We were not alone in our misfortunes, however, for when the sun rose, on the first morning of the calm, his rays fell on the white canvas of a ship, just rising out of the western horizon. After some time she disappeared, either because her sails had been clewed up, or that she was too far off to be seen unless the sun was shining directly on them. We had many discussions as to what she was. I need scarcely say that she caused us no little uneasiness.
Still the calm continued. Day after day the sun went down in the calm ocean, and rose again to cast a ruddy glow over its mirror-like surface, and there in the distance lay the stranger, though only sharp eyes could have detected her.
I began to be very anxious about the sheep. The success of the undertaking depended in a great measure on their being kept alive, still, we had to put them on an allowance, as we had ourselves. Little Margaret and Tommy couldn’t understand why they shouldn’t have as much water as they wanted, when there was plenty alongside. They could not understand that salt water was worse than no water at all; nor could the poor sheep, probably, when they were brought up on deck, and gazed out on the glittering ocean around them.
When matters had come to this pass, I began for the first time to lose heart. I was sitting with my head bowed down, resting on my hand, when my boy Peter said to me— “Father I have an idea—I have heard that fresh water may be got out of salt, and I think I can manage it, if you do not mind expending our fuel.”
These words restored my spirits. We had laid in a large supply of fuel at the Cape; water was of more consequence than anything else. It would be better to break up all the spare cases, and even the bulkheads and cabin furniture, than to go without it. Peter soon explained his plan; I agreed to try it. We, after a search among the cargo, found two large camp kettles. Soldering down their lids, we bored a hole in the top of one and in the side of the other, and joined the two with a piece of piping, three feet long. The one with a hole in the top we placed on the fire. We fitted a funnel to the spout, through which we poured in water; the other kettle was fixed on a stand, and we soldered a small pipe in at the bottom. Above the outside kettle we slung a bucket full of water also, with a small pipe in it, and the top of the kettle we covered over with cloths, which, by the means of the bucket, were kept constantly wet. The kettle on the fire was filled, the fire blazed up, and, as the water boiled, we watched with anxiety the result of the process. Some drops at length fell from the lower kettle, and a jug was ready to catch them. Peter eagerly poured the water into a mug, and, putting it to his lips, with a triumphant smile passed it round to us all. It was deliciously cool and perfectly sweet. It now came pouring out quickly, and we got up an empty cask to contain it. We all knelt down and thanked God that we had obtained the means for sustaining life, should our supply of water altogether fail. It took a long time, and used up a large quantity of fuel to produce even a gallon of fresh water, yet a gallon was sufficient liquid for everybody on board for a couple of days, and we might thus give a larger share to the sheep.
You might not think so, but the gale off the Cape did not cause me as much anxiety as this long calm. I ought, I confess, to have remembered that in both instances God was watching over us. In the one, I trusted to my stout little craft and my seamanship; in the other, my seamanship was of no avail—the stoutest ship would not have prevented all on board dying a frightful death had the calm continued. Here was my human folly: on both occasions, had I thrown all my care on God, I should have saved myself from all the anxiety I had suffered. This was increased by the uncertainty I felt as to the character of the sail we saw in the distance. I was in my own mind persuaded that she was a French privateer, and if we were discovered, her boats would probably pay us a visit, even if she did not.
We were all seated languidly about on the deck, under an awning rigged to give us some shade, when Peter started up, exclaiming, “There comes the breeze.” Some downy feathers, fastened by a silk thread to the after backstay, had, he thought, moved for a moment though the vane quickly dropped again. We were speedily on foot, but the first glance at the glowing, tranquil ocean, like some huge mirror on which we were resting, made me fear that my son had been mistaken. I shook my head, and a sigh escaped from several of our party, as they sank down again on their seats. Just then, however, I caught sight of a light cat’s-paw skimming over the water in the distance, and Peter, springing at the same moment into the rigging and pointing westward, exclaimed, “Here it comes, father, no mistake about it now.” I followed him up the rigging, and saw in the far west a wide-extending dark blue line moving quickly on towards us. Peter and I sprang back on deck, got the awning stowed, the head sails set, and the big square-sail ready for hoisting. The cat’s-paws came thicker and thicker, the dark blue line increasing in width, till in a short time we were staggering away before as brisk a breeze as the little craft could desire. All languor quickly vanished, and we served out an additional supply of water to our poor sheep. My anxiety, however, did not cease, for just afterwards, as I was sweeping the horizon with my telescope, I saw, rising above it, the royals of a square-rigged ship, the same, I concluded, which I had seen at the commencement of the calm. She might be a friend, or an English ship, and be ready to supply us with any necessaries we might require: but I had taken it into my head that she was an enemy, and I could not tell to what treatment we might be subjected. Sometimes French officers behaved very kindly to passengers captured by them, but during the republican period many of those in command were brutal men, who outraged all the laws of humanity when they got the crews and passengers of an English ship into their power. I, of course, said nothing of this to my wife or children. I, however consulted with Charley White and Peter, and we agreed that it would be more prudent to alter our course to the northward for a few hours, so as to allow the ship to pass us during the night. Though we were not now visible to her, when the sun came to set in the west she would have got so far nearer to us that his rays falling on our canvas, we should be probably seen from her tops.
This plan we followed. Charley White had become even more anxious than I was, and he was constantly going aloft to watch the stranger. Half an hour before sunset, we could see half way down her topsails from the deck. Though they looked no bigger than a small pocket handkerchief, the sharp eyes of my girls caught sight of them, and seemed much surprised that we were not eager to speak with the stranger. I was very glad when darkness hid us, as I hoped, from her. We arranged, however, to keep a bright look out all night, and to furl everything, should she pass near us, so as to escape observation. Charley and Peter kept a watch together. They insisted on my turning in after my first watch was over, and in truth I could leave the vessel in their care with as much confidence as if I had her myself.