Author of "Toby Tyler," "Tim and Tip," etc.
Chapter XIV.
RAISING THE TENT.
The sails were not in a remarkable state of preservation, or Captain Whetmore would not have taken them from his vessel; but Reddy explained that the holes could be closed up by pasting paper over them, or by each boy borrowing a sheet from his mother and pinning it up underneath.
One of the sails was considerably larger than the other; but Reddy had also thought of this, and proposed to make them look the same size by "tucking one in" at the end. Bob returned before the sails had been thoroughly inspected, and brought with him the coveted flag, thus showing he had been successful in his mission.
"Now let's put it right up, an' then we can build our ring, an' do our practicin' there instead of goin' up to the pasture," suggested Ben.
Since there was no reason why this should not be done, Bob and Ben started for the woods to cut some young trees with which to make a ridge-pole and posts, while the others carried the canvas out-of-doors, and made calculations as to where and how it should be put up.
When they commenced work, they had no idea but that it would be completed before supper-time; but when the village clock struck the hour of five, they had not finished making the necessary poles and pegs.
"We can't come anywhere near getting it done to-night," said Toby, surprised at the lateness of the hour, and wondering why Aunt Olive had not called him as she had promised. "Let's put the sails back in the barn, an' to-morrow mornin' we can begin early, an' have it all done by noon."
There was no hope that they could complete the work that night. Therefore Toby's advice was followed; and when the partners separated, each promised to be ready for work early the next morning.
Toby went into the house, feeling rather uneasy because he had not been called; but when Aunt Olive told him that Abner had aroused from his slumber but twice, and then only for a moment, he had no idea of being worried about his friend, although he did think it a little singular he should sleep so long.
That evening Dr. Abbot called again, although he had been there once before that day; and when Toby saw how troubled Uncle Daniel and Aunt Olive looked after he had gone, he asked, "You don't think Abner is goin' to be sick, do you?"
Uncle Daniel made no reply, and Aunt Olive did not speak for some moments; then she said, "I am afraid he staid out too long this morning; but the doctor hopes he will be better to-morrow."
If Toby had not been so busily engaged planning for Abner to see the work next day, he would have noticed that the sick boy was not left alone for more than a few moments at a time, and that both Uncle Daniel and Aunt Olive seemed to have agreed not to say anything discouraging to him regarding his friend's illness.
When he went to bed that night he fancied Uncle Daniel's voice trembled as he said, "May the good God guard and spare you to me, Toby boy!" but he gave no particular thought to the matter, and the sandman threw dust in his eyes very soon after his head was on the pillow.
In the morning his first question was regarding Abner, and then he was told that his friend was not nearly so well as he had been; Aunt Olive even said that Toby had better not go into the sick-room, for fear of disturbing the invalid.
"Go on with your play by yourself, Toby boy, and that will be a great deal better than trying to have Abner join you until he is much better," said Uncle Daniel, kindly.
"But ain't he goin' to have a ride this mornin'?"
"No; he is not well enough to get up. You go on building your tent, and you will be so near the house that you can be called at any moment, if Abner asks for you."
Toby was considerably disturbed by the fact that he was not allowed to see his friend, and by the way Uncle Daniel spoke; but he went out to the barn, where his partners were already waiting for him, feeling all the more sad now because of his elation the day before.
He had no heart for the work, and after telling the boys that Abner was sick again, proposed to postpone operations until he should get better; but they insisted that as they were so near the house, it would be as well to go on with the work as to remain idle, and Toby could offer no argument to the contrary.
Although he did quite as much toward the putting up of the tent as the others did, it was plain to be seen that he had lost his interest in anything of the kind, and at least once every half-hour he ran into the house to learn how the sick boy was getting on.
All of Aunt Olive's replies were the same: Abner slept a good portion of the time, and during the few moments he was awake said nothing, except in answer to questions. He did not complain of any pain, nor did he appear to take any notice of what was going on around him.
"I think it's because he got all tired out yesterday, an' that he'll be himself again to-morrow," said Aunt Olive, after Toby had come in for at least the sixth time, and she saw how worried he was.
This hopeful remark restored Toby to something very near his usual good spirits; and when he went back to his work after that, his partners were pleased to see him take more interest in what was going on.
The tent was put up firmly enough to resist any moderate amount of wind, but it did not look quite so neat as it would have done had it not been necessary to perform the operation of "tucking in" one end, which made that side hang in folds that were by no means an improvement to the general appearance.
The small door of the barn, over which the tent was placed, served instead of a curtain to their dressing-room; and at one side of it, on an upturned barrel, arrangements were made for a band stand.
Mr. Mansfield's flag covered the one end completely, and all the boys thought it gave a better appearance to the whole than if they had made it wholly of canvas.
The ring, which Reddy marked out almost before the tent was up, occupied nearly the whole of the interior; but since they did not intend to have any seats for their audience, it was thought there would be plenty of room for all who would come to see them. The main point was to have the ring, and to have it as nearly like that of a regular circus as possible, while the audience could be trusted to take care of itself.
The animals to be exhibited were to be placed in small cages at each corner. Reddy had at first insisted that each cage should be on a cart to make it look well; but he gave up that idea when Bob pointed out to him that six mice or two squirrels would make rather a small show in a wagon, and that they would be obliged to enlarge their tent if they carried out that plan, even provided they could get the necessary number of carts, which was very doubtful.
MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER MISBEHAVES HIMSELF.
In the matter of getting sheets from their mothers they had not been as successful as they had anticipated. No one of the ladies who had been spoken to on the subject was willing to have her bed-linen decorating the interior of a circus tent, even though the show was to be only a little one for three cents.
Reddy was quite sure he could mend one or two of the largest holes if he had a darning-needle and some twine; but after he got both from Aunt Olive, and stuck the needle twice in his own hand, once in Joe Robinson's, and then broke it, he concluded that it would be just as well to paste brown paper over the holes.
Of course, the fact that a tent had been put up by the side of Uncle Daniel's barn was soon known to every boy in the village, and the rush of visitors that afternoon was so great that Joe was obliged to begin his duties as door-keeper in advance, in order to keep back the crowd.
The number of questions asked by each boy who arrived kept Joe so busy answering them that, after every one in town knew exactly what was going on, Reddy hit upon the happy plan of getting a large piece of paper, and painting on it an announcement of their exhibition.
It was while he was absent in search of the necessary materials with which to carry out this work that the finishing touches were put on the interior; and the partners were counting the number of hand-springs Ben could turn without stopping, when a great shout arose from the visitors outside, and the circus owners heard a pattering and scratching on the canvas above their heads.
"Mr. Stubbs's brother has got loose, an' he's tearin' round on the tent!" shouted Joe, as he poked his head in through a hole in the flag, and at the same time struggled to keep back a small but bold boy with his foot.
Toby, followed by the other proprietors, rushed out at this alarming bit of news, and sure enough there was the monkey dancing around on the top of the tent like a crazy person, while the rope with which he had been tied dangled from his neck.
It seemed to Toby that no other monkey could possibly behave half so badly as did Mr. Stubbs's brother on that occasion. He danced back and forth from one end of the tent to the other, as if he had been a tight-rope performer giving a free exhibition; then he would sit down and try to find out just how large a hole he could tear in the tender canvas, until it seemed as if the tent would certainly be a wreck before they could get him down.
[to be continued.]
[PERIL AND PRIVATION.]
BY JAMES PAYN.
WAGER ISLAND.
Part II.
With their privations, insubordination increased. Some separated themselves from the rest, and settled a league away; some built a boat, and going up the lagoons about the island, were never heard of more. Worse than all, some in authority misbehaved themselves, especially a midshipman named Cozens, who had gained some influence over the men.
Cozens had a dispute with the surgeon; then he quarrelled with the purser, and was unquestionably of a mutinous disposition. Still it is certain that Captain Cheap exceeded his powers when he drew out a pistol and shot Cozens down. What was worse, he refused permission for the wounded man to be carried into the tent, "but allowed him to languish for days on the ground, and with no other covering than a bit of canvas thrown over some bushes," until he died.
Unhappily Captain Cheap distinguished himself in nothing but severity. He never shared the sufferings of his men when he could help it; and though our narrator, Midshipman Byron, stuck to him to the last, it is plain he thought him a worthless creature.
This loyal young fellow was of good family, and became grandfather of the great Lord Byron, into whose imagination never entered stranger things than actually befell his ancestor.
The midshipman had built a little hut, just big enough to contain himself and a poor Indian dog he found straying in the woods. To this animal in his misery he became much attached. But a party of seamen came and took the dog by force, and killed and ate it. Indeed, three weeks afterward, when matters became much worse, Byron himself, recollecting the spot where the poor animal had been killed, "was glad to make a meal of the paws and skin which had been thrown aside."
The straits to which they were by that time reduced sharpened their ingenuity to the utmost. The boatswain's mate, having procured a water puncheon, lashed a log on each side of it, and actually put to sea in it, like the wise men of Gotham in their bowl, and with the assistance of this frail bark he provided himself with wild fowl while the others were starving. Eventually he suffered shipwreck, but was so little discouraged by it that out of an ox's hide and a few hoops he fashioned a canoe "in which he made several voyages."
In the mean time the hope of all these poor people lay in the building of a vessel out of the materials of the long-boat, with other timber added. This task was at last accomplished. Captain Cheap's plan was to seize a ship from the enemy, and to join the English squadron; but the majority of the hundred men, to which number starvation had reduced the castaways, were in favor of seeking a way home through the Straits of Magellan.
About this there arose a quarrel, and eventually the men threw off the Captain's authority altogether, left him on the island, and sailed away. A lieutenant of marines, Byron, and a few others remained with him. These were presently joined by some deserters who had settled on another portion of the island, so that their number now amounted to about twenty.
Their only chance of escape was in the barge and yawl, which in the absence of the carpenter were patched up so as to be fit for a fine-weather voyage. Even now their scanty stock of useful articles was diminished by theft, and two men were flogged by the Captain's orders, and one placed on a barren islet void of shelter. Two or three days later, on "going to the island with some little refreshment, such as their miserable circumstances would admit, and intending to bring him off, they found him stiff and dead."
All this time the weather was very tempestuous, but the occurrence of one fine day enabled them to hook up three casks of beef from the wreck, "the bottom of which only remained." These being equally divided, recruited for the time their lost health and strength.
On the 15th of December they embarked, twelve in the barge and eight in the yawl, and steered for a cape apparently about fifty miles away. But ere they reached it a heavy gale came on. The men were obliged to sit close together, to windward, in order to receive the seas on their backs, and prevent them from swamping the boats, and they were forced to throw everything overboard, including even the beef, to prevent themselves from sinking. As it was, the yawl was lost with half its crew.
The survivors, with the occupants of the barge, reached a small and swampy island, where bad weather confined them for days. There they ran along the coast, generally with nothing to eat but sea-tangle. At length they ate their very shoes, "which were of raw seal-skin."
It now became evident that the barge could not accommodate the whole party with safety, and as it had become a matter of indifference whether they should take their wretched chance in it or be left on this inhospitable coast, they separated. "Four marines were left ashore, to whom arms, ammunition, and some necessaries were given. At parting they stood on the beach and gave three cheers" (what cheers they must have been!) "for their comrades. A short time afterward they were seen helping one another over a hideous tract of rocks. In all probability they met with a miserable end."
Finding it impossible to double the cape, which had been the object of their journey, the rest returned to Mount Misery and Wager Island. Here they found some Indians, the chief of whom, on promise of the barge being given him, promised to guide them to the Spanish settlements.
Upon this voyage their sufferings, notwithstanding what they had already undergone, may be said to have commenced. Mr. Byron at first steered the barge, but one of the men dropping dead from fatigue and exhaustion, he had to take his oar. Just afterward, John Bosman, "the stoutest among them," fell from his seat under the thwarts with a cry for food. Captain Cheap had a large piece of boiled seal in his possession, but would not give up one mouthful. Byron having five dried shell-fish in his pocket, put one from time to time into the mouth of the poor creature, who expired as he swallowed the last of them.
Having landed in search of provisions, six of the sailors took an opportunity of deserting in the barge, leaving Captain Cheap, Lieutenant Hamilton, Mr. Byron, Mr. Campbell, and the surgeon—in short, all their surviving officers behind. The Cacique, as the Indian chief was called, had now no motive to assist them save the hope of possessing Byron's fowling-piece, and of receiving an immense reward should they ever be in a position to pay it. It was with difficulty that they could persuade him to continue his assistance. His wife, however, arrived in a canoe, and in this frail craft, which held but three persons, the chief took the young midshipman and Captain Cheap on a visit to his tribe. After two days' hard labor, in which we may be sure the Captain did not share, they landed at night near an Indian village. The Cacique gave the Captain shelter, but the poor midshipman was left to shift for himself. He ventured to creep into a wigwam where there was a fire, to dry his rags. In it were two women, "one young and handsome, the other old and hideous, who had compassion on him, gave him a large fish, and spread over him a piece of blanket made of the down of birds." The men of the village, fortunately for him, were absent, and for some time he was well cared for by his two kind hostesses.
Byron's life here was a romance in itself. The occupation of the women being to provide fish, he accompanied them in their canoe with the rest. "When in about eight or ten fathoms of water, they lay on their oars, and the younger of the women, taking a basket between her teeth, dived to the bottom, where she remained a surprising time. After filling the basket with sea-eggs, she rose to the surface, delivered them to her companion, and taking a short time to recover her breath, dived again and again."
When the husband of these two women returned, he expressed his dissatisfaction at the kindness they had shown the stranger by taking them in his arms and brutally dashing them against the ground. But notwithstanding this, these good creatures "still continued to relieve the young midshipman's necessities in secret, and at the hazard of their lives."
After a while the whole party returned to Mount Misery, where they found those they had left on the verge of starvation, and in the middle of March they embarked in several canoes for the Spanish settlements. The surgeon now succumbed to his labors at the oar; Campbell and Byron rowed like galley-slaves, but Hamilton, strange to say, did not know how to row, and Captain Cheap "was out of the question." He and the Indians had seal to eat, but the rest only a bitter root to chew; and as to clothing, Byron's one shirt "had rotted off bit by bit."
BYRON CARRYING THE CAPTAIN'S SEAL.
The party landed, and the canoes were taken to pieces. Every one, man and woman, with the usual exception of Cheap, had to take his share of them; Byron had, besides, to carry for the Captain some putrid seal in canvas. "The way being through thick woods and quagmires, and stumps of trees in the water which obstructed their progress," the poor midshipman was left behind exhausted.
After two hours' rest, and feeling that if he did not overtake his companions he was lost indeed, he started after them without his burden. But on coming up with them he was so bitterly reproached by the Captain for the loss of his seal and canvas that he actually returned five miles for them. After two days of absence from his companions he again rejoined them, in the last extremity of fatigue, but "no signs of pleasure were evinced on their part."
Eventually, after days of terrible suffering, they reached the Spanish settlements at Castro, where, strange to say, they were received with humanity. But as to eating, "it would seem as if they never felt satisfied, and for months afterward would fill their pockets at meals in order that they might get up two or three times in the night to cram themselves." Even Captain Cheap was wont to declare that "he was quite ashamed of himself," from which we may certainly infer that their conduct was gluttonous indeed.
The Englishmen, though well fed, received no clothing, and were carried through the country by the Governor of Castro in a sort of triumphal progress. At one place a young woman, the niece of the parish priest, and bearing the appropriate name of Chloe, fell in love with young Byron. He did not wish for this union, but he confesses that what almost decided him to become her husband was the exhibition by her uncle of a piece of linen, which he was promised should be made up at once into shirts for him if he would consent. "He had, however, the resolution to withstand the temptation."
From Castro the English officers were taken to Santiago, the capital of Chili, where a Spanish officer generously cashed their drafts on the English consul at Lisbon. They received the sum of six hundred dollars, with which sum they purchased suitable equipments. They remained at Castro two years on parole, and eventually reached France, and thence escaped to England, after a series of hardships and adventures such as have rarely been equalled, and which were "protracted above five years."
The adventures of the eighty men who had left Wager Island in the long-boat were little less terrible. Many perished of starvation, and those who had money or valuables offered unheard-of prices for a little food. "On Sunday, the 15th of November," for example, "flour was valued at twelve shillings a pound, but before night it rose to a guinea." There was a boy on board, aged twelve years, son of a Lieutenant Capell, who had died on the island. His father had given twenty guineas, a watch, and a silver cross to one of the crew to take care of for the poor boy, who wanted to sell the cross for flour. His guardian told him it would buy clothes for him in the Brazils, whither they were bound. "Sir," cried the poor boy, "I shall never live to see the Brazils; I am starving. Therefore, for God's sake, give me my silver cross." But his prayers were vain. "Those who have not experienced such hardships," observes the narrator of this scene, "will wonder how people can be so inhuman.... But Hunger is void of compassion." Of the eighty men only thirty survived to reach England by way of Valparaiso.
