The Two Shipmates Part 6

"If the wind doesn't change soon there'll go a good lump of prize-money and the lives of a good many poor fellows," observed old Jacob.

"But won't she be able to steer for the harbour, Crane?" asked young Chandos, who was, however, thinking more of his two messmates and others on board than of prize-money.

"It will be a hard matter to find it, even if they can steer the ship at all: and considering the way we knocked her about, it will be a wonder to my mind if she doesn't go to the bottom before morning," answered old Jacob with a sigh.

The anxious night pa.s.sed away. When day dawned, it was found that the ships were nearer the land, notwithstanding all their endeavours to beat off it, than they had been on the previous evening. Many a gla.s.s was turned westward in search of the _Concorde_, though the hope of discovering her was slight. Not a trace of her was to be seen. She, with her prize-crew, had probably foundered or gone on sh.o.r.e at the moment her lights had disappeared. Still it was thought possible that she might have been driven into some bay, or between high rocks, and be concealed by them from sight. Soon after dawn the _Falcon_ made the signal to bear up for the harbour. She leading, and the two re-captured whalers following, they stood towards it. Though the sea broke impetuously on the rocks on either side, they safely entered the magnificent harbour of Rio de Janeiro, and dropped their anchors off the town.

Lieutenant Handsel at once applied to the authorities for guides, and a party was sent off, under the master and purser, to search the coast to the northward for the wreck of the _Concorde_, and to a.s.sist any of the crew who might have escaped. The sea was still too rough to allow of an expedition by water. Ralph in the meantime was ordered to return to the _Falcon_ with Mr Chandos and the men-of-war's men who had accompanied him on board the _Eagle_. Mr Handsel then told him that as there was no probability of an English master being found at Rio to take the _Eagle_ home, he should direct him to do so, and would furnish him with a doc.u.ment which would enable him to obtain a pa.s.sage to rejoin the _Falcon_ in India, should he desire to remain in the navy. "I would strongly advise you to do so," he added; "and it will not be my fault it you do not gain promotion."

Ralph heartily thanked his commander, and begged that he might be allowed to defer his decision till his arrival in England. Before going on sh.o.r.e, which he had to visit to obtain workmen for the repairs of the _Eagle_, he went below to speak to d.i.c.k Bracewell. He hoped to soothe his anger and to persuade him to give up his intention of deserting. He did not see him as he went along the decks. He ascertained that he had not formed one of the exploring party. He sent others to search for him, but he was nowhere to be found. A number of sh.o.r.e-boats had been going backwards and forwards all day between the ship and the sh.o.r.e, and Ralph had too much reason to fear that d.i.c.k had smuggled himself into one of them and made his escape. He felt it his duty to inform the commander, that watch might be kept to prevent others from following so bad an example; and he received orders to take a couple of men and to bring back the deserter if he could be found. He first returned to the _Eagle_ to warn the boatswain, who was in charge, to look sharply after their own men.

"Half are drunk already, and as they have somehow or other managed to get liquor on board there is no fear of them," was the unsatisfactory answer.

Ralph could only hope that the boatswain himself would keep sober, and as he could not remedy matters by remaining, he pulled on sh.o.r.e. Having obtained an interpreter and guide from the British consul, he commenced his search for d.i.c.k. After looking for him for some time, he heard that an English seaman, answering to his description, had been seen to enter a house in the neighbourhood of the town. Though it was now nearly dark he set off at once in the hopes of finding him before he could make his escape. He knew that he was acting really a kind part towards d.i.c.k, who would, if left on sh.o.r.e, soon fall a victim to intemperance and the unhealthy climate. The house was reached. The inhabitants appeared to be very much surprised at the visit, and though they allowed a search to be made for the runaway, they protested that they had never seen or heard of him. With much regret Ralph returned to the quay to go on board his ship. As he and his party approached the sh.o.r.e they observed a bright glare in the sky over the harbour.

"As I'm alive, there's a ship on fire," exclaimed one of the seamen.

"Hope it isn't our frigate."

"It is one of the ships which came in this morning, at all events,"

observed the guide.

Ralph with an anxious heart hurried down to the quay, where a number of people were already collected. A ruddy glare extended far and wide over the harbour from a fiery ma.s.s which floated on its surface, lighting up the buildings and the figures of the people on the sh.o.r.e, and the ships at anchor off it. Among them lay the _Falcon_, her sides and lofty masts and rigging brought prominently into view. At some distance from her was the _Penguin_; and what was Ralph's dismay when he discovered that the burning ship was the _Eagle_. His impulse was to go off at once to her--but what aid could he render? Already the flames were bursting through her hatchways and ports and encircling her masts and spars. The oil and casks in her hold once having ignited, no human means could extinguish the conflagration. He looked for his boat. A boy alone was in her; the men, as was to be expected, had gone off to a wine-house, and only just having heard that a ship was on fire, came reeling down to the quay, uttering exclamations of surprise when they discovered that she was their own. Having tumbled into the boat they were sufficiently sober to row, and Ralph ordering them to shove off, steered for the unfortunate _Eagle_. Numerous boats were moving about, and some around her, and he hoped, therefore, that the people on board had been rescued. It made him fear, however, that all hope of saving the ship had been abandoned. Still it was his duty to get on board if he could, to ascertain that every possible effort had been made. He had pa.s.sed through an outer circle of native boats, and was dashing on, when he was hailed by a man-of-war's boat, but not hearing what was said, he was still continuing his course, and would soon have been close to the ship, when there came a thundering report as if a whole broadside had been fired. Her mizen mast shot up into the air, followed by a large portion of the afterpart of her deck and bulwarks and interior fittings; some parts in large pieces, others rent into numberless burning fragments, which hung suspended in the air, and then in a thick fiery shower came hissing down into the water, the lighter bits reaching considerably beyond where the boats lay. Ralph had scarcely time even to get his boat round before the shattered pieces of burning wood began to fall thickly round his boat, threatening in an instant to sink her, and to kill any one who might be struck. Happily no one was hurt. The downfall of the wreck ceased; still the fire in the forepart of the ship was raging on, when the bows and bowsprit rose in the air surrounded by flames which, tapering up into a vast cone of fire, suddenly disappeared as, the stern sinking first, the water swept over the remainder of this hapless ship, and all was instantly dark, except here and there where the smouldering ends of spars and planks floated above the calm surface of the harbour. Ralph with a sad heart pulled on board the _Falcon_, feeling himself reduced from the position of captain of a fine ship to that of a master's a.s.sistant; and what weighed still more on his spirits, that he had no longer the prospect of returning to England and to his dear Jessie. He was thankful to find that the boatswain and most of the crew of the _Eagle_ had been rescued, with the exception of three unhappy men who, overcome by liquor, had been suffocated below. The whole of the survivors entered on board the _Falcon_--indeed, they were not offered a choice. A dozen of her best hands were also taken out of the _Penguin_--such being the custom of the times, when a King's ship wanted men. Their places were filled by Portuguese and other foreigners, thirty of whom were shipped by the _Falcon_ to make up her complement, in addition to a few runaway English seamen reduced to beggary, and sent on board by the consul. The exploring party returned without a survivor from the _Concorde_, a few pieces of wreck alone having been found as evidence of her fate. Such is the sad result of warfare. Three hundred human beings had lost their lives on board the four ships, two only of which now remained afloat. Ralph did his utmost to discover d.i.c.k, but without success, and at length he began to fear that he had been drowned in trying to make his escape, or had--not an unlikely occurrence--been murdered on sh.o.r.e. The _Falcon_, her repairs being completed, and Mr Handsel having written his despatches to send home by the _Penguin_, and having given himself an acting order as commander, sailed for the East Indies.

Ralph, as may be supposed, did not fail to write to Jessie and Captain Mudge by the _Penguin_, and to leave duplicates of two letters with the consul, to be forwarded by another opportunity.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Poor Jessie Flamank had good cause to be sad. For long she hoped against hope. Whenever the door opened her heart beat quick, and she looked up half ready to spring from her seat in expectation that her Ralph would appear. Her kind granny was unwilling to say anything which might quench the hope which kept up her spirits, yet the dame knew full well that Ralph was too good a seaman to be allowed his liberty.

Captain Mudge looked in every evening when his work on board the _Amity_ was over for the day, and did his utmost to comfort Jessie. He would not say, however, whether he thought that Ralph would come back soon, but he told her that he was sure to get on well, and be better off in many respects than on board the brig. "As to danger," he continued, "to my mind a man is as safe in one place as in another. G.o.d, remember, looks after those who trust in Him; they would be in a bad case if they had no other protection than such as they can find for themselves; so I don't see, Jessie, that any of us can do more for him than we are doing, that is, praying heartily for him. As I always say, it's a blessed thing that we can do that for ourselves and others, though we can do nothing else for our own or their help."

Jessie did trust to G.o.d, but her trial was hard to bear notwithstanding.

Still it made her throw herself more than she might otherwise have done on His fatherly care, and she felt her heart lightened in a way she had not supposed possible. She had abundance of occupation; for Mrs Treviss was accustomed to take in needlework, to a.s.sist her limited means, and as her eyesight had of late become dim, Jessie endeavoured to relieve her by labouring with redoubled diligence.

Kind-hearted Captain Mudge seldom came to the cottage without some welcome present, which he said he had received as a gift from a brother skipper just returned from a foreign voyage. One day it was a Dutch cheese, another a few pounds of choice tea, or a box of dried fruit or some bottles of wine, and so on. One day, when the package was larger than would have been becoming for him, master of the good brig _Amity_, to carry through the streets, he was followed by a boy wheeling it along in a barrow. The lad, who was dressed in a neat sailor-like costume, set it down in the pa.s.sage and was going away, when Jessie recognised, in spite of his changed appearance, her young tatterdemalion boatman, Peter Puddle. "What, Peter, I scarcely knew you again," she said. "You must stop and have something to eat."

"Thank ye, miss, I'm not hungry, as I used to be," he answered, in a tone of satisfaction. "Captain Mudge has taken me aboard the _Amity_, and I get as much grub as I want, though I shouldn't mind a bit of bread and cheese, thank you."

Jessie invited Peter into the kitchen and placed before him a loaf of bread and some cheese, to which, notwithstanding his a.s.sertion, he did ample justice. She observed that he had improved in his manners as well as in his appearance. Before beginning to eat, he said grace exactly in the words the captain used and in the same tone. He told her that Captain Mudge had given him an outfit, and was teaching him to read and say his prayers, and was ever so kind in all sorts of ways. "Oh, miss, there isn't no one like him," he added. "And only to think if I'd gone off at once that night and hadn't picked those fellows up, I might have saved your young man from going to sea in the frigate. I be main sorry, you may depend on't; but I'll do all the captain tells me, that I will."

Jessie sighed. "The men might have lost their lives had you not picked them up, though it was, indeed, careless of you to forget your commission," she said. "But what I have to forgive I heartily do forgive, and I hope that you will obey Captain Mudge, and follow his advice."

"That I will, miss, and thank you, too, for speaking so kindly to me,"

answered Peter warmly. "I hope I may have a chance of showing that I am grateful, some day, though it isn't likely, I'll allow."

The _Amity_ was at length ready for sea. She was bound out to Riga for staves, a somewhat dangerous voyage in the autumn. Captain Mudge came to wish the widow and her granddaughter farewell. "I've got a fresh mate," he said, "a decent lad; but he isn't like Ralph, and I doubt if he's much of a navigator."

"Good-bye, Jessie, good-bye; heaven bless and protect you; keep a good heart, my girl, you'll see Ralph back some day," were his last words, as he wrung her hand at the porch and hurried down the road.

When he had gone, Jessie felt that she had lost the truest friend she possessed in the world next to her granny, and she could not help fearing that the days of her only relative were numbered. Every week Jessie saw a marked change in her. She could no longer get up and downstairs without the greatest difficulty, her eyesight grew worse, and her trembling fingers refused to hold a needle, while she could scarcely convey her food to her mouth. In one respect she had not changed: her mind remained clear and her trust in G.o.d as firm as ever. She knew that she was dying, though she was loth to say so to her grandchild, who would thus be left alone in the world. "G.o.d will look after the dear one," she said often to herself; "He is ever the father of the fatherless, and will not forsake her." She longed, however, for the return of Captain Mudge, but though it was the time for him to be back, no news had come from him. A letter at last arrived from Ralph, written from the West Indies, which gave her an account of his prospects of promotion, and cheered her up. He was well and as contented as could be, and she was thankful for that; still it compelled her to abandon all hopes of his speedy return. When his next letter arrived, giving an account of the battle and of the loss of the _Eagle_ and of his own bitter disappointment, she was sitting by the death-bed of Mrs Treviss.

Had it not been for the burning of the _Eagle_, Ralph might even now have been with her, but instead, he had certainly gone to that far, far off Indian Ocean, where he might be kept for years. Jessie restrained her tears that she might not disturb her grandmother's last hours.

Mrs Treviss, who was thinking of Captain Mudge, asked faintly if he was coming.

"No hope of it, dear granny," she answered, in a faltering voice.

"G.o.d's will be done! Trust to Him! Trust to Him!" whispered, the old woman, closing her eyes as if she were weary and wanted sleep.

Jessie sat long watching her anxiously. There was no movement. She took her hand. It was icy cold. Her granny was dead, and she was alone in the world. The doctor some time after looked in and found the young girl still seated by the bedside. He sent a woman, Dame Judson by name, to a.s.sist her, and promised to make arrangements for the funeral, but he had a large family of his own, and could do little more except in the way of sympathy and advice. Mrs Treviss was carried to her grave, Jessie being the only mourner, while Dame Judson walked by her side to afford her support.

When she came back to her solitary home she could not for some time arouse herself from her grief, though Dame Judson, a motherly sort of woman, tried her best to console her. Jessie, however, felt that it was necessary to consider what she should do for her support. The cottage was hers, and she had about ten pounds a year left her, the interest of a sum in the hands of Messrs. Grayson and Company, shipowners, of Plymouth. She could make something by her needle, but scarcely sufficient, though she was resolved to try her best. She would have let her cottage and looked for a situation as a lady's-maid or a nursery-governess, but then should Ralph come back he would be disappointed at not finding her there, and she might not even hear of his return, so she would not entertain the idea for a moment. She might find an old lady to lodge with her, and her last idea was to open a school for little girls. She had no one to consult with. Worthy Dame Judson hadn't an idea above charing; with her neighbours she was but slightly acquainted. Messrs. Grayson and Company had paid her grandmother's interest regularly, but were not pleasant people to speak to. They had been part owners with her father in the _Dolphin_, the ship in which he had been wrecked. Having neglected to insure her they had lost a good deal of money by the circ.u.mstance, and being especially narrow-minded entertained an ill feeling even for poor Jessie herself, which they exhibited whenever she went to their office. She had been to a good school in Exeter, but the lady who kept it, and who would have been of great a.s.sistance, was dead, and the school broken up.

The clergyman of the church Jessie attended, on hearing of her unprotected condition, immediately called on her to offer such consolation and a.s.sistance as he had the power to bestow. He was, however, the vicar of an extensive parish, which, in addition to its usual large number of poor, contained at the time very many widows and orphans of the soldiers and sailors killed during the long protracted war, who demanded all his sympathy and attention. Having also but a limited income, insufficient for the extensive demands on his purse, he was unable to afford her any pecuniary a.s.sistance. His visits, few and far between, like those of angels, as they of necessity were, afforded her much comfort and support, as he never failed to urge her to seek for that strength from on high which will always be granted when asked for with a believing heart; and to place her reliance on Him who orders all for the best, though man, with his finite powers of mind, often fails to perceive it.

The only other person she could consult was Mr Barry, the apothecary, and he had but little time to give his thoughts to the subject.

The _Amity_ had in the meantime gone back to London, and had made several other distant voyages without returning to Plymouth. The captain had written to her, but on each occasion had again sailed without receiving her replies, and was thus not aware of her grandmother's death. At length a letter reached him while he lay in the Thames, and in his answer he promised to come and see her without fail at the end of the next voyage. A long time pa.s.sed after this, and no tidings came of him. She lived on in hopes, however, of his promised visit, till at length she heard from Mrs Judson of a rumour that the _Amity_ was lost with all hands.

"But don't ye take on so now, my dear," exclaimed the good woman when she saw the effect her announcement had produced. "We often hear of vessels going to the bottom which are all the time snug in some port or other, and perhaps the _Amity_, which has to be sure been a terrible long time missing, will come back some day with her old captain all right."

These remarks slightly revived poor Jessie's hopes, but weeks and weeks went by and the old captain did not appear. Still she thought that the _Amity_ might have been captured by the enemy and be in some foreign port; but the brokers had not heard from Captain Mudge, and even though a prisoner he would have managed to send a letter. She had long been expecting also to hear from Ralph. She was certain that he would have written if he had had the opportunity, but no news came of him. India was a long way off, and letters were often six months or even a year in coming, she knew. She was, therefore, though anxious, not alarmed, but she could not help watching with a beating heart each day at the hour the postman was wont to pa.s.s her door, in the expectation that he would stop with a letter in his hand.

Months and months pa.s.sed, none came. Her heart sickened, her cheeks grew pale. Again Dame Judson was the bearer of bad tidings. "She didn't wish to alarm Miss Flamank, not she, but she had heard a report that one of his Majesty's ships had been lost in the Indian seas with all hands, and she was greatly afraid that it might be the _Falcon_.

There were many other ships, though, on the station, and it might just as likely be one of them."

Jessie had never before fainted in her life, but she would have fallen to the ground had not Mrs Judson caught her and carried her to the sofa. The good woman was dreadfully frightened, for she thought that Jessie was dead, and that she had killed her by her incautious announcement. She tried all the usual expedients to restore animation, and at length the poor girl opened her eyes, but there was a pained yet vacant expression in them which the dame could not fail to remark.

Mr Barry happened soon afterwards to look in to say that he had the promise of four or five pupils, but he at once saw that poor Jessie would be unable to receive them for a long time to come. For weeks she remained in a sadly prostrated state, attended by Dame Judson, who looked after her, as she said truly, without hope of fee or reward.

Youth and a good const.i.tution prevailed at length, and Jessie recovered her health, though her heart seemed crushed, and she was unable to exert herself as she knew was necessary to obtain a livelihood. Poor girl!

she felt utterly alone in the world. Still, though the news of the _Falcon's_ loss was confirmed beyond all doubt, and the widows and children of her officers and crew ent.i.tled to pensions had received them she heard, she herself would not abandon all hope of seeing Ralph. Had she not prayed to G.o.d that he might be preserved from all dangers with the truest faith? and oh, how earnestly! though, as in duty bound, she had added, "Thy will be done." She even now tried from her heart to repeat those words and to bow meekly to the will of her Heavenly Father.

"He knows what is best, and does all for the best, as granny used to tell me, and as the kind vicar often says," she repeated to herself; "I am sure of that, though I cannot see it in this case, but that arises from my blindness and little faith."

CHAPTER NINE.

Kind Mrs Judson had gone to her own house. Jessie was seated at her work near the window for the sake of the light on an evening in the spring of the year, when she saw a man in a sailor's dress pa.s.s the garden gate, then stop and make inquiries of a pa.s.ser by. Presently he came back, and opening the gate, knocked at the door. Her heart beat violently. He was a stranger, not at all like Ralph; but could he have brought news of him? She flew to open the door.

"Beg pardon, ma'am; are you Jessie Flamank?" asked the stranger, pulling off his hat with a sailor's courtesy.

"Oh, who are you? Oh, tell me why you have come!" exclaimed Jessie, scarcely able in her agitation to utter the words.

"Why, do you see, I'm an old shipmate of one you knew once upon a time, and I thought as now I was at Plymouth I'd come and look you up and see how you were getting on, and have a talk about him," answered the man, stepping in as Jessie made way for him.

"Then do you bring me no news of him--of Ralph Michelmore?" she asked, in a trembling voice.

"Not what you may call news; seeing as how it's better than two years since I last set eyes on my old messmate," answered the stranger, taking a chair, while Jessie, unable to support herself, sank into the one she had left. "He told me all about you," he continued, "how you were to be married when he was pressed along with me and others, and so I came to know you: and, said I to myself, now that he's gone, poor fellow, and she's all forlorn-like, maybe, I'll try and comfort her a bit."