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

Chapter Seventy Three.
Hate against Hate

The combatants did not close on the instant. The sharp blades shining in their hands rendered them shy of a too near approach, and for some time they kept apart. They did not, however, remain motionless or inactive. On the contrary, both were on the alert, – moving in short curves from one side to the other, and all the while keeping vis-à-vis.

At irregular intervals one of them would make a feint to attack; or by feigning a retreat endeavour to get the other off guard; but, after several such passes and counter-passes had been delivered between them, still not a scratch had been given, – not a drop of blood drawn.

The spectators looked on with a curious interest. Some showed not the slightest emotion, – as if they cared not who should be the victor, or which the victim. To most it mattered but little if both should fall; and there were even some upon the raft who, for certain secret reasons, would have preferred such a termination to the sanguinary struggle.

A few there were slightly affected with feelings of partisanship. These doubtless felt a deeper interest in the result, at least they were more demonstrative of it; and by words of exhortation and cries of encouragement endeavoured to give support to their respective champions.

There were spectators of a different kind, that appeared to take as much interest in the fearful affair as any of those already described. These were the sharks! Looking at them, as they swam around the raft, – their eyes glaring upon those who occupied it, – one could not have helped thinking that they comprehended what was going on, – that they were conscious of a deed of violence about to be enacted, – and were waiting for some contingency that might turn up in their favour!

Whatever the crisis was to be, neither the spectators in the sea, nor those upon it, would have long to wait for the crisis. Two men, mutually enraged, standing in front of each other, armed with naked knives; each desperately desirous of killing the other, – with no one to keep them apart, but a score of spectators to encourage them in their intent of reciprocal destruction, – were not likely to be long in coming to the end of the affair. It was not a question of swords, where skilful fencing may protract a combat to an indefinite period of time; nor of pistols, where unskilful shooting may equally retard the result. The combatants knew that, on closing within arms’ length, one or other must receive a wound that might in a moment prove mortal.

It was this thought that – for some minutes after their squaring up to each other – had influenced them to keep at a wary distance.

The cries of their companions began to assume an altered tone. Mingled with shouts of exhortation could be heard taunts and jeers, – several voices proclaiming that the “two bullies were afraid of each other.”

“Go in, Le Gros! give him the knife!” cried the partisans of the Frenchman.

“Come, Larry! lay on to him!” shouted the backers of his antagonist.

“Bear a hand, both of you! go it like men!” vociferated the voice of some one, who did not seem particularly affected to the side of either.

These off-hand counsels, spoken in a varied vocabulary of tongues, seemed to produce the desired effect. As the last of them pealed over the heads of the spectators, the combatants rushed towards each other, – as they closed inflicting a mutual stab. But the blade of each was met by the left arm of his antagonist, thrown out to ward off the strokes and they separated again without either having received further injury than a flesh wound, that in no way disabled them. It appeared, however, to produce an irritation, which rendered both of them less careful of consequences: for in an instant after they closed again, – the spectators accompanying their collision with shouts of encouragement.

All were now looking for a quick termination to the affair; but in this they were disappointed. After several random thrusts had been given on both sides, the combatants again became separated without either having received any serious injury. The wild rage which blinded both, rendering their blows uncertain, – combined with the weakness of their bodies from long starvation, – may account for their thus separating for the second time, without either having received a mortal wound.

Equally innocuous proved the third encounter, – though differing in character from either of those that preceded it. As they came together, each grasped the right arm of his antagonist, – that which wielded the weapon, – in his left hand; and firmly holding one another by the wrists, they continued the strife. In this way it was no longer a contest of skill, but of strength. Nor was it at all dangerous, as long as the “grip” held good; since neither could use his knife. Either could have let go with his left hand at any moment; but by so doing he would release the armed hand of his antagonist, and thus place himself in imminent peril.

Both were conscious of the danger; and, instead of separating, they continued to preserve the reciprocal “clutch” that had been established between them.

For some minutes they struggled in this strange fashion, – the intention of each being to throw the other upon the raft. That done, he who should be uppermost would obtain a decided advantage.

They twisted, and turned, and wriggled their bodies about; but both still managed to keep upon their feet.

The contest was not carried on in any particular spot, but all over the raft; up against the mast, around the empty casks, among the osseous relics of humanity, – the strewed bones rattling against their feet as they trod over them. The spectators made way as they came nearer, nimbly leaping from side to side; while the stage upon which this fearful drama was being enacted, – despite the ballast of its water-logged beams, and the buoyancy of its empty casks, – was kept in a continual commotion.

It soon became evident that Le Gros was likely to get the worst of it, in this trial of strength. The muscular power of the Frenchman was inferior to that of his island antagonist; and had it been a mere contest of toughness, the former would have been defeated.

In craft, however, Le Gros was the Irishman’s superior: and at this crisis stratagem came to his aid.

In turning about, the Frenchman had got his head close to the sleeve of O’Gorman’s jacket, – that one which encircled his right wrist, and touched the hand holding the dangerous knife. Suddenly craning his neck to its fullest stretch, he seized the sleeve between his teeth, and held it with all the strength of his powerful jaws. Quick as thought, his left hand glided towards his own right; his knife was transferred to it; and the next moment gleamed beneath, threatening to penetrate the bosom of his antagonist.

O’Gorman’s fate appeared to be sealed. With both arms pinioned, what chance had he to avoid the blow? The spectators, silent and breathless, looked for it as a certain thing. There was scarce time for them to utter an exclamation, before they were again subjected to surprise at seeing the Irishman escape from his perilous position.

Fortunate it was for him, that the cloth of his pea-jacket was not of the best quality. It had never been, even when new; and now, after long-continued and ill-usage, it was almost rotten. For this reason, by a desperate wrench, he was enabled to release his arm from the dental grip which his antagonist had taken upon it, – leaving only a rag between the Frenchman’s teeth.

The circumstances had suddenly changed! the advantage being now on the side of the Irishman. Not only was his right arm free again; but with the other he still retained his hold upon that of his antagonist. Le Gros could only use his weapon with the left arm; which placed him at a disadvantage.

The shouts that had gone up to hail the Frenchman’s success – so late appearing certain – had become suddenly hushed; and once more the contest proceeded in silence.

It lasted but a few seconds longer; and then was it terminated in a manner unexpected by all.

Beyond doubt, O’Gorman would have been the victor, had it ended as every one was anticipating it would, – in the death of one or other of the combatants. As it chanced, however, neither succumbed in that sanguinary strife. Both were preserved for a fate equally fearful: one, indeed, for a death ten times more terrible.

As I have said, the circumstances had turned in favour of the Irishman. He knew it; and was not slow to avail himself of the advantage.

Still retaining his grasp of Le Gros’s right wrist, he plied his own dexter arm with a vigour that promised soon to settle the affair; while the left arm of the Frenchman could offer only a feeble resistance, either by thrusting or parrying.

Their knife-blades came frequently in collision; and for a few passes neither appeared to give or receive a wound. This innocuous sparring, however, was of short continuance and ended by the Irishman making a dexterous stroke, by which his blade was planted in the hand of his antagonist, – transfixing the very fingers which were grasping the knife!

The weapon fell from his relaxed clutch; and passing through the interstices of the timber, sank to the bottom of the sea! A scream of despair escaped from the lips of the Frenchman, as he saw the blade of his antagonist about to be thrust into his body!

The thrust was threatened, but not made. Before it could be given, a hand interfered to prevent it. One of the spectators had seized the uplifted arm of the Irishman, – at the same time vociferating, in a stentorian voice —

“Don’t kill him! we won’t need to eat him! Look yonder! We’re saved! we’re saved!”

Chapter Seventy Four.
A Light!

The man who had so unexpectedly interrupted the deadly duello, while giving utterance to his strange speech, kept one of his arms extended towards the ocean, – as if pointing to something he had descried above the horizon.

The eyes of all were suddenly turned in the direction thus indicated. The magic words, “We are saved!” had an immediate effect, – not only upon the spectators of the tragedy thus intruded upon, but upon its actors. Even rancour became appeased by the sweet sound; and that of the Irishman, as with most of his countrymen, being born “as the flint bears fire,” subsided on the instant.

He permitted his upraised arm to be held in restraint; it became relaxed, as did also his grasp on the wrist of his antagonist; while the latter, finding himself free, was allowed to retire from the contest.

O’Gorman, among the rest, had faced round; and stood looking in the direction where somebody had seen something that promised salvation of all.

“What is it?” inquired several voices in the same breath, – “the land?”

No: it could not be that. There was not one of them such a nautical ignoramus as to believe himself within sigh of land.

“A sail? – a ship?”

That was more likely: though, at the first glance, neither tail nor ship appeared upon the horizon, “What is it?” was the interrogatory reiterated by a dozen voices.

“A light! Don’t you see it?” asked the lynx-eyed individual, whose interference in the combat had caused this sudden departure from the programme. “Look!” he continued; “just where the sun’s gone down yonder. It’s only a speck; but I can see it plain enough. It must be the light from a ship’s binnacle!”

“Carrajo!” exclaimed a Spaniard; “it’s only a spark the sun’s left behind him. It’s the ignis fatuus you’ve seen, amigo!”

“Bah!” added another; “supposing it is a binnacle-lamp, as you say, what would be the use, except to tantalise us. If it be in the binnacle, in course the ship as carries it must be stern towards us. What chance would there be of our overhaulin’ her?”

“Par Dieu! there be von light!” cried a sharp-eyed little Frenchman. “Pe Gar! I him see. Ver true, vraiment! An – pe dam! – zat same est no lamp in ze binnacle!”

“I see it too!” cried another.

“And I!” added a third.

“Io tambien!” (I also) echoed a fourth, whose tongue proclaimed him of Spanish nativity.

“Ich sehe!” drawled out a native of the German Confederacy; and then followed a volley of voices, – each saying something to confirm the belief that a light was really gleaming over the ocean.

This was a fact that nobody – not even the first objectors – any longer doubted.

It is true that the light seen appeared only a mere sparkle, feebly glimmering against the sky, and might have been mistaken for a star. But it was just in that part of the heavens where a star could not at that time have been seen, – on the western horizon, still slightly reddened by the rays of the declining sun.

The men who speculated upon its appearance, – rude as they were in a moral sense, – were not so intellectually stupid as to mistake for a star that speck of yellowish hue, struggling to reveal itself against the almost kindred colour of the occidental sky.

“It isn’t a star, – that’s certain,” confidently declared one of their number; “and if it be a light aboard ship, it’s no binnacle-lamp, I say. Bah! who’d call that a binnacle glim, or a lamp of any kind? If’t be a ship’s light at all, it’s the glare o’ the galley-fire, – where the cook’s makin’ coffee for all hands.”

The superb picture of comfort thus called forth was too much for the temper of the starving men, to whom the idea was addressed; and a wild cry of exultation responded to the speech.

A galley; a galley-fire; a cook; coffee for all hands; lobscouse; plum-duff; sea-pies; even the much-despised pea-soup and salt junk, had been long looked upon as things belonging to another world, – pleasures of the past, never more to be indulged in!

Now that the gleam of a galley-fire – as they believed the light to be – rose up before their eyes, the spirits of all became suddenly electrified by the wildest imaginings; and the contest so lately carried on, – as well as the combatants engaged in it, – was instantaneously forgotten; while the thoughts, and eager glances, of every individual on the raft were now directed towards that all-absorbing speck, – still gleaming but obscurely against the reddish background of the sun-stained horizon.

As they continued to gaze, the tiny spark seemed to increase, not only in size, but intensity; and, before many minutes had elapsed, it proclaimed itself no longer a mere spark, but a blaze of light, with its own luminous halo around it. The gradual chastening of colour in the western sky, along with the increased darkness of the atmosphere around it, would account for this change in the appearance of the light. So reasoned the spectators, – now more than ever convinced that what they saw was the glare of a galley-fire.

Chapter Seventy Five.
Towards the Beacon!

As soon as they were satisfied that the bright spark upon the horizon was a burning light, every individual on the raft became inspired with the same impulse, – to make for the spot where the object appeared. Whether in the galley or not, – and whether the glow of a fire or the gleam of a lamp, – it must be on board a ship. There was no land in that part of the ocean; and a light could not be burning upon the water, without something in the shape of a ship to carry it.

That it was a ship, no one for a moment doubted. So sure were they, that several of the men, on the moment of making it out, had vociferated, at the top of their voices, “Ship ahoy!”

The voices of none of them were particularly strong just then. They were weak, in proportion to their attenuated frames; but had they been ten times as strong as they were, they could not have been heard at such a distance as that light was separated from the raft.

It was not less than twenty miles from them. In the excited state of their senses, – arising from thirst, starvation, and all the wild emotions which the discovery itself had roused within them, – they had formed a delusive idea of the distance; many of them fancying that the light was quite near!

There were some among them who reasoned more rationally. These, instead of wasting their strength in idle shouting, employed their time in impressing upon the others the necessity of making some exertion to approach the light.

Some thought that much exertion would not be required; as the light appeared to be approaching them. And, in truth, it did appear so; but the wiser ones knew that this might be only an optical illusion, – caused by the sea and sky each moment assuming a more sombre hue.

These last – both with voice and by their example – urged their companions to use every effort towards coming up with what they were sure must be a ship.

“Let us meet her,” they said, “if she’s standing this way; if not, we must do all we can to overtake her.”

It needed no persuasion to put the most slothful of the crew upon their mettle. A new hope of life, – an unexpected prospect of being rescued from what most of them had been contemplating as almost certain death, – inspired all to the utmost effort; and with an alacrity they had never before exhibited in their raft navigation, – and a unanimity of late unknown to them, – they went to work to propel their clumsy craft across the ocean.

Some sprang to the oars, while others assisted at the sail. For days the latter had received no attention; but had been permitted to hang loosely from the mast, – flopping about in whatever way the breeze chanced to blow it. They had entertained no idea of what course they ought to steer in; or if they did think of a direction, they had not sufficient decision to follow it. For days they had been drifting about over the surface of the sea, at the discretion of the currents.

Now the sail was reset, with all the trimness that circumstances would admit of. The sheets were drawn home and made fast; and the mast was stayed taut, so as to hinder it from slanting.

As the object upon which they were directing their course was not exactly to leeward, it was necessary to manage the sail with the wind slightly abeam; and for this purpose two men were appointed to the rudder, – which consisted of a broad plank, poised on its edge and hitched to the stern timbers of the raft. By means of this rude rudder, they were enabled to keep the raft “head on” towards the light.

The rowers were seated along both sides. Nearly every individual of the crew, who was not occupied at the sail or steering-board, was employed in propelling. A few only were provided with oars; others wielded handspikes, capstan-bars, or pieces of split plank, – in short, anything that would assist in the “pulling,” if only to the value of a pound.

It was, – or, at all events, they thought it was, – a life and death struggle. They were sure that a ship was near them. By reaching her they would be saved; by failing to do so they would be doomed. Another day without food would bring death, at least to one of them; another day without water would bring worse than death to almost every man of them.

Their unanimous action, assisted by the broad sail, caused the craft, cumbersome as it was, to make considerable way through the water, – though by far too slow to satisfy their wishes. At times they kept silent; at times their voices could be heard mingled with the plunging of the oars; and too often only in profane speech.

They cursed the craft upon which they were carried, – its clumsiness, – the slowness with which they were making way towards the ship, – the ship itself, for not making way towards them: for, as they continued on, those who formerly believed that the light was approaching them, no longer held to that faith. On the contrary, after rowing nearly an hour, all were too ready to agree in the belief that the ship was wearing away.

Not an instant passed, without the eyes of some one being directed towards the light. The rowers, whose backs were turned upon it, kept occasionally twisting their necks around, and looking over their shoulders, – only to resume their proper attitudes with countenances that expressed disappointment.

There were not wanting voices to speak discouragement. Some declared that the light was growing less; that the ship was in full sail, going away from them; and that there would not be the slightest chance of their coming up with her.

These were men who began to feel fatigued at the oar.

There were even some who professed to doubt the existence of a ship, or a ship’s light. What they saw was only a bright spot upon the ocean, – some luminous object – perhaps the carcass of some phosphorous fish, or “squid,” floating upon the surface. They had many of them seen such things; and the conjecture was not offered to incredulous ears.

These surmises produced discontent, – which in time would have exhibited itself in the gradual dropping of the oars, but for a circumstance which brought this climax about, in a more sudden and simultaneous manner, – the extinction of the light.

It went out while the eyes of several were fixed upon it; not by any gradual disappearance, – as a waning star might have passed out of sight, – but with a quick “fluff;” – so one of the spectators described it, – likening its extinction to “a tub of salt-water thrown over the galley-fire.”

On the instant of its disappearance, the oars were abandoned, – as also the rudder. It would have been idle to attempt steering any longer. There was neither moon nor stars in the sky. The light was the only thing that had been guiding them; and that gone, they had not the slightest clue as to their course. The breeze was buffeting about in every direction; but, even had it been blowing steadily, every one of them knew how uncertain it would be to trust to its guidance, – especially with such a sail, and such a steering apparatus.

Already half convinced that they had been following an ignis fatuus, – and half resolved to give over the pursuit, – it needed only what had occurred to cause a complete abandonment of their nocturnal navigation.

Once more giving way to despair, – expressed in wild wicked words, – they left the sail to itself, and the winds to waft them to whatever spot of the ocean fate had designed for the closing scene of their wretched existence.