A Voyage round the World / A book for boys

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Oh, where is Jerry—where is Jerry?” were the first words I uttered. No one answered. “Oh, he is lost! he is lost!” I cried, and burst into tears, forgetting altogether to thank Cousin Silas for having saved me. I felt that I could never survive the loss of my young shipmate. Just then I saw several of the crew running to leeward. Two or three heads were in the water, with arms wildly striking out. Shrieks, too, rung in my ears. Ben Yool was among them; I saw his face clearly; he did not seem alarmed, like the rest. A long rope was hove to him. He grasped it. He struck out towards another of the swimmers; it was Jerry. Ben seized him in one of his arms, while he was striking out with the other. There seemed, however, but little chance for him of escaping with his life; for when the ship again surged ahead, the rope would have been torn from his grasp, but just then another cross sea providentially rolled up to leeward, and sent him and Jerry close up to the bulwarks. There they were grasped by the crew, and when the ship rolled over again to the other side, they were hauled on board safe and sound. Two other men remained in the water. They turned their faces with straining eyeballs imploringly towards the ship, which was drifting from them. In vain they shrieked out; no one could help them. A foaming, hissing sea rose between us and them. Far, far away the unhappy men were carried, and when the ship rose again to the summit of a wave, they were nowhere to be seen. I felt then how mercifully I had been preserved, and grateful to Him who had thought fit to save me, while, for his own inscrutable ends, he had allowed

others to be taken. Jerry, I know, had the same thoughts and feelings, though I fear their impression soon faded, but not away altogether. Its traces, however faint, were permanently left on our minds, and I believe that they have often since had a powerful influence on us. I hope, also, as we grow older, that we may often recur to them instead of endeavouring to drive them away. Joyful as Captain Frankland was at recovering his son, he felt much the loss of his two men; for he truly was the father of his crew, and they knew and gladly acknowledged it. This was the secret of the influence he had over them. The ship still lay to, but the gale increased. Suddenly there was a loud report, like a clap of thunder. The fore-top-sail, close-reefed as it was, had blown out of the bolt-ropes, and the shreds fluttered in streamers from the yards. Away it flew, lashing the yard with fury, and coiling itself into thick twists of rope. The wind unfortunately caught the bow, and bringing her right round, exposed her broadside to the sea. The instant the accident happened, the mates, with some of the crew, had rushed forward, and loosing the fore-stay-sail, were hoisting it just as a big sea came roaring towards us. It was half way up at the moment the sea reached us. “Hoist away, my lads!” was the general cry. The ship felt its effects; springing forward, she seemed to dash through the sea, which, however, broke in a deluge over us. Her head came round, and away she flew before the storm. Before, however, the fore-stay-sail was up it was blown clean away, and the ship dashed on under bare poles to the westward, leaving our two poor shipmates in their watery tomb far astern. All that night we ran plunging on. In the morning watch the wind began to fall. I asked Yool, who was in the same watch with me, what he thought was going to happen.

“Why, Master Harry, that the gale is tired of blowing, and that we shall before long have a calm, or only just a light, pleasant breeze,” he answered. So it proved; after this the wind rapidly decreased, and by sunrise all hands were aloft bending new sails, and busily employed in repairing the damages received in the gale. Just as the captain came on deck, one of the mates hailed from aloft that he saw a whale, or a rock, or some large black object, just rising out of the water—he could not make out what.

We had been on the point of hauling our wind to stand back for Callao, but the captain ordered the ship to be kept on, to ascertain what the object could be. I with others had gone aloft to look out also, when, as the sun arose, I saw before me what I at first took to be a cloud, but gradually it grew more and more distinct, till I was certain that it was a lofty mountain. The rest of the crew were so busily employed about the rigging, and in looking out for the whale or whatever it was, that I was the first to see it;—of this I was very proud.

“Land ahead!” I sung out.

“Ay, ay; all right, Harry,” he answered, knowing of course what land it must be. I soon after went down on deck, where I met Jerry, looking rather pale and ill after his bath.

“Do you know what that land is?” I asked, pointing to it; for with the increasing light it was now seen clearly from the deck.

“Why, it’s no other than Robinson Crusoe’s island—Juan Fernandes; and my father says he intends to run in there, as it will be more convenient to repair damages at anchor; and he thinks that very likely the gale may come back again on us. Won’t it be jolly to go on shore and to see the very cave he lived in, and the sand where he first saw Friday’s foot-mark, and the descendants of the goats he had, and various other animals? I am certain I could find out every spot of ground he talks about. There’s no place I would rather see than this.”

“So would I,” I observed. “But you forget, Jerry, there was no such person as Robinson Crusoe. We may be disappointed when we get there.”