Chapter Thirteen.
No sooner had the frigate sailed than Jack found himself restored to comparative liberty; but liberty among such cannibals brought no sweets to him. Still he saw that the appearance of contentment was more likely to throw his captors off their guard than the constant exhibition of his misery; so he set himself to work to build a hut after their style, and to cultivate a garden, and to manufacture numerous articles of domestic furniture, as if he had resolved to make himself at home. He was fortunate in discovering a saw, and plane, and other carpenter’s tools, which had either been given in barter to the natives or been stolen by them. These he managed to use very skilfully, greatly to their wonder, as he performed ten times as much work as they could in the same space of time.
He thus gained their respect, and then he bethought himself that he might influence them in some way for good. He rapidly learned their language. He endeavoured to shew them the horrors of cannibalism, and many of their other disgusting practices. Many listened with attentive ears, and to his surprise acquiesced in the truth of his remarks. He pointed out to them the beauty of his own religion, and the pure practices inculcated by it. They drank in deeply what he said. He shewed them what even this world would be without wars, and murders, and violence and deceit, and treachery and wrong; and then he strove to lift their thoughts to another world, where all is pure and holy, and sinless and painless, and full of joy and thanksgiving, where the spirit, freed from this frail casket, having put on an incorruptible body, will, with freedom unfettered, ever be employed in joyously executing the commands of its Almighty Creator. Little thought the rough sailor, for rough he was, though his mind was enlightened, of the fruit which the seeds he was sowing was destined to bring forth.
Months, years passed by, still Jack was a prisoner. Yet he had won the affection of many of the natives, some had even abandoned their worst practices at his instigation.
At length a vessel came from Australia with a party of men to collect a cargo of sandal wood. Some of the chiefs were still anxious to prevent his departure, but, aided by the friends he had made, he was enabled to reach the vessel. He was welcomed by the master and promised protection. The Gipsy was a small schooner. She put into another port to complete her cargo. There, as usual, the natives came on board. He took care not to let it be known that he understood their language. By their looks and behaviour he suspected treachery. He warned the master of the Gipsy, but his warnings were laughed to scorn. Nearly half the crew were on shore. The canoes of the natives came thronging round the schooner. Some of the savages were clambering on board, when Jack discerned through a spyglass a disturbance on shore. The report of firearms was heard.
“What think you of that, sir?” asked Jack of the master.
“That the savages are murdering my people. Cut the cable, loose the sails, we must stand in to defend them. Heave those fellows overboard.”
In another moment the savages would have gained the deck, but while they were driven back with boarding pikes and cutlasses by some of the crew, others sprang aloft to make sail, and before they had time to concert a fresh plan of attack the schooner with a fine breeze ran from among them. As she swept close to the shore firing among the savages, two boats put off to her; but many on board were desperately wounded, while several more men lay dead on the beach. The canoes no longer dared approach her. The savages deserved punishment. The survivors of the schooner’s crew wreaked a severe vengeance on their heads, and then sailed away for their destination, leaving the natives to retaliate on the next vessel which might visit their shores.
Jack reached Sydney in safety, and quitting the schooner, entered on board a merchant brig, the Hope, bound for England.
“I think that I should like once more to visit my native land after all the adventures I have gone through,” observed Jack to a shipmate; but he experienced the truth of the saying, “Man proposes, but God disposes.”
“Yes,” replied his shipmate; “nothing shall stop me from getting there, depend on that.”
“There’s many a thing may stop you, Bill,” answered Jack. “We may be cast away or founder, or be taken by the enemy, or you may fall overboard and be drowned, or fifty other things may happen to you. I would not dare to make so sure if I were you.”
“All nonsense, Jack,” said the other; “when a man has a mind to do a thing he may do it. That’s my opinion. I don’t care who knows it.”
On sailed the Hope on her voyage, but in crossing the Indian Ocean she got into a dead calm. The sun sent its almost perpendicular rays with intense fury down on the heads of the crew. The water shone like a slab of polished steel. Not a breath of air came to fan their cheeks or to move the sluggish sails hanging uselessly against the masts. The heat on deck was intense, the water looked as if it must be cooler and more refreshing.
“Who’s for a swim?” cried one.
“I am, I am,” answered several voices, and in a few seconds a considerable number of the crew were overboard, swimming about like fish in the clear water. How they kicked and splashed about and revelled in the cool fluid. They felt like prisoners set free from their dark cells. Every man who could swim but a few strokes, and some even of those stupid fellows who had neglected to learn one of the most requisite of ordinary accomplishments for landsmen as well as seamen, let themselves down over the ship’s side by ropes, and holding on tight kicked and splashed, and shouted with the rest. Jack, among the boldest of the swimmers, made large circuits round the ship, accompanied by his messmate, Bill Sikes. One encouraging the other they increased their distance from the vessel.
“It’s time we were homeward bound,” observed Jack at last: indeed more than one signal had been made to them from the ship to return. Still Bill in his folly wanted to go farther off. At length they turned with their faces to the ship. As they swam round Jack saw close to them a black triangular object moving along just above the surface of the water: he knew it at a glance to be the fin of that remorseless monster of the deep, a shark. He was afraid of telling his companion what he had seen, lest it should unnerve him; but he himself instantly began to kick and beat the water, and shout in the hopes of keeping the shark at a distance.
“What’s all that about?” asked Bill surprised.
“Do as I do,” answered Jack, splashing more furiously than before; “it will be the better for both of us.”
They swam on thus for some way, but that ominous black fin kept even way with them.
“If either of us stop for a moment the brute will have one or both of us,” thought Jack, and he wished that he had not been so foolhardy as to go so far from his ship. He looked up at the tall masts and dark hull, and the delicate tracery of the rigging, and the white sails, which hung against the masts and were reflected as in a mirror on the tranquil deep, and they seemed still a long, long way from him; but Jack knew in Whom he trusted. He had been foolish and disobedient in going so far from the ship; but he felt that he was under the protection of One, merciful and long suffering, who had the power to save him even from the jaws of the ravenous fish, and to that Great Being he prayed fervently, unceasingly, for aid as he swam on. Not for a moment did he lose heart; still, as now and again he turned his head, there, close to him, was the dark ominous fin, and through the clear water glittered the bright cruel eye of the monster of the deep. As long as the fin was seen Jack knew that the shark was not about to make his attack, but he dreaded every instant to see it disappear; for a shark must always turn on its back to seek its prey.
It was some minutes before Sikes discovered the vicinity of their dreaded companion. Where was now his boasting and his courage? On whom had he now to trust? On his own strength? What could that avail him? Unhappy man. He had never learned to trust in God, who alone can help him now. He cried out piteously to his messmate.
“Jack, Jack, what shall we do now?”
Jack did not taunt him, as he might have done, for his boasting and self-confidence. Far from his heart was such an idea.
“Trust in God, Bill, and keep up your courage,” he shouted with a cheerful voice; “strike away, we shall soon reach the ship.”
“I can’t, mate, I can’t,” answered Sikes, “I don’t know how to trust in him. He won’t listen to such as me.”
“Pray to him, He’ll hear you, depend on it,” replied Jack.
“I don’t know how to pray—I’ve never prayed,” replied the unhappy man. “Oh, Jack, help me—help me. The shark came close to me, I felt him touch my leg,” he shrieked in a piteous voice.
“Swim on, swim on, man cannot help you, Bill,” said Jack in return; “don’t let your heart faint. Keep praying, I say.”
Alas, alas! How many must find out when too late, that the man on a bed of sickness, or in the hour of danger, who has never prayed before, can seldom or never pray then! The fresh morning of youth, the time of health and strength, of safety and peace, is the time for prayer. Depend on it, the man who does not pray in fair weather never will pray well in foul. So Bill Sikes found when the shark was swimming alongside him. Lustily and well the two seamen plied their arms and feet. Most of their shipmates had climbed on board.
“A shark, a shark!” shouted Jack as he drew near, anxious to warn others of the danger he was himself incurring.
No one needed a second warning, and Jack and Bill were the only ones of the crew left in the water. Several ropes were hove to them, and eager friendly faces looked down on them, and ready hands were stretched out to help them. Jack swam up to a rope, manfully striking out and vehemently splashing the water to the last. Bill with a faint heart followed his example, but the greedy shark was not to be altogether disappointed of his prey. All on board had kept their eyes fixed on that dark fin. Suddenly it disappeared.
“Quick, quick, seize the rope,” they shouted.
Jack had got hold of one, and was hauling himself up. Bill made a grasp at a rope and his hand had clutched it, but ere his fingers had got a firm hold a shriek of agony and despair burst from his lips, and down, down he was dragged, the ensanguined water shewing the cause of his disappearance. There was a cry of horror. It served as the funeral knell of the boaster. As Jack drew himself out of the water, a long snout rose to the surface: it was that of another shark. The white throat of the fierce fish glanced brightly in the sunbeams as he swam off disappointed of his prey. All rejoiced that Jack was saved, and even the captain forgot to lecture him for going so far from the ship, though horror filled the hearts of all as they thought of the fate of Bill Sikes. Why was this? In his health and strength, boaster as he was, Bill was admired by many. Who thought of rebuking him for his impiety? Till his fate was sealed, till God’s threatenings were fulfilled, no one believed the warnings of His Holy Word. So has it been since Noah entered into the ark, so will it be till all things are accomplished.
“This is the second time since I left home that I have seen the scorner meet with a fearful end,” observed Jack, yet he spake in no spirit of self-congratulation. “Oh, mates, whatever you do, put your trust in God, and be assured that He will not fail to guide us for our good if we will but rely on His mercy and kindness.”
The Hope sailed on in the prosecution of her voyage, and the fate of Bill Sikes was soon forgotten. Yet nearly a thousand miles had to be traversed before the Cape of Good Hope could be reached. Hitherto the voyage had been unusually favourable, but a change came quickly over the face of the sky and sea. Dense clouds were gathering from the south, the wind howled fearfully, the surface of the deep was torn up into foam-topped mountains and deep dark valleys of water. Now the brig lay rocking in one, and then, lifted up on high, she seemed to be about to be plunged headlong into another yet deeper than the first, a watery wall threatening to overwhelm her. To make any way on her proper course was impossible, but still sail was kept on her in the hopes that the might thus ride more easily. Jack had been in many a gale, but he had never been in a worse one.
Night came on, sea after sea broke on board. No one expected to see the morning’s sun; the bulwarks were knocked to pieces, so were the boats, with the exception of one: the main-topmast was carried away. The caboose and all spare planks and spars were washed overboard. Thus passed the night, the ship plunging fearfully, and the sea breaking over her. In spite of the just apprehensions of the crew, they saw the morning sun’s bright beams bursting forth from a break in the dark clouds, and tingeing the snow-capped summits of the waves with a golden hue. The gleam came and was gone in a moment, and the storm raged fiercer than before. Now a mountain sea came rolling towards the helpless brig.
“Hold on, hold on,” was the cry. Over it it broke. Jack held on, but the stauncheon he held to was carried away, and he and two of his shipmates were washed overboard into the boiling sea. What hope now for him or them? Those who remained on board with sorrow watched them struggling among the blinding foam; but again the wave rose, struck by an opposing one it seemed, and Jack and one of his companions found themselves cast back with violence on to the deck of their ship. They clutched fast hold of friendly ropes, and the water as it passed away left them clinging to the ship. That heavy sea had done more damage than at first appeared. A leak was sprung. Pale with terror the seamen heard the news.
“How long can she swim? Will she survive the gale?” one asked the other.
“We must labour hard at the pumps; we’ve still one boat uninjured amidships; we may build a raft. Don’t let’s be down-hearted. Let’s trust in God,” said Jack.
The pumps were manned, but the water gained rapidly on them. The gale blew fiercer than ever.
“We shall go down, there’s no doubt of it,” said more than one.
“Let’s keep the ship afloat till the gale goes down rather,” cried Jack working away at the pumps.
The captain and officers all took their spell, but none worked harder than he, and yet none trusted more firmly to the only arm which could save them. Higher and higher rose the water in the hold. Fearfully the ship laboured. Still most of the crew worked bravely at the pumps. All hopes of saving the ship had been abandoned, but yet they trusted that they might keep her afloat till the storm should subside. Vain even that hope. Some in their despair and folly rushed to the spirit casks.
“She is sinking—she is sinking,” was the cry.
The officers and Jack, with those who had kept firm at their posts, leaped into the boat, the lashings were cut loose, some provisions and water had already been put into her. The oars were got out. The brig made a plunge forward into a mountain sea. She never rose again.