The Ocean Waifs: A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea

His “locker” lay amidships; and as he had not far to go, nor any great variety of comestibles to choose from, he soon returned to the stern, – near which the others were seated, – carrying in his outstretched claws half a dozen of the “pickled” biscuits, and some morsels of cured fish.

It was a coarse and meagre meal; at which even a pauper would have pouted his lips; but to those for whom it was intended it had relish enough to make it not only acceptable, but welcome.

A greater delicacy was before their eyes, lying on the deck of the Catamaran. That was the albacore, – a fish whose flesh is equal in excellence to that of any taken out of the ocean. But the flesh of the albacore was raw; while that of Snowball’s stock, if not cooked, was at least cured; and this, in the opinion of the Catamarans, rendered it more palatable.

With a little “Canary” to wash it down, it was not to be despised, – at least, under the circumstances in which they were who supped upon it; but the wine was sparingly distributed, and drunk with a large admixture of water.

The bump of economy stood high upon the skull of the Coromantee. Perhaps to this might be attributed the fact of his being still in existence: since but for the industry he had exhibited in collecting his stores, and his careful hoarding of them, he might, with his protégé, have long before succumbed to starvation.

While eating their frugal supper, Snowball expressed regret at not having a fire, – upon which he might have cooked a cut from the albacore. The chef-de-caboose was not ignorant of the excellence of the fish.

He really felt regret, – less on his own account, than in consideration of his protégé, Lilly Lalee; whose palate he would fain have indulged with something more delicate than sun-dried fish and salty biscuit.

But as fire was out of the question, he was compelled to forego the pleasure of cooking Lalee’s supper; and could only gain gratification by giving to the girl more than her share of the sweet Canary.

Small as was the quantity distributed to each, it had the effect of still further cheering them; and, after supper, they sat for some time indulging in lighter converse than that to which they had lately accustomed themselves.

“Somethin’” said the sailor, “seem to tell me – jest as if I heerd it in a whisper – that we’ll yet reach land, or come in sight o’ a ship. I doan’ know what puts it in my head; unless it be because we’ve been so many times near going down below, an’ still we’re above water yet, an’ I hope likely to keep so.”

“Ya – ya! Massa Ben. We float yet, – we keep so long ’s we kin, – dat fo’ sartin. We nebba say die, – long ’s de Catamaran hold togedda.”

“I war ’stonished,” continued the sailor, without heeding the odd interpolation of the sea-cook, “wonderful ’stonished when that flyin’-fish chucked itself aboard our bit o’ plankin’, an’ it no bigger than the combin’ o’ a hatchway. What kud ’a conducted it thear, – to that spot above all others o’ the broad ocean? What but the hand o’ that angel as sits up aloft? No, Snowy! ye may talk as ye like ’bout your Duppys and Jumbes, and that other creetur ye call your Fetush; but I tell ye, nigger, thear be somethin’ up above us as is above all them, – an’ that’s the God o’ the Christyun. He be thear; and He sent the flyin’-fish into our wee bit o’ raft, and He sent the shower as saved me and little Will’m from dyin’ o’ thust; and He it war that made you an’ me drift to’rds each other, – so as that we might work thegither to get out o’ this here scrape, as our own foolishness and wickedness ha’ got us into.”

“Dat am de troof, Massa Brace, dat las’ remark, – only not altogedder! ’T want altogedder our own fault dat brought us on board de slabe-ship Pandora, – neider you not maseff. It mite a been our foolishness, dat I do admit; but de wickedness war more de fault ob oder men, dat am wickeder dan eider you or dis unfortunate Coromantee nigga.”

“Never mind, Snowy,” responded the sailor, “I know there be still some good in ye; and maybe there be good in all o’ us, to be favoured and protected as we’ve been in the midst o’ so many dangers. I think after what’s happened this day, – especially our escaping from that sharks an’ the long swim as we had to make after’ards, – we ought to be uncommon thankful, and say somethin’ to show it, too.”

“Say something! say what, Massa Brace?”

“I mean a prayer.”

“Prayer! wha’s dat?”

“Surely, Snowy, you know what a prayer be?”

“Nebba heerd ob de ting, – nebba in all ma life!”

“Well, it be to say somethin’ to Him as keeps watch up aloft, – either by way o’ askin’ for somethin’ you want to get, or thankin’ Him for what you ha’ got arready. The first be called a prayer, – the t’other be a thanksgivin’. Thear ain’t much difference, as I could ever see; tho’ I’ve heerd the ship’s chaplain go through ’em both, – ay, scores o’ times; but the one as we want now be the thanksgivin’; an’ I know little Will’m here can go through it like a breeze. Did you ever hear Will’m pray, Snowy?”

“Nebba! I tell ye, Massa Brace, a nebba heer anybody pray in de fashun you ’peak ’bout. Ob coas, I hab heer de nigga talk to da Fetish, de which I, tho’ I be a nigga maseff, nebba belieb’d in. Dis child no belieb in anyting he no see, an’ he see many ting he no belieb in.”

To this frank confession of faith on the part of the Coromantee Ben made no rejoinder that might signify either assent or opposition. His reply was rather a continuation of the train of thought that had led to his last interrogative.

“Ah, Snowy, if you heerd the lad! He do pray beautiful! Most equal to the parson, as we had aboard the frigate; an’ he warn’t slow at it, eyther. Do ’ee think, Will’m,” continued the sailor, turning to the lad with an inquiring look, “do ’ee think ye can remember that prayer as is in the Church Sarvice, and which I’ve heerd the frigate chaplain go through, – specially after a storm, – as speaks about deliverin’ us from all dangers by sea and by land? You’ve heerd it at home in the church. D’ye think ye could gie it as?”

“O,” answered William, “you mean the ‘Thanksgiving for Deliverance from our Enemies.’ Certainly I remember it. How could I forget what I’ve heard so many Sundays in church, besides often on week-days at home? O yes, Ben, I can repeat it, if you wish!”

“I do, lad. Gie it us, then. It may do good. At all events, we owe it, for what’s been done to us. So take a reef out o’ your tongue, lad, an’ fire away!”

Notwithstanding the bizarrerie of manner in which the request was made, the boy-sailor hesitated not to comply with it; and turning himself round upon his knees, – a movement imitated by all the others, – he repeated that thanksgiving of the Church Service, which, though well-known, is fortunately only heard upon very unfrequent occasions.

The thanksgiving appeared an appropriate finale to the toils and dangers of the day; and after it was offered up, Snowball, William, and Lalee lay down to rest, – leaving Ben Brace to attend to the steering-oar, and otherwise perform the duties of the dog-watch.

Chapter Fifty Five.

Snowball sees Land

The man-o’-war’s-man kept watch during the long hours of the night. True to his trust, he attended to the steering-oar: and as the breeze continued to blow steadily in the same direction, the raft, under the double propulsion of the wind and the “line current,” made considerable way to the westward.

A sort of filmy fog had arisen over the ocean, which hid the stars from sight. This might have rendered it impossible for the steersman to keep his course; but, under the belief that there was no change occurring in the direction of the wind, Ben guided himself by that, and very properly, as it afterwards proved.

Just before daybreak, he was relieved by Snowball; who entered upon his watch, at the same time taking his turn at the steering-oar.

Ben had not aroused the negro for this purpose; and he would have generously remained at his post until morning, had Snowball desired to prolong his slumbers.

The act of arousing himself was not altogether voluntary on the part of the negro; though neither was it the doing of his comrade. It was in consequence of a physical feeling – a cold shivering caused by the damp sea-fog – that Snowball had been disturbed from his sleep; and which, on his awaking, kept him for some minutes oscillating in a sort of ague, his ivories “dingling” against each other with a continuous rattle that resembled the clattering of some loose bolt in a piece of machinery out of repair.

It was some time before Snowball could recover his exact equilibrium; for, of all sorts of climate, that least endurable to the Coromantee negro is a cold one.

After repeated flopping his arms over his broad chest, and striking crosswise, until the tips of his fingers almost met upon the spinal column of his back, Snowball succeeded in resuscitating the circulation; and then, perceiving it was full time to take his turn at the helm, he proposed relieving the sailor.

This proposal was agreed to; Ben, before putting himself in a position for repose, giving Snowball the necessary directions as to the course in which the Catamaran was to be kept.

In five minutes after, the sailor was asleep; and the sea-cook was the only one of the Catamarans who was conscious that the craft that carried them was only a frail structure drifting in mid-ocean hundreds of miles from land.

Little William was, perhaps, dreaming of his English, and Lilly Lalee of her African, home; while the sailor, in all probability, was fancying himself safely “stowed” in the forecastle of a British frigate, with all sail rightly set, and a couple of hundred jolly Jacks like himself stretched out in their “bunks” or swinging in their hammocks around him.

During the first hour of his watch, Snowball did not embarrass his brain with any other idea than simply to follow the instructions of the sailor, and keep the Catamaran before the wind.

There had been something said about keeping a look-out, in the hope of espying a sail; but in the dense fog that surrounded them there would be no chance of seeing the biggest ship, – even should one be passing at an ordinary cable’s length from the Catamaran.

Snowball, therefore, did not trouble himself to scan the sea on either side of their course; but for all that he kept the look-out enjoined on him by the sailor, – that is, he kept it with his ears!

Though a ship might not be seen, the voices of her crew or other sounds occurring aboard might be heard; for in this way the presence of a vessel is often proclaimed in a very dark night or when the sea is obscured by a fog.

Oftener, however, at such times, two ships will approach and recede from one another, without either having been conscious of the proximity of the other, – meeting in mid-ocean and gliding silently past, like two giant spectres, – each bent on its own noiseless errand.

Daybreak arrived without the black pilot having heard any sound, beyond that of the breeze rustling against the sail of the Catamaran or the hollow “sough” of the water as it surged against the empty casks lashed along their sides.

As the day broke, however, and the upper edge of the sun’s disk became visible above the horizon, – the fog under the influence of his rays growing gradually but sensibly thinner, – a sight became disclosed to the eyes of Snowball that caused the blood to course with lightning quickness through his veins; while his heart, beating delightfully within his capacious chest, bounded far above the region of his diaphragm.

At the same instant he sprang to his feet, dropped the steering-oar, as if it had been a bar of red-hot iron; and, striding forward to the starboard bow of the Catamaran stood gazing outward upon the ocean!

What could have caused this sudden commotion in both the mind and body of the Coromantee? What spectacle could have thus startled him?

It was the sight of land!

Chapter Fifty Six.