“How long do you suppose we have to live?” she asked again.
“I cannot say; perhaps we shall linger on longer than we imagine.”
“The strongest constitutions suffer the most, do they not?” she said.
“Yes; but they have one consolation; they die the soonest;” I replied
coldly.
Had every spark of humanity died out of my breast that I thus brought
the girl face to face with the terrible truth without a word of hope
or comfort? The eyes of Andre and his father, dilated with hunger, were
fixed upon me, and I saw reproach and astonishment written in their
faces.
Afterwards, when we were quite alone, Miss Herbey asked me if I would
grant her a favour.
“Certainly, Miss Herbey; anything you like to ask,” I replied; and this
time my manner was kinder and more genial.
“Mr. Kazallon,” she said, “I am weaker than you, and shall probably die
first. Promise me that, if I do, you will throw my body into the sea.”
“Oh, Miss Herbey,” I began, “it was very wrong of me to speak to you as
I did!”
“No, no,” she replied, half smiling; “you were quite right. But it is
a weakness of mine; I don’t mind what they do with me as long as I am
alive, but when I am dead--” she stopped and shuddered. “Oh, promise me
that you will throw me into, the sea!”
I gave her the melancholy promise, which she acknowledged by pressing my
hand feebly with her emaciated fingers.
Another night passed away. At times my sufferings were so intense that
cries of agony involuntarily escaped my lips; then I became calmer, and
sank into a kind of lethargy. When I awoke, I was surprised to find my
companions still alive.
The one of our party who seems to bear his privations the best is Hobart
the steward, a man with whom hitherto I have had very little to do. He
is small, with a fawning expression remarkable for its indecision, and
has a smile which is incessantly playing round his lips; he goes about
with his eyes half-closed, as though he wished to conceal his thoughts,
and there is something altogether false and hypocritical about his whole
demeanour. I cannot say that he bears his privations without a murmur,
for he sighs and moans incessantly; but, with it all, I cannot but
think that there is a want of genuineness in his manner, and that the
privation has not really told upon him as much as it has upon the rest
of us. I have my suspicions about the man, and intend to watch him
carefully. To-day, the 6th, M. Letourneur drew me aside to the stern of
the raft, saying that he had a secret to communicate, but that he wished
neither to be seen nor heard speaking to me. I withdrew with him to
the larboard corner of the raft; and, as it was growing dusk, nobody
observed what we were doing.
“Mr. Kazallon,” M. Letourneur began in a low voice, “Andre is dying of
hunger: he is growing weaker and weaker, and oh! I cannot, will not see
him die!”
He spoke passionately, almost fiercely, and I fully understood his
feelings. Taking his hand, I tried to reassure him.
“We will not despair yet,” I said, “perhaps some passing ship--”
“Ship!” he cried impatiently, “don’t try to console me with empty
commonplaces; you know as well as I do that there is no chance of
falling in with a passing ship.” Then, breaking off suddenly, he
asked,--“How long is it since my son and all of you have had anything to
eat?”
Astonished at his question, I replied that it was now four days since
the biscuit had failed.
“Four days,” he repeated; “well, then, it is eight since I have tasted
anything. I have been saving my share for my son.”
Tears rushed to my eyes; for a few moments I was unable to speak, and
could only once more grasp his hand in silence.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked at length.
“Hush! not so loud; some one will hear us,” he said, lowering his voice,
“I want you to offer it to Andre as though it came from yourself. He
would not accept it from me; he would think I had been depriving myself
for him. Let me implore you to do me this service and for your trouble,”
and here he gently stroked my hand, “for your trouble you shall have a
morsel for yourself.”
I trembled like a child as I listened to the poor father’s words, and
my heart was ready to burst when I felt a tiny piece of biscuit slipped
into my hand.
“Give it him,” M. Letourneur went on under his breath, “give it him; but
do not let any one see you; the monsters would murder you if they knew
it. This is only for to-day; I will give you some more to-morrow.”
The poor fellow did not trust me, and well he might not, for I had the
greatest difficulty to withstand the temptation to carry the biscuit to
my mouth, But I resisted the impulse, and those alone who have suffered
like me can know what the effort was.
Night came on with the rapidity peculiar to these low latitudes, and I
glided gently up to Andre and slipped the piece of biscuit into his hand
as “a present from myself.” The young man clutched at it eagerly.
“But my father?” he said inquiringly.
I assured him that his father and I had each had our share, and that he
must eat this now, and, perhaps, I should be able to bring him some more
another time. Andre asked no more questions, and eagerly devoured the
morsel of food.
So this evening at least, notwithstanding M. Letourneur’s offer, I have
tasted nothing.
CHAPTER XL.
JANUARY 7th.--During the last few days since the wind has freshened, the
salt water constantly dashing over the raft has terribly punished the
feet and legs of some of the sailors. Owen, whom the boatswain ever
since the revolt kept bound to the mast, is in a deplorable state, and
at our request has been released from his restraint. Sandon and Burke
are also suffering from the severe smarting caused in this way, and
it is only owing to our more sheltered position on the aft-part of the
raft, that we have not; all shared the same inconvenience.
Today the boatswain, maddened by starvation, laid hands upon everything
that met his voracious eyes, and I could hear the grating of his teeth
as he gnawed at fragments of sails and bits of wood, instinctively
endeavouring to fill his stomach by putting the mucus’ into circulation
at length, by dint of an eager search, he came upon a piece of leather
hanging to one of the spars that supported the platform. He snatched
it off and devoured it greedily, and as it was animal matter, it really
seemed as though the absorption of the substance afforded him some
temporary relief. Instantly we all followed his example; a leather hat,
the rims of caps, in short, anything that contained any animal matter
at all, were gnawed and sucked with the utmost avidity. Never shall I
forget the scene. We were no longer human, the impulses and instincts of
brute beasts seemed to actuate our every movement.
For a moment the pangs of hunger were somewhat allayed; but some of us
revolted against the loathsome food, and were seized either with
violent nausea or absolute sickness. I must be pardoned for giving these
distressing details, but how otherwise can I depict the misery, moral
and physical, which we are enduring? And with it all, I dare not venture
to hope that we have reached the climax of our sufferings.
The conduct of Hobart during the scene that I have just described has
only served to confirm my previous suspicions of him. He took no part
in the almost fiendish energy with which we gnawed at our scraps of
leather, and although by his conduct and perpetual groanings, he might
be considered to be dying of inanition, yet to me he has the appearance
of being singularly exempt from the tortures which we are all enduring.
But whether the hypocrite is being sustained, by some secret store of
food, I have been unable to discover.
Whenever the breeze drops the heat is overpowering; but although our
allowance of water is very meagre, at present the pangs of hunger far
exceed the pain of thirst. It has often been remarked that extreme
thirst is far less endurable than extreme hunger. Is it possible that
still greater agonies are in store for us? I cannot, dare not, believe
it. Fortunately, the broken barrel still contains a few pints of water,
and the other one has not yet been opened. But I am glad to say that
notwithstanding our diminished numbers, and in spite of some opposition,
the captain has thought right to reduce the daily allowance to half a
pint for each person. As for the brandy, of which there is only a quart
now left, it has been stowed away safely in the stern of the raft.
This evening has ended the sufferings of another of our companions,
making our number now only fourteen. My attentions and Miss Herbey’s
nursing could do nothing for Lieutenant Walter, and about half-past
seven he expired in my arms.
Before he died, in a few broken words he thanked Miss Herbey and myself
for the kindness we had shown him. A crumpled letter fell from his hand,
and in a voice that was scarcely audible from weakness, he said,--
“It is my mother’s letter: the last I had from her--she was expecting me
home; but she will never see me more. Oh, put it to my lips--let me kiss
it before I die. Mother! mother! Oh my God!”
I placed the letter in his cold hand, and raised it to his lips; his eye
lighted for a moment; we heard the faint sound of a kiss, and all was
over!
CHAPTER XLI.
JANUARY 8th.--All night I remained by the side of the poor fellow’s
corpse, and several times Miss Herbey joined me in my mournful watch.
Before daylight dawned the body was quite cold, and as I knew there must
be no delay in throwing it overboard, I asked Curtis to assist me in
the sad office. The body was frightfully emaciated, and I had every hope
that it would not float.
As soon as it was quite light, taking every precaution that no one
should see what we were about, Curtis and I proceeded to our melancholy
task. We took a few articles from the lieutenant’s pockets, which we
purposed, if either of us should survive, to remit to his mother. But as
we wrapped him in his tattered garments that would have to suffice for
his winding-sheet, I started back with a thrill of horror. The right
foot had gone, leaving the leg a bleeding stump!
No doubt that, overcome by fatigue, I must have fallen asleep for
an interval during the night, and some one had taken advantage of my
slumber to mutilate the corpse. But who could have been guilty of so
foul a deed! Curtis looked around with anger flashing In his eye; but
all seemed as usual, and the silence was only broken by a few groans of
agony.
But there was no time to be lost; perhaps we were already observed, and
more horrible scenes might be likely to occur. Curtis said a few short
prayers, and we cast the body into the sea. It sank immediately.
“They are feeding the sharks well, and no mistake,” said a voice behind
me.
I turned round quickly, and found that it was Jynxstrop who had spoken.
As the boatswain now approached, I asked him whether he thought it
possible that any of the wretched men could have taken the dead man’s
foot.
“Oh yes, I dare say,” he replied, in a significant tone “and perhaps
they thought they were right.”
“Right! what do you mean?” I exclaimed.
“Well, sir,” he said coldly, “isn’t it better to eat a dead man than a
living one?”
I was at a loss to comprehend him, and, turning away, laid myself down
at the end of the raft.
Towards eleven o’clock, a most suspicious incident occurred. The
boatswain, who had cast his lines early in the morning, caught three
large cod, each more than thirty inches long, of the species which, when
dried, is known by the name of stock-fish. Scarcely had he hauled them
on board, when the sailors made a dash at them, and it was with the
utmost difficulty that Curtis, Falsten, and myself could restore order,
so that we might divide the fish into equal portions. Three cod were not
much amongst fourteen starving persons, but, small as the quantity was,
it was allotted in strictly equal shares. Most of us devoured the food
raw, almost I might say, alive; only Curtis, Andre and Miss Herbey
having the patience to wait until their allowance had been boiled at a
fire which they made with a few scraps of wood. For myself, I confess
that I swallowed my portion of fish just as it was,--raw and bleeding.
M. Letourneur followed my example; the poor man devoured his food like
a famished wolf, and it is only a wonder to me how, after his lengthened
fast, he came to be alive at all.
The boatswain’s delight at his success was, excessive, and amounted
almost to delirium. I went up to him, and encouraged him to repeat his
attempt.
“Oh, yes,” he said; “I’ll try again. I’ll try again.”
“And why not try at once,” I asked.
“Not now,” he said evasively; “the night is the best time for catching
large fish. Besides, I must manage to get some bait, for we have been
improvident enough not to save a single scrap.”
“But you have succeeded once without bait; why may you not succeed
again?”
“Oh! I had some very good bait last night,” he said. I stared at him in
amazement. He steadily returned my gaze, but said nothing.
“Have you none left?” at last I asked.
“Yes!” he almost whispered and left me without another word.
Our meal, meagre as it had been, served to rally our shattered energies;
our hopes were slightly raised; there was no reason why the boatswain
should not have the same good luck again.
One evidence of the degree to which our spirits were revived was that
our minds were no longer fixed upon the miserable present and hopeless
future, but we began to recall and discuss the past; and M. Letourneur,
Andre Mr. Falsten, and I held a long conversation with the captain
about the various incidents of our eventful voyage, speaking of our lost
companions, of the fire, of the stranding of the ship, of our sojourn
on Ham Rock, of the springing of the leak, of our terrible voyage in the
top-masts, of the construction of the raft, and of the storm. All these
things seemed to have happened so long ago, and yet we were living
still. Living, did I say? Ay, if such an existence as ours could be
called a life, fourteen of us were living still. Who would be the next
to go? We should then be thirteen.
“An unlucky number!” said Andre with a mournful smile.
During the night the boatswain cast his lines from the stern of the
raft, and, unwilling to trust them to any one else, remained watching
them himself. In the morning I went to ascertain what success had
attended his patience. It was scarcely light, and with eager eyes he was
peering down into the water. He had neither seen nor heard me coming.
“Well, boatswain!” I said, touching him on the shoulder.
He turned round quickly.
“Those villainous sharks have eaten every morsel of my bait,” he said,
in a desponding voice.
“And you have no more left?” I asked.
“No more,” he said. Then grasping my arm he added, “and that only shows
me that it is no good doing things by halves.”
The truth flashed upon me at once, and I laid my hand upon his mouth.
Poor Walter!
CHAPTER XLII.
JANUARY 9th and 10th.--On the 9th the wind dropped, and there was a dead
calm; not a ripple disturbed the surface of the long undulations as
they rose and fell beneath us; and if it were not for the slight current
which is carrying us we know not whither, the raft would be absolutely
stationary.
The heat was intolerable; our thirst more intolerable still; and now it
was that for the first time I fully realized how the insufficiency of
drink could cause torture more unendurable than the pangs of hunger.
Mouth, throat, pharynx, all alike were parched and dry, every gland
becoming hard as horn under the action of the hot air we breathed. At
my urgent solicitation the captain was for once induced to double our
allowance of water; and this relaxation of the ordinary rule enabled us
to attempt to slake our thirst four times in the day, instead of only
twice. I use the word “attempt” advisedly; for the water at the bottom
of the barrel, though kept covered by a sail, became so warm that it was
perfectly flat and unrefreshing.
It was a most trying day, and the sailors relapsed into a condition of
deep despondency. The moon was nearly full, but when she rose the breeze
did not return. Continuance of high temperature in daytime is a sure
proof that we have been carried far to the south, and here, on this
illimitable ocean, we have long ceased even to look for land; it might
almost seem as though this globe of ours had veritably become a liquid
sphere!
To-day we are still becalmed, and the temperature is as high as ever.
The air is heated like a furnace, and the sun scorches like fire. The
torments of famine are all forgotten: our thoughts are concentrated with
fevered expectation upon the longed-for moment when Curtis shall dole
out the scanty measure of lukewarm water that makes up our ration. O for
one good draught, even if it should exhaust the whole supply! At least,
it seems as if we then could die in peace!
About noon we were startled by sharp cries of agony, and looking round I
saw Owen writhing in the most horrible convulsions. I went towards him,
for, detestable as his conduct had been, common humanity prompted me to
see whether I could afford him any relief. But before I reached him, a
shout from Flaypole arrested my attention.
The man was up in the mast, and with great excitement pointing to the
east.
“A ship! A ship!” he cried.
In an instant all were on their feet. Even Owen stopped his cries
and stood erect. It was quite true that in the direction indicated by
Flaypole there was a white speck visible upon the horizon. But did it
move? Would the sailors with their keen vision pronounce it to be a
sail? A silence the most profound fell upon us all. I glanced at Curtis
as he stood with folded arms intently gazing at the distant point. His
brow was furrowed, and he contracted every feature, as with half-closed
eyes, he concentrated his power of vision upon that one faint spot in
the far-off horizon.
But at length he dropped his arms and shook his head. I looked again,
but the spot was no longer there. If it were a ship, that ship had
disappeared; but probably it had been a mere reflection, or, more likely
still, only the crest of some curling wave.
A deep dejection followed this phantom ray of hope. All returned to
their accustomed places. Curtis alone remained motionless, but his eye
no longer scanned the distant view.
Owen now began to shriek more wildly than ever. He presented truly a
most melancholy sight; he writhed with the most hideous contortions,
and had all the appearance of suffering from tetanus. His throat was
contracted by repeated spasms, his tongue was parched, his body swollen,
and his pulse, though feeble, was rapid and irregular. The poor wretch’s
symptoms were precisely such as to lead us to suspect that he had
taken some corrosive poison. Of course it was quite out of our power
to administer any antidote; all that we could devise was to make him
swallow something that might act as an emetic. I asked Curtis for a
little of the lukewarm water. As the contents of the broken barrel were
now exhausted, the captain, in order to comply with my request, was
about to tap the other barrel, when Owen started suddenly to his knees,
and with a wild, unearthly shriek, exclaimed,--
“No! no! no! of that water I will not touch a drop.”
I supposed he did not understand what we were going to do, and
endeavoured to explain; but all in vain; he persisted in refusing to
taste the water in the second barrel. I then tried to induce vomiting
by tickling his uvula, and he brought off some bluish secretion from his
stomach, the character of which confirmed our previous suspicions--that
he had been poisoned by oxide of copper. We now felt convinced that
any efforts on our part to save him would be of no avail. The vomiting,
however, had for the time relieved him, and he was able to speak.
Curtis and I both implored him to let us know what he had taken to bring
about consequences so serious. His reply fell upon us as a startling
blow.
The ill fated wretch had stolen several pints of water from the barrel
that had been untouched, and that water had poisoned him!
CHAPTER XLIII.
JANUARY 11th to 14th.--Owen’s convulsions returned with increased
violence, and in the course of the night he expired in terrible agony.
His body was thrown overboard almost directly; it had decomposed so
rapidly that the flesh had not even consistency enough for any fragments
of it to be reserved for the boatswain to use to bait his lines. A
plague the man had been to us in his life; in his death he was now of no
service!
And now, perhaps, still more than ever, did the horror of our situation
stare us in the face. There was no doubt that the poisoned barrel had
at some time or other contained copperas; but what strange fatality had
converted it into a water-cask, or what fatality, stranger still, had
caused it to be brought on board the raft, was a problem that none could
solve. Little, however, did it matter now: the fact was evident; the
barrel was poisoned, and of water we had not a drop.
One and all, we fell into the gloomiest silence. We were too irritable
to bear the sound of each other’s voices; and it did not require a
word, a mere look or gesture was enough, to provoke us to anger that was
little short of madness. How it was that we did not all become raving
maniacs, I cannot tell.
Throughout the 12th no drain of moisture crossed our lips, and not
a cloud arose to warrant the expectation of a passing shower; in
the shade, if shade it might be called, the thermometer would have
registered at least 100deg., and, perhaps, considerably more.
No change next day. The salt water began to chafe my legs, but although
the smarting was at times severe, it was an inconvenience to which I
gave little heed; others who had suffered from the same trouble had
become no worse. Oh! if this water that surrounds us could be reduced to
vapour or to ice! its particles of salt extracted, it would be available
for drink. But no! we have no appliances, and we must suffer on.
At the risk of being devoured by the sharks, the boatswain and two
sailors took a morning bath, and as their plunge seemed to refresh them,
I and three of my companions resolved to follow their example. We had
never learnt to swim, and had to be fastened to the end of a rope and
lowered into the water; while Curtis during the half-hour of our bath,
kept a sharp look-out to give warning of any danger from approaching
sharks. No recommendation, however, on our part, nor any representation
of the benefit we felt we had derived, could induce Miss Herbey to allay
her sufferings in the same way.
At about eleven o’clock, the captain came up to me, and whispered in my
ear,--
“Don’t say a word, Mr. Kazallon; I do not want to raise false hopes, but
I think I see a ship.”
It was as well that the captain had warned me; otherwise, I should
have raised an involuntary shout of joy; as it was, I had the greatest
difficulty in restraining my expressions of delight.
“Look behind to larboard,” he continued in an undertone.
Affecting an indifference which I was far from feeling, I cast an
anxious glance to that quarter of the horizon of which he spoke, and
there, although mine is not a nautical eye, I could plainly distinguish
the outline of a ship under sail.
Almost at the same moment the boatswain who happened to be looking in
the same direction, raised the cry, “Ship ahoy!”
Whether it was that no one believed it, or whether all energies were
exhausted, certain it is that the announcement produced none of
the effects that might have been expected. Not a soul exhibited the
slightest emotion, and it was only when the boatswain had several times
sung out his tidings that all eyes turned to the horizon. There, most
undeniably, was the ship, and the question rose at once to the minds of
all, and to the lips of many, “Would she see us?”
The sailors immediately began discussing the build of the vessel, and
made all sorts of conjectures as to the direction she was taking. Curtis
was far more deliberate in his judgment. After examining her attentively
for some time, he said, “She is a brig running close upon the wind, on
the starboard tack, If she keeps her course for a couple of hours, she
will come right athwart our track.”
A couple of hours! The words sounded to our ears like a couple of
centuries. The ship might change her course at any moment; closely
trimmed as she was, it was very probable that she was only tacking about
to catch the wind, in which case, as soon as she felt a breeze, she
would resume her larboard tack and make away again. On the other hand,
if she were really sailing with the wind, she would come nearer to us,
and there would be good ground for hope.
Meantime, no exertion must be spared, and no means left untried, to make
our position known. The brig was about twelve miles to the east of us,
so that it was out of the question to think of any cries of ours being
overheard; but Curtis gave directions that every possible signal should
be made. We had no fire-arms by which we could attract attention, and
nothing else occurred to us beyond hoisting a flag of distress. Miss
Herbey’s red shawl, as being of a colour most distinguishable against
the background of sea and sky, was run up to the mast-head, and was
caught by the light breeze that just then was ruffling the surface of
the water. As a drowning man clutches at a straw, so our hearts bounded
with hope every time that our poor flag fluttered in the wind.
For an hour our feelings alternated between hope and despair. The ship
was evidently making her way in the direction of the raft, but every
now and then she seemed to stop, and then our hearts would almost stand
still with agony lest she was going to put about. She carried all
her canvas, even to her royals and stay-sails, but her hull was only
partially visible above the horizon.
How slowly she advanced! The breeze was very, very feeble, and perhaps
soon it would drop altogether! We felt that we would give years of our
life to know the result of the coming hour!
At half-past twelve the captain and the boatswain considered that the
brig was about nine miles away; she had, therefore, gained only three
miles in an hour and a half, and it was doubtful whether the light
breeze that had been passing over our heads had reached her at all. I
fancied, too, that her sails were no longer filled, but were hanging
loose against her masts. Turning to the direction of the wind I tried to
make out some chance of a rising breeze; but no, the waves were calm and
torpid, and the little puff of air that had aroused our hopes had died
away across the sea.
I stood aft with M. Letourneur, Andre and Miss Herbey, and our glances
perpetually wandered from the distant ship to our captain’s face. Curtis
stood leaning against the mast, with the boatswain by his side; their
eyes seemed never for a moment to cease to watch the brig, but their
countenances clearly expressed the varying emotions that passed through
their minds. Not a word was uttered, nor was the silence broken, until
the carpenter exclaimed, in accents of despair,--
“She’s putting about!”
All started up: some to their knees, others to their feet, The boatswain
dropped a frightful oath. The ship was still nine miles away, and at
such a distance it was impossible for our signal to be seen; our
tiny raft, a mere speck upon the waters, would be lost in the intense
irradiation of the sunbeams. If only we could be seen, no doubt all
would be well; no captain would have the barbarous inhumanity to leave
us to our fate; but there had been no chance; only too well we knew that
we had not been within the range of sight.
“My friends,” said Curtis, “we must make a fire; it is our last and only
chance.”
Some planks were quickly loosened and thrown into a heap upon the fore
part of the raft. They were damp and troublesome to light; but the very
dampness made the smoke more dense, and ere long a tall column of dusky
fumes was rising straight upwards in the air. If darkness should come
on before the brig was completely out of view, the flames we hoped might
still be visible. But the hours passed on; the fire died out; and yet no
signs of help.
The temper of resignation now deserted me entirely; faith, hope,
confidence--all vanished from my mind, and like the boatswain, I swore
long and loudly. A gentle hand was laid upon my arm, and turning round I
saw Miss Herbey with her finger pointing to the sky. I could stand it
no longer, but gliding underneath the tent I hid my face in my hands and
wept aloud.
Meanwhile the brig had altered her tack, and was moving slowly to the
east. Three hours later and the keenest eye could not have discerned her
top-sails above the horizon.
CHAPTER XLIV.
JANUARY 15th.--After this further shattering of our excited hopes death
alone now stares us in the face; slow and lingering as that death may
be, sooner or later it must inevitably come.
To-day some clouds that rose in the west have brought us a few puffs
of wind; and in spite of our prostration, we appreciate the moderation,
slight as it is, in the temperature. To my parched throat the air seemed
a little less trying but it is now seven days since the boatswain took
his haul of fish, and during that period we have eaten nothing even
Andre Letourneur finished yesterday the last morsel of the biscuit which
his sorrowful and self-denying father had entrusted to my charge.
Jynxstrop the negro has broken loose from his confinement, but Curtis has
taken no measures for putting him again under restraint. It is not to be
apprehended that the miserable fellow and his accomplices, weakened as
they are by their protracted fast, will attempt to do us any mischief
now.
Some huge sharks made their appearance to-day, cleaving the water
rapidly with their great black fins. The monsters came close up to the
edge of the raft, and Flaypole, who was leaning over, narrowly escaped
having his arm snapped off by one of them. I could not help regarding
them as living sepulchres, which ere long might swallow up our miserable
carcasses; yet, withal, I profess that my feelings were rather those of
fascination than of horror.
The boatswain, who stood with clenched teeth and dilated eye, regarded
these sharks from quite another point of view. He thought about
devouring the sharks, not about the sharks devouring him; and if he
could succeed in catching one, I doubt if one of us would reject the
tough and untempting flesh. He determined to make the attempt, and as
he had no whirl which he could fasten to his rope he set to work to
find something that might serve as a substitute. Curtis and Dowlas
were consulted, and after a short conversation, during which they kept
throwing bits of rope and spars into the water in order to entice the
sharks to remain by the raft, Dowlas went and fetched his carpenter’s
tool, which is at once a hatchet and a hammer. Of this he proposed to
make the whirl of which they were in need, under the hope that either
the sharp edge of the adze or the pointed extremity opposite would stick
firmly into the jaws of any shark that might swallow it. The wooden
handle of the hammer was secured to the rope, which, in its turn, was
tightly fastened to the raft.
With eager, almost breathless, excitement we stood watching the
preparations, at the same time using every means in our power to
attract the attention of the sharks. As soon as the whirl was ready the
boatswain began to think about bait; and, talking rapidly to himself,
ransacked every corner of the raft, as though he expected to find some
dead body coming opportunely to sight. But his search ended in nothing;
and the only plan that suggested itself was again to have recourse to
Miss Herbey’s red shawl, of which a fragment was wrapped round the
head of the hammer. After testing the strength of his line, and
reassuring-himself that it was fastened firmly both to the hammer and to
the raft, the boatswain lowered it into the water.
The sea was quite transparent, and any object was clearly visible to
a depth of two hundred feet below the surface. Leaning over the low
parapet of the raft we looked on in breathless silence, as the scarlet
rag, distinct as it was against the blue mass of water, made its slow
descent. But one by one the sharks seemed to disappear, They could not,
however, have gone far away, and it was not likely that anything in the
shape of bait dropped near them would long escape their keen voracity.
Suddenly, without speaking, the boatswain raised his hand and pointed to
a dark mass skimming along the surface of the water, and making straight
in our direction. It was a shark, certainly not less than twelve feet
long. As soon as the creature was about four fathoms from the raft, the
boatswain gently drew in his line until the whirl was in such a position
that the shark must cross right over it; at the same time he shook the
line a little, that he might give the whirl the appearance, if he could,
of being something alive and moving. As the creature came near, my heart
beat violently; I could see its eyes flashing above the waves; and its
gaping jaws, as it turned half over on its back, exhibited long rows of
pointed teeth.
I know not who it was, but some one at that moment uttered an
involuntary cry of horror. The shark came to a standstill, turned about,
and escaped quite out of sight. The boatswain was pale with anger.
“The first man who speaks,” he said, “I will kill him on the spot.”
Again he applied himself to his task. The whirl again was lowered, this
time to the depth of twenty fathoms, but for half an hour or more not a
shark could be distinguished; but as the waters far below seemed somehow
to be troubled I could not help believing that some of the brutes at
least were still there.
All at once, with a violent jerk, the cord was wrested from the
boatswain’s hands; firmly attached, however, as it was to the raft, it
was not lost. The bait had been seized by a shark, and the iron had made
good its hold upon the creature’s flesh.
“Now, then, my lads,” cried the boatswain, “haul away!”
Passengers and sailors, one and all, put forth what strength they had
to drag the rope, but so violent were the creature’s struggles that
it required all our efforts (and it is needless to say that they were
willing enough) to bring it to the surface, At length, after exertions
that almost exhausted us, the water became agitated by the violent
flappings of the tail and fins; and looking down I saw the huge carcase
of the shark writhing convulsively amidst waves that were stained with
blood.
“Steady! steady!” said the boatswain, as the head appeared above.
The whirl had passed right through the jaw into the middle of the
throat; so that no struggle on the part of the animal could possibly
release it. Dowlas seized his hatchet, ready to despatch the brute the
moment if should be landed on the raft. A short sharp snap was heard.
The shark had closed its jaws, and bitten through the wooden handle of
the hammer. Another moment and it had turned round and was completely
gone.
A howl of despair burst from all our lips. All the labour and the
patience, all had been in vain. Dowlas made a few more unsuccessful
attempts, but as the whirl was lost, and they had no means of replacing
it, there was no further room for hope. They did, indeed, lower some
cords twisted into running knots, but (as might have been expected)
these only slipped over, without holding, the slimy bodies of the
sharks. As a last resource the boatswain allowed his naked leg to
hang over the side of the raft; the monsters, however, were proof even
against this attraction.
Reduced once again to a gloomy despondency, all turned to their places,
to await the end that cannot now be long deferred.
Just as I moved away I heard the boatswain say to Curtis,--
“Captain, when shall we draw lots?”
The captain made no reply.
CHAPTER XLV.
JANUARY 16th.--If the crew of any passing vessel had caught sight of us
as we lay still and inanimate upon our sail-cloth, they would scarcely,
at first sight, have hesitated to pronounce us dead.
My sufferings were terrible; tongue, lips, and throat were so parched
and swollen that if food had been at hand I question whether I could
have swallowed it. So exasperated were the feelings of us all, however,
that we glanced at each other with looks as savage as though we were
about to slaughter and without delay eat up one another.
The heat was aggravated by the atmosphere being somewhat stormy. Heavy
vapours gathered on the horizon, and there was a look as if it were
raining all around. Longing eyes and gasping mouths turned involuntarily
towards the clouds, and M. Letourneur, on bended knee, was raising his
hands, as it might be in supplication to the relentless skies.
It was eleven o’clock in the morning. I listened for distant rumblings
which might announce an approaching storm, but although the vapours had
obstructed the sun’s rays, they no longer presented the appearance
of being charged with electricity. Thus our prognostications ended in
disappointment; the clouds, which in the early morning had been marked
by the distinctness of their outline, had melted one into another and
assumed an uniform dull grey tint; in fact, we were enveloped in an
ordinary fog. But was it not still possible that this fog might turn to
rain?
Happily this hope was destined to be realized; for in a very short time,
Dowlas, with a shout of delight, declared that rain was actually coming;
and sure enough, not half a mile from the raft, the dark parallel
streaks against the sky testified that there at least the rain was
falling. I fancied I could see the drops rebounding from the surface of
the water. The wind was fresh and bringing the cloud right on towards
us, yet we could not suppress our trepidation lest it; should exhaust
itself before it reached us.
But no: very soon large heavy drops began to fall, and the storm-cloud,
passing over our heads, was outpouring its contents upon us. The shower,
however, was very transient; already a bright streak of light along
the horizon marked the limit of the cloud and warned us that we must be
quick to make the most of what it had to give us. Curtis had placed the
broken barrel in the position that was most exposed, and every sail was
spread out to the fullest extent our dimensions would allow.
We all laid ourselves down flat upon our backs and kept our mouths wide
open. The rain splashed into my face, wetted my lips, and trickled down
my throat. Never can I describe the ecstasy with which I imbibed that
renovating moisture. The parched and swollen glands relaxed, I breathed
afresh, and my whole being seemed revived with a strange and requickened
life.
The rain lasted about twenty minutes, when the cloud, still only half
exhausted, passed quite away from over us.
We grasped each other’s hands as we rose from the platform on which
we had been lying, and mutual congratulations, mingled with gratitude,
poured forth from our long silent lips. Hope, however evanescent it
might be, for the moment had returned, and we yielded to the expectation
that, ere long, other and more abundant clouds might come and replenish
our store.
The next consideration was how to preserve and economize what little had
been collected by the barrel, or imbibed by the outspread sails. It was
found that only a few pints of rain-water had fallen into the barrel
to this small quantity the sailors were about to add what they could
by wringing out the saturated sails, when Curtis made them desist from
their intention.
“Stop, stop!” he said, “we must wait a moment; we must see whether this
water from the sails is drinkable.”
I looked at him in amazement. Why should not this be as drinkable as the
other? He squeezed a few drops out of one of the folds of a sail into
the tin pot, and put it to his lips. To my surprise, he rejected it
immediately, and upon tasting it for myself I found it not merely
brackish, but briny as the sea itself. The fact was that the canvas
had been so long exposed to the action of the waves, that it had become
thoroughly impregnated by salt, which of course was taken up again by
the water that fell upon it. Disappointed we were; but with several
pints of water in our possession, we were not only contented for the
present, but sanguine in our prospect for the future.
CHAPTER XLVI.
JANUARY 17th.--As a natural consequence of the alleviation of our
thirst, the pangs of hunger returned more violently than ever. Although
we had no bait, and even if we had we could not use it for want of
a whirl, we could not help asking whether no possible means could
be devised for securing one out of the many sharks that were still
perpetually swarming about the raft. Armed with knives, like the Indians
in the pearl fisheries, was it not practicable to attack the monsters in
their own element? Curtis expressed his willingness personally to make
the attempt, but so numerous were the sharks that we would not for one
moment hear of his risking his life in a venture of which the danger was
as great as the success was doubtful.
By plunging into the sea, or by gnawing at a piece of metal, we could
always, or at least often, do something that cheated us into believing
that we were mitigating the pains of thirst; but with hunger it was
different. The prospect, too, of rain seemed hopeful, whilst for getting
food there appeared no chance; and, as we knew that nothing could
compensate for the lack of nutritive matter, we were soon all cast down
again. Shocking to confess, it would be untrue to deny that we surveyed
each other with the eye of an eager longing; and I need hardly explain
to what a degree of savageness the one idea that haunted us had reduced
our feelings.
Ever since the storm-cloud brought us the too transient shower the
sky has been tolerably clear, and although at that time the wind had
slightly freshened, it has since dropped, and the sail hangs idly
against our mast. Except for the trifling relief it brings by modifying
the temperature we care little now for any breeze. Ignorant as we are as
to what quarter of the Atlantic we have been carried by the currents, it
matters very little to us from what direction the wind may blow if
only it would bring, in rain or dew, the moisture of which we are so
dreadfully in need.
The moon was entering her last quarter, so that it was dark till nearly
midnight, and the stars were misty, not glowing with that lustre which
is so often characteristic of cool nights. Half frantic with that sense
of hunger which invariably returns with redoubled vigour at the close of
every day, I threw myself, in a kind of frenzy, upon a bundle of sails
that was lying on the starboard of the raft, and leaning over, I tried
to get some measure of relief by inhaling the moist coolness that rarely
fails to circulate just above the water. My brain was haunted by the
most horrible nightmares; not that I suppose I was in any way more
distressed than my companions, who were lying in their usual places,
vainly endeavouring to forget their sufferings in sleep.
After a time I fell into a restless, dreamy doze. I was neither asleep
nor awake. How long I remained in that state of stupor I could hardly
say, but at length a strange sensation half brought me to myself. Was
I dreaming, or was there not really some unaccustomed odour floating in
the air? My nostrils became distended, and I could scarcely suppress a
cry of astonishment; but some instinct kept me quiet, and I laid myself
down again with the puzzled sensation sometimes experienced when we
have forgotten a word or name. Only a few minutes, however, had elapsed
before another still more savoury puff induced me to take several
long inhalations. Suddenly, the truth seemed to dash across my mind.
“Surely,” I muttered to myself “this must be cooked meat that I can
smell.”
Again and again I sniffed and became more convinced than ever that my
senses were not deceiving me. But from what part of the raft could the
smell proceed? I rose to my knees, and having satisfied myself that the
odour came from the front, I crept stealthily as a cat under the sails
and between the spars in that direction. Following the promptings of
my scent, rather than my vision, like a bloodhound in the track of his
prey, I searched everywhere I could, now finding, now losing, the smell
according to my change of position, or the dropping of the wind. At
length I got the true scent; once for all, so that I could go straight
to the object for which I was in search.
Approaching the starboard angle of the raft, I came to the conclusion
that the smell that had thus keenly excited my cravings was the smell
of smoked bacon; the membranes of my tongue almost bristled with the
intenseness of my longing.
Crawling along a little farther, under a thick roll of sail-cloth, I was
not long in securing my prize. Forcing my arm below the roll, I felt my
hand in contact with something wrapped up in paper. I clutched it up,
and carried it off to a place where I could examine it by the help
of the light of the moon that had now made its appearance above the
horizon. I almost shrieked for joy. It was a piece of bacon. True,
it did not weigh many ounces, but small as it was it would suffice to
alleviate the pangs of hunger for one day at least. I was just on the
point of raising it to my mouth, when a hand was laid upon my arm. It
was only by a most determined effort that I kept myself from screaming
out one instant more, and I found myself face to face with Hobart.
In a moment I understood all. Plainly this rascal Hobart had saved some
provision from the wreck, upon which he had been subsisting ever since.
The steward had provided for himself, whilst all around him were dying
of starvation. Detestable wretch! This accounts for the inconsistency of
his well-to-do looks and his pitiable groans. Vile hypocrite!
Yet why, it struck me, should I complain? Was not I reaping the benefit
of that secret store that he, for himself, had saved?
But Hobart had no idea of allowing me the peaceable possession of what
he held to be his own. He made a dash at the fragment of bacon, and
seemed determined to wrest it from my grasp. We struggled with each
other, but although our wrestling was very violent, it was very
noiseless. We were both of us aware that it was absolutely necessary
that not one of those on board should know anything at all about
the prize for which we were contending. Nor was my own determination
lessened by hearing him groan out that it was his last, his only morsel.
“His!” I thought; “it shall be mine now!”
And still careful that no noise of commotion should arise, I threw him
on his back, and grasping his throat so that it gurgled again, I held
him down until, in rapid mouthfuls, I had swallowed up the last scrap of
the food for which we had fought so hard.
I released my prisoner, and quietly crept back to my own quarters.
And not a soul is aware that I have broken my fast!
CHAPTER XLVII.
JANUARY 18th.--After this excitement I awaited the approach of day with
a strange anxiety. My conscience told me that Hobart had the right to
denounce me in the presence of all my fellow-passengers; yet my alarm
was vain. The idea of my proceedings being exposed by him was quite
absurd; in a moment he would himself be murdered without pity by the
crew, if it should be revealed that, unknown to them, he had been living
on some private store which, by clandestine cunning, he had reserved.
But, in spite of my anxiety, I had a longing for day to come.
The bit of food that I had thus stolen was very small; but small as it
was it had alleviated my hunger, and I was now tortured with remorse,
because I had not shared the meagre morsel with my fellow-sufferers.
Miss Herbey, Andre, his father, all had been forgotten, and from the
bottom of my heart I repented of my cruel selfishness.
Meantime the moon rose high in the heavens, and the first streaks of
dawn appeared. There is no twilight in these low latitudes, and the
full daylight came well nigh at once. I had not closed my eyes since my
encounter with the steward, and ever since the first blush of day I had
laboured under the impression that I could see some unusual dark mass
half way up the mast. But although it again and again caught my eye, it
hardly roused my curiosity, and I did not rise from the bundle of sails
on which I was lying to ascertain what it really was. But no sooner did
the rays of the sun fall full upon it than I saw at once that it was
the body of a man, attached to a rope, and swinging to and fro with the
motion of the raft.
A horrible presentiment carried me to the foot of the mast, and, just
as I had guessed, Hobart had hanged himself. I could not for a moment;
doubt that it was I myself that had impelled him to the suicide. A cry
of horror had scarcely escaped my lips, when my fellow-passengers were
at my side, and the rope was cut. Then came the sailors. And what was it
that made the group gather so eagerly around the body? Was it a humane
desire to see whether any spark of life remained? No, indeed; the corpse
was cold, and the limbs were rigid; there was no chance that animation
should be restored. What then was it that kept them lingering so close
around? It was only too apparent what they were about to do.
But I did not, could not, look. I refused to take part in the horrible
repast that was proposed. Neither would Miss Herbey, Andre nor his
father, consent to alleviate their pangs of hunger by such revolting
means. I know nothing for certain as to what Curtis did, and I did not
venture to inquire; but of the others,--Falsten, Dowlas, the boatswain,
and all the rest,--I know that, to assuage their cravings, they
consented to reduce themselves to the level of beasts of prey; they were
transformed from human beings into ravenous brutes.
The four of us who sickened at the idea of partaking of the horrid
meal withdrew to the seclusion of our tent; it was bad enough to hear;
without witnessing the appalling operation. But, in truth, I had the
greatest difficulty in the world in preventing Andre from rushing out
upon the cannibals, and snatching the odious food from their clutches.
I represented to him the hopelessness of his attempt, and tried to
reconcile him by telling him that if they liked the food they had a
right to it. Hobart had not been murdered; he had died by his own hand;
and, after all, as the boatswain had once remarked to me, “it was better
to eat a dead man than a live one.”
Do what I would, however, I could not quiet Andre’s feeling of
abhorrence; in his disgust and loathing he seemed for the time to have
quite forgotten his own sufferings.
Meanwhile, there was no concealing the truth that we were ourselves
dying of starvation, whilst our eight companions would probably, by
their loathsome diet, escape that frightful destiny. Owing to his secret
hoard of provisions Hobart had been by far the strongest amongst us; he
had been supported, so that no organic disease had affected his tissues,
and really might be said to be in good health when his chagrin drove him
to his desperate suicide. But what was I thinking of! whither were
my meditations carrying me away? was it not coming to pass that the
cannibals were rousing my envy instead of exciting my horror?
Very shortly after this I heard Dowlas talking about the possibility
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348
349
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356
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368
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794
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;
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.
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.
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,
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;
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877
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893
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895
.
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,
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,
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-
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.
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901
,
,
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905
.
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.
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.
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910
.
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«
!
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;
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!
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914
,
915
,
,
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,
,
917
.
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919
,
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!
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923
924
925
.
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927
.
-
-
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.
929
-
;
930
.
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936
;
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-
.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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954
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.
;
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.
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.
.
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?
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;
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,
;
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.
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.
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.
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,
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.
,
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;
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;
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.
973
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;
;
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.
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,
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978
,
.
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,
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981
.
;
;
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,
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.
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985
,
,
’
986
;
987
.
988
989
,
990
,
,
991
,
.
992
;
993
,
,
994
995
.
!
996
?
997
?
998
999
1000