In the Eastern Seas

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Scarcely had the albatross been shot, than the wind, which had hitherto been moderate, increased considerably, and in a short time we had two reefs in our topsails. The weather, however, was in other respects fine, and away the ship went, careering over the foaming seas like a high-bred hunter, dashing them aside as she rushed onward on her course. There was something very exhilarating in the movement. The air, too, was bracing, and everybody seemed in high spirits. As I happened to pass the caboose, however, I heard Potto Jumbo, the black cook, grumbling greatly. Some one had told him that he would have to roast one of the albatrosses for dinner. Although generally a very merry, good-natured fellow, this had made him excessively irate.

“No good ever came from shooting albatross!” I heard him exclaim. “Dey like to live as much as man. Dey love freedom. Soar high, high up in de sky, den swoop down, and fly along de foaming waves. Ah, if I had wings like dem, I no peel potatoes and boil soup for ship’s company!”

He looked up, as he spoke, towards the magnificent birds which ever and anon appeared high above the ship’s bulwarks, as they darted forward as if to show at how far greater a rate they could dart through the air than she could glide over the ocean.

“Ah, you once slave, Potto Jumbo! Fancy you flying with white wings! Ha, ha, ha!”

This remark was made by a dark-skinned native of the East, who was standing at the time near the caboose. He was the serang of the Lascars, of whom we had a dozen on board. Ali Tomba was his name. He and Potto Jumbo could not abide each other, so it seemed. His dark countenance, with high cheek-bones and fierce eyes, was far from prepossessing, though his figure was well-formed; his shoulders broad, with a small waist, and muscular arms and legs, denoting great strength and activity. His hands and feet were wonderfully small, considering the work to which they had been put from his earliest days. He and his men wore their Eastern dress, consisting of shirt and jacket, and a sort of kilt formed from a circular piece of plaid, a scarf worn over the shoulders, which served as a covering in bad weather, or could be wrapped round the arm for a shield in battle. A red cotton handkerchief, generally well stiffened, was their usual head-dress. They were remarkably active fellows aloft, and few things which an English sailor could do they would not venture to undertake. However, neither Ali nor his men were favourites on board. They obeyed the superior officers readily enough, but I observed that when Mr Tarbox directed them to do anything, they did it in a sulky way. Why this was I could not make out.—Ali stood by, bantering the cook about his remark. Potto Jumbo had taken a liking to me. He had been on board the ship in her former voyage, and I believe knew my history. He himself was deserted—without friends in the world—and this gave him a fellow feeling, as he considered that his case was similar to mine. I had an idea, indeed, that there was more in Potto Jumbo than appeared. Though he had a warm and quick temper, he was evidently kind-hearted I judged it by the way he treated the animals on board. Merlin, especially, was a favourite of his, and he took good care that he should never be without a plentiful dinner. Even in the way he put the dog’s food down he showed his kind disposition; and while he was mixing up the mess and Merlin stood by wagging his tail and licking his lips, Potto Jumbo always cast a kind glance downwards at his four-footed friend, and generally had a pleasant word to give him into the bargain.

For Oliver Farwell, however, he had a greater regard than for anybody on board. I rather think because he more than any one else seemed to require sympathy and protection. Though the boy had plenty of spirit, he seemed scarcely fitted for the rough life on board ship. The other boys, when they could do so without being seen by Potto Jumbo, amused themselves by ridiculing and teasing Oliver. They seemed to delight in playing him all sorts of tricks, and very often pretty rough ones too. I had never spoken much to Oliver, though I observed that whenever Mr Hooker was describing anything, Oliver, if he could do so without impropriety, stopped and listened, and seemed to take great interest in what was said. When work was over, I often saw him in the pantry reading. Not only on Sundays, but every day nearly, it seemed to me, he read the Bible at odd moments; indeed, a sailor at sea, unless he takes odd moments for reading, may never read at all. Oliver had not only his duties as a cabin-boy to attend to, but as he wished to become a sailor, and the captain desired that he should become one, he was frequently employed on deck.

At the moment I am describing, Oliver Farwell had gone forward, and with several other boys was in the fore-rigging. What they were about I do not remember, but, looking up, I saw they were skylarking, and it seemed as if the others were trying to play Oliver some trick. Be that as it may, all of a sudden I saw one of them fall from aloft. I thought it was Oliver. Of course it ought not to have made any difference to me who it was. I expected that he would be killed, but he struck the hammock nettings, and bounded overboard. I did not stop a moment to think. It did not occur to me that it would take a long time to heave the ship to, and to lower a boat, and with the heavy sea running the operation would be a difficult and dangerous one, and that it would be equally difficult to pick anybody out of the water. I had been noted at school for being a good swimmer, and had, just before I left, saved the life of a school-fellow who had got out of his depth, and been carried out a good way by the current. I had followed him, dived after he had sank, and brought him to the surface, and then hauled him on to the bank of the river where we were bathing. I remembered this, or perhaps I should say I did not think about anything but the one idea of saving the life of a fellow-creature. I was lightly clad. Throwing off my jacket, before Potto Jumbo could cry out, or any one else attempt to stop me, I was overboard. I was in the water almost as soon as the cry of “A man overboard!” was raised.

A glance aloft showed me that it was Oliver Farwell who had fallen. As I reached the water I could see him on the top of a wave, just as the ship’s quarter glided past me. I shouted out to him, and swam forward. I now found how different it was swimming in smooth water and swimming in the heavy sea there was running. At the same time I had been accustomed to fresh water, which is less buoyant than salt, and thus I felt myself greatly supported.

The instant the cry of “A man overboard!” was raised, a life-buoy was let go. It fell some distance from me. I doubted whether I should swim to that and tow it to Oliver, or go to Oliver first and try to get him up to it. My fear was that Oliver would sink before I could reach him. I determined to get hold of Oliver. I could hear the cries of the people on board as they watched me, encouraging me in my attempt. I had scarcely been in the water ten minutes when I heard a peculiar rushing sound, and turning round my head saw the long wings of an enormous albatross passing close above me. A blow from its beak would have been fatal. I looked towards Oliver more anxiously than ever, fearing that, passing me, it might strike him. I shouted to him, and told him to shout too, hoping that the noise might scare off the bird. Others, however, came sweeping by. Again a wing almost touched my head. Diving, I knew, would have been of no use, for the creature might have followed me far lower than I could have sunk. Still I swam on.

I heard another shout, and as I rose to the top of a wave I saw just astern of the ship a black head and face—it was Potto Jumbo. Above his head he waved a long knife. He intended it as a signal that he was coming to my assistance. At the same instant a loud bark came from the stern of the ship, and I saw Merlin, who appeared one moment at the taffrail, and the next leaped over into the foaming ocean. Nearer and nearer he approached. I was more anxious for him than for my human friend, as I was afraid the albatrosses would attack him, and he had no means of defending himself. Although I had followed Oliver almost immediately into the water, it seemed a long time before I could get up to him. A curling wave rolled towards him; he was buried beneath it. I thought he had sunk for ever. I darted forward, and caught sight of him just beneath the surface. I seized him by the collar of his jacket, and together we rose to the surface. He was still conscious.