Adrift in a Boat

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Somewhere in the chops of the British Channel, to the westward of Scilly, I fear,” he answered. “Possibly, if the wind shifts to the southward, we may get driven up the Irish Channel, and then it will be a tremendous time before we get home; I may be wrong, but I fear not.”

“That’s what I think too,” said David. “I wish that the old man was sensible. We might consult him what to do.”

Old Jefferies, however, continued in the same unconscious state as before. They had some hope of getting assistance from any vessels which might pass them, but though they saw a number at a distance gliding quickly by, not one came near them. On they drove, further and further they feared from land. Again darkness came on. They were very drowsy, but they feared, should they yield to sleep, that the boat would be swamped. Harry had, he said, more practice in keeping awake, so he insisted that David should lie down on one of the thwarts and take an hour’s rest, while he could steer and bail out at the same time.

“I can manage it,” answered David, with a yawn, stretching himself out on a seat, and in less than half a minute he was sound asleep.

Poor Harry had very hard work to keep awake. He could not venture to remain sitting. More than once his eyes closed. Phantom shapes passed before his eyes, strange sounds came into his ears, shrieks, cries, and groans; sometimes he heard, he thought, shouts from afar. His brain swam round. In another instant he would have lost all consciousness. He had to spring to his feet, and to bail away with one hand while he held the tiller with the other. He would not venture to sit down again; indeed, the high, green, rolling, froth-topped seas, by which he was surrounded, were sufficient to keep him awake. At last, putting down the skid, he looked at his watch. It was past six o’clock. David had slept more than his allotted hour, and yet he could scarcely bring himself to awake him.

“Poor fellow, he is not so accustomed to this sort of work as I am,” he said to himself. “After that long swim, too, he requires rest, and had it not been for his courage I should no longer have been in this world. I’ll try and keep awake a little longer.”

Harry did his best to do as he intended. He kept moving his feet, he talked aloud, he sang even. He looked at old Jefferies. He thought he was nodding his head and answering him, but he could not make out what was said. At last he felt that, if David did not wake up and come to his relief, he should drop down, and the boat would broach to, and they would all be drowned.

“David! David!” he tried to cry out, but his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. Still he kept the tiller in his hand, striving steadily. He made one more effort. “David! help! help!” he shouted. David’s mind was far away in his father’s garden, with his sisters and sweet Mary Rymer. He was telling them about Harry being in danger, but he had forgotten he was with his friend. At last he heard himself called. He started up, and was just in time to seize the tiller, which Harry had that instant let slip from his grasp, as he sank down to the bottom of the boat. In another second of time the boat would have broached to. The gloom of evening was coming on rapidly, and there was but a dreary prospect for poor David. He still felt very sleepy, and had almost as much difficulty in keeping awake as before. He managed to drag Harry to one side, and to place some of the nets under his head as a pillow, but no moving had the effect of rousing him up. David felt as he had never felt before; sitting there, the only being conscious of external affairs in that lone boat, running on amidst those huge billows. As long as the gale continued, on the boat must go, he well knew, or run almost the certainty of being swamped. The short sleep he had enjoyed had refreshed him, and he thought that he should now be able to keep awake. He felt very hungry, though. No wonder! Most people would have been hungry who had eaten nothing but raw fish during upwards of twenty-four hours. He, however, would now have been very glad to get some more raw fish, but he could not reach the hamper, and he dared not leave the helm for an instant. There was a locker under where he sat. He had just bailed out the boat, when stooping down, he put his hand in, and, feeling round, discovered to his great joy a large piece of bread, the best part of a quartern loaf. It was very stale, but he was not inclined to be particular. Never had he tasted bread so sweet. He took, though, only a small portion, as he did not like to eat more without having Harry to share it with him, or old Jefferies, if he could be aroused. The bread, with a little fresh water, greatly revived him. He thought, indeed, that he should be able to keep awake all the night, if Harry should sleep on. He tried his best. He stood up, then he bailed, but as much less water came into the boat than before, he had but little to do in that way. He tried to sing and whistle, but the tunes were somewhat melancholy. The wind was certainly decreasing, and the sea going down. “I must wake up Harry, and then, if we can but manage to rig a fore and aft sail, we might haul our wind, and stand to the north-east,” he said to himself. “But which is the north-east, I wonder? The wind may have changed, and there is not a break in the clouds. Without a compass, how can we find our way? If the clouds clear away, the stars would help us—at least, I suppose Harry knows all about them. I wish that I did. But I was lazy, and to this moment am not quite certain as to the look of the Polar Bear. I remember that the North Star is in that. However, we could not do much yet, and, with her beam to the sea, the boat would not be steady enough to rig our mast properly. We must wait patiently till morning. Dear me, how heavy my head feels! They must be all wondering what has become of us at home. I hope they don’t think we are lost. That is the worst part of the business. It will not be pleasant to live upon raw fish for very long, but I suppose that it will keep us alive, and probably we shall fall in with some vessel or other, which will tow us home. That will be very nice. What a pleasant picnic we had, and Harry to come home just in time, and Mary Rymer, and what a dear—oh! how pleasant—how—” Poor David was asleep. No wonder, after having been awake for so many hours, and only just a little more than one hour’s rest on a hard plank. He still held the tiller, and instinctively moved it to or from him, as he felt the boat inclined to broach to. His eyes, indeed, were not quite closed, so that in reality he saw the seas as they rolled before him, and perhaps steered almost as well as he had done before. Meantime the old man remained in a state of stupor, and Harry slept as soundly as a “church door,” or rather as midshipmen are generally supposed to do. Thus the boat must have gone on for hours. Happily, the wind and sea were going down, or it would have been a serious matter to the boys. It will be understood that, after an easterly gale in the Channel, the sea goes down more rapidly than after a westerly one, when there has been a commotion across the whole sweep of the Atlantic. Suddenly a loud concussion and a continued grating sound made both David and Harry start to their feet, and they saw what seemed a huge black mass towering above them. What could it be?

“A ship! a ship!” shouted Harry. “Heave a rope here!”

No one answered. As the boat was slowly rubbing by the side of the ship (for Harry was right in his conjecture), he found a rope hanging overboard. With the activity of a seaman he secured the end round the fore-thwart of the boat, while David hauled down the sail—not that that was of any consequence, as the wind had fallen almost to a calm. Again Harry, joined by David, shouted loudly, but no one answered.