BOOK III
ADRIFT ON AN ECHOLESS OCEAN
“When descends on the Atlantic
The gigantic
Storm wind of the equinox,
... in his wroth he scourges
The toiling surges,
Laden with sea-weed from the rucks.
. . . . . .
And from wrecks of ships, and drifting
Spars uplifting,
On the desolate, rainy seas—
. . . . . .
Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main.”
—Longfellow.
CHAPTER I
MUTINY AND DEATH
“I tell you what it is, Petersen, you’re a muff and a coward, and I guess that is pretty plain English. What say you, maties?”
There were nine of them in all, and they sat or lay on the grass, half-way up a beautiful mountain side that overlooks picturesque little Jamestown, the capital of this lovely isle of the sea—St. Helena—on which, in his lonely mansion at Longwood, Napoleon Bonaparte breathed his last.
Yes, yonder is the town, with its snow-white houses straggling up the bonnie glen; just beyond is the harbour or roadstead, in which, slowly moving to the heave of the swell, are many ships from many nations. A saucy British cruiser is there at anchor, her white ensign streaming gaily out against the background of water. Yonder is a German, and farther off the Stars and Stripes of a bold Yankee merchantman, and at least a dozen others, with dark boats passing to and fro the shore, the men singing as they bend to their work, the water dripping from their oars, and sparkling like precious stones in the sunshine.
Beyond is the blue, blue sea itself, patched here and there with the shadows of fleecy clouds, that float in the azure sky.
All around the glade, where the men of the Zingara are holding their meeting, the tall cactuses are growing, with flowers of scarlet and carmine.
The songs of the boatmen are borne up the hill, with the buzz and murmur of the streets; but so faint and low that they sound like a gentle lullaby, to which the boom of the waves that break on the black rocks or beach forms a strange and dreamy bass.
Such sights, such sounds, on so sunny a day as this, might well be supposed to lull the fiercest passions that ever dwelt in human breast. In this case the poetry and romance of sea and shore are lost on the men here assembled.