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

Chapter Ninety One.
The insane Swimmer

A dozen strokes would have carried him up to the craft; which they could not have hindered him from boarding, except by using some deadly violence. To avoid this, the oars were plied; and the raft rapidly pulled in a contrary direction.

For all this, so swiftly did the maniac make way through the water, that it was just as much as they could do to keep the Catamaran clear of his grasp; and it was only after Ben Brace and Snowball had got fairly bent to their oars, that they could insure themselves against being overtaken. Then became it a chase in which there was no great advantage in speed between the pursued and the pursuer; though what little there might have been was in favour of the former.

How long this singular chase might have continued, it is impossible to say. Perhaps until the lunatic had exhausted his insane strength, and sunk into the sea: since he appeared to have no idea of making an attempt to return to the boat. He never looked round to see how far he was leaving it behind him. On the contrary, he swam straight on, his eyes steadfastly fixed upon the one object that seemed to have possession of his soul, – the Coromantee! That it was of him only he was thinking could be told from his speech, – for even while in the water he continued to utter imprecations on the head of the negro, – his name being every moment mentioned in terms of menace.

The chase could not have lasted much longer, – even had it been permitted to terminate by the exhaustion of the insane swimmer. The supernatural strength of insanity could not forever sustain him; and in due time he would have sunk helplessly to the bottom of the sea.

But this was not the sort of death that Fate had designed for him. A still more violent ending of his life was in store for the unfortunate wretch. Though he himself knew it not, those aboard the Catamaran had now become aware of its approach.

Behind him, – scarce half a cable’s length, – two creatures were seen moving through the water. Horrible-looking creatures they were: for they were hammer-headed sharks! Both were conspicuously seen: for they had risen to the surface, and were swimming with their dark dorsal fins protruded above, and set with all the triangular sharpness of staysails. Although they had not been observed before by those on the Catamaran, they appeared to have been swimming in the proximity of the gig, – on which, beyond doubt, they had been for some time attending.

They were now advancing side by side, in the same direction as the swimmer, and there could be no doubt as to their design. They were evidently in chase of him, with as much eagerness as he was in chase of the Catamaran.

The wretched man neither saw nor thought of them. Even had he seen them it is questionable whether he would have made any attempt to escape from them. They would, in all likelihood, have appeared a part of the fearful phantasmagoria already filling his brain.

In any case he could not have eluded those earnest and eager pursuers, – unless by the intervention of those upon the raft; and even had these wished to succour him, it would have required a most prompt and adroit interference. They did wish it, even became desirous to save him. Their hearts melted within them as they saw the unfortunate man, maniac though he was, in such a situation. Fear him as they might, – and deem him an enemy as they did, – still was he a human being, – one of their own kind, – and their natural instinct of hostility towards those ravenous monsters of the deep had now obliterated that which they might have felt for him about to become their prey.

Risking everything from the encounter which they might expect with a madman, they suspended their oars, and then commenced backing towards him. Even Snowball exerted himself to bring the Catamaran within saving distance of the wretch who, in his insane hatred, was threatening his own destruction.

Their good intentions, however, proved of no avail. The man was destined to destruction. Before they could get near enough to make any effective demonstration in his favour, the sharks had closed upon him. They who would have saved him saw it, and ceased their exertions to become spectators of the tragical catastrophe.

It was a brief affair. The monsters swam up, one on each side of their intended victim, till their uncouth bodies were parallel with his. He saw one of them first, and, with an instinct more true than his dethroned powers of reason, swerved out of the way to avoid it. The effort resulted in placing him within reach of the other, that, suddenly turning upon its side, grasped him between its extended jaws.

The shriek that followed appeared to proceed from only the half of his body; for the other half, completely dissevered, had been already carried off between the terrible teeth of the zygaena.

There was but one cry. There was not time for another, even had there been strength. Before it could have been uttered, the remaining moiety of the madman’s body was seized by the second shark, and borne down into the voiceless abysm of the ocean!

Chapter Ninety Two.
Boarding the Boat

Back to the boat! In the minds of the Catamaran’s crew naturally did this resolve succeed to the spectacle they had just witnessed. There was nothing to stay them on that spot. The bloodstained water, which momentarily marked the scene of the tragedy, had no further interest for those who had been spectators to it; and once more heading their craft for the drifting gig, they made way towards it as fast as their oars and the sail, now reset, would carry them.

They no longer speculated as to the boat being occupied by a crew, – either sleeping or awake. In view of the events that had occurred, it was scarce possible that anyone, in either condition, could be aboard of her. She must have been abandoned, before that hour, by all but the solitary individual standing amidships, and pouring out his insane utterances to the ears of the ocean.

Where were the men that were missing? This was the question that occupied the crew of the Catamaran, – as they advanced towards the deserted gig – and to which they could give no satisfactory answer.

They could only shape conjectures, – none of which had much air of probability.

From what they knew or suspected to have occurred upon the large raft they could draw inferences of a revolting nature. It might be that the same course had been pursued among those in the gig; and yet it seemed scarce probable. It was known that the latter had gone off from the burning bark, if not sufficiently provided for a long voyage, at least with a stock of both food and water that should have sustained them for many days. Little William had been a witness of their departure, and could confirm these facts. Why then had their boat-voyage resulted so disastrously? It could not have arisen from want. It could not have been the gale.

In all probability, had the sea washed over them, the boat would either have been swamped or capsized. The captain alone could not have righted her. Besides, why should he be the only survivor of the six?

But there had not been storm enough for a disaster of this kind; and unless by some dire mismanagement, the men could not have fallen overboard.

Still puzzled to account for the strange condition of things, the crew of the Catamaran continued to pull towards the gig, and at length came up with it.

There they beheld a horrid spectacle, though it afforded no clue to what had occurred. In fact it left the affair as inexplicable as ever. What they saw gave them reason to believe that some terrible tragedy had transpired on board the boat; and that not the elements, but the hand of man, had caused the disappearance of the crew.

Along the bottom timbers lay stretched a human form. It was not only lifeless, but disfigured by many wounds, – anyone of which would have proved mortal. The face was gashed in the most frightful manner; and the skull crushed in several places, as if by repeated blows of a heavy hammer, while numerous wounds, that had been inflicted by some sharp-bladed weapon or implement, appeared over the breast and body.

This mutilated shape of humanity was lying half submerged in the bilge-water contained in the boat, and which looked more like blood. So deep was it in colour, and in such quantity, that it was difficult to believe it could have been stained by the blood of only that one body, to which in turn, as the red fluid went washing over it, had been imparted the same sanguinary hue.

The features of the hideous corpse could not be identified. The axe, knife, or whatever weapon it was, had defaced them beyond recognition; but for all this, both Ben Brace and Snowball recognised the mutilated remains. Something in the garments still clinging round the corpse was remembered, and by this they were enabled to identify it as that of one too well-known to them, – the first mate of the slaver.

Instead of elucidating the mystery, this knowledge only rendered it more inexplicable. It was evident the man had been murdered. The wounds proved that; for from the appearance of the extravasated blood they must have been given while he was still alive.

It was but natural to suppose that the deed had been done by his insane companion. The number and character of the wounds, – consisting of blows, cuts, and gashes, showed that they had been inflicted by some one out of his senses; for life must have been extinct before half of them could have been given.

So far the circumstances seemed clear enough. The maniac captain had murdered the mate. No motive could be guessed at; for no motive was needed to inspire a madman.

Beyond this all was shrouded in mystery. What was to explain the absence of the other four? What had become of them? The crew of the Catamaran could only frame conjectures, – all of a horrid nature. That of Snowball was the most rational that could be arrived at.

It suggested the probability that the first mate and captain had combined in the destruction of the others, – their motive being to get all the food and water themselves, and thus secure a better chance of prolonging their lives. They might have accomplished their atrocious design in various ways. There might have been a struggle in which these two men, – much stronger than their fellows, – had proved victorious; or there might not have been any contest at all. The foul crime could have been committed in the night, when their unsuspicious comrades were asleep; or even by the light of day, when the latter were under the spell of intoxication, – produced by the brandy that had furnished part of the stores of the gig.

All these were horrid imaginings; but neither Snowball nor the sailor could help giving way to them. Otherwise they could not account for the dreadful drama of which that bloodstained boat must have been the scene.

Supposing their conjectures to have been correct, no wonder that the sole survivor of such scenes should have been found a raving lunatic, – no wonder the man had gone mad!

Chapter Ninety Three.
The Catamaran abandoned

For some time the crew of the Catamaran stood contemplating the gig and its lifeless occupant, with looks that betokened repugnance.

By reason of the many dread scenes they had already passed through, this feeling was the less intense, and gradually wore away. It was neither the time nor the place for any show of sentimentalism. Their own perilous situation was too strongly impressed on their minds to admit of unprofitable speculations; and instead of indulging in idle conjectures about the past, they directed their thoughts to the future.

The first consideration was, what was to be done with the gig?

They would take possession of her, of course. There could be no question about this.

It is true the Catamaran had done them good service. She had served to keep them afloat, and thus far saved their lives.

In calm weather they could have made themselves very comfortable on their improvised embarkation; and might have remained safe upon it, so long as their water and provisions lasted. But with such a slow-sailing craft the voyage might last longer than either; and then it could only result in certain death. They might not again have such good fortune in obtaining fish; and their stock of water once exhausted, it was too improbable to suppose they should ever be able to replenish it. There might not be another shower of rain for weeks; and even should it fall, it might be in such rough weather that they could not collect a single quart of it. Her slow-sailing was not the only objection to the Catamaran. Their experience in the gale of the preceding night had taught them, how little they could depend upon her in the event of a real storm. In very rough weather she would certainly be destroyed. Her timbers under the strain would come apart; or, even if they should stick together, and by the buoyancy of the empty casks continue to keep afloat, the sea would wash over them all the same and either drown or otherwise destroy them.

In such a long time as it must take before reaching land, they could not expect to have a continuance of fair weather.

With the gig, – a first-rate craft of its kind, – the case would be different.

Ben Brace well knew the boat, for he had often been one of its crew of rowers.

It was a fast boat, – even under oars, – and with a sail set to it, and a fair wind, they might calculate upon making eight or ten knots an hour. This would in no great time enable them to run down the “trades,” and bring them to some port of the South American coast, – perhaps to Guiana, or Brazil.

These speculations occupied them only a few seconds of time. In fact they had passed through their minds long before they arrived alongside the gig; for they were but the natural considerations suggested by the presence of the boat.

They were now in possession of a seaworthy craft. It seemed as if Providence had thrown it in their way; and they had no idea of abandoning it. On the contrary, it was the raft which was to be deserted.

If they hesitated about transferring themselves and their chattels from the Catamaran to the gig, it was but for a moment; and that brief space of time was only spent in considering how they might best accomplish the transfer.

The boat had first to be got into a fit state for their reception; and as soon as they had recovered from the shock caused by that hideous spectacle, the sailor and Snowball set to work to remove the body out of sight, as well as every trace of the sanguinary strife that must have taken place.

The mutilated corpse was cast into the sea, and sank at once under the surface, – though perhaps never to reach the bottom, for those two ravenous monsters were still hovering around the spot, in greedy expectation of more food for their insatiable stomachs.

The red bilge-water was next baled out of the boat, – the inside timbers cleared of their ensanguined stains, and swilled with clean water from the sea; which was in its turn thrown out, until no trace remained of the frightful objects so lately seen.

A few things that had been found in the boat were permitted to remain: as they might prove of service to the crew coming into possession. Among these there was not a morsel of food, nor a drop of drinking water; but there was the ship’s compass, still in good condition; and the sailor knew that this treasure was too precious to be parted with: as it would enable them to keep to their course under the most clouded skies.

As soon as the gig was ready to receive them, the “stores” of the Catamaran were transferred to it. The cask of water was carefully hoisted aboard the boat, – as also the smaller cask containing the precious “Canary.” The dried fish packed inside the chest, the oars, and other implements were next carried over the “gangway” between the two crafts, – each article being stowed in a proper place within the gig.

There was plenty of room for everything: as the boat was a large one, capable of containing a dozen men; and of course ample for the accommodation of the Catamaran’s crew, with all their impedimenta.

The last transfer made was the mast and sail, which were “unshipped” from the Catamaran to be set up on the gig, and which were just of the right size to suit the latter craft.

There was nothing left upon the raft that could be of any use to them on their boat-voyage; and after the mast and sail had been removed, the Catamaran appeared completely dismantled.

As they undid the lashings, – which during the transfer had confined her to the gig, – a feeling of sadness pervaded the minds of her former crew. They had grown to feel for that embarkation, – frail and grotesque as it was, – a sort of attachment; such as one may have for a loved home. To them it had been a home in the midst of the wilderness of waters; and they could not part from it without a strong feeling of regret.

Perhaps it was partly for this reason they did not at once dip their oars into the water and row away from the raft; though they had another reason for lingering in its proximity.

The mast had to be “stepped” in the gig and the sail bent on to it; and, as it seemed better that these things should be done at once, they at once set about doing them.

During the time they were thus engaged, the boat drifted on with the breeze, making two or three knots to the hour. But this caused no separation between the two crafts; for the same breeze carried the dismantled raft – now lying light upon the water – at the like rate of speed; and when at length the mast stood amidships in the gig, and the sailyard was ready to be hauled up to it, there was scarce a cable’s length between them.

The Catamaran was astern, but coming on at a fair rate of speed, – as if determined not to be left behind in that lone wilderness of waters!

Chapter Ninety Four.
A “School” of Sperm-Whales

To all appearance the hour had arrived when they were to look their last on the embarkation that had safely carried them through so many dangers. In a few minutes their sail would be spread before a breeze, that would impel their boat at a rapid rate through the water; and in a short time they would see no more of the Catamaran, crawling slowly after them. A few miles astern, and she would be out of sight, – once and forever.

Such was their belief, as they proceeded to set the sail.

Little were they thinking of the destiny that was before them. Fate had not designed such a sudden separation; and well was it for them that the Catamaran had clung so closely upon their track, as still to offer them an asylum, – a harbour of refuge to which they might retreat, – for it was not long before they found themselves in need of it.

As stated, they were proceeding to set the sail. They had got their rigging all right, – the canvas bent upon the yard, the halliards rove, and everything except hauling up and sheeting home.

These last operations would have been but the work of six seconds, and yet they were never performed.

As the sailor and Snowball stood, halliards in hand, ready to hoist up, an exclamation came from little William, that caused both of them to suspend proceedings.

The boy stood gazing out upon the ocean, – his eyes fixed upon some object that had caused him to cry out. Lalee was by his side also, regarding the same object.

“What is it, Will’m?” eagerly inquired the sailor, hoping the lad might have made out a sail.

William had himself entertained this hope. A whitish disk over the horizon had come under his eye; which for a while looked like spread canvas, but soon disappeared, – as if it had suddenly dissolved into air.

William was ashamed of having uttered the exclamation, – as being guilty of causing a “false alarm.” He was about to explain himself, when the white object once more rose up against the sky, – now observed by all.

“That’s what I saw,” said the alarmist, confessing himself mistaken.

“If ye took it for a sail, lad,” rejoined the sailor, “you war mistaken. It be only the spoutin’ o’ a sparmacety.”

“There’s more than one,” rejoined William, desirous of escaping from his dilemma. “See, yonder’s half a dozen of them!”

“Theer ye be right, lad, – though not in sayin’ there’s half a dozen. More like there be half a hundred o’ ’em. There’s sure to be that number, whar you see six a-blowin’ at the same time. There be a ‘school’ o’ them, I be bound, – maybe a ‘body.’”

“Golly!” cried Snowball, after regarding the whales for a moment, “dey am a-comin’ dis way!”

“They be,” muttered the old whalesman, in a tone that did not show much satisfaction at the discovery. “They’re coming right down upon us. I don’t like it a bit. They’re on a ‘passage,’ – that I can see; an’ it be dangerous to get in their way when they’re goin’ so, – especially aboard a craft sich as this un’.”

Of course the setting of the sail was adjourned at this announcement; as it would have been, whether there had been danger or not. A school of whales, either upon their “passage” or when “gambolling,” is a spectacle so rare, at the same time so exciting, as not to be looked upon without interest; and the voyager must be engrossed in some very serious occupation who can permit it to pass without giving it his attention.

Nothing can be more magnificent than the movements of these vast leviathans, as they cleave their track through the blue liquid element, – now sending aloft their plume-like spouts of white vapour, – now flinging their broad and fan-shaped flukes into the air; at times bounding with their whole bodies several feet above the surface, and dropping back into the water with a tremendous concussion, that causes the sea to swell into huge foam-crested columns, as if a storm was passing over it.

It was the thought of this that came into the mind of the ex-whalesman; and rendered him apprehensive, – as he saw the school of cachalots coming on towards the spot occupied by the frail embarkation. He knew that the swell caused by the “breaching” of a whale is sufficient to swamp even a large-sized boat; and if one of the “body” now bowling down towards them should chance to spring out of the water while passing near, it would be just as much as they could do to keep the gig from going upon her beam-ends.

There was not much time to speculate upon chances, or probabilities. When first seen, the whales could not have been more than a mile distant: and going on as they were, at the rate of ten knots an hour, only ten minutes elapsed before the foremost was close up to the spot occupied by the boat and the abandoned raft.

They were not proceeding in a regular formation; though here and there four or five might have been seen moving in a line, abreast with one another. The whole “herd” occupied a breadth extending about a mile across the sea; and in the very centre of this, as ill-luck would have it, lay the cockle-shell of a boat and the abandoned raft.

It was one of the biggest “schools” that Ben Brace had ever seen, consisting of nearly a hundred individuals, – full-grown females, followed by their “calves,” – and only one old bull, the patron and protector of the herd. There was no mistaking it for a “pod” of whales, – which would have been made up of young males just escaped from maternal protection, and attended by several older individuals of their own sex, – acting as trainers and instructors.

Just as the ci-devant whalesman had finished making this observation, the cachalots came past, causing the sea to undulate for miles around the spot, – as if a tempest had swept over, and was succeeded by its swell. One after another passed with a graceful gliding, that might have won the admiration of an observer viewing it from a position of safety. But to those who beheld it from the gig, there was an idea of danger in their majestic movement, – heightened by the surf-like sound of their respirations.

They had nearly all passed, and the crew of the gig were beginning to breathe freely; when they perceived the largest of the lot – the old bull – astern of the rest and coming right towards them. His head, with several fathoms of his back, protruded above the surface, which at intervals he “fluked” with his tail, – as if giving a signal to those preceding him, either to direct their onward course, or warn them of some threatened danger.

He had a vicious look about him, – notwithstanding his patriarchal appearance, – and the ex-whalesman uttered an exclamation of warning as he approached.

The utterance was merely mechanical, since nothing could be done to ward off the threatened encounter.

Nothing was done. There was no time to act, nor even to think. Almost on the same instant in which the warning cry was heard the whale was upon them. He who had uttered it, along with his companions, felt themselves suddenly projected into the air, as if they had been tossed from a catapult, and their next sensation was that of taking “a tremendous header” into the depths of the fathomless ocean!

All four soon came to the surface again; and the two who had best retained their senses, – the sailor and Snowball, – looked around for the gig. There was no gig in sight, nor boat of any kind! Only some floating fragments; among which could be distinguished a cask or two, with a scattering of loose boards, oars, handspikes, and articles of apparel. Among these were struggling two youthful forms, – recognisable as little William and Lilly Lalee.

A quick transformation took place in the tableau.

A cry arose, “Back to the Catamaran!” and in a score of seconds the boy-sailor was swimming alongside the A.B. for the raft; while the Coromantee, with Lilly Lalee hoisted upon his left shoulder, was cleaving the water in the same direction.

Another minute and all four were aboard the embarkation they had so lately abandoned, – once more saved from the perils of the deep!