CHAPTER II
A STORM AT SEA—A TEMPEST-TOSSED LITTLE BIRD—FINE WEATHER AGAIN—FIGHT BETWEEN A SWORDFISH AND A WHALE.
When I came on deck in the morning there was a great storm raging. The sky above our heads was dark and threatening. The clouds were low and moved with great swiftness. The wind blew with the fury of a hurricane and hissed through the rigging. The sails were furled except two, which, however, had three reefs in them. The sea looked fiercely angry and the big waves broke one after another in foaming white crests. The ocean was one mass of foam and spray. The rain was pouring in torrents. Our little ship was tossed as if she had been a walnut-shell. Wave after wave broke upon her side or buried her prow, pouring tons of water on our deck and enveloping us at the same time in spray. At times the men were lashed to keep them from being washed overboard. The gulls were flying over our heads, and the stormy petrel had made its appearance. For a few hours it looked as if our ship could not withstand the storm and would founder under a big wave. I thought at that time that I should never see home again.
For three days we were buffeted over the great sea. Then the storm ceased. The sails were unreefed and the carpenters and the sailors made the necessary repairs upon our battered little ship.
Suddenly I thought I heard the cry of distress of a bird, and looking upward I saw a little bulfinch flying near the ship. The bird wanted to perch on the rigging but did not dare. He came near, and then moved away, uttering little cries of anguish. Evidently the sails scared him—for he had never seen a ship before and he knew that it was not a tree. The tempestuous wind, blowing from the land, had driven this little wanderer far out to sea; he had lost his reckoning and did not know where the land was. For several days and nights he had been flying, finding no trees to rest upon, no water to drink, no berries, fruits or seeds to eat. He was exhausted, for he had had no rest and no food. Fear was in his little heart. I got water and bread ready for him in case he came on board and we could catch him.
During the day he followed us, uttering his little cries of distress, but did not dare to alight upon the ship, though he knew that the sea was his enemy and that if he fell into the water he would meet his death. Perhaps he thought of the land he had left behind—of his dear mates, of trees, of water and of food, of lovely dales and little brooks.
I noticed, as the day advanced, that the little bulfinch did not fly so high above the sea as in the morning; lower and lower became his flight. The motion of his wings in his despair became quicker and quicker as his strength diminished. At times he almost touched the water, then, uttering a shrill cry, he would rise, only to come down again. I shouted: “Come and rest upon our little ship, dear little bulfinch. Come on deck; I will take good care of you. Here are food and water waiting for you. Nobody on board is so wicked as to kill you, or harm you.”
But the little bird kept on, and at last his body touched the sea, and as he rose he uttered a most piercing cry of distress, then, taking an upward flight, he hovered over the ship. His strength was gone, his wings refused to move, and he fell upon the deck. I rushed quickly towards him—he was panting. I took him in my hands—how quickly his heart was beating! I gave him some water; he drank it, then dropped dead. His struggles for dear life were over. Then I put the little bulfinch in a small wooden box; it was his coffin, and I closed the top and buried him at sea just as the sun was disappearing below the horizon.
The following day the weather was very beautiful,—a lovely blue sky was over our heads. What a change between this and the great storm we had passed through! The sea was a mass of beautiful “white caps,” each one with its own changing form. Strange as it seems, there are no two things exactly alike in the world—not even two white caps, two blades of grass, two leaves, neither two men nor two women.
We sailed merrily along day after day, carried on by variable winds, our course being one point south of east, and one afternoon gazing over the ocean, I saw a number of whales disporting and spouting water high in the air. Looking over the rail my attention was suddenly attracted to a large, dark, elongated fish, that was swimming fast, as if in quest of something. As it neared the ship and swam alongside I recognized it to be a powerful swordfish, which I thought was about twelve or fifteen feet in length. Its sword seemed about three feet long, and was a continuation of its upper jaw. The sword was flat and pointed at the end. The very shape of the fish showed that it could swim with great rapidity.