturally, therefore, it will be asked what kind offish,
that is, to wliat species and what genus the flying-fish be-long.
Were there only one kind of these curious creatures
the answer would be easier. But not only are there differ-ent
species, but also different " genera " of fish endowed with
the faculty of flying, and which from the earliest times and
in different parts of the world have equally received this
characteristic appellation. A word or two about each sort
must suffice.
First, then, there are two species belonging to the genus
Trigla, or the Gurnards, to which M. Lacepede has given the
name of Dactylopterus.
One species is found in the Mediterranean, and individu-als,
from a foot to fifteen inches in length, are often taken by
the fishermen, and brought to the markets of Malta, Sicily,
and even to the city of Rome. The other species of flying
gurnard occur in the Indian Ocean and the seas around
China and Japan.
The irne jlying-Jish, however, that is to say, those that are
met with in the great ocean, and most spoken of in books,
and in the " yarns " of the sailor, are altogether of a different
kind from the gurnards. They are not only different in
genus, but in the family and even the order of fishes. They
20 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
are of the genus Exocetus, and in form and other respects
have a considerable resemblance to the common pike. There
are several species of them inhabiting different parts of the
tropiciil seas ; and sometimes individuals, in the summer,
have been seen as far north as the coast of Cornwall in Eu-rope,
and on the banks of Newfoundland in America. Their
natural habitat, however, is in the warm latitudes of the
ocean ; and only there are they met with in large " schools,"
and seen with any frequency taking their aerial flight.
For a long time there was supposed to be only one, or at
most two, species of the Exocetus ; but it is now certain there
are several —perhaps as many as half a dozen — distinct
from each other. They are all much alike in their habits, —
differing only in size, color, and such like circumstances.
Naturalists disagree as to the character of their flight.
Some assert that it is only a leap, and this is the prevailing
opinion. Their reason for regarding it thus is, that while
the fish is in the air there cannot be observed any movement
of the wings (pectoral fins) ; and, moreover, after reaching
the height to which it attains on its first spring, it cannot
afterwards rise higher, but gradually sinks lower till it dx'ops
suddenly back into the water.
This reasoning is neither clear nor conclusive. A similar
power of suspending themselves in the air, without motion
of the wings is well known to belong to many birds,—as the
vulture, the albatross, the petrels, and others. Besides, it is
difficult to conceive of a leap twenty feet high and two hun-dred
yards long ; for the flight of the Exocetus has been
observed to be carried to this extent, and even farther
It is probable that the movement partakes both of the
nature of leaping and flying : that it is first begun by a spring
up out of the water,—a power possessed by most other kinds
offish,—and that the impulse thus obtained is continued by
tlie spread fins acting on the air after the fashion of para-chutes.
It is known that the fish can creatlv liHiten the
FLYING-FISH. 21
ppeuific gravity of its body by the inflation of its " swim-bladder,"
which, when perfectly extended, occupies neai'ly
the entire cavity of its abdomen. In addition to this, there
is a membrane in the mouth which can be inflated through
the gills. These two reservoirs are capable of containing
a considerable volume of air ; and as the fish has the power
of filling or emptying them at will, they no doubt play an
important part in the mechanism of its aerial movement.
One thing is certain, that the flying-fish can turn while in
tlie air, — that is, diverge slightly from the direction first
taken ; and this would seem to argue a capacity something
more than that of a mere spring or leap. Besides, the wings
make a perceptible noise,— a sort of rustling, — often dis-tinctly
heard ; and they have been seen to open and close
while the creature is in the air,
A shoal of flying-fish might easily be mistaken for a flock
of white birds, though their rapid movements, and the glis-tening
sheen of their scales — especially when the sim is
shining— usually disclose their true character. They are
at all times a favorite spectacle, and with all observers,—the
old " salt " who has seen them a thousand times, and the
young sailor on his maiden voyage, who beholds them for the
first time in his life. Many an hour of ennui occurring to
the ship-traveller, as he sits upon the poop, restlessly scan-ning
the monotonous surface of the sea, has been brought to
a cheerful termination by the appearance of a shoal of flying-fish
suddenly sparkling up out of the bosom of the deep.
The flying-fish appear to be the most persecuted of all
creatures. It is to avoid their enemies under water that
they take fin and mount into the air ; but the old provei-b,
" out of the frying-pan into the fire," is but too applicable in
their case, for in their endeavors to escape from the jaws of
dolphins, albicores, bonitos, and other petty tyrants of the
sea, they rush into the beaks of gannets, boobies, albatrosses,
and other petty tyrants of the sky.
22 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
Much sympathy has been felt — or at all events expressed
— for these pretty and apparently innocent little victims.
But, alas ! our sympathy receives a sad shock, when it be-comes
known that the flying-fish is himself one of the petty
tyrants of the ocean,—being, like his near congener, the pike,
a most ruthless little destroyer and devourer of any fish small
enough to go down his gullet.
Besides the two genera of flying-fish above described, there
are certain other marine animals which are gifted with a sim-ilar
power of sustaining themselves for some seconds in the
air. They are often seen in tbe Pacific and Indian oceans,
rising out of the water in shoals, just like the Exoceti : and,
like them, endeavoring to escape from the albicores and bo-nitos
that incessantly pursue them. These creatures are not
fish in the true sense of the word, but " mollusks," of the
genus Loligo ; and the name given to them by the whalers
of the Pacific is that of " Flying Squid."
CHAPTER YII.
A CHEERING CLOUD.
THE particular species of flying-fish that had fallen into
the clutches of the two starving castaways upon the
ratt was the Exocetas evolans, or " Spanish flying-fish " of
mariners,—a well-known inhabitant of the warmer latitudes
of the Atlantic. Its body was of a steel-blue, olive and sil-very
white underneath, with its large pectoral fins (its wings)
of a powdered gray color. It was one of the largest of its
kind, being rather over twelve inches in length, and nearly a
pound in weight.
Of course, it afforded but a very slight meal for two hungry
A CHEERING CLOUD. 23'
stomach?,—such as were those of Ben Brace and his boy
companion. Still it helped to strengthen them a little ; and
its opportune arrival upon the raft — which thej could not
help regarding as providential—had the further effect o\
rendering them for a time more cheerful, hopeful.
It is not necessary to say that they ate the creature with-out
cooking it ; and although under ordinary circumstances
this might be regarded as a hardship, neither was at that
moment in the mood to be squeamish. They thought the
dish .dainty enough. It was its quantity—not the quality—
•
that failed to give satisfaction.
Indeed the flying-fish is (when cooked, of course) one of
the most delicious of morsels,—a good deal resembling the
common herring when caught freshly, and dressed in a proper
manner.
It seemed, however, as if the partial relief from hunger
only aggravated the kindred appetite from which the occu-pants
of the raft had already begun to suffer. Perhaps the
salt-water, mingled with the saline juices of the fish, aided
in producing this effect. In any case, it was not long after
they had eaten the JExocetus before both felt thii'st in its very
keenest agony.
Extreme thirst, under any circumstances, is painful to
endure ; but under no conditions is it so excruciating as in
the midst of the ocean. The sight of water which you may
not drink,—the very proximity of that element, —so near
that you may touch it, and yet as useless to the assuaging of
thirst as if it was the parched dust of the desert,—increases
rather than alleviates the appetite. It is to no purpose, that
you dip your fingers into the briny flood, and endeavor to
cool your lips and tongue by taking it into the mouth. To
swallow it is still worse. You might as well think to alhiy
thirst by drinking liquid fire. The momentary moistening
of the mouth and tongue is succeeded by an almost instanta-neous
parching of the salivary glands, which only glow witli
redoubled ardor.
24 . THE OCEAN WAIFS.
Ben Brace .knew this well enough; and once or twice that
little William lifted the sea-water on his palm and applied it
to his lips, the sailor cautioned him to desist, saying that it
would do him more harm than good.
In one of his pockets Ben chanced to have a leaden bullet,
which he gave the boj, telling him to keep it in his mouth
and occasionally to chew it. By this means the secretion of
the saliva was promoted ; and although it was but slight, the
sufferer obtained a little relief.
Ben himself held the axe to his lips, and partly by pressing
his tongue against the iron, and partly by gnawing the angle
of the blade, endeavored to produce the same effect.
It was but a poor means of assuaging that fearful thirst
that was now the sole object of their thoughts,—it might be
said tlieir only sensation, — for all other feelings, both of
pleasure or pain, had become overpowered by this one. On
food they no longer reflected, though still hungry ; but the
appetite of hunger, even when keenest, is far less painful
than that of thirst. The former weakens the frame, so that
the nervous system becomes dulled, and less sensible of the
affliction it is enduring; whereas the latter may exist to its
extremest degree, while the body is in full strength and
vigor, and therefore more capable of feeling pain.
They suffered for several hours, almost all the time in
Isilence. The words of cheer which the sailor had addressed
to his youthful comrade were now only heard occasionally,
and at long intervals, and when heard were spoken in a tone
that proclaimed their utterance to be merely mechanical, and
that he who gave tongue to them had but slight hope. Little
as remained, however, he would rise from time to time to
his feet, and stand for a while scanning the horizon around
him. Then as his scrutiny once more terminated in disap-pointment,
he -would sink back upon the canvas, and half-kneeling,
half-lying, give way for an interval to a half stupor
of despair.
A CANVAS TANK. 2o
From one of these moods lie was suddenly aroused by a
circumstance which had made no impression on his youthful
companion, though the latter had also observed it. It was
simply the darkening of the sun by a cloud passing over its
disc
Little William wondered that an incident of so common a
character should produce so marked an effect as it had done
upon his protector : for the latter on perceiving that the sun
had become shadowed instantly started to his feet, and stood
gazing up towards the sky. A change had come over his
countenance. His eyes, instead of the sombre look of despair
observable but the moment before, seemed now to sparkle
with hope. In fact, the cloud which had darkened the face
of the sun appeared to have produced the very opposite effect
upon the face of the sailor!
CHAPTER VIII.
A CANVAS TANK. whusky and hoarse, from the parched throat through
which it had to pass. " You look pleased like ; do you see
anything?"
" I see that, boy," replied the sailor, pointing up into the
&ky.
"What? I see nothing there except that great cloud
that has just passed over the sun. What is there in
that?"
"Ay, what is there in't? That's just what I'm tryin'
to make out, Will'm ; an' if I 'm not mistaken, boy, there 's
in't the very thing as we both wants."
26 THE OCEAN "WAIFS.
" "Water ! " gasped William, his eyes lighting up with a
gleam of hope. " A rain-cloud you think, Ben ?
"
" I 'm a'most sure o't, Will'm. I never seed a bank o'
clouds like them there was n't some wet in ; and if the wind
'11 only drift 'em this way, we may get a shower '11 be the
savin' o' our lives. Lord ! in thy mercy look down on us,
aid send 'em over us !"
The boy echoed the prayer.
" See ! " cried the sailor. " The wind is a fetchin' them this
way. Yonder 's more o' the same sort rlsin' up in the west,
an' that's the direction from which it's a blowin'. Ho ! As
I live, Will'm, there 's rain. I can see by the mist it 's a
fallin' on the water yonder. It 's still far away, — twenty
mile or so,—but that 's nothing ; an' if the wind holds good
in the same quarter, it must come this way."
"But if it did, Ben," said William, doubtingly, "what
good would it do us ? We could not drink much of the rain
as it falls, and you know we have nothing in which to catch
a drop of it."
" But we have, boy,—we have our clothes and our shirts.
If the rain comes, it will fall like it always does in these
parts, as if it were spillin' out o' a strainer. We '11 be soakin'
wet in five minutes' time ; and then we can wring all out,—
trousers, shirts, and every rag we 've got."
" But we have no vessel, Ben,—what could we wring the
water into ?
"
" Into our mouths first : after that—ah ! it be a pity. I
never thought o't. We won't be able to save a drop for
another time. Any rate, if we could only get one good
quenchin', we might stand it several days longer. I fancy
we might catch some fish, if we were only sure about the
water. Yes, the rain 's a comin' on. Look at yon black
clouds ; and see, there 's hghtning forkin' among 'em. That 's
a sure sign it 's raining. Let 's strip, and spread out our
shirts so as to have them ready."
A CANVAS TANK. 27
As Ben uttered this admonition he was about proceeding
to pull off his pea-jacket, when an object came before his
eyes causing him to desist. At the same instant an ex-clamatory
phrase escaping from his lips explained to his
companion why he had thus suddenly changed his intention.
The phrase consisted of two simple words, which written as
pronounced by Ben were, " Thee tarpolin."
Little "William knew it was "the tarpauling" that was
meant. He could not be mistaken about that ; for, even had
he been ignorant of the sailor's pronunciation of the words,
the latter at that moment stood pointing to the piece of tarred
canvas spread upright between the oars ; and which had
formerly served as a covering for the after-hatch of the
Pandora. William did not equally understand why his
companion was pointing to it.
He was not left long in ignorance.
" Nothing to catch the water in ? That 's what you sayed,
little Will'm ? What do ye call that, my boy ?
"
" Oh!" replied the lad, catching at the idea of the sailor.
" You mean—"
" I mean, boy, that there 's a vessel big enough to hold
gallons, — a dozen o' 'em."
" You think it would hold water?"
" I 'm sure o't, lad. For what else be it made waterproof?
I helped tar it myself not a week ago. It '11 hold like a rum-cask,
I warrant,—ay, an' it'll be the very thing to catch it
too. We can keep it spread out a bit wi' a hollow place in
the iniddle, an' if it do rain, there then,—my boy, we '11 ha' a
pool big enough to swim ye in. Hurrah ! it 's sure to rain.
See yonder. It be corain' nearer every minute. Let 's bo
ready for it. Down wi' the mainsail. Let go the sheets,—
an' instead o' spreadin' our canvas to the wind, as the song
says, we'll stretch it out to the rain. Come, Will'm, let's
look alive !
"
William had by this time also risen to his feet ; and both
28 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
now busied themselves in unlasliing the cords that had kept
the hatch-covering spread between the two oars.
This occupied only a few seconds of time ; and the tar-pauling
soon lay detached between the extemporized mastSj
that were still permitted to remain as they had been
" stepped."
At first the sailor had thought of holding the piece of
tarred canvas in their hands ; but having plenty of time to
reflect, a better plan suggested itself. So long as it should
be thus held, they would have no chance of using their hands
for any other purpose ; and would be in a dilemma as to how
they should dispose of the water after having " captured it."
It did not require much ingenuity to alter their programme
for the better. By means of the flying-jib that lay along
the raft, they were enabled to construct a ridge of an irreg-ular
circular shape ; and then placing the tarpauling upon
the top, and spreading it out so that its edges lapped over
this ridge, they formed a deep concavity or '-'tank" in the
middle, which was capable of holding many gallons of
water.
It only remained to examine the canvas, and make sure
there were no rents or holes by which the water might escape.
This was done with all the minuteness and care that the
circumstances called for ; and when the sailor at length be-came
satisfied that the tarpauling was waterproof, he took
the hand of his youtliful protege in his own, and both kneel-ing
upon the raft, with their faces turned towards the west,
watched the approach of those dark, lowering clouds, as if
they had been bright-winged angels sent from the far sky,
to deliver them from destruction.
A PLEASANT SIIOWER-BATIL 29
CHAPTER IX.
A PLEASANT SHOWER-BATH.
TflEY had not much longer to wait. The storm came
striding across the ocean; and, to the intense gratifica-tion
of both man and boy, the rain was soon falling upon
them, as if a water-spout had burst over their heads.
A single minute sufficed to collect over a quart within the
hollow of the spread tarpauling ; and before that minute had
transpired, both might have been seen lying prostrate upon
their faces with their heads together, near the centre of the
concavity, and their lips close to the canvas, sucking up the
delicious drops, almost as fast as they fell.
For a long time they continued in this position, indulging
in that cool beverage sent them from the sky,—which to
both appeared the sweetest they had ever tasted in their
lives. So engrossed were they in its enjoyment, that neither
spoke a word until several minutes had elapsed, and both had
drunk to a surfeit.
They were by this time wet to the skin ; for the tropic
rain, falling in a deluge of thick heavy drops, soon saturated
their garments through and through. But this, instead of
being an inconvenience, was rather agreeable than other-wise,
cooling their skins so long parched by the torrid rays
of the sun.
" Little Will'ra," said Ben, after swallowing about a gallon
of the rain-water, " did n't I say that He as sent us meat, in
such good time too, could also gi* us som'at to drmk ? Look
there ! water enow to last us for days, lad !
"
" 'T is wonderful ! " exclaimed the boy. " I am sure, Ben,
that Providence has done this. Indeed, it must be true what
I was often told in the Sunday school,—that God is every-where.
Here He is present with us in the midsi of this
so TEE OCEAN WAIFS.
great ocean. O, dear Ben, let 's hope He will not forsake
us now. I almost feel sure, after what has happened to us,
that the hand of God will yet deliver us from our danger."
"I almost feel so myself," rejoined the sailor, his coun-tenance
resuming its wonted expression of cheerfulness
" After what 's happened, one could not think otherwise
but let us remember, lad, that He is up aloft, an' has done
so much for us, expecting us to do what we can for ourselves.
He puts the work within our reach, an' then leaves us to do
it.' Now here 's this fine supply o' water. If we was to let
that go to loss, it would be our own fault, not his, an' we 'd
deserve to die o' thirst for it."
" What is to be done, Ben ? How are we to keep it ?
"
"That's just what I'm thinkin' about. In a very short
while the rain will be over. I know the sort o' it. It be
only one o' these heavy showers as falls near the line, and
won't last more than half an hour,—if that. Then the sun '11
be out as hot as ever, an' will lick up the water most as fast
as it fell,—that is, if we let it lie there. Yes, in another half
o' an hour that tarpolin would be as diy as the down upon
a booby's back."
" O dear ! what shall we do to prevent evaporating ?
"
" Jest give me a minute to consider," rejoined the sailor,
scratching his head, and putting on an air of profound reflec-tion
; " maybe afore the rain quits comin' down, I '11 think o'
some way to keep it from ewaporating; that's what you call
the dryin' o' it up."
Ben remained for some minutes silent, in the thoughtful
attitude he had assumed,—while William, who was equally
interested in the result of his cogitations, watched his counte-nance
with an eager anxiety.
Soon a joyful expression revealed itself to the glance of
the boy, telling him that his companion had hit upon some
promising scheme.
"I think I ha' got it, Will'm," said he; "I think I've
found a way to stow the water even without a cask."
A PLEASANT SHOWER-BATH. 51
" You have ! " joyfully exclaimed "William. " How, Ben ?"
" Well, you see, boy, the tarpolin holds water as tiglit as
if 't were a glass bottle. I tarred it myself, —that did I
;
an' as I never did my work lubber-like, I done that job well.
Lucky I did, war n't it, William ?
"
" It was."
" That be a lesson for you, lad. Scherain' work bean't
the thing, you see. It comes back to cuss one ; while work
as be well did be often like a blessin' arterward, —just as
this. tarpolin be now. But see ! as I told you, the rain would
soon be over. There be the sun again, hot an' fiery as ever.
Tliere ain't no time to waste. Take a big drink, afore I put
the stopper into the bottle."
William, witliout exactly comprehending what his com-panion
meant by the last words, obeyed the injunction ; and
stretching forward over the rim of the improvised tank, once
more placed his lips to the water, and di'ank copiously. Ben
did the same for himself, passing several pints of the fluid
into his capacious stomach.
Then rising to his feet with a satisfied air, and directing hijj
protege to do the same, he set about the stowage of the water.
William was first instructed as to the intended plan, so
that he might be able to render prompt and efficient aid ; for
it would require both of them, and with all their hands, to
carry it out.
The sailor's scheme was sufficiently ingenious. It con-sisted
in taking up first the corners of the tarpauling, then
the edges all around, and bringing them together in the
centre. This had to be done with great care, so as not to
jumble the volatile fluid contained within the canvas, and
spill it over the selvage. Some did escape, but only a very
little ; and they at length succeeded in getting the tarpauling
formed into a sort of bag, puckered around the mouth.
While Ben with both arms held the gathers firm and fast,
William passed a loop of strong cord, that had already heeo
32 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
made into a noose for the purpose, around the neck of the
bag, close under Ben's wrists, and then drawing thi; other
end round one of the upright oars, he pulled upon the cord
with all his might.
It soon tightened sufficiently to give Ben the free use of
his hands ; when with a fresh loop taken around the crumpled
canvas, and after a turn or two to render it more secure, the
cord was made fast.
The tarpauling now rested upon the raft, a distended mass,
like the stomach of some huge animal coated with tar. It
was necessary, however, lest the water should leak out through
the creases, to keep the top where it was tied, uppermost
;
and this was effected by taking a turn or two of the rope
round the upmost end of one of the oars, that had served for
masts, and there making a knot. By this means the great
water-sack was held in such a position that, although the
contents might "bilge" about at their pleasure, not a drop
could escape out either at the neck or elsewhere.
Altogether they had secured a quantity of water, not less
than a dozen gallons, which Ben had succeeded in stowing to
his satisfaction.
CHAPTER X.
THE PILOT-FISH.
THIS opportune deliverance from the most fearful of
deaths had inspired the sailor with a hope that they
might still, by some further interference of Providence,
escape from their perilous position. Relying on this hope,
he resolved to leave no means untried that might promise to
lead to its realization.
They were now furnished with a stock of water which,
THE PILOT-FISH. 33
if carefully hoarded, would last thera for weeks. If they
could only obtain a proportionate supply of food, there would
still be a chance of their sustaining life until some ship might
make its appearance,—for, of course, they thought not of
any other means of deliverance.
To think of food was to think of fishing for it. In the vast
reservoir of the ocean under and around them there was no
lack of nourishing food, if they could only grasp it ; but the
sailor well knew that the shy, slippery denizens of the deep
are not to be captured at will, and that, with all the poor
schemes they might be enabled to contrive, their efforts to
capture even a single fish might be exerted in vain.
Still they could try ; and with that feeling of hopeful con-fidence
Avhich usually precedes such trials, they set about
making preparations.
The first thing was to make hooks and lines. There
chanced to be some pins in their clothing; and with these
Ben soon constructed a tolerable set of hooks. A line was
obtained by untwisting a piece of rope, and respinning it to
the proper thickness ; and then a float was found by cutting
a piece of wood to the proper dimensions. And for a sinker,
there was the leaden bullet with which little William had of
late so vainly endeavored to allay the pangs of thirst. The
bones and fins of the flying-fish—the only part of it not
eaten—would serve for bait. They did not promise to make
a very attractive one ; for there was not a morsel of flesh
left upon them; but Ben knew that there are many kinds
of fish inhabiting the great ocean that will seize at any sort
of bait, —even a piece of rag,—without considering whether
it be good for them or not.
They had seen fish several times near the raft, during
that very day ; but suffering as they were from thirst more
than hunger, and despairing of relief to the more painful
appetite, they hjkd made no attempt to capture them. Now,
however, they were determined to set about it in earnest.
2*
34 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
The rain had ceased falling, the breeze no longer disturbed
the surface of the sea. The clouds had passed over the
canopy of the heavens,—the sky was clear, and the sun
bright and hot as before.
Ben standing erect upon the raft, with the baited hook in
his hand, looked down into the deep blue water.
Even the smallest fish could have been seen many fathoms
below the surface, and far over the ocean.
William on the other side of the raft was armed witli hook
and line, and equally on the alert.
For a long time their vigil was unrewarded. No living
thing came within view. Nothing was under their eyes save
the boundless field of ultramarine,—beautiful, but to them,
at that moment, marked only by a miserable monotony.
They had stood thus for a full hour, when an exclamation
escaping from the lad, caused his companion to turn and look
to the oth6r side of the raft.
A fish was in sight. It was that which had drawn the
exclamation from the boy, who was now swinging his line in
the act of casting it out.
The ejaculation had been one of joy. It was checked on
his perceiving tliat the sailor did not share it. On the con-trary,
a cloud came over the countenance of the latter on
perceiving the fish, — whose species he at once recognized.
And why ? for it was one of the most beautiful of the
finny tribe. A little creature of perfect form,—of a bright
azure blue, with transverse bands of deeper tint, forming
rings around its body. Why did Ben Brace show disap-pointment
at its appearance ?
" You need n't trouble to throw out your line, little
Will'm," said he, " that ere takes no bait, —not it."
« Why ? " asked the boy.
" Because it 's something else to do than forage for itself.
I dare say its master an't far off."
"What is it?"
THE PILOT-FISH. J35
•' That be the pilot-fislu See ! turns away from us. It 'a
gone back to him as has sent it."
" Sent it ! Who, Ben ?
"
" A shark, for sarten. Did n't I tell ye ? Look yonder !
Two o' them, as I live ; and the biggest kind they be. Slash
ray timbers if I iver see such a pair ! They have fins like
lug-sails. Look ! the pilot 's gone to guide 'em. Hang me
if they bean't a comin' this way !
"
"William had looked in the direction pointed out by his
companion. He saw the two great dorsal fins standing sev-eral
feet above the water. He knew them to be those of the
white shark: for he had already seen these dreaded monsters
of the deep on more than one occasion.
It Avas true, as Ben had hurriedly declared. The litile
pilot-fish, after coming within twenty fathoms of the raft, had
turned suddenly in the water, and gone back to the sharks
;
and now it was seen swimming a few feet in advance of them,
as if in the act of leading them on
!
The boy was struck with something in the tone of his
companion's voice, that led him to believe there was danger
in the proximity of these ugly creatures ; and to say the
truth, Ben did not behold them without a certain feeling of
alarm. On the deck of a ship they might have been regarded
without any fear ; but upon a frail structure like that which
supported the castaways — tiieir feet almost on a level with
the surface of the water—it was not so very improbable
that the sharks might attack tliem !
In his experience the sailor had known cases of a similar
kind. It was no matter of surprise, that he should I'eel
uneasiness at their approach, if not actual fear.
But there was no time left either for him to speculate as
to the probabilities of such an attack, or for his companion to
question him about them.
Scarcely had the last words parted from his lips, when the
foremogt of the two sharks was seen to lash the water with
36 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
its broad forked tail,—and then coming on with a rush, it
struck the raft with such a force as almost to capsize it.
The other shark shot forward in a similar manner ; but
glancing a little to one side, caught in its huge mouth the
end of the dolphin-striker, grinding off a large piece of the
spar as if it had been cork-wood
!
This it swallowed almost instantaneously ; and then turn-ing
once more in the water appeared intent upon renewing
the attack.
Ben and the boy had dropped their hooks and lines, —
the former instinctively arming himself with the axe, while
the latter seized upon the spare handspike. Both stood ready
to receive the second charge of the enemy.
It was made almost on the instant. The shark that had
just attacked was the first to return ; and coming on with^
the velocity of an arrow, it sprang clear above the surface,
projecting its hideous jaws over the edge of the raft.
For a moment the frail structure was in danger of being
either capsized or swamped altogether, and then the fate ofi
its occupants would undoubtedly have been to become "food
for sharks."
But it was not the intention of Ben Brace or his youthful
comrade to yield up their hves without striking a blow in
self-defence, and that given by tlie sailor at once disembar-rassed
him of his antagonist.
Throwing one arm around a mast, in order to steady him-self,
and raising the light axe in the other, he struck outward
and downward with all his might. The blade of the axe,
guided with an unswerving arm, fell right upon the snout of
the shark, just midway bet^veen its nostrils, cleaving the car-tilaginous
tiesh to the depth of several inches, and laying it
open to the bones.
There could not have been chosen a more vital part upon
which to inflict a wound ; for, huge as is the white shark,
and strong and vigorous as are all animals of this ferocious
THE riLOT-FISH. S7
family, a single blow upon the nose with a handspike or even
a billet of wood, if laid on with a heavy hand, will suffice to
put an end to their predatory courses.
And so was it with the shark struck by the axe of Ben
Brace. As soon as the blow had been administered, the
creature rolled over on its back ; and after a fluke or two
with its great forked tail, and a tremulous shivering througli
its body, it lay floating upon the water motionless as a log
of wood.
William was not so fortunate with his antagonist, though
he had succeeded in keeping it off. Striking wildly out with
the handspike in a horizontal direction, he had poked the
butt end of the implement right between the jaws of the
monster, just as it raised its head over the raft with the
mouth wide open.
The shark, seizing the handspike in its treble row of teeth,
A^ith one shake of its head whipped it out of the boy's hands ;
and then rushing on through the water, was seen grinding
the timber into small fragments, and swallowing it as if it
had been so many crumbs of bread or pieces of meat.
In a few seconds not a bit of the handspike could be seen, —save some trifling fragments of the fibrous wood that
floated on the surface of the water ; but what gave greater
gratification to those who saw them, was the fact that the
shark which had thus made " mince-meat " of the piece of
timber was itself no longer to be seen.
Whether because it had satisfied the cravings of its appe
tite by that wooden banquet, or whether it had taken th(3
alarm at witnessing the fate of its companion,— by much-thc
larLTcr of the two,—was a question of slight importance either
to Ben Brace or to William. For whatever reason, and
under any circumstances, they were but too well pleased to
be disembarrassed of its hideous presence ; and as they came
to the conclusion that it had gone off for good, and saw the
o:lier one lying with its white belly turned upwards upon the
38 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
surface of the water—evidently dead as a herring—they
could no longer restrain their \'oices, but simultaneously
raised them in a shout of victory.
CHAPTER XI.
A LENTEN DINNER.
rj^HE shark struck upon the snout, though killed by the
1 blow, continued to float near the surface of the water,
its fins still in motion as if in the act of swimming.
One unacquainted with the habits of these sea-monsters
might have supposed that it still lived, and might yet contrive
to escape. Not so the sailor, Ben Brace. Many score of
its kind had Ben coaxed to take a bait, and afterwards helped
to haul over the gangway of a ship and cut to pieces upon
the deck ; and Ben knew as much about the habits of these
voracious creatures as any sailor that ever crossed the wide
ocean, and much more than any naturalist that never did. He
had seen a shai'k drawn aboard with a great steel hook in its
stomach,—he had seen its belly ripped up with a jack-knife,
the whole of the intestines taken out, then once more thrown
into the sea; and after all this rough handling he had seen
the animal not only move its fins, but actually swim off some
distance from the ship ! He knew, moreover, that a shark
maybe cut in twain, —^^have the head separated from the
body, —and still exhibit signs of vitality in both parts for
many hours after the dismemberment! Talk of the killing of a
cat or an eel! —a shark will stand as much killing as twenty
cats or a bushel of eels, and still exhibit symptoms of life.
The shark's most vulnerable part appears to be the snout,
—just where the sailor had chosen to make his hit ; and a
A LENTEN DINNER. 39
blow delivered tlierc with an axe, or even a handspike,
usually puts a termination to the career of this rapacious
tyrant of the great deep.
" I 've knocked him into the middle o' next week," cried
Ben, exultingly, as he saw the shark heel over on its side.
" It ain't goin' to trouble us any more. Where 's the
other 'n?"
" Gone out that way," answered the boy, pointing in the
direction taken by the second and smaller of the two sharks.
" He whipped the handspike out of ray hands, and he 's
craunched it to fragments. See ! there are some of the pieces
floating on the water !
"
" Lucky you let go, lad ; else he might ha' pulled you
from the raft. I don't think he '11 come back again after the
reception we 've gi'ed 'em. As for the other, it 's gone out
o' its senses. Dash my buttons, if 'taint goin' to sink ! Ha!
I must hinder that. Quick, Will'm, shy me that piece o'
sennit : we must secure him 'fore he gives clean up and goes
to the bottom. Talk o' catching fish wi' hook an' line ! Aha
!
This beats all your small fry. If we can secure it, we'll
have fish enough to last us through the longest Lent. There
now ! keep on the other edge of the craft so as to balance
me. So-so !
"
While the sailor was giving these directions, he was busy
with both hands in forming a running-noose on one end of
the sennit-cord, which William on the instant had handed
over to him. It was but the work of a moment to make the
noose ; another to let it down into the water ; a third to pass
it over the upper jaw of the shark ; a fourth to draw it taut,
and tighten the cord ai'ound the creature's teeth. The next
thing done was to secure the other end of the sennit to the
upright oar; and the carcass of the shark was thus kept
afloat near the surface of the water.
To guard against a possible chance of the creature's recov*
ery, Ben once more laid hold of the axe ; and, leaning over
to THE OCEAi^ WAIFS.
the edge of the raft, admmistered a series of smart blows
upon its snout. He continued hacking away, until the upper
jaw of the fish exhibited the appearance of a butcher's chop-ping-
block ; and there was no longer any doubt of the crea-ture
being as "dead as a herring."
" Now, Will'm," said the shark-killer, " this time we 've
got a fish that '11 gi'e us a fill, lad. Have a litde patience,
and 1 '11 cut ye a steak from the tenderest part o' his body
;
and that's just forrard o' the tail. You take hold o' the
sinnet, an' pull him up a bit,—so as I can get at him."
The boy did as directed ; and Ben, once more bending
over the edge of the raft, caught hold of one of the caudal
fins, and with his knife detached a large flake from the flank
of the fish,—enough to make an ample meal for both of
them.
It is superfluous to say that, like the little flj-ing-fish, the
shark-meat had to be eaten raw ; but to men upon the verge
of starvation there is no inconvenience in this. Indeed, there
are many tribes of South-Sea Islanders—not such savages
either—who habitually eat the flesh of the shark — both the
blue and white species — without thinking it necessary even
to warm it over a fire ! Neither did the castaway English
sailor nor his young comrade think it necessary. Even had
a fire been possible, they were too hungry to have stayed for
the process of cooking ; and both, without more ado, dined
upon raw shark-meat.
When they had succeeded in satisfying the cravings of
hunger, and once more refreshed themselves with a drauglit
from their extemporized water-bag, the castaways not only
felt a relief from actual suflfering, but a sort of cheerful con-fidence
in the future. This arose from a conviction on their
part, or at all events a strong impression, that the hand of
Providence had been stretched out to their assistance, Tiie
flying-fish, the shower, the shark may have been accidents,
it is tx'ue ; but, occurring at such a time, just in the very
A LENTEN DINNER. 41
crisis of their affliction, they were accidents tliat l)ad the
appearance of design,—design on the part of Him to wliora
in that solemn hour they had uphfted their voices in prayer.
It was under this impression that their spirits became
naturally restored ; and once more they began to take coun-sel
together about the ways and means of prolonging their
existence.
It is true that their situation was still desperate. Should
a storm spring up,— even an ordinary gale,—not only would
their canvas water-cask be bilged, and its contents spilled out
to mingle with the briny billow, but their frail embarkation
would be in danger of going to pieces, or of being whelmed
fathoms deep under tlie frotliing waves. In a high latitude,
either north or south, their chance of keeping afloat would
have been slight indeed. A week, or rather only a single
day, would have been as long as they could have espected
that calm to continue ; and the experienced sailor knew well
enough that anything in the shape of a storm would expose
them to certain destruction. To console him for this un-pleasant
knowledge, however, he also knew that in the
ocean, whei*e they were then afloat, storms are exceedingly
rare, and that ships are often in greater danger from the
veiy opposite state of the atmosphere,—from calms. They
were in that part of the Atlantic Ocean known among the
eai'ly Spanish navigators as the Horse Latitudes,—so called
because the horses at that time being candied across to the
New World, for want of water in the becalmed ships, died
in great numbers, and being thrown overboai'd were often
seen floating upon the surface of the sea.
A prettier and more poetical name have these same
Spaniards given to a portion of the same Atlantic Ocean, —
which, from the gentleness of its breezes, they have styled
" La Mar de las Damas" (the Ladies' Sea).
Ben Brace knew that in the Horse Latitudes storms were
of rare occun-ence ; and hence the hopefulness with which
he was now looking; forward to tlie futui'e.
42 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
He was no longer inactive. If he believed in the special
interference of Providence, he also believed that Providence
would expect him to make some exertion of himself,—such
as circumstances might pei-mit and require.
CHAPTER XII.
FLENSING A SHARK-rr^
HE flesh of the shark, and the stock of water so singu-
.
B larly obtained and so deftly stored away, might, if'
properly kept and carefully used, last them for many days ;
and to the preservation of these stores the thoughts of the
sailor and his young companion were now specially directed.
For the former they could do nothing more than had been
already done, -^ further than to cover the tarpauling that con-tained
it with several folds of the spare sail-cloth, in order
that no ray of the sun should get near it. This precaution
was at once adopted.
The flesh of the shark —now dead as mutton—if left to
itself, would soon spoil, and be unfit for food, even for starv-ing
men. It was this reflection that caused the sailor and
his protege to take counsel together as to what might be
done towards preserving it.
They were not long in coming to a decision. Shark-flesh,
like that of any other fish —hke haddock, for instance, or red
herrings—can be dried in the sun; and the more readily in
that sun of the torrid zone that shone down so hotly upon their
heads. The flesh only needed to be cut into thin slices and
suspended from the upright oars. The atmosphere would
soon do the rest. Thus cured, it would keep for weeks or
months ; and thus did the castaways determine to cure it.
FLENSING A SUARK. 43
No sooner was the plan conceived, than they entered upon
its execution. Little William again seized the cord of
sennit, and drew the huge carcass close up to the raft; while
Ben once more opened the blade of his sailor's knife, and
commenced cutting off the flesh in broad flakes,—so thin as
to be almost transparent.
He had succeeded in stripping off most of the titbits
around the tail, and was proceeding up the body of the shark
to Jlense it in a similar fashion, when an ejaculation escaped
him, expressing surprise or pleasant curiosity.
Little William was but too glad to perceive the pleased
expression on the countenance of his companion,—of late so
rarely seen.
" What is it, Ben ? " he inquired, smilingly.
" Look 'ee theer, lad," rejoined the sailor, placing his hand
upon the back of the boy's head, and pressing it close to the
edge of the raft, so that he could see well down into the
water, —" look theer, and tell me what you see."
" Where ? " asked William, still ignorant of the object to
which his attention was thus forcibly directed.
" Don't you see somethin' queery stickin' to the belly o'
the shark, — eh, lad ?
"
" As I live," rejoined William, now pei-ceiving " some-thin',
" " there 's a small fish pushing his head against the
shark, —not so small either, —only in comparison with the
great shark himself. It's about a foot long, I should think.
But what is it doing in that odd position ?"
" Sticking to the shark, — did n't I tell 'ee, lad !
"
" Sticking to the shark ? You don't mean that, Ben ?
"
"But I do—mean that very thing, boy. It's as fast
theer as a barnacle to a ship's copper ; an' '11 stay, I hope,
till I get my claws upon it,—which won't take very long
from now. Pass a piece o' cord this way. Quick !
"
The boy stretched out his hand, and, getting hold of a
piece of Iqcse string, reached it to his companion, Just as
44 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
the snare had been made for the shark with the piece of
sennit, and with like rapidity, a noose was constructed on
the string ; and, having been lowered into the water, was
passed around the body of the little fish which appeared
adhering to the belly of the shark. Not only did it so ap-pear,
but it actually was, as was proved by the pull neces-sary
to detach it, and which required all the strength that
lay in the strong arms of the sailor.
He succeeded, however, in effecting his purpose ; and with
a pluck the parasite fish was separated from the skin to
which it had been clinging, and, jerked upwards, was landed
alive and kicking upon the raft.
Its kicking was not allowed to continue for long. Lest it
might leap back into the water, and, sluggish swimmer as it
was, escape out of reach, Ben, with the knife which he still
held unclasped in his hand, pinned it to one of the planks,
and in an instant terminated its existence.
" What sort of a fish is it ? " asked William, as he looked
upon the odd creature thus oddly obtained.
" Suckin'-fish," was Ben's laconic answer.
" A sucking-fish ! I never heard of one before. Why is
it so called ?
"
" Because it sucks," replied the sailor.
'' Sucks what ?
"
" Sharks. Did n't you see it suckin' at this 'un afore I
pulled it from the teat ? Ha ! ha ! ha !
"
" Surely it wasn't that, Ben ?" said the lad, mystified by
Ben's remark.
" Well, boy, I an't going to bamboozle ye. AU I know is
that it fastens onto sharks, and only this sort, which are
called white sJmrks ; for I never seed it sticking to any o' the
others, —of which there be several kinds. As to its suckin'
anythin' out o' them an' livin' by that, I don't believe a word
o' it; though they say it do so, and that 's what's given it its
name. Why I don't believe it is, because I've seed the
FLENSING A SHARK. 45
creature stickLi' just the same way to the coppered bottom o'
a ship, and likewise to the sides o' rocks under the water.
Now, it couldn't get anything out o' the copper to live upon,
nor yet out o' a rock,—could it ?
"
" Certainly not."
" Then it couldn't be a suckin' them. Besides, I've seed
the stomachs o' several cut open, and they were full of little
water-creepers, —such as there 's thousands o' kinds in the
sea. I warrant if we rip this 'un up the belly, we '11 find the
samc'sort o' food in it."
" And why does it fasten itself to sharks and ships,—can
you tell that, Ben ?
"
"I ve heerd the reason, and it be sensible enough,—more
so than to say that it sucks. There was a doctor as belonged
in the man-o'-war where I sarved for two years, as was
larned in all such curious things. Ho said that the suckin'-
fish be a bad swimmer ; and that I know myself to be true.
You can tell by the smallness o' its fins. Well, the doctor,
he say, it fastens on to the sharks and ships so as to get
carried from place to place, and to the rocks to rest itself.
Whenever it takes a notion, it can slip off, and go a huntln'
for its prey ; and then come back again and take a fresh grip
on whatever it has chosen to lodge itself."
" It 's that curious thing along the back of its head that
enables it to hold on, is n't it ?
"
" That's its sticking-machine ; and, what be curious, Will'm,
if you were to try to pull it off upwards or backwards you
could n't do it wi' all your strength, nor I neither: you must
shove it forrard, as you seed me do just now, or else pull it
to pieces before it would come off."
" I can see," said William, holding the fish up to his eyes,
*' that there are rows of little teeth in that queer top-knot it's
got, all turned towards the tail. It is they, I suppose, that
prevent its slipping backwards ?"
"No doubt, lad,—no doubt it be that. But never mind
46 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
what it be just now. Let us finish flensin' o' the shark; and
then if we feel hungry we can make a meal o' the sucker,—
for I can tell you it 's the best kind o' eatin'. I Ve ate 'em
often in the South Sea Islands, where the natives catch 'em
Avith hooks and lines ; but I 've seen them there much bigger
thrn this 'un,—three feet long, and more."
And so saying, the sailor returned to the operation, thus
temporarily suspended,—the flensing of the shark.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SUCKING-FISH.
rr^HE fish that had thus singularly fallen into their hands
i was, as Ben had stated, the sucking-fish, Echeneis re-mora,—
one of the most curious creatures that inhabit the
sea. Not so much from any peculiarity in appearance as
from the singularity of its habits.
Its appearance, Iiowever, is sufficiently singular ; and
locking upon it, one might consider the creature as being
well adapted for keeping company with the ferocious tyrant
of the deep, on whom it constantly attends.
Its body is black and smooth, its head of a hideous form,
and its fins short and broadly spread. The mouth is very
lai'ge, with the lower jaw protruding far beyond the upper,
and it is this that gives to it the cast of feature, if we may
be permitted to speak of " features " in a fish.
Both lips and jaws are amply provided with teeth ; and
the throat, palate, and tongue are set profusely with short
spines. The eyes are dark, and set high up. The "sucker"
or buckler upon the top of its head consists of a number of
bony plates, set side by side, so as to form an oval disc, and
THE SUCKING-FISH. 47
armed along the edges with little tentacles, or teeth, as tho
boy "William had observed.
His companion's account of the creature was perfectly
correct, so far as it went ; but there are many other points
in its " history " quite as curious as those which the sailor
had communicated.
The fish lias neither swim-bladder nor sound ; and as,
moreover, its fins are of the feeblest kind, it is probably on
this account that it has been gifted with the power of adher-ing
to other floating bodies, by way of compensation for the
above-named deficiencies. The slow and prowling move-ments
of the white shark, render it particularly eligible for
the purposes of the sucking-fish, either as a resting-place or
a means of conveyance from place to place ; and it is well-known
that the shark is usually attended by several of these
singular satellites. Other floating objects, however, are used
by the sucking-fish,—such as pieces of timber, the keel of a
ship ; and it even rests itself against the sides of submerged
rocks, as the sailor had stated. It also adheres to whales,
turtles, and the larger kinds of albacore.
Its food consists of shrimps, marine insects, fragments of
molluscous animals, and the like ; but it obtains no nutriment
through the sucking-apparatus, nor does it in any way injure
the animal to which it adheres. It only makes use of the
sucker at intervals ; at other times, swimming around the
object it attends, and looking out for prey of its own choice
and on its own account. While swimming it propels itself
by rapid lateral movements of the tail, executed awkwardly
and with a tortuous motion.
It is itself preyed upon by other fish, — diodons and alba-cores
; but the shark is merciful to it, as to the pilot-fish, and
never interferes with it.
Sucking-fish are occasionally seen of a pure white color,
associating with the black ones, and also attending upon the
shark. They are supposed to be merely vai'ieties or albinos.
48 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
When slirirks are hooked and drawn on board a ship, the
sucking-fishes that have been swimming around them will
remain for days, and even weeks, following the vessel through-out
all her courses. They can then be taken by a liook and
line, baited with a piece of flesh ; and they will seize the
bait when let down in ihe stillest water. In order to secure
them, however, it is. necessary, after they have been hooked,
to jerk them quickly out of the water ; else they will swim
rapidly to the side of the sliip, and fix their sucker so firmly
against the wood, as to dofy every attempt to dislodge them.
There are two well-known species of sucking-fish, — the
common one described, and another of larger size, found in
the Pacific, the Echeneis australls. The latter is a better
shaped fish than its congene-r, can swim more rapidly, and is
altogether of a more active habit.
Perhaps the most interesting fact in the history of the
Echeneis is its being ihe same fish as that known to the
Spanish navigators as the remora, and which was found by
Columbus in possession of the natives of Cuba and Jamaica,
tamed, and trained to the catching of turtles !
Their mode of using it was by attaching a cord of palm
sennit to a ring already fastened round the tail, at the small-est
part between the ventral and caudal fins. It was then
allowed to swim out into the sea ; while the other end of
the cord was tied to a tree, or made fast to a rock upon the
beach. The remora being thus set—just as one would set
a baited hook —was left free to follow its own inclinations,
—which usually were to fasten its sucking-plates against the
shell of one of the great sea-turtles,—so famed at alderraanic
feasts and prized by modern gourmets, and equally relished
by the ancient Cuban caciques.
At intervals, the turtle-catcher would look to his line ; and
when the extra strain upon it proved that the remora was
en rapport with a turtle, he would haul in, until the huge
chelonian was brought within striking distance of his heavy
club J and thus Avould the capture be effected.
A SAIL OF SIIAKK-FLKSH. 49
Turtles of many hundreds' weight could be taken in this
M'ay ; for the pull upon the rcmora being towards the tail, —
and therefore in a backward direction, — the sucking-fish
could not be detached, unless by the most violent straining.
It is a fact of extreme singularity, that a similar method
of capturing turtles is practised on the coast of Mozambique
at the present day, and by a people who never could have
had any communication with the aborigines of the West
Indian Islands, much less have learnt from them this curious
craft of angling with a fish !
A smaller species of the sucking-fish is found in the Medi-terranean,
— the Echeneis remora. It was well known to
the ancient writers ; though, like most creatures gifted with
any peculiarity, it was oftener the subject of fabulous romance
than real history. It was supposed to have the power of
arresting the progress of a ship, by attaching itself to the
keel and pulling in a contrary direction ! A still more ridic-ulous
virtue was attribut(!d to it: in the belief that, if any
criminal in dread of justice could only succeed in inducing
tlie judge to partake of a portion of its flesh, he would be
able to obtain a long delay before the judge could pronounce
the verdict of his condemnation
!
CHAPTER XIV.
A SAIL OF SHARK-FLESH.
T wanted but a little while of sunset, when the sailor and
his young comrade had finished flensing the shark. Tiie
raft now exhibited quite an altered appearance. Between
the two upright oars several pieces of rope had been
stretched transversely, and from these hung suspended the
3 »
50 . THE OCEAN WAIFS.
broad thin flitches of the shark's flesh, tliat at a distance
might have been mistaken for some sort of a saih Indeed,
they acted as such ; for their united discs presented a con-siderable
breadth of surface to the breeze, which had sprung
up as the evening approaclied, and the raft by this means
moved through the water with considerable rapidity.
There was no effort made to steer it. The idea of reaching
land was entirely out of the question. Their only hope of
salvation lay in their being seen from a ship ; and as a ship
was as likely to come from one direction as another, it mat-tered
not to which of the thirty-two points of the compass
their raft miglit be drifting. Yes, it did matter. So thought
Ben Brace, on reflection.
It might be of serious consequence, should the raft make
way to the westward. Somewhere in that direction—how
far neither could guess—that greater raft, with its crew of
desperate ruffians, — those drunken would-be cannibals, —
must be drifting about, like themselves, at the mercy of
winds and waves : perhaps more tlmn themselves suffering
the dire extreme of thirst and hunger. Perhaps, ere then,
one of their own number may have been forced to submit to
the horrid fiite which they had designed for little "William .;,
and which, but for the interference of his generous protector,
would most certainly have befallen him.
Should he again fall into their clutches, there would be
but slight chance of a second escape. His protector knew
that. Ben knew, moreover, that his own life would be equally
sure of being sacrificed to the resentment of the ribald crew,
with whom he had formerly associated.
No wonder, as he felt the breeze blowing on his cheek,
that he looked towards tlie setting sun, to ascertain^in what
dii'ection the raft was being borne. No wonder that his
anxious glance became changed to a look of satisfaction,
when he perceived that they were moving eastward.
" To the east'ard it are, sure enough," said he, " and that
A SAIL OF SIIARK-FLESir. M
Be curious too. 'Tan't often I've see'J the wind blow from
tli(! west'ard in these hitytudes. Only another catspaw in
the middle o' the calm, 'T won't last long; though it won't
miitter, so long 's it don't turn and blow us t' other way."
The expressed wish not to be blown " t' other way " needed
no explanation. William understood what that meant. The
fearful scene of the preceding day was fresh in his memory.
That scene, where half a score of fiend-like monsters, threat-ening
Ills life, were kept at bay by one heroic man, —tlnit
was a tableau too terrible to be soon forgotten.
Nor had he forgotten it, even for a moment. Perhaps,
during that brief conflict with the sharks, the nearer danger
may have driven it for an interval out of his mind ; but that
over, the dread remembrance returned again ; and every
now and then,—even while engaged in the varied labors
that had occupied them throughout the day,— in a sort of
waking dream he had recalled that fearful vision. Often —
every few minutes in fact —had his eyes been turned invol-untarily
towards the west,— where, instead of looking hope-fully
for a ship, his anxious glance betrayed a fear that any
dark object might be seen in that direction.
On finishing their task, both were sufficiently fatigued, —
the strong sailor as well as his feebler companion. The
former still kept his ieet, anxiously scanning the horizon ;
while the latter laid himself along the bare boards of the
raft.
" Little "Will'm," said the sailor, looking down at the boy,
and speaking in gentle tones, "you'd better spread the sail
under ye, and get some sleep. There be no use in botli o'
us keeping awake. I'll watch till it gets dark, an' then I'll
join you. Go to sleep, lad ! go to sleep !
"
William was too wearied to make objection. Drawing the
skirt of the sail over the raft, he lay down upon it, and found
sleep almost as soon as he had composed himself into t!iu
altitude to enjoy it.
52 THE OCI'AN WAIFS.
The sailor remained standing erect; now sweeping the
horizon with his glance, now bending his eye restlessly upon
the water as it rippled along the edge of the raft, and again
returning to that distant scrutiny,—so oft repeated, so oft
unrewarded.
Thus occupied, he passed the interval of twilight,—short
in these latitudes; nv)r did he terminate liis vigil until dark-ness
had descended upon the deep.
It promised to be a dark, moonless night. Only a few-feebly
gleaming stars, thinly scattered over the firmament,
enabled him to distinguish the canopy of the sky from the
waste of waters that surrounded him. Even a ship under
full spread of canvas could not have been seen, though pass-ing
at a cable's length fix)m the raft.
It was idle to continue the dreary vigil ; and having arrived
at this conviction, the sailor stretched himself alongside his
slumbering companion, and, like the latter, was soon relieved
from his long-protracted anxiety by the sweet oblivion of
sleep.
CHAPTER XV.
THE MYSTERIOUS VOICE.
FOR several hours both remained wrapped in slumber,
oblivious of the perils through which they had passed, —equally unconscious of the dangers that surrounded and
still liiy before them.
What a picture was there,—with no human eye to behold
it! Two human forms, a sailor and a sailor-boy, lying
side by side upon a raft scarce twice the length of their own
bodies, in the midst of a vast ocean, landless and limitless
as infinity itself, both softly and soundly asleep,—as if re-
THE MYSTERIOUS VOICE. 53
|rt)sing upon the pillow of some secure couch, with the firm
earth beneath and a friendly roof extended over them ! Ah,
it w^as a striking tableau, that frail craft with its sleeping
crew,—such a spectacle as is seldom seen by human eye
!
It was fortunate that for many hours they continued to
enjoy the sweet unconsciousness of sleep,—if such may be
termed enjoyment. It was long after midnight before either
awoke : for there was nothing to awake them. The breeze
had kept gentle, and constant in the same quarter ; and the
slight noise made by the water, as it went " swishing" along
the' edge of the raft, instead of rousing them acted rather as
a lullaby to their rest.
The boy awoke first. He had been longer asleep ; and
his nervous system, refreshed and restored to its normal con-dition,
had become more keenly sensitive to outward impres-sions.
Some big, cold rain-drops falling upon his face had
recalled him to wakefulness.
Was it spray tossed up by the spars ploughing through
the water?
No. It was rain fi'om the clouds. The canopy overhead
was black as ink ; but while the lad was scrutinizing it, a
gleam of lightning suddenly illumined both sea and sky, and
then all was dark as before.
Little William would have restored his cheek to its sail-cloth
pillow and gone to sleep again. He was not dismayed
by the silent lightning,—for it was that sort that had flickered
over the sky. No more did he mind the threatening rain-clouds.
His shirt had been soaked too often, by showers
from the sky and spray from the sea, for him to have any
dread of a ducking.
It was not that,—neither the presence of the lightning r.or
the prospect of the rain, —that kept him awake ; but some-thing
he had heard,—or fancied he had heard,—something
that not only restrained him from returning to repose, but
inspired him with a fejir that robbed him of all inclination
to go to sleep again.
54 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
Wliat was it he had heard or fancied? A noise, —a
voice !
"Was it the scream of the searaew, the shriek of the
*rigate-bird, or the hoarse note of the nelly ?
None of thesei^ The boy-sailor was acquainted with the
cries of all three, and of many other sea-birds besides. It
was not the call of a bird that had fallen so unexpectedly on
his ear, but a note of far different intonation. It more resem-bled
a voice, — a human voice, — the voice of a child ! Not
of a very young child, — an infant, — but more like that of,
a girl of eight or ten years of age !
Nor was it a cry of distress, though uttered in a melan-choly
tone. It seemed to the ear of the lad—freshly awak-ened
from his sleep—like words spoken in conversation.
But it could not be what he had taken it for ! Improbable,
—impossible! He had been deluded by a fancy; or it
might be the mutterings of some ocean bird with whose note
he was unacquainted.
Should he awake his companion and tell him of it ? A
pity, if it should prove to be nothing, or only the chattering
of a sea-gull. His brave protector had need of rest. Ben
would not be angry to be awaked ; but the sailor would be
sure to laugh at him if he were to say he liad heard a little
girl talking at that time of night in the middle of the Atlantic
Ocean. Perhaps Ben might say it was a mermaid, and
mock him in that sort of style ?
No: he would not run the risk of being I'idiculed, even by
his best of friends. Better let the thing pass, and say nothing
about it.
Little William had arrived at this resolution, and had
more than half determined to treat the sound he had heard
as an aurical delusion. He had even replaced his cheek
upon the sail-cloth pillow, wlien tlie very same sound again
fell upon his ear, — this time more distinctly heard, as if
either the utterance had been clearer or the being that madn
it was nearer!
THE MYSTERIOUS VOICE. 55
If it was not the voice of a girl,—a very young girl,—
then the boy-sailor had never listened to the prattling of his
younger sister, or the conversation of his little female plny-mates.
If it was a young mermaid, then most assuredly
' could mermaids talk : for the sound was exactly like a string
or series of words uttered in conversation I
Ben must be aroused from his slumber. It could not be
an illusion. Either a talking mermaid, or a little girl, was
within earshot of the raft.
There was no help for it. Ben must be aroused.
« Ben ! Ben !
"
" Ho—hah—ow—aw—what 's the row ?—seven bells.
I bean't on the dog-watch. Hi, hi, oh ! it 's you, little Will'm.
What is 't, lad ? "
"
" Ben, I hear something."
"Hear somethin' ! Well, what o' that, boy? Theer's
allers somethin' to be heerd : even here,, in the middle o' the
Atlantic. Ah ! boy, I was dreamin' a nice dream when ye
woke me. I thought I war back on the ole frigate. 'T wa'ii't
so nice, eyther, for I thought the bos'n war roustin' me up
for my watch on deck. Anyhow, 't would a been better than
this watch here. Heerd somethin', ye say ? What d' ye
mean, little Will'm ?
"
" I heard a voice, Ben. I think it was a voice."
" Voice—o' a human, do ye mean ?
"
" It sounded like that of a little girl."
" Voice o' a little girl ! Shiver my timbers, lad, you 're
goin' demented ! Put yer face close to mine. Let me see
yc, boy ! Are ye in yer senses, Will'm ?
"
" I am, Ben. I 'm sure I heard what I 've said. Twice I
heard it. The first time I wasn't sure ; but just now I heard
it again, and if—"
" If there had n't been gulls, an' boobies, an' Mother Carey's
chickens, as squeals and clutters just like little childer, I 'd a
been puzzled at what ye be a tellin' me ; but as I knows
56 . THE OCEAN WAIFS.
there be all o' these creaturs in the middle o' the broad
ocean,—and mermaids too, I dare say,—then, ye see, little
Will'm, I must disbelieve that ye heai'd anything more than
the voice of—a man, by — !
"
As the sailor terminated his speech with this terrible em-phasis.,
he started into an upright attitude, and listened with
all his cars for another utterance of that harsh monotone,
that, borne upon the breeze and rising above the "sough"
of the disturbed water, could easily be distinguished as the
voice of a man.
" We 're lost, Will'm ! " cried he, without waiting for a
repetition of the sound; "we're lost. It's the voice of Le
Gros. The big raft is a bearin' down upon us wi' them
bloodthirsty cannibals we thought we 'd got clear o'. It 's
no use ti'yin' to escape. Make up your mind to it, lad
;
we 've got to die ! we 've got to die !
"
CHAPTER XVI.
OTHER WAIFS.
AD it been daylight, instead of a very dark night,
Ben Brace and his youthful comrade would have
been less alarmed by the voices that came up the wind.
Daylight would have discovered to them an object, or rather
a collection of objects, which, instead of repelling, would have
attracted them nearer.
It was not the great raft that was drifting to leeward, nor
was it the voice of Le Gros or any of his wicked companions,
that had been heard ; though, in the excitement of their fears,
that was the first tliought of the two castaways.
Could their eyes have penetrated the deep obscurity that
OTHER WAIFS. 57
shrouded the &ea, they would have beheld a number of objects,
like themselves, adrift upon tlie water, and like them, at the
mercy of the winds and waves. They would have seen
pieces of timber, black and charred with fire ; fragments of
broken spars, w-ith sails and cordage attached and trailing
after them; here and there a cask or barrel, sunk to tlie
level of the surface by Uie weight of its contents ; pieces of
packing-cases, torn asunder as if by some terrible explosion
;
cabin-chairs, coops, oars, handspikes, and other implements
of the mariner's calling,—all bobbing about on the bosom of
the blue deep, and carried hither and thither by the arbitrary
oscillations of the breeze.
These various objects were not all huddled up together,
but scattered unequally over a space of more than a square
mile in extent. Had it been daylight, so that the sailor couid
have seen them, as they appeared mottling the bright surface
of the sea, he would have experienced no difficulty in de-termining
their character. At a glance he would have
recognized the debris of the burnt ship, from which he
and his companion had so narrowly escaped,—the slave-bark
Pandora.
He would have looked upon these objects with no very
great surprise, but in all likelihood with a feeling of consider-able
satisfaction : as offering the means for recruiting the
strength of his own slight embarkation, which was barely
sufficient to sustain the weight of himself and his companion,
and certainly not strong enough to withstand the assault of
the most moderate of storms.
In the midst of the " waifs" above enumerated, however,
there was one not yet named,—one that differed greatly
from all the rest, — and which, had it been seen by them,
would have caused extreme surprise both to Ben Brace and
little William.
It was a raft, not a great deal larger than their own, but
altogether of different construction. A number of planks,
3*
08 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
most of them charred by fire, with a -sofa, a bamboo chair,
and some other articles of furniture, had been rudely bound
together by ropes. These things, of themselves, would have
made but a very clumsy craft, no better for navigating the
great ocean than that upon which Ben and the boy were
themselves embarked. But the buoyancy of the former was
secured by a contrivance of which the sailor had not had" the
opportunity of availing himself. Around its edge were
ranged hogsheads or water-casks, evidently empty. They
were lashed to the plank ; and being bunged up against the
influx of the water, kept the whole structure afloat, so that it
would have carried a ton or two without sinking below the
surface.
There was a smaller cask floating alongside, attached to
the timbers by a piece of rope that was tightly looped around
the swell. But this could not have been designed to increase
the buoyancy of the raft : since it was itself almost submerged,
eeidently by the weight of something it contained.
Such a congeries of objects might have drifted side by side
by chance, or the caprice of the currents ; but they could not
have tied themselves together in such fashion. There Avas
design in the arrangement ; and in the midst of the circle of
empty hogsheads might have been seen the contriver of this
curious craft. He was, of course, a human being, and a man ;
but such an one as, under any circumstances, would arrest the
attention of the beholder ; much more in the singular situa-tion
in which he was then met with. He was a black man,
in the fullest sense of the word; a true negro, with a skin
shining like ebony ; a skull of large size, and slightly square
in shape, covered with a thick crop of curling wool, so cIosg
and short as to ap]ieav felted into tlie skin. A brace of broad
ears stood prominently out from the sides of his head ; and
extending almost from one to the other, was a wide-gaping
mouth, formed by a pair of lips of huge thickness, protruding
far' forward, so as to give to the countenance thosr>
'"
outlines characteristic of the chimpanzee or gorilla.
OTHER WAIFS. 53
Notwithstanding his somewhat abnormal features, the ex-pression
of the negro's face was far from being hideous. It
was not even disagreeable. A double row of white teeth,
gleaming between the purplish lips, could be exhibited upon
ordinary occasions in a pleasant smile ; and the impression
derived fi'ora looking upon tlie countenance Avas, that the
owner of it was rather good-natured than otherwise. Just
then, as he sat upon the raft, gazing over the bulwark of
hogsheads, its expression was one of profound and sombre
melancholy. No wonder!
The negro was not alone. Another individual shared with
him tlie occupancy of the raft;—one ditFering from him in
appearance as Hyperion from tlie Satyr. ATew feet from
him, and directly before his face, was a little girl, apparently
about ten or twelve years of age. She was seated, or rathei
cowering, among the timbers of the raft, upon a piece of
tarpauling that had been spread over them,— her eyes bent
upon her black companion, though occasionally straying, with
listless glance, over the sombre surface of the sea. Although
so young, her countenance appeared sad and despondent, as
if under the belief that there was little hope of escape from
the fearful situation in which she was placed, and as if her
little spirit had long ago surrendered to despair.
Though not a negro like her companion, the girl could
scarce be called while. Her complexion was of that hue
known as olive ; but her hair, althougli curling, hung in loJig
locks down over her shoulders ; and the crimson hue deeply
tinting her cheeks told that in her blood there was more Cau-casian
than negro.
Any one wlio had visited the western coast of Africa, on
seeing this little girl, Avould easily have recagnized in her
features the type of that mixed race which has resulted from
long intercourse between the Portuguese "colonists" and the
eable indigenes of the soil.
60 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
CHAPTER XVII.
HOW SNOAYBALL ESCAPED FROM THE SLAVER.
^N this curious embarkation, drifting about amid t ic
remains of the wrecked ship, there were only the two'
human figures,— the negro and tlie little girl. It is super-fluous
to say that they were also a portion of the wreck
itself,—other castaways who had, so far, succeeded in saving
themselves from the fearful doom that had overtaken, no
doubt, every one of the wretched beings composing the cargo
of the slaver.
The negro upon the raft, though black as the blackest of
his unfortunate countrymen, wjis not among the number of
those who had been carried as freight. On the contrary, he
was one of the crew, — the lord of the caboose, and known
upon the slave-bark by the satirical soubriquet of " Snow-baU."
Although originally a slave from Africa, and by race a
Coromantee, Snowball had long been in the enjoyment of
his liberty; and, as cook or steward, had seen service in
scores of ships, and circumnavigated the globe in almost
every latitude where circumnavigation was possible.
Though not naturally of a wicked disposition, he was by
no means particular as to the company he kept, or the sort
of ship he sailed in, — so long as the wages were good and
the store-room well supplied ; and as these conditions are
usually found on board of a slaver, it was not Snowball's
first voyage in a vessel of the kind. It is true that he had
never sailed in company with a more ribald crew than that
of the Pandora; but it is only justice to say, that, long before
the fatal interruption of that vo^-age, even he had become
tired of their companionship, and had been almost as eager
to get away from the ship as Ben Brace or little William.
HOW SNOWBALL ESCAPED FROM THE SLAVER. 61
He, too, had been deterred from attempting to c-cape while
upon the African coast, hy the knowledge tliat such an
attempt would have been worse than idle. In all likelihood
it would have ended in his being captured by his own coun-trymen,
—or, at all events, by people of his own color,—and
sold once more into that very slavery from which he had
formerly succeeded in emancipating himself.
Though Snowball's morality was far from being immacu-late,
there was one virtue which he was not wanting,
—
gratitude. But for the possession of this, he might have
been alone upon the raft, and, perhaps, less caring in what
direction the winds and waves might carry him. As it was,
his sole thought and anxiety was about his little companion,
whose safety was as dear to him as his own.
It will be asked why Snowball felt this unselfish solicitude.
The child could not be his own ? Complexion, features,
every tiling forbade the supposition that there could be any-thing
of kinship between her and her sable protector.
Nor was there the slightest. On the contrary, the little
girl was the daughter of one who had once been Snowball's
greatest enemy,—the man who had sold him into slavery;
but who had afterwards won the negro's gratitude by restor-ing
to him his freedom. This person had formerly owned a
trading fort on the coast of Africa, but of late years had been
ji resident of Rio in Brazil. His daughter, born in the
former country, previous to his leaving it, was crossing the
great ocean to rejoin him in his new home in the western
world. Hence her presence on board the Pandora, where
she had been a passenger under the protection of Snowball.
And well had the negro performed his duty as protector.
When all the others had forsaken the ship, and the flames
were fast spreading over her decks, the faithful negro had
gone below, and, rousing the girl from her sleep, — for she
had been slumbering unconscious of the danger,—had borne
her amidst flames and smoke, at the imminent risk of his own
G2 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
life, and passing through the cabin windows with his burden
in his arms, he liad dropped down into the sea under the
stern of tlie burning bark.
Being an excellent swimmer, he had kept afloat for some
minutes, sustaining both himself and his burden by his own
strengtli : but after a while he succeeded in clutching on to*
the davit-tackle by which the gig had been let down into lli'.i
water, and having passed his foot through a loop in the end
of it, he remained lialf suspended, half afloat on the water.
Soon after came the explosion, caused by the ignition of the
gunpowder ; and as the vessel was blown to pieces, the sea
around became strewed with fragments of shattered timber,
cabin furniture, sea-chests, and the like. Laying hold on
those pieces that were nearest, he succeeded in forming a
rude sort of raft, upon Avliich he and his protege were enabled
to pass the remainder of the night.
When morning dawned. Snowball and the little Lalee—
such was the name of the child — were the only beings who
appeared to have survived the catastrophe,—the wretched
creatures who at the last moment had escaped from the
" 'tween-decks" were no longer in existence.
Having been brought from the interior of the African
continent,— and from a district where there are no great
lakes or rivers, —but few of them could swim ; and those few
had become the prey of the sharks, that in scores were swim-ming
around the frail craft. As the sun rose over the ocean,
and lit up the scene of that terrible tragedy, Snowball saw
not a living creature save his own protege, the sharks, and
their satellites.
The negro knew, however, that the Pandora's own people
had escaped. He had witnessed the clandestine departure
of the gig, containing the skipper and his confederates.
This he had seen, while gazing through the windows of
the cabin, previous to launching himself upf)n that last despe-rate
leap. He had also been a witness to the departure of
the great raft carrying the crew.
HOW SNOWBALL ESCAPED FROM THE SLAVER. 63
It may appear strange that he did not swim towai'ds it,
and share the fortunes ot" his farmer associates. Why he
did not do so is easily exphiiiied. By an accident, arising
from his own neghgence, the ship had been set on fire. He
was aware of this ; and he knew also that both captain and
crew were equally cognizant of the fact. The former, just
after the discovery, assisted by the brutal mate, had adminis-tered
to him (Snowball) such a chastisement as he would
not soon forget ; while the crew, on becoming acquainted
with the circumstance, were upon the point of tossing him
into the sea ; and would no doubt have carried their design
into execution, but for the pi-esence of the appalling danger
impelling them to look to their own safety. The negro knew,
therefore, that, were he to seek safety on the great raft, it
would only be to throw himself into merciless hands, certain
to spurn him back with vengeful indignation, or fling him
into the jaws of the hideous monsters already swimming
around the ship, and quartering the sea in every direction.
For thig reason had Snowball chosen to trust to his own
strength,—to chance,—to anything rather than the mercy
of his old associates, with whom, for a long period past, he
had been far from a favorite.
Perhaps it had turned out for the best. Had he succeeded
in reaching the great raft, and been permitted to share with
its occupants thei-r chances of safety, it is more than probable
that the little Lalee might have become the victim of that
vi'Tid ntterapt from which the little William had so narrowly
64 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
CHAPTER XVIU.
SNOWBALL AMID THE DRIFT.
THE adventures of Snowball and his protege, from the
blowing up of the Pandora until six suns had risea
and gone down over tlie ocean, if not so varied as those of
Ben Brace and his protege, were nevertheless of sufficient
interest to deserve a brief narration.
Supported by the few sticks which he had been able to
draw together, he had remained during the rest of the night
in the midst of the floating fragments.
He had listened to the wild shouts of vengeful rage, pro-ceeding
from the throats of the slaves, as they clutched at
the great raft, and were beaten back by those who occupied
it. He had seen the broad sail suddenly hoisted, and the
dark mass gradually gliding away over the ocean. He had
heard many an agonizing yell as, one by one, the few strong
swimmers who survived the rest either sank by exhaustion
or were dragged down in the jaws of the numerous sharks
;
until, the last shriek having sounded in his ears, all became
silent as the tomb, while the sombre surface of the sea once
more lay motionless around him. Even the ravening mon-sters,
for a moment, seemed to have forsaken the spot,—as
if each, having secured a sufficient prey, had gone down to
devour it undisturbed in the dark unfathomed caverns of the
deep.
When morning dawned upon the scene, although many
objects met the eye of the negro and his companion, there
was no human being within sight ; and Snowball knew that,
with the exception of the six men who had rowed off in the
gig, and the crew upon the great raft, there were no other
survivors of the slaver.
The crew having spread a sail to get out of reacli of
SNOWBALL AMID THE DRIFT. 65
the drowning wretches who were clutching at their raft, the
latter was soon carried out of sight ; while the six in the gig
had rowed off as fast as they were able, in order to get out
of reach of their own companions! For these reasons, when
day broke over the ocean, neither boat nor raft were visible
from the spot where the catastrophe had occurred.
It may appear strange^ that none of the living cargo of the
slaver had succeeded in saving themselves, by clinging to
some fragment of the wreck ; and Snowball thought so at
the time.
The truth was, that those who could swim had struck out
after the raft, and had followed it so far that they were not
able to swim back to the burning vessel ; while the others, in
the wild terror produced by the proximity of the flames, had
leaped despairingly into the sea, and sunk upon the instant.
The early sunbeams, as they fell slantingly over the surface
of tlie sea, told the negi'o that he was alone,— alone with the
little Lalee,—alone in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean,—
afloat upon a few sticks,—without a morsel of food to eat,
without a drop of water to drink !
It was a terrible situation,—sufficient to produce despair
even in the stoutest heart.
But Snowball was not one of the despairing sort. He had
been too often in peril of life—both by sea and land—to be
unnerved even in that dread hour ; and instead of permitting
his spirits to become prostrated, he bethought him of how he
might make the best of the circumstances by which he was
suiTOunded.
An object that came under his eye, just as the day began
to break, kindled within him a faint gleam of hope, and urged
to making an effort for the salvation of himself and his help-less
companion. This object was a small keg, or beaker,
which chanced to be floating near him, and which, from some
mark upon it, Snowball recognized. He knew that it had
been standing in a corner of the' caboose, previous to the
66 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
blowing up of the bark ;• and, moreover, that it contained
several gallons of fresh water, which he had himself surrep-titiously
abstracted from the common stock, previous to the
time that the slaver's crew had agreed to being put upon
rations.
It was but the work of a minute to secure this keg, and.
_
attach it by a strong cord to the piece of timber on which the
ex-cook was seated astride.
But for this unexpected supply of water Snowball might
probably have yielded to despair. Without water to drink
he could not have reckoned on a long lease of life,— either
for himself or his protege. So opportunely had the keg come
before his eyes as to seem a Providential interference
;
and the belief or fancy that it was so stimulated him to a
further search among the fragments of the shattered ship.
There were many queer things around him,—like himself
bobbing about upon the liny waves. One, however, soon
monopolized his attention ; and that was a barrel of some-what
flimsy structure, and about the size of those usually
employed for carrying flour. Snowball recognized it also
as an old acquaintance in the store-room, and knew that it
was filled with the best kind of biscuit,—a private stock
belonging to the captain.
Its contents could not fail to be saturated with salt water,
for the barrel was not water-tight; but the ex-cook could
dry them in the sun, and render them, if not palatable, at'
least eatable.
The biscuit-barrel was soon fished up out of the water,
and placed high and dry upon the little raft.
Snowball was next struck with the necessity of improving
the quality of his craft, by giving it increase both in size
and strength. "With this intention —after having possessed
himself of an oar, out of several that were adrift—he com-menced
paddling about among the fioating fragments, here
and there picking up such pieces as appeared best suited to
his purpose.
SNOWBALL AJUD THE DRIFT. 67
In a short while he succeeded in collecting a sufficient
number of spars and other pieces of timber,—among wliich
figured a portion of his own old tenement, the caboose,—to
form a rait as large as he might require ; and to his great
satisfaction he saw around him the very tilings that would
render it seaworthy. Bobbing about on the waves, and at
no great distance, were half a dozen empty Avater-casks.
There had been too many of them aboard the slaver : since
their emptiness was the original cause of the catastrophe that
had ensued. But there were not too many for Snowball's
present purpose ; and, after paddling first to one and then
another, he secured each in turn, and lashed them to his
raft, in such fashion, that the great hogsheads, sitting higher
in the water than the timbers of the raft, formed a sort of
parapet around it.
This task accomplished, he proceeded to collect from the
wreck such other articles as he fancied might be of service
to him ; and, thus occupied, he spent several days on the
spot where the Pandora had gone to pieces.
The slight bi'eezes that arose from time io time, and again
subsided, had not separated his raft from the other objects
rftill left floating near, ^n whatever direction they went, so
Avent he : since all wert drifting together.
The idea had nevsr occurred to the negro to set up a sail
and endeavor to get away from the companionship of the
inanimate objects around him, —souvenirs as they were of
a fearful disaster. Or rather it had occurred to him, and
was rejected as unworthy of being entertained. Snowball,
without knowing much of the theory of navigation, had suf-ficient
practical acquaintance with the great Atlantic Ocean, —especially that part of it where lies the track of the
dreaded " middle passage,"—long remembered by the
transported slave,— Snowball, I say, was sufficiently ac-quainted
with his present Avhereabouts, to know that a sail
set upon his raft, and carrying him hither and thither, would
68 THE OCEAN WAIFS.
not add much to the chances of his being rescued from a
watery grave. His only hope lay in being picked up by
some passing vessel ; and, feeling convinced of this, he made
no effort to go one way or the other, but suffered himself to
be drifted about, along with the other waifs of the wreck,
whitherso