Ran Away to Sea Part 27

The sea was frequently scanned, round and round, to the very borders of the sky.

This duty was neither forgotten nor overlooked. There was always some one rising to his feet and gazing outward, but only to return to his former position, with that disheartening look that proclaimed how vain his reconnoissance had been. Indeed, silence itself was a sufficient reply. No one would have discovered a sail, without making instant announcement of it.

At noon we were all suffering from thirst; they who had been regaling themselves with rum worse than any--for this is the sure result.

Water was served out from the cask--in equal quant.i.ty to each. It was agreed that all should share alike, both of the water and the bread--and of the former it was resolved that each should receive a pint a day. In any other situation the allowance might have been sufficient, and existence might be supported upon it; but under that broiling sun, that seemed to dry up the very blood in our veins, our thirst became almost insupportable, and the pint of water could be gulped down without affording the slightest relief. I am certain that half a gallon would scarce have sufficed to quench my thirst. What rendered the pint of water still more insufficient was, that it was no longer cool water.

The sun, basking down upon the cask that lay only half covered, had heated the staves--and, consequently, the water within--to such a degree, that the latter tasted as if half-way towards boiling. It may have checked the progress of thirst, but it did not alleviate the pain.

The water might have been kept cooler, by throwing the idle sail over the cask; but even this trifling precaution was not adopted.

The men were gradually giving away to despair--the torpor of despondency was fast laying hold upon them, and under this influence no one seemed to possess energy enough for any precaution--however easy it might have been.

As to the serving out of the food, that occupied only one act. To be put upon daily allowance out of such a store was altogether out of the question. A simple part.i.tion was all that was required, and the bag of biscuit was emptied out and its contents equally divided around. There proved to be two biscuits apiece, with a small surplus, and for this last the crew held a "raffle"--each time a single biscuit forming the prize. For these prizes the men contended with as much eagerness, as if there had been large sums of money staked on the result; and, indeed, it would have been a large sum that would have purchased one of those precious morsels of bread.

The "raffling," combined with the "rum"--which was now also meted out-- produced for some time a noisy excitement. But this was soon over; and the sullen silence of despondency again ruled.

Some, already ravenous with hunger and reckless of consequences, ate their two biscuits at once--while others, endowed with greater prudence or stronger powers of endurance, only gnawed a small portion, and kept the rest towards a future and more pressing necessity.

Thus pa.s.sed the time till near sunset, with no event to cheer us--no new prospect to beget a hope.

When near sunset, however, a grand excitement was produced, and all the sweet joys of hope were again felt.

One of the men who had arisen to his feet, and was gazing over the sea, suddenly cried out:--

"A sail--a sail!"

It would be impossible to describe the wild joy that these words produced--men leaped to their feet, vociferating glad huzzas as they repeated the words "a sail, a sail." Some pulled off their hats and waved them in the air--some leaped and danced about as though frantic, and even the most despairing behaved as if suddenly called to a new life.

I have said it would be impossible to picture that scene; but still more impossible to describe the contrast which, but the moment after, might have been witnessed upon the raft, when it was ascertained that the cry was a false alarm. No sail was in sight--there had been none--nothing could be seen of ship or sail over the wide circle of the ocean--nothing moved upon the gla.s.s-like face of that vast mirror.

A false alarm, entirely without foundation. Why the man had uttered it was soon explained. The wild expressions that were pouring from his lips, with the grotesque gestures he was making with his arms proved that he was mad!

CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR.

Yes, the man was mad. The awful occurrences of the preceding night had deprived him of his reason, and he was now a raving maniac.

Some cried out to throw him into the sea. No one opposed this counsel.

It would have been carried into execution--for several were prepared to lay hold of him when the maniac, apparently well aware of their intention, scrambled back into his former position; and, cowering down, remained silent and scared-like. It was not probable he would harm any one--he was left alone.

The excitement of this incident soon pa.s.sed away, and the gloomy looks returned--if possible, gloomier than before, for it is ever so after hopes have been raised that terminate in disappointment.

So pa.s.sed the evening and a portion of the night.

At the same hour as upon the preceding night--almost the same minute-- the breeze again sprung up. It could be of little service--since there was no chance of our being carried by it to land--but it was cool and refreshing after the intense torrid heat we had been all day enduring.

Some were for spreading the sail; others saw no use in it. "What good can it do?" inquired these. "It may carry us a score of miles hence, or perhaps twice that. What then? It won't bring us in sight of land--nor a ship neither. We're as likely to see one by lying still. What's the use of moving about? If we haven't the wherewith to eat and must make a die of it, we may as well die here as a score of knots farther to leeward. Set your sail if you will--we won't either hinder or help."

Such language was used by the despairing part of the crew.

There were those who thought that by sailing, we should be more likely to fall in with a vessel. They thought they could not be worse, and might drift to a better place, where ships were more frequent--though they acknowledged that there were equal chances of their going away out of the track.

The truth is, that not one knew within hundreds of miles of where we were, and to sail in any course would have been mere guess-work.

By men in misery, however, motion is always preferred to rest; and the knowledge that you are going, and going forward, produces a soothing influence on the spirits. It begets a hope that you will come in sight of something that may aid you; and these hopes, however ill-founded, enable you to pa.s.s the time more lightly. On the contrary, by remaining in one fixed place, for a like period of time, you fret and chafe much more under the uncertainty.

With this feeling upon them, most of the men were in favour of bending the sail, and it was accordingly bent.

The night before it had been held aloft by several of the men--as the only object then had been to get the raft beyond reach of the swimmers.

When that end was accomplished, the sail had been allowed to drop, and the raft had drifted a good distance without it.

To-night, however, a mast was raised--or rather, a pair of them-- consisting of oars and handspikes spliced together--and between the two the canvas was extended, without yard, gaff, or boom. There was no design to manoeuvre the sail. It was just spread like a blanket, transversely to the raft, and left for the breeze to blow upon it as it listed. When this was done the raft was left to its own guidance, and, of course, drifted to leeward as fast as it could make way--apparently at the rate of three or four knots an hour.

The men once more resumed their rec.u.mbent positions, and all remained silent. Some fell asleep, and snored as though they were happy! Others slept, but their dream-talking told of troubled visions--recalling, maybe, dark scenes of guilt. A few seemed to lie awake all the live-long night--at intervals tossing about, as though kept on the alert by thirst, hunger, or the apprehension of approaching death.

Brace and I sat close together. We still occupied the slight raft he had made--as there was but little room upon the other--and this one, now forming part of the whole structure, was as good a position as we could have chosen--in fact the best, as the sequel proved.

There was a sail upon it--the jib or flying jib, I know not which--and a piece of old tarpauling; and these, spread over the planks, kept them together, and gave us a softer bed to recline upon.

We conversed together at times, though not often. Now and then the brave sailor had endeavoured to cheer me by holding out hopes--but so hopeless had our situation now become that he at length desisted. He felt that it would be only mockery to hold out the slightest prospect of our deliverance. He, too--the bravest of all that blind--was fast surrendering himself to despair.

The breeze died away before daybreak, just as on the previous night--and another morning came, but showed no sail on all that boundless sea.

Another hot sun rose and circled overhead through the same cloudless heaven, and set red and fiery as ever.

There pa.s.sed another night, and once more the wind carried us through the water; and then several other days and nights--I ceased to count them--came and went with almost the same monotonous routine, varied only by bickerings among the men--sometimes most fiendish quarrels, in which knives were drawn and used almost with fatal effect.

Strange time for disagreement and deadly conflict!

Even wild animals--the fiercest beasts of prey--when under the influence of a common danger will yield up the ferocity of their nature. Not so these wicked men--their vile pa.s.sions in this dread hour seemed only to become stronger and more malignant!

Their quarrels were about the merest trifles--the serving out of the water, the rum, the supposition of some one that he was not getting fair play in his allowance--but so frequent had they become, that they themselves grew to be a monotony. Every hour a fierce brawl disturbed the deep repose and otherwise breathless silence that characterised the intervals between.

If these incidents had grown monotonous and no longer failed to interest me, there was one upon the eve of occurring that was well calculated to produce within me an interest of the most powerful kind--calculated to stir my soul to its very utmost emotion.

I have said that this incident was on the eve of occurring--it was a hideous purpose already matured, though kept secret from my companion and myself. Neither Brace nor I had the slightest suspicion of it until the hour in which it was openly declared.

CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE.

It was probably on the sixth day after parting from the wreck--though I am not certain about the day--that the horrid design reached its development. It had been hatching for a while before, and upon that day came to a crisis.

It was now several days since food had been tasted by any one--the two biscuits each had been long since eaten--most of them at the moment of being given out. Of course every one upon the raft was suffering the pangs of hunger, and had been enduring them until the appet.i.te had reached the extremity of painfulness.

Some looked emaciated, with eyes deeply sunken, and cheeks bony and hollow. Others, strange to say, had a fat, bloated appearance; but this must have arisen from swelling, or some unnatural cause--it could not be that famine had given them flesh. All--one and all--had that peculiar expression about the eyes, and around the mouth, that may be noticed in the visage of a hungry dog, or still more perceptibly in a half-starved wolf.

About this period there seemed to be some secret intelligence among them--not all of them--but among those who acted as leaders--for even in their reduced condition, there were those of stronger body and more energetic spirit, who maintained a sort of leadership over the rest.