The Ocean Waifs Part 18

"Shiver my timbers if 'tain't my old sea-kit," interrupted the sailor, rearing himself aloft in the water like a spaniel in search of wounded waterfowl.

"Sure as my name's Ben Brace it be that, an' nothing else!"

"Your sea-chess?" interrogated s...o...b..ll, elevating his woolly cranium above the water, so as also to command a view. "Golly! I b'lieve it am. How he come dar? You leff 'im on de raff?"

"I did," replied the sailor. "The very last thing I had my hands upon, afore I jumped overboard. Sure I bean't mistaken,--ne'er a bit o' it.

It be the old kit to a sartainty."

This conversation was carried on in a quick, hurried tone, and long before it ended,--in fact at the moment of its beginning,--the swimmers had once more put themselves in motion, and were striking out in the direction of the object thus unexpectedly presented to their view.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

AN IMPROVISED LIFE-PRESERVER.

Whether it should turn out to be the sea-chest of Ben Brace or no, it appeared to be a chest of some sort; and, being of wood, buoyantly floating on the water, it promised to help in supporting the swimmers,-- now so utterly exhausted as to be on the point of giving up, and going to the bottom.

If the sailor had entertained any doubts as to the character of the object upon which they were advancing, they were soon brought to an end.

It _was_ a sea-chest,--his own,--to him easy of identification. Well knew he that close-fitting canvas cover, which he had himself made for it, rendered waterproof by a coat of blue paint,--well knew he those hanging handles of strong sennit, he had himself plaited and attached to it; and, as if to provide against any possible dispute about the ownership of the chest, were the letters "B.B.,"--the unmistakable initials of Ben Brace,--painted conspicuously upon its side, just under the keyhole, with a "fouled anchor" beneath, with stars and other fantastic emblems scattered around,--all testifying to the artistic skill of the owner of the kit.

The first thought of the sailor, on recognising his chest, was that some misfortune had happened to the raft, and that it had gone to pieces.

"Poor little Will'm!" said he. "If that be so, then it be all over wi'

him."

This belief was but of short duration, and was followed by a reflection of a more pleasant kind.

"No!" he exclaimed, contradicting his first hypothesis, "It can't be that. What could 'a broke up the raft? There 's been no wind, nor rough weather, as could 'a done it. Ha! I have it, Snowy. It's Will'm 's did this. He's throwed over the chest in the behopes it might help float us. That's how it's got here. Huzza for that brave boy! Let's cling on to the kit. There may be hope for us yet."

This suggestion was superfluous: for the idea of clinging to the kit was intuitive, and had entered the minds of both swimmers on their first perceiving it. It was with that view they had simultaneously set themselves in motion, and commenced swimming towards it.

The chest certainly offered an attractive object to men circ.u.mstanced as they were at that moment,--something more than a straw to be clutched at. It was floating bottom downwards, and lid upwards,--just as it might have been placed opposite Ben's own bunk in the forecastle of a frigate,--and it appeared to be kept steadily balanced in this position by the weight of some iron cleeting along the bottom, which acted as ballast. Otherwise the chest sat so high upon the water, as to show that it must either be quite empty or nearly so; for the sennit handles at each end, which were several inches below the level of the lid, hung quite clear above the surface.

These handles offered the most salient points to seize upon; so tempting, too, that it was not necessary for the sailor to suggest that s...o...b..ll should lay hold of one, while he himself sought the support of the other.

This arrangement appeared to offer itself tacitly to the Instinct of each; and, on arriving near the chest, they swam to opposite ends,--and each laid hold of a handle, as soon as he came within the proper distance to grasp it.

This kept the chest properly balanced; and although the weight they added to it caused it to sink several inches in the water, to their great joy its top still stood well above the surface. Even when the light form of Lilly Lalee lay resting along the lid, there were still several inches between the water line and its upper edge,--the only place where sea-water could possibly find admission into the kit of the English sailor.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

CONJECTURES ABOUT THE CATAMARAN.

In less than three minutes after coming in contact with the kit, the three castaways formed a group, curious and peculiar. On the right of the chest was the sailor, his body stretched transversely along its end, with his left arm buried to the elbow in the sennit loop forming its handle. Half of his weight being thus supported by the buoyant box, it was only necessary for him to keep his right arm in regular motion to sustain himself above the surface. This, even wearied as he was, he was enabled to accomplish without difficulty: for the new position was one rather of rest than of labour.

At the opposite end of the chest, in a _pose_ precisely similar, the sea-cook had placed himself,--the only difference being in the uses respectively made of their arms. s...o...b..ll's right arm was the one thrust through the handle, his left being left free for swimming.

As already hinted, Lilly Lalee had been transferred from s...o...b..ll's shoulder to a more elevated position,--upon the top of the chest where, lying upon her breast, and grasping the projecting edge of the lid, she was enabled to keep her place without any exertion.

It is not necessary to say that this change in the situation and circ.u.mstances of the party had also produced a change in their prospects. It is true that death might have appeared as inevitable as ever. They were still at its door,--though not quite so near entering as they had been but a few minutes before. With the help of the capacious chest--forming, as it did, a famous life-preserver--they might now sustain themselves for many hours above the surface,--in fact, as long as hunger and thirst would allow them. Their holding out would be simply a question of strength; and had they been only a.s.sured of a supply of food and drink, they might have looked forward to a long voyage performed in this singular fashion: that is, provided the sea around them should keep clear of storms and sharks.

Alas! the approach of one or the other of these perils was a contingency to be looked for at any moment, and to be dreaded accordingly.

Just at that moment they were not thinking of either, nor even of the probability of perishing by hunger or its kindred appet.i.te,--thirst.

The singular coincidence that the chest should come floating that way, just when they were on the point of perishing, had produced a remarkable effect on the minds both of the sailor and the sea-cook, begetting not positive conviction, but a pleasant presentiment that there might be other and more permanent succour in store for them; and that, after all, they were not destined to die by drowning,--at least not just then Hope,--sweet, soothing hope!--had again sprung up in the bosom of both; and, along with it the determination to make a further effort for the saving of their lives. They could now exchange both speech and counsel with perfect freedom; and they proceeded to discuss the situation.

The presence of the chest required explanation. The theory, which at first sight of it had suggested itself to its owner (that the raft had gone to pieces and that the kit was one of the scattered fragments) was not tenable, nor was it entertained for a moment. There had been no convulsion, either of winds or waves, to destroy the _Catamaran_; and this curiously-fashioned fabric, in all its fantastic outlines, must still be intact and afloat somewhere upon the surface of the sea.

It is true they could see nothing of it anywhere; neither could Lilly Lalee, who, from her more elevated position, was instructed to survey the circle of the horizon,--a duty which the child performed with the greatest care.

If the craft had been anywhere within the distance of a league or two, the large lateen sail should have been sufficiently conspicuous to have caught the eye of the girl. But she saw it not. She saw nothing,--so ran her report,--but the sea and sky.

From this it might have been inferred (even supposing the _Catamaran_ to be still afloat) that it must have drifted to such a distance as to have destroyed all chance of their ever overtaking it. But the sage seaman did not give way to this form of reasoning. His conjectures were of a more consolatory character,--founded upon certain data which had presented themselves to his mind. On reflection, he came to the conclusion that the presence of the sea-chest upon the bosom of the blue water was no accidental circ.u.mstance, but a design,--the design of little William.

"I be sure o't, Snowy," said he; "the lad ha' chucked the kit overboard, knowin' as how we mout overhaul it, when we could not come up wi' the _Catamaran_. The chest war amidships, when I parted from it. It couldn't a' got into the water o' itself no-howsomever; besides, it war full o' heavy things, and now I'm sartin it be empty,--else how do it float so? Sure he must a' whammelled it upside down, and spilled out the things afore he pitched it overboard. It was thoughtful o' him; but he be just the one for that. I've seed him do some'at similar afore.

Only think o' the dear boy!"

And Ben, after this burst of enthusiasm, for a moment indulged his admiration in silence.

"Dat's all berry likely,--berry likely," was the rejoinder of the Coromantee.

"I know what he did next," said Ben, continuing the thread of his conjectures.

"Wha' you tink, Ma.s.sa Brace?"

"He tuk in sail. I don't know why he didn't do it sooner; for I called to him to do that, an' he must ha' heerd me. I've jest got a idea that the fault was not his'n. When I hauled up that bit o' canvas, I've a sort o' recollection o' puttin' a ugly knot on the haulyards. Maybe he warn't able, wi' his little bits o' digits, to get the snarl clear, as fast as mout a' been wished; an' that'll explain the whole thing.

Sartin he got down the sail at last,--eyther by loosin' the belay, or cuttin' the piece o' rope, and that's why there be no canvas in sight.

For all that, the _Catamaran_ can't be so fur off. She hadn't had time to a' drifted to such a great distance,--'specially if the sail were got down the time as we missed it."

"Dat am true. I miss de sail all ob a sudden,--jess as if it had come down, yard an' all, straight slap bang."

"Well, then, Snowy," continued the sailor, in a tone of increased cheerfulness, "if't be as we conjecture, the craft ain't far ahead o' us yet. Maybe only a knot or two; for one can't see far over the water who happens to be neck-deep under it as we be. In any case she be sure to be lying to leuart o' us; and, without the sail, she won't drift faster than we can swim, nor yet so fast. Let us do the best we can to make a mile or two's leeway; an' then we'll know whether the old Cat's still crawling about, or whether she's gin us the slip altogether. That's the best thing we can do,--ain't it?"

"De berry bess, Ma.s.sa Brace. We can't do nuffin' better dan swim down de wind."

Without further parley, the two set themselves to the task thus proposed; and one striking with his right hand, the other with his left,--both buffeting the waves with equal vigour and resolution,--they were soon sweeping onward with a velocity that caused the sea to surge along the sides of the chest, until the froth rose to the fingers of Lilly Lalee as she lay grasping its lid!

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

DOWN THE WIND.

They had not proceeded very far, when a cry from the girl caused them to suspend their exertions. While the others were occupied in propelling the chest, Lalee, kneeling upon the lid, had been keeping a lookout ahead. Something she saw had elicited that cry, which was uttered in a tone that betokened, if not joy, at least some sort of gratification.