He paused. Watty laid his face in the bedclothes, and wept silently.
“They are very fond of you,” continued Ben, “and I should not like them to hear of it from any one but you. Be very tender to Susan, Watty. Poor Susan, she will need comfort, and you know how to direct her.”
For some time Ben Trench continued talking, and then fell into a quiet slumber, in which his friend left him, while Polly watched by his side.
The warm latitudes did no good to the invalid. On the contrary, he suffered much from the heat, and became visibly weaker.
At last the shores of Old England drew nigh. A few days more and they should sight land. They sought to cheer him with this, but there was no answering sparkle in Ben’s eyes.
“Yes,” he said, faintly, “I shall see them all again, but not here.”
Ben was dying when the Rainbow approached the British Channel. The whole of the previous day a stiff gale had blown, and this had not much abated when night drew on. Liverpool was their port, and the captain carried on full sail—more than the good ship could well bear. It is not known whether he felt so sure of his course that he did not think it necessary to shorten sail on nearing the Land’s End, or that he was anxious, at all hazards, to reach port before Ben Trench should die, but he held on recklessly, and, in the dead of night, ran the Rainbow straight against the high cliffs not far from the Cornish town of Saint Just.
The wreck of the ship was complete in a few seconds. All her masts went over the side, and the waves overwhelmed her. She would have gone down in deep water if she had not been dashed between two rocks and held there. Time was thus given for one of the boats to be got out, but utter confusion reigned, for the captain had disappeared. No wonder that several of the men leaped into her, crying, “Every man for himself,” and endeavoured to cast off.
“Have you got Polly?” cried Jack, as he dimly saw a figure staggering through the turmoil of wind and whirling spray.
“All safe!” gasped Captain Samson.