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

But for the peculiar construction of their raft this, in all likelihood, would have been the result; but those buoyant water-casks were not to be “drowned” in such a fashion and soon “bobbed” back to the surface, once more bringing the Catamaran and her crew above water.

It was fortunate for them that Ben Brace and Snowball had not trusted too much to fate while constructing their abnormal craft. The experienced sailor had foreseen the difficulties that on this day beset them; and, instead of making a mere temporary embarkation, to suit the conditions of the summer sea that then surrounded them, he had spared no pains to render it seaworthy as far as circumstances would allow. He and Snowball had used their united strength in drawing tight the cords with which the timbers were bound together, – as well as those that lashed them to the casks, – and their united skill in disposing the rude materials in a proper manner.

Even after “launching” the Catamaran, – every day, almost every hour, had they been doing something to improve her, – either by giving the craft greater strength and compactness, or in some other way rendering her more worthy both of the sea and her sailors.

By this providential industry they were now profiting: since by it, and it alone, were they enabled to “ride out” the gale.

Had they trusted to chance and given way to indolence, – all the more natural under the very hopelessness of their situation, – they would never have outlived that day. The Catamaran might not have gone to the bottom, but she would have gone to pieces; and it is not likely that any of her crew would have survived the catastrophe.

As it was, both raft and crew weathered the gale in safety. Before sunset the wind had fallen to a gentle zephyr; the tropical sea was gradually returning to its normal state of comparative calm; and the Catamaran, with her broad sail once more spread to the breeze, was scudding on, – guided in her course by the golden luminary slowly descending towards the western edge of a cloudless heaven.

Chapter Eighty Nine.

A Startling Shriek

The night proved pleasanter than the day. The wind was no longer an enemy; and the breeze that succeeded was more advantageous than would have been a dead calm; since it steadied the craft amidst the rolling of the swell.

Before midnight the swell itself had subsided. It had never reached any great height, as the gale had been of short continuance; and for the same reason it had suddenly gone down again.

With the return of smooth water they were able to betake themselves to rest. They needed it, after such a series of fatigues and fears; and having swallowed a few morsels of their unpalatable food, and washed it down by a cup of diluted Canary, they all went to rest.

Neither the wet planking on which they were compelled to encouch themselves, nor the sea-soaked garments clinging round their bodies, hindered them from obtaining sleep.

In a colder clime their condition would have been sufficiently comfortless; but in the ocean atmosphere of the torrid zone the night hours are warm enough to render “wet sheets” not only endurable, but at times even pleasant.

I have said that all of them went to sleep. It was not their usual custom to do so. On other nights one was always upon the watch, – either the captain himself, the ex-cook, or the boy. Of course Lilly Lalee enjoyed immunity from this kind of duty: since she was not, properly speaking, one of the “crew,” but only a “passenger.”

Their customary night-watch had a twofold object: to hold the Catamaran to her course, and to keep a lookout over the sea, – the latter having reference to the chance if seeing a sail.

On this particular night their vigil, – had it been kept, – might have had a threefold purpose: for it is not to be forgotten that they were still not so very far from their late pursuers. They too must have been making way with the wind.

Neither had the Catamarans forgotten it; but even with this thought before their minds, they were unable to resist the fascinations of Morpheus; and leaving the craft to take her own course, the ships, if there were any, to sail silently by, and the big raft, if chance so directed it, to overtake them, they yielded themselves to unconscious slumber.

Simultaneously were they awakened, and by a sound that might have awakened the dead. It was a shriek that came pealing over the surface of the ocean, – as unearthly in its intonation as if only the ocean itself could have produced it! It was short, sharp, quick, and clear; and so loud as to startle even Snowball from his torpidity.

The Coromantee was the first to inquire into its character.

“Wha’ de debbil am dat?” he asked, rubbing his ears to make sure that he was not labouring under a delusion.

“Shiver my timbers if I can tell!” rejoined the sailor, equally puzzled by what he had heard.

“Dat soun’ berry like da voice o’ some un go drown, – berry like. Wha’ say you, Massa Brace?”

“It was a good bit like the voice of a man cut in two by a shark. That’s what it minded me of.”

“By golly! you speak de troof. It wa jess like that, – jess like the lass s’riek ob Massa Grow.”

“And yet,” continued the sailor, after a moment’s reflection, “’t warn’t like that neyther. ’T warn’t human, nohow: leastwise, I niver heerd such come out o’ a human throat.”

“A don’t blieb de big raff can be near. We hab been runnin’ down de wind ebba since you knock off dat boat-hook. We got de start o’ de Pandoras; an’ dar’s no mistake but we hab kep de distance. Dat s’riek no come from dem.”

“Look yonder!” cried little William, interrupting the dialogue. “I see something.”

“Whereaway? What like be it?” inquired the sailor.

“Yonder!” answered the lad, pointing over the starboard bow of the Catamaran; “about three cables’ length out in the water. It’s a black lump; it looks like a boat.”

“A boat! Shiver my timbers if thee bean’t right, lad. I see it now. It do look somethin’ as you say. But what ul a boat be doin’ here, – out in the middle o’ the Atlantic?”

“Dat am a boat,” interposed Snowball. “Fo’ sartin it am.”

“It must be,” said the sailor, after more carefully scrutinising it. “It is! I see its shape better now. There’s some un in it. I see only one; ah, he be standin’ up in the middle o’ it, like a mast. It be a man though; an’ I dare say the same as gi’ed that shout, if he be a human; though, sartin, there warn’t much human in it.”

As if to confirm the sailor’s last assertion, the shriek was repeated, precisely as it had been uttered before; though now, entering ears that were awake, it produced a somewhat different impression.

The voice was evidently that of a man. Even under the circumstances, it could be nothing else, but of a man who had taken leave of his senses. It was the wild cry of a maniac!

The crew of the Catamaran might have continued in doubt as to this had they been treated only to a repetition of the shriek; but this was followed by a series of speeches, – incoherent, it is true, but spoken in an intelligible tongue, and ending in a peal of laughter such as might be heard echoing along the corridors of a lunatic asylum!

One and all of them stood looking and listening.

It was a moonless night, and had been a dark one; but it was now close upon morning. Already had the aurora tinged the horizon with roseate hues. The grey light of dawn was beginning to scatter its soft rays over the surface of the ocean; and objects – had there been any – could be distinguished at a considerable distance.

Certainly there was an object, – a thing of boat-shape, with a human form standing near its middle. It was a boat, a man in it; and, from the exclamation and laughter to which they had listened, there could be no doubt about the man being mad.

Mad or sane, why should they shun him? There were two strong men on the raft, who need not fear to encounter a lunatic under any circumstances, – even in the midst of the ocean. Nor did they fear it; for as soon as they became fully convinced that they saw a boat with a man in it, they “ported” the helm of the Catamaran, and stood directly towards it.

Less than ten minutes’ sailing in the altered course brought them within fair view of the object that had caused them to deviate; and, after scrutinising it, less than ten seconds enabled them to satisfy their minds as to the strange craft and its yet stranger occupant.

They saw before them the “gig” of the slaver; and, standing “midships” in the boat, – just half-way between stem and stern, – they saw the captain of that ill-starred, ill-fated vessel!

Chapter Ninety.

A Madman in mid-Ocean

In the minds of the Catamaran’s crew there was no longer any cause for conjecture. The boat-shaped object on the water, and the human form standing up within it, were mysteries no more; nor was there any when that boat and that human being were identified.

If in the spectacle there was aught still to puzzle them, it was the seeing only one man in the boat instead of six.

There should have been six; since that was the number that the gig had originally carried away from the burning bark, – five others besides the one now seen, – and who, notwithstanding a great change in his appearance, was still recognisable as the slaver’s captain.

Where were the missing men, – the mates, the carpenter and two common sailors, who had escaped along with him? Were they in the boat, lying down, and so concealed from the view of those upon the Catamaran? Or had they succumbed to some fearful fate, leaving only that solitary survivor?

The gig sat high in the water. Those upon the Catamaran could not see over its gunwale unless by approaching nearer, and this they hesitated to do.

Indeed, on identifying the boat and the individual standing in it, they had suddenly hauled down the sail and were lying to, using their oar to keep them from drifting any nearer.

They had done so from an instinctive apprehension. They knew that the men who had gone off in the gig were not a whit better than those upon the big raft; for the officers of the slaver, in point of ruffianism, were upon a par with their crew. With this knowledge, it was a question for consideration whether the Catamarans would be safe in approaching the boat. If the six were still in it, and out of food and water, like those on the large raft, they would undoubtedly despoil the Catamaran, just as the others had designed doing. From such as they no mercy need be expected; and as it was not likely any succour could be obtained from them, it would, perhaps, be better, in every way, to “give them a wide berth.”