During the progress of the foregoing operations my companion had been very quiet, looking on with an air of interest at everything I did, and occasionally volunteering her assistance where she seemed to think she might possibly be able to make herself useful, but otherwise saying little. Now, however, that we had once more settled down into a condition of comparative inactivity she began to question me as to our whereabouts, what were my intentions, and so on; all of which questions I replied to as accurately as I could. Then, after meditating for several minutes, she said:
“And what do you think are our chances of escape, Mr Conyers? Do you consider that they are favourable enough to justify you in taking so very much trouble?”
“Ah,” answered I, “if you had asked me that question last night, when we jumped overboard together from the sinking ship, I should probably have found some difficulty in answering you at once hopefully and truthfully; for, as a matter of fact, I may now tell you that I really had no hope, and that, in acting as I did, I was merely obeying that instinct that urges us all to fight for life so long as we have any fight left in us. But now that we have come into possession of this fine and well-equipped boat I can honestly say that I consider our chance of ultimate escape is excellent. Of course everything depends upon the weather: if a gale were to spring up, the boat would probably be swamped or capsized by the heavy sea that would quickly rise—although even under such adverse conditions as those of a gale I should bring all my sailorly training and knowledge to bear on the task of preserving the boat as long as possible. But if Providence will only favour us with fine weather for, say, a week, I have scarcely a shadow of doubt that within that time we shall be fallen in with and picked up by a craft of some sort. For you must understand that we are right in the track of ships bound round the Cape; and those vessels are now so many in number that, making a rough guess, I should be inclined to say that an average of at least one vessel per day must pass within a few miles of this spot. Of course it may happen that several days will pass without a single craft of any kind coming along, but, to maintain the average, it is equally likely that three or four may pass in the course of a dozen hours. So you see our chance of being rescued is fairly good.”
“Yes. But,” she objected, “suppose it were unfortunately to happen that several days—say seven or eight—were to elapse without our seeing a sail; and that, afterwards, such ships as we might see were to pass us at such a long distance that although they would be perfectly visible to us, we should be quite invisible to them: What then?”
“In that case,” said I, “there would be but one course open to us: we should simply be obliged to keep sailing on until a ship approached us near enough to see us, taking every care of ourselves meanwhile, and omitting no opportunity to procure such means of supporting life as the ocean has to offer us. And that reminds me that neither food nor drink has passed our lips since dinner, last night: I know you are hungry, because you said so some time ago; and, as for me, I am famishing. The food at our disposal is not particularly inviting—simply raw chicken and cold water—but it is at least fresh, and I think we ought to make the most of it while it is in that condition.”
Miss Onslow’s appetite was not, however, as yet quite keen enough to admit of her partaking of raw fowl; but she drank a little water out of the baler—the only utensil we possessed. As she returned the baler to me she remarked:
“You must not allow my squeamishness to be a bar to the satisfaction of your own appetite, if you feel hungry enough to eat raw flesh. I have been told that sailors are so often reduced to desperate straits that they eventually become reconciled to the idea of eating almost anything, and are consequently, as a rule, much less fastidious than such pampered mortals as myself. Moreover, you must not forget that it is of the last importance that your strength should be maintained—for your own sake, and for mine as well—if it is not too presumptuous of me to say such a thing—therefore please make a meal, if you can. And, although I fully realise how absolutely dependent upon you I am, I should like you to understand that I do not mean to be a mere helpless burden to you, if it can be avoided. I am perhaps not physically strong enough to be of much assistance to you; but in all cases where skill rather than great bodily strength is required I hope you will unhesitatingly make use of me. For instance, you are hungry; but you cannot make even such slight preparation of your food as is possible, because you are steering the boat. Again, you will soon need rest, but you will be unable to take it unless I am able to steer the boat in your stead. Therefore please teach me forthwith how to manage the boat, so that I may be able to ‘relieve’ you—as I think you sailors call it—from time to time, as may prove necessary.”
And this was the girl who, while on board ship, had hedged herself in and kept us all at arm’s-length by a barrier of such chill and haughty reserve as had at times approached very nearly to insolence!
Of course I eagerly accepted her offer—for I foresaw that a time would very soon arrive when her assistance would be indispensable—and at once proceeded to initiate her into the art of steering. Unfortunately, we were running dead before the wind at the time—which is the most difficult point of sailing for a novice to master—yet my new pupil seemed to grasp the idea at once and without an effort; and a quarter of an hour later she was watching the run of the sea and checking the tendency of the boat to round-to almost as knowingly and cleverly as though she had been sailing a boat all her lifetime.
The moment that I found she could be trusted alone I took up a position on the midship thwart and, selecting the best-looking fowl from our stock, proceeded to pluck and draw it, afterwards giving it a good wash in the salt water alongside. This done, I cut off a leg and, having skinned it, sliced off a small piece of flesh which, with many misgivings, I placed in my mouth and began dubiously to masticate. The idea of devouring raw flesh seemed to me to be exceedingly repulsive and disgusting, but it was either that or nothing, and, realising the full truth of Miss Onslow’s remark upon the importance of maintaining my strength, I persevered. And presently, when I had conquered in some measure the natural repugnance excited by the idea of such food, I found that really, after all, it was very much a matter of sentiment, and that, so far as the flavour was concerned, there was nothing at all objectionable. The taste was of course novel, and peculiar, but I thought it possible that one might accustom oneself to it without much difficulty. Yet, just at first, a little sufficed, and when I had despatched one leg I considered that I had made a particularly hearty meal. And I felt so much the better for it that I strove to induce Miss Onslow to try a morsel. She gently reiterated her refusal, however, while expressing her satisfaction that I had been able to eat. Then, noticing that her eyes looked heavy, and that her movements were languid, I arranged the royal as a sort of couch in the stern-sheets for her, and suggested that she should lie down and endeavour to secure some rest; to which suggestion she acceded; and in a few minutes, completely worn out with the unaccustomed excitement, fatigue, and exposure through which she had so recently passed, she was sleeping by my side as placidly as an infant.