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

Chapter Eighty.
Suspicious Sounds

The ex-cook, in the lead of those who ascended to the summit of the carcass, had some difficulty in finding his kitchen; but, after groping some time over the glutinous epidermis of the animal, he at length laid his claws upon the edge of the cavity.

The others joined him just as he had succeeded in inserting a bit of fresh wick; and soon after a strong flame was established, and a fresh spitful of shark-steaks hung frizzling over it.

Nothing more could be done than wait until the meat should be done. There was no “basting” required, – only an occasional turning of the steaks and a slight transposition of them on the harpoon spit, – so that each should have due exposure to the flame.

These little culinary operations needed only occasional attention on the part of the cook. Snowball, who preferred the sedentary pose, as soon as he saw his “range” in full operation, squatted down beside it. His companions remained standing.

Scarcely five minutes had passed, when the negro was seen to make a start as if some one had given him a kick in the shin. Simultaneously with that start the exclamation “Golly!” escaped from his lips.

“What be the matter, Snowy?” interrogated Brace.

“Hush! Hab ye no hear nuffin’?”

“No,” answered the sailor, – little William chiming in with the negative.

“I hab den, – I hab hear someting.”

“What?”

“Dat I doan know.”

“It’s the frizzlin’ o’ those shark-steaks; or, maybe, some sea-bird squeaking up in the air.”

“No, neyder one nor todder. Hush! Massa Brace, I hab hear some soun’ ’tirely diffrent, – somethin’ like de voice ob human man. You obsarb silence. Maybe we hear im agen.”

Snowball’s companions, though inclined to incredulity, obeyed his injunction. They might have treated it with less regard, had they not known the Coromantee to be gifted with a sense of hearing that was wonderfully acute. His largely-developed ears would have proved this capacity; but they knew that he possessed it, from having witnessed many exhibitions of it previous to that time. For this reason they yielded to his double solicitation, – to remain silent and listen.

At this moment, to the surprise of Ben Brace and William, and not a little to the astonishment of the negro, a tiny voice reached them from below, – which they all easily recognised as that of Lilly Lalee.

“O Snowball,” called out the girl, addressing herself to her especial protector, “I hear people speaking. It’s out upon the water. Do you not hear them?”

“Hush! Lilly Lally,” answered the negro, speaking down to his protégé in a sort of hoarse whisper; “hush, Lilly, pet; doan you ’peak above him Lilly Breff. Keep ’till, dat a good gal.”

The child, restrained by this string of cautionary appeals, offered no further remark; and Snowball, making a sign for his companions to continue silent, once more resumed his listening attitude.

Ben Brace and the boy, convinced by this additional testimony that the Coromantee must have heard something more than the frizzling of the shark-flesh, without saying a word, imitated his example, and eagerly bent their ears to listen.

They had not long to wait before becoming convinced that Snowball had heard something besides the spirting of the shark-steaks. They heard something more themselves. They heard sounds that could not be mistaken for those of the sea. They were the voices of Men!

They were still at some distance, – though, perhaps, not so distant as they seemed. The thick fog, which, as every one knows, has the effect of deadening sound, was to be taken into account; and, making allowance for this, the voices heard might not be such a great way off.

Whatever was the distance, it was constantly becoming less. The listeners could tell this, ere they had stood many minutes listening. Whoever gave utterance to those sounds – words they were – must be moving onward, – coming towards the carcass of the cachalot.

How were they coming? They could not be walking upon the water: they must be aboard a ship?

This interrogatory occurred to those who stood upon the whale. Could they have answered it in the affirmative, their own voices would soon have been uplifted in a joyous huzza; while the hail “Ship ahoy!” would have been sent through the sombre shadows of the mist, in the hope of its receiving an answer.

Why was the hail not heard? Why did the crew of the Catamaran stand listening to those voices without making challenge, and with looks that betokened apprehension rather than relief?

Six words that escaped from the lips of Ben Brace will explain the silence of himself and his companions, as well at the dissatisfied air that had impressed itself upon their faces. The six words were: —

“Dangnation! it be the big raft!”

Chapter Eighty One.
Unpleasant Conjectures

“Dangnation! it be the big raft.”

Such was the singular speech that fell from the lips of the sailor, and with an accent that proclaimed it ominous. And why ominous? Why should the presence of that embarkation – known to them as the “big raft” – cause apprehension to the crew of the Catamaran?

So far as Ben Brace and little William were concerned, the question has been already answered. It may be remembered with what feelings of alarm they first listened to the voices of Snowball and Lilly Lalee, – heard in a similar manner during the darkness of the night, – and with what suspicious caution they had made their approach to the Coromantee in the middle of his casks. It may be remembered for what reason they were thus suspicious, for it was then given, – a dread on the part of William – and a great one, too – of being devoured by that cannibal crew; and on the part of his generous protector a fear of becoming a victim to their revenge.

The same motive for their fears still existed; and their apprehension of being approached by the raft was as unabated as ever.

Snowball’s dread of the Pandora’s people might not have been so acute, but for a certain circumstance that came before his mind. He had been made aware, – by sundry ill-usage he had received from the slaver’s captain and mate, just previous to the climax of the catastrophe, – that he was himself regarded as the author of it. He knew he had been; and he supposed that the thing must have become known to the rest of the crew. He had not encountered them afterwards; and well had it been for him, – for certainly they would have wreaked their vengeance upon him without stint Snowball had sense enough to be aware of this; and therefore his aversion to any further intercourse with the castaways of the lost ship was quite as strong as that of either Ben Brace or the boy.

As for Lilly Lalee, her fears were due to a less definite cause, and only arose from observing the apprehension of her companions.

“De big raff,” said Snowball, mechanically repeating the sailor’s last words. “You b’lieve ’im be dat, Massa Brace?”

“Shiver my timbers if I know what to think, Snowy! If it be that – ”

“Ef ’im be dat, wha’ den?” inquired the Coromantee, seeing that Brace had stopped short in what he was going to say.

“Why, only that we’re in an ugly mess. There’s no reason to think they have picked up a stock o’ provisions, since we parted wi’ them. I don’t know how they’ve stuck it out, – that is, supposin’ it be them. They may have got shark-meat like ourselves; or they have lived upon – ”

The sailor suddenly suspended his speech, glancing towards William, as if what he was about to say had better not reach the ears of the lad.

Snowball, however, understood him, – as was testified by a significant shake of the head.

“As for water,” continued the sailor, “they had some left; but not enough to have lasted them to this time. They had rum, – oceans o’ that, – but it ’ud only make things worse. True, they mout a caught some o’ the rain in their shirts and tarpaulins, as we did; but they weren’t the sort to be careful o’ it wi’ a rum-cask standin’ by; an’ I dar say, by this time, though they may have some’at to eat, – as you knows, Snowy, – they’ll be dyin’ for a drop o’ drink. In that case – ”

“In dat case, dey rob us ob de whole stock we hab save. Den we perish fo’ sartin.”

“Sure o’ that, at least,” continued the sailor. “But they wouldn’t stop by robbin’ us o’ our precious water. They’d take everything; an’ most likely our lives into the bargain. Let us hope it ain’t them we’ve heard.”

“Wha’ you say, Master Brace? ’Pose ’um be de capten an’ dem odders in de gig? Wha’ you tink?”

“It mout,” answered the sailor. “I warn’t thinkin’ o’ them. It mout be; an’ if so, we han’t so much to fear as from t’ other ’uns. They arn’t so hard up, I should say; or even if they be, there arn’t so many o’ ’em to bully us. There were only five or six o’ them. I should be good for any three o’ that lot myself; an’ I reckon you an’ Will’m here could stan’ a tussle wi’ the others. Ah! I wish it war them. But it arn’t likely: they had a good boat an’ a compass in it; and if they’ve made any use o’ their oars, they ought to be far from here long afore this. You’ve got the best ears, nigger: keep them well set, an’ listen. You know the voices o’ the ole Pan’s crew. See if you can make ’em out.”

During the above dialogue, which had been carried on in an undertone, – a whisper, in fact, – the mysterious voices had not been again distinguished. When first heard, they appeared to proceed from two or more men engaged in conversation; and, as we have said, were only very indistinct, – either from the speakers being at a distance or talking in a low tone of voice.

The Catamarans now listened, expecting to hear some words pronounced in a louder tone; and yet not wishing to hear them. Rather would they that those voices should never again sound in their ears.

For a time it seemed us if they were going to have this wish gratified. Full ten minutes elapsed, and no sound reached their ears, either of human or other voice.

This silence was at first satisfactory; but all at once a reflection came across the mind of Ben Brace, which gave a new turn to his thoughts and wishes.

What if the voices heard had come from a different sort of men? Why should they be those of the slaver’s castaway crew, – either the ruffians on the raft or the captain’s party in the gig? What, after all, if they had proceeded from the decks of the whaler?

The old whalesman had not thought of this before; and, now that he did think of it, it caused such a commotion in his mind, that he could hardly restrain himself from crying out “Ship ahoy!”

He was hindered, however, by a quick reflection that counselled him to caution. In case of its not being the whaler’s men that had been heard it must be those of the slaver; and the hail would but too certainly be the precursor to his own destruction, as well as that of his companions.

In a whisper he communicated his thoughts to Snowball, who became equally affected by them, – equally inclined to cry “Ship ahoy!” and alike conscious of the danger of doing so.

A strife of thought was now carried on in the bosoms of both. It was lamentable to reflect, that they might be close to a ship, – within hailing distance of her, – which could at once have rescued them from all the perils that surrounded them; and that this ship might be silently gliding past, shrouded from their sight under that thick fog, – in another hour to be far off upon the ocean, never to come within hailing distance again!

A single word – a shout – might save them; and yet they dared not utter it; for the same shout might equally betray, and lead to their destruction.

They were strongly tempted to risk the ambiguous signal. For some seconds they stood wavering between silence and “Ship ahoy!” but caution counselled the former, and prudence at length triumphed.

This course was not adopted accidentally. A process of reasoning that passed through the mind of the old whalesman, – founded upon his former professional experiences, – conducted him to it.

If it be the whale-ship, reasoned he, she must have come back in search of the cachalot. Her crew must have known that they had killed it. The “drogues” and flag proved that belief on their part, and the ex-whalesman knew that it would be well worth their while to return in search of the whale. It was this very knowledge that had sustained his hopes, and delayed him so long by its carcass. A whale, which would have yielded nearly a hundred barrels of spermaceti, was a prize not to be picked up every day in the middle of the ocean; and he knew that such a treasure would not be abandoned without considerable search having first been made to recover it.

All this was in favour of the probability that the voices heard had proceeded from the whale-ship; and if so, it was farther probable that in the midst of that fog, while bent upon such an errand, the crew would not care to make way; but, on the contrary, would “lay to,” and wait for the clearing of the atmosphere.

In that case the Catamarans might still expect to see the welcome ship when the fog should rise; and with this hope they came to the determination to keep silence.

The hour was still very early, – the sun scarce yet above the horizon. When that luminary should appear, his powerful rays would soon dissipate the darkness; and then, if not before, would they ascertain whether those voices had proceeded from the throats of monsters or of men.

Chapter Eighty Two.
An informal Inquest

They did not have to stay for the scattering of the fog. Long before the sun had lifted that veil from off the face of the sea, the crew of the Catamaran had discovered the character of their neighbours. They were not friends, but dire enemies, – the very enemies they so much dreaded.

The discovery was not delayed. It was made soon after, and in the following manner: —

The three – Snowball, the sailor, and little William – had kept their place on the carcass of the cachalot, all three attentively listening, – the two last standing up, and the former in a reclining attitude, with his huge ear laid close to the skin of the whale, – as though he believed that to be a conductor of sound. There was no need for them to have been thus straining their ears: for when a sound reached them at length, it was that of a voice, – so harsh and loud, that a deaf man might almost have heard it.

“Sacré!” exclaimed the voice, apparently pronounced in an accent of surprise, “look here, comrades! Here’s a dead man among us!”

Had it been the demon of the mist that gave utterance to these speeches, they could not have produced a more fearful effect upon those who heard them from the back of the cachalot. The accent, along with that profane shibboleth, might have proceeded from anyone who spoke the language of France; but the tone of the voice could not be mistaken. It had too often rung in their ears with a disagreeable emphasis. “Massa Le Grow, dat am,” muttered the negro. “Anybody tell dat.”

Snowball’s companions made no reply. None was required. Other voices rose up out of the mist.

“A dead man!” shouted a second. “Sure enough. Who is it?”

“It’s the Irishman!” proclaimed a third. “See! He’s been killed! There’s a knife sticking between his ribs! He’s been murdered!”

“That’s his own knife,” suggested some one. “I know it; because it once belonged to me. If you look you’ll find his name on the haft. He graved it there the very day he bought it from me.”

There was an interval of silence, as if they had paused to confirm the suggestion of the last speaker.

“You’re right,” said one, resuming the informal inquest. “There’s his name, sure enough, —Larry O’Gorman.”

“He’s killed himself!” suggested a voice not hitherto heard. “He’s committed suicide!”

“I don’t wonder at his doing so,” said another, confirmingly. “He expected to have to die anyhow; and I suppose he thought the sooner it was off his mind the better it would be for him.”

“How’s that?” inquired a fresh speaker, who appeared to dissent from the opinions of those that had preceded him. “Why should he expect to die any more than the rest of us?”

“You forget, mate, that the fight was not finished between him and Monsieur Le Gros?”

“No, I don’t forget it. Well?”

“Well, yourself!”

“It don’t follow he was to be the next to die, – not as I can see. Look at this, comrades! There’s been foul play here! The Irishman’s been stabbed with his own knife. That’s plain enough; but it is not so sure he did it himself, Why should he? I say again, there’s been foul play?”

“And who do you accuse of foul play?”

“I don’t accuse anyone. Let them bring the charge, as have seen something. Somebody must know how this came about. There’s been a murder. Can anyone tell who did it?”

There was a pause of silence of more than a minute in duration. No one made answer. If anyone knew who was the murderer, they failed to proclaim it.

“Look here, mates!” put in one, whose sharp voice sounded like the cry of a hyena, “I’m hungry as a starved shark. Suppose we suspend this inquest, till we’ve had breakfast. After that we can settle who’s done the deed, – if there’s been anyone, except the man himself. What say ye all?”

The horrid proposal was not replied to by anyone. The loud shout that succeeded it sprang from a different cause; and the words that were afterwards uttered had no reference to the topic under consideration.

“A light! a light!” came the cry, vociferated by several voices.

“It’s the light we saw last night. It’s the galley-fire! There’s a ship within a hundred yards of us!”

“Ship ahoy! ship ahoy!”

“Ship ahoy! what ship’s that?”

“Why the devil don’t you answer our hail?”

“To the oars, men! to the oars. Sacré-dieu! The lubbers must be asleep. Ship ahoy! ship ahoy!”

There was no mistaking the signification of these speeches. The sailor and Snowball exchanged glances of despair. Both had already looked behind them. There, blazing fiercely up, was the fire of spermaceti, with the shark-steaks browning in its flame. In the excitement of the moment they had forgotten all about it. Its light, gleaming through the fog, had betrayed their presence to those upon the raft; and the order issued to take to the oars, with the confused plashing that quickly followed, told the Catamarans that the big raft was about to bear down upon them!

Chapter Eighty Three.
Slipping the Cable

“Dar coming on!” muttered Snowball. “Wha’ we better do, Massa Brace? Ef we stay hya dey detroy us fo’ sartin.”

“Stay here!” exclaimed the sailor, who no longer spoke in whispers, since such would no longer avail. “Anything but that. Quick, Snowy, – quick, Will’m! Back down to the deck o’ our craft. Let’s make all speed, and cast off from the karkiss o’ the whale. There be time enough yet; and then it’ll be, who’s got the heels. Don’t be so bad skeeart, Snowy. The ole Catamaran be a trim craft. I built her myself, wi’ your help, nigger; an’ I’ve got faith in her speed. We’ll outsail ’em yet.”

“Dat we will, Massa Brace,” assented Snowball, as, close following the sailor, he glided down the rope on to the deck of the Catamaran, where little William had already arrived.

It was the work of only a few minutes to cut the tiny cable by which the little embarkation had been attached to the fin of the cachalot, and push the craft clear of its moorings.

But, short as was the time, during its continuance the sun had produced a wonderful change in that oceanic panorama.

The floating fog, absorbed by his fervid rays, had almost disappeared from the deep, or at all events had become so dissipated that the different objects composing that strange tableau in the proximity of the dead cachalot could all be seen by a single coup d’oeil; and were also in sight of one another.

There was the huge carcass itself, looming like a great black rock above the surface of the sea. Just parting from its side was the little Catamaran, with its sail set, and its crew, – consisting of two men and a boy, – the little Portuguese girl appearing as a passenger, – the two men energetically bending to the oars while the boy held hold of the rudder.

Scarce a hundred yards astern was the larger embarkation, – supporting its score of dark forms, – some seated, and straining at the oars, – some steering, – others attending to the sail; and one or two standing by the head, shouting directions to the rest, – all apparently in wonder at the tableau thus suddenly disclosed, and uncertain what to make of it, or what course to pursue!

The occupants of the great raft were infinitely more astonished than those of the Catamaran. On the part of the latter there was no longer any astonishment. On recognising the voices taking part in that ceremonious inquest they had comprehended all. The surprise they had at first felt was now changed into terror.

The men on the raft were still under the influence of astonishment; and no wonder. The apparition that had so suddenly loomed up before their eyes, – at first obscurely seen through the fog, but gradually becoming more distinct, – was enough to cause any amount of surprise. Such a grouping of strange objects in such a situation! The huge carcass of a whale, – a fire upon its back, with bright flames blazing upward, – a crane over the fire with the curious flitches suspended from it, – a raft, in some respects resembling their own, supported by empty casks, and carrying a sail, with four human beings seen upon its deck, – all these formed a series of phenomena, or facts, that was enough to have excited the surprise of the most indifferent observers. Some of the men were even speechless with wonder, and so continued for a time, while others gave vent to their astonishment in loud shouts and excited gesticulations.

That first order issued by Le Gros – for it was his voice that had been heard giving it – had no other object than to cause a rapid movement towards the dark mass, or rather the beacon seen blazing upon its summit. The order had been instantly obeyed; for there was an instinctive apprehension on the part of all that, as before, the light might again vanish from their view.

As they drew nearer, however, and the fog continued to disperse, they obtained a fairer view. Their surprise was not much diminished, though their comprehension of the objects before them became rapidly clearer.

The retreat of the Catamarans – for the movements of the latter proclaimed this design – was of itself suggestive; and, perhaps, more than aught else, enabled those from whom they were retreating to comprehend the situation.

At first they could not even conjecture who they were that occupied the little raft. They saw four human beings upon it; but the mist was still thick enough to hinder them from having a clear view of either their forms, faces, or features. Through the filmy atmosphere to recognise them was impossible. Had there been but two, and had the embarkation that carried them been a mere platform of planks, they might have shaped a conjecture. They remembered that upon such a structure Ben Brace and the boy had given them the slip; and it might be them. But who were the two others? And whence came the six water-casks, the sail, and other paraphernalia seen upon the escaping craft?

They did not stay to waste time in conjectures. It was enough for them to perceive that the four individuals thus seen were trying to get out of their reach. This was prima facie proof that they had something worth carrying along with them; perhaps water!

Some one made use of the word. It was like proclaiming a reprieve to a wretch upon the scaffold about to be launched into eternity. It caused such excitement in the minds of the motley crew – all of them suffering from extreme thirst – that, without further hesitancy, they bent eagerly to their oars, – putting forth the utmost effort of their strength in chase of the Catamaran.