The Ruined Cities of Zululand

by Hugh Mulleneux Walmsley

Sail Ho!

On board everything had been done to promote the safety of its occupants that could be effected. The lashings of the timbers had been carefully overhauled and strengthened under Captain Weber’s own superintendence, while the boxes and cases of provisions, which had been lowered on to the raft before pushing off from the sinking ship, had been arranged so as to form a kind of walled cabin over which a heavy sail had been spread as its roof. A light studding sail formed the door, which could be brailed up or let down at the desire of the occupant. The weather continued moderate, and though a green wave would occasionally break on board, no great discomfort had been as yet experienced.

It had been a sad moment when the sweeps were unshipped, and when the line of coast became fainter and fainter, until at last its outline was no more distinguishable, and nothing was to be seen but the wide expanse of ocean, on which the frail raft rose and fell. The gulls and Mother Carey’s chickens were their sole companions, and the sun rose without a cloud, daily to pour its blaze of light over the calm waters of the Indian Ocean, and then to sink to rest, setting, as it seemed, in the waste of waters. Soon the stars would peep forth, and the gentle breeze which had prevailed during the day, die away into calm; no sound disturbing the stillness, except the occasional spouting of a whale near the raft, the whish of the breaking wave, and the creak of the spars as they worked together.

At first the men bore this well, for there were no watches to keep, no sails to tend, and provisions of all kinds were plentiful. Calm weather was to be expected after the late series of heavy gales, and they were sure to be picked up. They must be rapidly nearing the shores of Madagascar, too, and the men amused themselves by spinning long yarns about the savage inhabitants of the island, between the intervals of smoking, eating, and drinking. The dawning of daylight was ever an anxious moment for all, and every eye eagerly scanned the limited horizon in quest of the coming ship. The light grew gradually stronger; the wing of a gull was taken for a sail. A feeling of delight, of hope, spread through the hearts of all. The delusion was exposed as the sun tipped the tops of the waves with its light, and, do what they would, despondency took the place of hope. At first none would acknowledge this feeling, each trying to cheer up the other; but the men became gradually restless and uneasy, the tale and the laugh were less frequent; the few orders which were given them were obeyed, it is true, but slowly and listlessly, and it became evident that the confinement to so limited a space was telling, and that the crew were becoming demoralised.

The morning of the third day since the loss of the “Halcyon” had dawned, and the raft still rose and fell on the gentle swell of the ocean. The studding sail was brailed up, and Isabel was seated at the open entrance. Captain Hughes was lying on the spars at her feet, while close by Weber and his mate were endeavouring to prick off their position on a chart, which was spread on a barrel. The men were just finishing their twelve o’clock dinner, and the raft was slowly driving through the water before a gentle westerly breeze.

On a box between the two at the entrance of the improvised cabin stood a chess-board. The pieces were ranged in position, but the interest of the game seemed languishing.

“You might have checkmated me, last move, Enrico,” said Isabel. “Either you did not care to do so, or you are thinking of something else.”

In fact Hughes had been gazing up into the speaker’s face, and had forgotten all about the game.

“A game at chess on a raft in the Indian Ocean is another thing to one in a lady’s drawing-room,” remarked the missionary, who had been looking on at the play, with a smile on his face; “and yet,” he continued, “it has been much the same kind of game as usually takes place between a lady and gentleman thinking only of each other.”

“Oh, how I should like to have my foot once more on the carpet of that same drawing-room!” exclaimed Isabel. “This eternal hoping against hope is dreary work.”