The Desert Island—A Happy Release.
The land, thus unexpectedly reported in sight, proved to be a small rocky island, which the second mate, after a careful examination through his glass, declared was inhabited.
“My eyes don’t often play me false,” said that officer to Captain Ladds, who had followed him into the fore-top; “and I’m a’most sartin that I can make out people moving about on yonder shore. Please to look for yourself, sir,” he added, handing his glass to the skipper.
“Yes—no—and yet—yes, I’m inclined to think you are right, Weatherhelm,” said Captain Ladds, bringing the mate’s glass to bear on the island. “But my eyesight is not so good as it was ten years ago, and I cannot be positive.”
“Ay, but I am, sir,” retorted the mate, who was a thorough outspoken “salt” of the old school; one who, having “come in through the hawse-holes,” had worked his way to his present position by acquiring a sound practical knowledge of his profession, and attending strictly to his duties. “It’s possible that the crew of some craft—probably a whaler, for we’re pretty well out o’ the track of other vessels—have been cast away there.”
“Quite possible,” the captain assented, “and we will stand in a little closer. It is our duty to make sure whether such is the case; for we have been mercifully preserved through one of the worst gales that I have ever experienced, and should therefore be all the more ready to render assistance to those who have been less fortunate.”
“That’s truth, sir,” rejoined old Weatherhelm, as they descended the fore-rigging, “and ’tis a pity that others don’t see things in the same light as you do. We hear a sight too much of distressed vessels being passed by, by those who could help ’em if they’d only the will.”
So the barque’s course was altered, and she stood towards the island.
When the passengers heard that there was reason to suppose the island was inhabited, their recent sufferings were forgotten in their excitement; and many and marvellous were the speculations amongst them, as to who, and what, the mysterious islanders could be.
One old gentleman declared that they must be savages—probably cannibals—and expressed his decided opinion that the captain had no business to go near them; he was immediately, and most deservedly, snubbed by the ladies, whereupon he retired to his cabin in high dudgeon. Another suggestion was, that some of the passengers and crew of the ocean steamer President (which left New York in March, 1841, and was never seen or heard of afterwards) might have escaped and got ashore on the island; and this notion found great favour with the fair sex, until Captain Ladds, on being appealed to, hinted that they were a few degrees too far to the southward to expect to fall in with any survivors of the long-missing ship—even if such survivors existed, which was not within the bounds of probability.