Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn

“Never!” exclaimed Billy, whose sudden fall of countenance belied the word.

Gaff shook his head.

“I’m not so sure o’ that,” said he; “if she’s a whaler like the one we came south in, lad, she’ll not trouble herself with us.”

Billy looked very grave, and his heart sank.

“My only consolation is that she looks more like a man-o’-war than a whaler.”

“I wish we had a big gun to fire,” exclaimed Billy, looking round in perplexity, as if he half hoped that a carronade would spring up out of the ground. “Could we not make a row somehow?”

“I fear not,” said Gaff despondingly. “Shoutin’ is of no use. She’s too far-off for that. Our only chance is the flag.”

Both father and son stood silent for some moments earnestly gazing at the ship, which was by this time nearly opposite to their flagstaff, and seemed to be passing by without recognising the signal. This was not to be wondered at, for, although the flag was visible enough from landward, being well defined against the bright sky, it was scarce perceptible from seaward, owing to the hills which formed a background to it.

“I know what’ll do it!” exclaimed Billy, as he leaped suddenly to one side. “Come along, daddy.”

A few yards to one side of the spot on which the flagstaff was reared there was a part of the precipice which sloped with a steep descent into the sea. Here there had been a landslip, and the entire face of the cliff was laid bare. At the top of this slope there was a great collection of stones and masses of rock of considerable size. At various points, too, down the face of the steep, masses of rock and débris had collected in hollows.

Billy now went to work to roll big stones over the edge of this cliff, and he did it with such good-will that in a few minutes masses of a hundred weight were rolling, bounding, and crashing down the steep. These, in many cases, plunged into the collections of débris, and dislodged masses of rock that no efforts of which Billy was capable could have otherwise moved.

The rattling roar of the avalanche was far more effective than a salvo of artillery, because, besides being tremendous, it was unceasing, and the result was that the vessel ran up a flag in reply to the strange salute. Then a white puff of smoke from her side preceded the roar of a heavy gun. Immediately after, the vessel’s head came round, and she lay-to.

“It’s a man-o’-war,” cried Billy excitedly.

“Ay, and a British one too,” exclaimed Gaff; “let’s give him a cheer, lad.”

Billy complied with a will! Again and again did they raise their strong voices until the woods and cliffs became alive with full, true, ringing British cheers!

Chapter Thirty One.

Delivered, Wrecked, and Rescued

It is unnecessary, indeed impossible, to describe the feelings with which Gaff and Billy descended from Signal Cliff to the beach to meet the boat which put off from the man-of-war and made for the little creek just below the cave.

As the boat’s keel grated on the sand, the midshipman in command leaped ashore. He was a particularly small and pert midshipman, a smart conceited vigorous little fellow, who delighted to order his big men about in the voice of a giant; and it was quite interesting to observe how quietly and meekly those big men obeyed him, just as one sometimes sees a huge Newfoundland dog or mastiff obey the orders of a child.

“Why, where on earth did you come from, and what are you doing here?” demanded the little middy, as he approached Gaff, and looked up in that man’s rugged and unshorn countenance.

Poor Gaff could scarce command himself sufficiently to reply—

“We’re Englishmen—bin cast away—five years now—”

He could go no farther, but, seizing the boy’s hand, shook it warmly. The Bu’ster, being equally incapable of speaking, seized the hand of the sailor next him, and also shook it violently. Then he uttered a cheer, and turning suddenly round ran along the beach for half a mile like a greyhound, after which he returned and asserted that his feelings were somewhat relieved!

Meanwhile the middy continued to question Gaff.

“What! d’ye mean to say you’ve been five years here—all alone?”

“Ay, all but a few days,” said Gaff, looking round on the men with a bewildered air. “How strange yer voices sound! Seems as if I’d a’most forgotten what men are like!”

“Well, you are a queer fish,” said the boy with a laugh. “Are there no more here but you two?”

“No more; just Billy and me—also Squeaky and Shrieky.”

Gaff said this quite gravely, for nothing was farther from his thoughts at that time than jesting.

“And pray, who may Squeaky and Shrieky be?”

“Squeaky’s a pig, and Shrieky’s a little parrot.”

“Well,” observed the middy with a laugh, “that’s better than no company at all.”

“Yours is an English man-o’-war, I think?” said Gaff.

“You’re right, old fellow; she’s the ‘Blazer,’ 74, Captain Evans, bound for England. Took a run farther south than usual after a piratical-looking craft, but missed her. Gave up the chase, and came to this island to get water. Little thought we should find you on it. Astonish the captain rather when we go back. Of course you’ll want us to take you home. Will you go off with me at once?”

Gaff and Billy hesitated, and both looked back with a strange mixture of feelings at their island-home.

“Oh, we won’t hurry you,” said the boy, with a kindly and patronising air; “if there are any traps you want to pack up, we’ll wait for you. It’ll take us some time to get the breakers filled. Can you show me a good spring?”

“Ay, an’ we can show you a hot one,” cried Billy, with a smile. “But come up to the cave with us and have some grub.”

The midshipman expressed his readiness to comply, and ordered one of the men to stay and watch the boat.

“You needn’t leave any one with the boat,” said Gaff; “there’s nobody here to touch it.”

“Nevertheless I will leave a guard. Now, then show us the way.”

It is needless to describe the surprise of the sailors at everything they saw and heard; and the mixed feelings that agitated the breasts of Gaff and his son—anxiety to return to England, with regret to quit the cavern home where they had spent so many quiet and comparatively happy years.

Suffice it to say that they, and the few things they possessed, were speedily transferred to the “Blazer,” on board of which they received the most considerate attention and kindness. And you may be sure, reader, that Billy did not forget to take the pig and the parroquet along with him.

Fair winds sprang up, and for many weeks the “Blazer” bowled along steadily on her course. It seemed as if the elements had agreed to be favourable, and expedite the return of the exiles. But this state of things did not last.

Towards the end of the voyage fogs and gales prevailed, and the “Blazer” was driven considerably out of her course to the northward, insomuch that she finally made the land on the north-western coast of Scotland. This induced the captain to run through the Pentland Firth, after passing through which they were beset by calms.

One day a small steamer passed close alongside the “Blazer.”

“That’s an Aberdeen steamer,” said the captain; “would you like to be put on board, Gaff?”

Gaff said that he would, as it was probable he should reach home sooner by her than if he were to accompany the “Blazer” to London.

Accordingly the steamer was signalled, and Gaff and Billy were put on board.

Scarcely had this been done when a stiff easterly gale set in, and before morning a heavy sea was running, before which the steamer rolled heavily.

It seemed as if Gaff and his son were doomed to be drowned, for disaster by sea followed them wherever they went. At last, however, the morning broke bright and clear, and the wind abated, though the sea was still running very high.