Chapter Eleven.
A Ghastly Waif of the Sea.
Our voyage had, thus far, proved to be an unusually eventful one; yet it was to be made the more notable ere its close by the addition of still one more incident, and that, too, of a sufficiently ghastly character, to the catalogue of those already recorded. It occurred on the tenth day after our brush with the Malays in the Straits of Sunda, and when we were about midway across the China Sea.
Since that wild night on which we had so nearly laid the bones of the Esmeralda—and possibly our own as well—to rest on the shores of Sumatra, we had met with uninterrupted bright sunshine and light, favourable breezes. The day on which the incident occurred was no exception to the rule. The weather was gloriously fine, with a rich, softly mottled sky of blue and white overhead, out of the midst of which the afternoon sun blazed fiercely down upon a smooth, sparkling sea, gently ruffling under the faint, warm breeze to a surface of pale, glowing sapphire, along which the barque, wooing the soft zephyr with studding-sails spread on both sides, from the royals down, swam with a sleepy, rhythmical swaying of her taunt spars, at a speed of some five knots in the hour.
It was close upon eight bells of the afternoon watch, and the saloon party were all on deck, grouped under the shadow of the awning; the elders lounging in easy, unconventional attitudes in capacious basket-chairs, the women, attired in snowy white, beguiling the time by making a pretence at working at some embroidery, or fancy sewing of some kind, as they fitfully conversed upon such topics as occurred to them; while Sir Edgar, clothed in flannels, with a Panama hat tilted well forward over his eyes, smoked and read with an air of placid enjoyment; the youngsters, apparently less affected than the rest of us by the languorous heat of the weather, meanwhile indulging in a game at hide-and-seek about the decks with the ship’s cat.
Of the hands forward, some of the watch were aloft, working at odd jobs about the rigging, while the drowsy clinking of a spunyarn winch somewhere on the forecastle, in the shadow of the head sails, accounted for the remainder. Most of the watch below were invisible; but two or three industrious ones had grouped themselves on the foredeck, in situations which secured at once a sufficiency of shadow and a maximum of breeze, and were smoking and chatting as they washed or repaired their clothing.
As for me, I was indulging in a brief spell of perfect bodily idleness, and had established myself in my own particular wicker chair, near the break of the poop, and, with hands crossed behind my head and cigar in mouth, was lazily watching a man on the main-royal yard who was reeving a new set of signal halliards, while my mind was busy upon the apparently insoluble problem of finding the key to the cipher relating to Richard Saint Leger’s buried treasure.
The signal halliards had just been successfully rove when eight bells were struck, and the man who had been reeving them—now off duty—was preparing leisurely to descend to the deck, when, as nine out of every ten sailors will, he paused to take a last, long, comprehensive look round the horizon. There was not a sail of any sort in sight from the deck, not even so much as the glancing of a bird’s wing against the warm, tender, grey tones of the horizon to arrest one’s wandering glances; but this was apparently not the case from the superior altitude of the main-royal yard, for presently I observed a change in the attitude of the man up there from that of listless indifference to awakened curiosity and interest. His gaze grew earnest and attentive; then he shaded his eyes with his hand, and his body assumed an attitude and expression of alertness. Long and steadily he maintained his gaze in one fixed direction; then he glanced down on deck, and, catching sight of me with my face upturned toward him, he hailed—
“On deck, there! There’s something away out here on the starboard bow, sir, as has the look of a boat adrift.”
“How does it bear, and how far off is it?” I inquired.
“About two points on the starboard bow, and a matter of eight or ten mile off, I should say, sir,” was the reply.
“Mr Forbes,” said I to the mate, who, the watch having just been called, at this moment came on deck from his cabin, “take the glass aloft, and see what you can make of this new wonder, if you please.”
Forbes went to the companion, took the telescope out of the beckets, slung it over his shoulders, and leisurely ascended the fore-rigging until he reached the topmast cross-trees, in which he comfortably settled himself preparatory to a careful inspection of the object. Meanwhile, the other man maintained his position on the main-royal yard.
“Now then, Joe, where do you say this precious ‘something’ of yours is?” inquired the mate as he unslung the telescope and proceeded to adjust it for use.
“There it is, sir,” answered the man, pointing; “about a couple of points on the starboard bow. I don’t know as you’ll be able to see it from down there, Mr Forbes, but it’s plain enough—”
“All right; I see it,” interrupted Forbes; and he forthwith raised the telescope to his eye, taking a prolonged and exhaustive look through it. At length, lowering the instrument, he turned in his seat, and, looking down upon me where I now stood, just forward of the mainmast, hailed—
“Joe is quite right, sir. There certainly is something out there, but it is fully twelve miles away, and it looks uncommonly like a boat with a mast stepped and a sail hoisted, or a signal flying.—I can’t quite make out which—and I even fancy I can catch an occasional glimpse of people moving about in her; but she wavers so much in the glass that I can’t be at all sure about it.”
“Very well; just keep your eye on her for a moment,” I answered back, “and let me know when she bears straight ahead. It will not take us much out of our way to give her an overhaul, and it is as well to make quite sure in such cases as this. Man your braces, fore and aft, the starboard watch; larboard watch, go to work and get in the larboard stu’n’sails. Port your helm a trifle,”—to the man at the wheel. “Round-in a foot or two upon the larboard braces!”
As these manoeuvres were executed, the barque’s bows slowly inclined to the eastward, and presently Forbes hailed from his lofty perch—
“S-o, stead-y! Whatever she may be, she is now dead on end to a hair’s breadth.”
“How is her head?” I shouted to the man at the wheel.
The fellow peered into the binnacle, and answered—
“North-east-and-by-east, three-quarters east.”
“Is the boat—or whatever it is—still straight ahead, Mr Forbes?” I inquired.
“Straight to a hair, sir,” came the reply.
“Then keep her at that,” I called to the helmsman. “Well there with the braces; belay! Overhaul the main clew-garnets and get the sheet aft. Roll up the awning aft here, some of you, and haul out the mizzen; then jump aloft, one hand, and loose the gaff-topsail.”
The ship was by this time astir and in a little flutter of excitement, fore and aft, at the prospect of another break in the monotony of our existence. Forecastle Jack is not, as a rule, very demonstrative; it appears to be regarded as “bad form” to exhibit excitement under any circumstances, or undue animation unless when confronted with some great and sudden crisis. Then, indeed, his movements are as active and springy as those of a cat; but, unless there is some pressing necessity for nimbleness, Jack regards it as the correct thing and a duty he owes to his own dignity to be deliberate of action. And, above all, whatever the circumstances, there must be no exhibition of vulgar curiosity, no eagerness, no enthusiasm, no astonishment while one of ocean’s countless mysteries is unfolding itself before his eyes; he must exhibit an air of semi-contemptuous indifference, as who should say, “I am a seasoned hand—a shell-back, and none of your beach-combers. I have long been familiar with all the strange sights and sounds and vicissitudes to be met with upon the broad ocean; for me the tale of them is exhausted; so far as I am concerned there is nothing new under the sun, nothing so strange or unexpected as to be capable of arousing my interest, nothing that can astonish or disconcert me.” The effect of this unspoken tradition was apparent in the studied carelessness of the one or two inquiries that were addressed to the man Joe, when at length he descended from aloft and rejoined his mates on the forecastle-head. But the indifference was only assumed; and as Joe—who, in his character of first discoverer, was entitled to the privilege of unrestrained loquacity—stated not only what he had seen, but also what he now fancied he had seen—his imagination rapidly supplying him with fresh details even as he talked—his group of listeners gradually closed in round him; questions were asked, conjecture was indulged in, and every now and then the little conclave temporarily lost control of itself, and, yielding to the sympathy and excitement that was quickening its pulses, began to discuss eagerly the chances for and against some possibility that had been advanced by one of its number. As for my passengers, they were the slaves of no such code as that which influenced the lads forward; they yielded at once and without restraint to the feeling of solicitude and sympathy that was awakened within them at the news of the waif ahead, with its possible freight of physical suffering or still worse torment of mental anxiety, apprehension, and hope deferred “that maketh the heart sick” and breaks down all but the most stubborn courage, and fairly swamped me with eager questions and suggestions that, while they exhibited very effectively the goodness of heart of the speakers, were not of much practical value.
I succeeded at length in effecting my escape from these good people, and, arming myself with the ship’s glass, set out for Forbes’ coign of vantage—the fore-topmast cross-trees—to see what news the lapse of an hour might enable me to discover. I found, however, that there was no need for me to travel so far, for before I had mounted halfway up the lower rigging I caught sight of the object of my quest quivering in the hot air, upon the verge of the horizon straight ahead. I therefore settled myself comfortably in the top, from which convenient platform I made a minute and prolonged inspection of her.
It needed not a second glance through the powerful instrument I wielded to assure me that the object ahead was indeed a boat, and that she carried a spar of some sort on end with something fluttering from it—whether sail or signal I could not tell, for the rarefied air through which I viewed her so distorted her shape and proportions that it bore as much resemblance to the one as to the other; but, if a sail, it was certainly doing no good, for I could see by the peculiar lift and flap of it that both tack and sheet were adrift. As to whether she had any occupants or not, I could not for the life of me determine; for although I remained aloft there in the top for a good half-hour, with my eye glued to the telescope all the while, only once did I detect what had the appearance of something moving on board her; but the sight was so transitory and unsatisfactory that I might easily have been mistaken. However, we had by this time neared her to within some five miles; so, as another hour would decide the question, I determined to possess my soul in patience until then, and accordingly closed the telescope, slung it over my shoulder, and returned to the deck. As I wended my way down the ratlines I noticed two of the men—who were now supposed to be busily engaged in clearing up the decks after the work of the day—standing halfway up the topgallant forecastle ladder, and staring so intently ahead that they were altogether oblivious of my close proximity, from which I concluded that the boat must be already visible to them. As I swung myself out of the rigging on to the deck I heard one of them exclaim to the other—
“There, did ye see that? I swear I saw somebody get up and wave his hand, and then fall back again into the bottom of the boat!”
This description answered so accurately to what I thought I also had seen through the glass, that the doubts I had hitherto entertained as to the presence of people on board the boat now began to yield to the belief that there were, especially as the man who had just spoken bore the reputation of being the keenest-sighted man in the ship. I held my peace, however, and made my way aft to the poop, where Sir Edgar and his party—himself and the two ladies armed with binoculars—were still assembled, eagerly scanning the horizon ahead.
“Oh, captain,” exclaimed Lady Emily, as I joined the little group, “is it really true that there are shipwrecked people in that little boat? You have been up there watching it for so long through your telescope that you will be able to tell us for certain.”
“I am afraid I cannot do anything of the kind,” answered I. “It is true that for a single moment I thought I detected a movement of some kind on board her; but, if so, it was not repeated, and I therefore scarcely know what to think. However, we shall soon know now. Of one thing I feel sure, and that is that, if there are any people in that boat, they must be in the last stage of exhaustion, or a better lookout would have been maintained, our proximity discovered, and some effort made ere now, either to reach us or to attract our attention.”
“Do you mean that you think it possible there are people actually dying in that boat?”
“If she really contains any human beings it would not in the least surprise me were we to find them in that condition; dying, too, one of the most dreadful deaths that man can be called upon to endure, a slow, lingering agony—the indescribable, maddening torment of long-continued hunger and thirst,” said I.
“Oh, what an awful possibility to contemplate!” murmured her ladyship, her face blanching at the picture my words had conjured up. “Poor creatures! how frightful to think that—”
“By Heaven, there is at least one living being in that boat!” interrupted Sir Edgar, excitedly, as he lowered his binoculars and turned to me. “See, captain,”—looking again toward the boat—“you can distinguish him with the naked eye.”
At the same moment Forbes hailed from the topgallant forecastle—
“There’s a man in that boat, sir! Do you see him waving to us?”
“Yes,” I answered, as I caught a momentary glimpse of an upright figure that seemed to give a single wave with its arm and then collapse into the bottom of the boat. “Let go your fore-royal halliards, Mr Forbes, and run the ensign up to the royal-masthead. That will give them to understand that we have seen them.”
This was done, and after an interval that seemed quite long, but was probably less than half a minute from the hoisting of our signal, I again saw—this time through the telescope—a figure rise up in the boat, wave its arm, and sink down again.
“That man is in the very last stage of exhaustion,” said I to the Desmond party generally; “I am sure of it, or he would not act as he does. His sail, you see, is all adrift; yet he makes no effort whatever to secure it and head the boat toward us, nor does he attempt to get out an oar to lessen his distance from us. Unless I am altogether mistaken, the unfortunate creature has been driven clean out of his senses by the tortures of thirst and exposure, and does not know what he is doing; the little strength he has left being due entirely to the raging fever in his veins.”
“I am afraid you are right, captain,” agreed Sir Edgar, whose binoculars were again glued to his eyes.
Lady Emily audibly sobbed as she clasped her beautiful white hands convulsively together, and pressed them tightly to her breast; the tears sprang to her eyes, and she stamped her foot impatiently on the deck as she exclaimed—
“Oh, mercy! shall we never, never reach them?”
Miss Merrivale exhibited her sympathy in a totally different and far more practical way than her sister. Her cheeks glowed, and her eyes flashed with excitement as she laid her hand upon my arm, and said—
“Captain, be pleased to understand that you may count upon me to assist you in the treatment of those unfortunate people, as soon as you have got them safely on board here. I know exactly what to do, for, singularly enough, I was reading only this morning an account of a very similar rescue to this, effected by a British man-o’-war, some years ago. The narrative fully describes the measures adopted by the ship’s doctor in the treatment of his patients; I have, therefore, all the information at my fingers’ ends, and you may confidently trust me not to forget anything. I shall go below now, and make my preparations at once.”
“Thank you, most heartily,” said I. “Such assistance as you proffer will be of priceless value, and may indeed be the means of saving many lives. I accept it cordially, and with the deepest gratitude.”
“I will go with you, Agnes,” exclaimed Lady Emily; “I am sure I, too, can help, if you will only tell me what to do.”
And, to my unspeakable relief, the two charming women retired to the saloon, taking the nurses with them.
“I am heartily glad that the ladies have left the deck,” said I to Sir Edgar, as his eyes followed his wife’s form to the companion, “and I fervently hope that they will remain below until this business is over; for, to speak plainly, I am beginning to fear that when that boat is brought alongside she will present such a sight as no delicate, susceptible woman could endure to look upon without sustaining a terrible and long-enduring shock.”
“Say you so?” ejaculated Sir Edgar. “Then I will go at once and tell them that they are on no account to come on deck until they have your permission. I am greatly obliged to you for the hint, captain.”
Every eye in the ship was by this time riveted upon the boat ahead, which was now distinctly visible; but no further movement had been observed on board her, and I began to dread the possibility that, after all, our appearance upon the scene might prove to be too late. So anxious, indeed, did I now feel that, although Forbes several times looked aft at me, and then meaningly aloft at the studding-sails, I would not give the order to start tack or sheet, but held on with everything to the very last moment, feeling pretty confident that, in such light weather, we might safely round-to all standing.
At length, after what seemed an interminable interval, we arrived within half a mile of the boat; and now the barque was kept slightly away, in order that we might have room to round-to and shoot up alongside the small craft without giving her occupants the trouble to out oars and pull to us. This brought her out clear of our starboard bow, and afforded us on the poop a better opportunity than we had yet enjoyed of scrutinising her from that position; of which Sir Edgar, who had again joined me, took the fullest advantage, keeping his binoculars levelled upon her without a moment’s intermission. Yet all this time no further movement had been observed on board her, although she was now so close to us that, had such been made, it could not possibly have escaped our notice. She was a ship’s gig, about twenty-four feet long, painted green, and she floated too light in the water to have many people in her. She was rigged with a single short mast, stepped well forward, upon which an old and well-worn lugsail was set—or, rather, hoisted—for the tack had parted, the sheet was adrift, and the yard hung nearly up and down the mast, the foot of the sail hanging over the port side and trailing in the water. Her rudder was shipped, and swayed idly from side to side as the boat rocked gently upon the low swell and the small ripples that followed her in her slow drift before the dying breeze. Her paint looked faded and sea-washed in the ruddy glow of the setting sun; her bottom, along the water-line, showed a grey coating of incipient barnacles, and there were many other indications about her that to a sailor’s eye was proof conclusive of the fact that she had been in the water for several days.
As I noted these particulars through the telescope, while we were approaching her, my attention was arrested by a movement and occasional swirl in the water round about her; and, looking more intently, I presently descried the triangular dorsal fin of a shark in close proximity to the boat’s side. Looking more closely still, I saw another, and another, and yet another, and still others; so that, as I looked, the boat seemed to be surrounded by sharks, hemmed in and fairly beset by them. The water all about her was literally alive with them; its surface all a-swirl with their eager, restless movements as they swam to and fro and darted hither and thither, circling round the little craft and away from her, only to turn sharply, with a whisk of the tail that left a white foam-fleck and a miniature whirlpool on the gleaming surface of the water, and force their way back to her side through the jostling crowd of their companions.
“Do you see that swarm of sharks crowding round the boat, Sir Edgar?” said I. “Take my word for it, there is a corpse—perhaps several—in her, and I am glad that the ladies are not on deck. Lay aft here, lads, to the main-braces, and back the mainyard. Ease your helm down, and steer up alongside her,”—to the man at the wheel. “Stand by, one hand, to jump down into the boat with a rope’s-end and make fast.”
We were now so close to the little craft that, with the small air there was abroad, my voice, as I addressed the men, could have been distinctly heard at a considerable distance beyond her; and there is no doubt that it and the answering cries of the crew reached the ears of the castaway whom we had already seen; for as, in obedience to her helm, the bows of the barque swept slowly round towards the boat, a figure—a ghastly figure, with scarce a semblance of humanity remaining to it—rose up in the stern-sheets and looked at us. I shall never forget the sight, to my dying day. It was a man, clad in the remains of a shirt, and a pair of once blue cloth trousers that had become a dirty, colourless grey by long exposure to the sun and frequent saturation with salt-water. The head was bare, and thatched with a thick shock of grey, matted hair that still retained a streak of brown in it here and there to tell what its original
colour had been; and the face was shrouded in a dense growth of matted grey beard and whisker; the skin, where exposed, was scorched to a deep purple red by the fierce rays of the sun. All this, however, was as nothing compared with the gauntness and emaciation of the man. The face, or at least that portion of it which was not hidden by the jungle of beard, was that of a death’s head, a fleshless skull with a skin of blistered parchment strained so tightly over it that the cheek-bones seemed to be on the point of breaking through; while the eyes, but for the sparkle of the fever in them, would have been invisible, so deeply were they sunk within their sockets. The rest of his frame was evidently in like condition; his bare arms and exposed shanks seeming literally to be nothing but skin and bone, without a particle of flesh upon them.
For a space of, perhaps, ten seconds, this grisly phantom stood motionless in the boat, staring blankly at us; then, when the ship was within some twenty fathoms of him, he threw his gaunt, bony arms above his head, and with a wild, eldritch yell, such as I had never heard before, and hope never to hear again, he half sprang, half tumbled over the side of the boat into the water, and, with a frenzied energy such as few sound, strong men could have exhibited, struck out for the ship.
A wild cry of dismay arose from our decks, fore and aft, at this unlooked-for act of madness; and then, with one accord, all hands, myself included, dashed to the starboard quarter-boat and, while the first comers flung the coiled-up falls off the pins and cut the gripes adrift, Forbes and four others scrambled into her and, with wild eagerness, thrust the rowlocks into their sockets, slashed the oars adrift, and made ready to unhook and give way on the instant that she should touch the water.
But of what avail was it all? Even while working with the others at the boat I never for an instant lost sight of the maniac swimmer. I noted the splash of his plunge into the water, and saw the white swirl raised by the startled sharks as he precipitated himself into their midst; I saw, too, the vigour with which he swam, and my ears tingled with the wild, horrible cry he uttered at every stroke. For a brief space, perhaps ten or fifteen seconds, not a solitary shark’s fin was to be seen; the surface of the water was unbroken, save by the madman’s long and eager strokes. Then, all round about him the golden sheen was darkened into blue and churned to hissing white by the simultaneous rush of that horde of sea-tigers, and, with a single faint, hoarse, bubbling cry, the swimmer was gone!
“Too late! too late! hold on with the boat,” I cried. “The poor wretch is gone; torn to pieces by the sharks! Now let us see if there is anybody else—faugh! What on earth is the meaning of this?”
The exclamation was forced from me by an overpowering effluvium that at the moment swept on board us from the drifting boat, which was now on our weather-bow, and close aboard of us. As she dropped alongside, in the wake of the fore chains, all hands crowded to the rail to look down into her; while one smart fellow, with a rope’s-end in his hand, was already over the side, clinging to a channel-iron, with one foot upon its bolt-head, ready to drop into her and make fast. But the odour that arose from the little craft and assailed our nostrils was so unendurable, and the sight that her interior revealed was so dreadful and revolting, that we recoiled as one man, and allowed the boat with her awful freight to scrape slowly along the ship’s side from the fore chains to the taffrail, without an effort to secure her. To do so would indeed have been utterly useless, for that first glance down into her amply sufficed to assure us all that the forms lying prone there were dead and rotting corpses. They were those of two men, a lad of sixteen or seventeen, a woman, and a child of some eight or ten years old; the clothing of the two last mentioned being of so fine a texture and make as to suggest that the wearers must have been people of some consequence.
A small breaker, with the bung out, and obviously empty, stood at the foot of the mast, with a tin dipper beside it; while the lower half of a sailor’s sea boot, with the sole only of its fellow, lying in the stern-sheets, in company with a sailor’s sheath-knife, told only too plainly of the terrible straits to which the poor creatures had been driven to quell the craving torments of hunger. The words “La Belle Amelie, Marseille,” deeply carved in the transom, gave us the name and nationality of the ship to which this dreadful waif had once belonged, and completed the details of the entry which I that same evening made in my official log-book.
The barque still having way upon her, the boat slowly scraped along our side until she reached our starboard quarter; and there—the halliard of the sail, which served also as a mast shroud, fouling our main-brace bumpkin—she hung, and refused to drag clear. Seeing this, and anxious to rid the ship of such hideous companionship, the mate whipped out his knife and, getting down upon the bumpkin, cut through the halliard, thus releasing the boat and, at the same time, letting the sail down by the run and sending the extremity of the yard crashing through her bottom. She now drifted clear; and, our mainyard being at the same time filled and the helm put hard up, we paid off and began to draw away from her, noting, meanwhile, that she was gradually filling with water. The sharks still stuck pertinaciously to her; and as she settled lower in the water it was horrible to see with what increasing eagerness and determination they crowded round and strove to overturn her. At length, when her gunwale was almost flush with the water’s edge, they apparently succeeded; for we saw her mast begin to rock and sway, and then, while the blue of the water all about her with the surge of their struggling bodies was frothed into creamy white and spurting spray by their fierce plunges, the spar heeled suddenly over and disappeared. Happily we were by this time too far away to note the details in this final scene of the ghastly drama; but, taking a last look through the telescope, a few minutes later, I was able to make out the hull of the boat floating bottom up. The swarm of sharks had vanished.
On the fifth day following, we arrived, without further incident, in the Canton river; and Sir Edgar and his party went ashore and took up their quarters in the best hotel in Hong Kong, while we went to work with all expedition to discharge our cargo.