The Two Shipmates

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The boat’s head was now cautiously got round, and the midshipmen resuming their oars, they pulled away in a direction which would enable them to round the point clear of the surf. They were round it at last, but a fringe of black rocks, over which the sea leaped and foamed, warned them to keep at a distance. On and on they rowed. The coast was uninviting. No trees were to be seen; no signs of human habitation. At length a small sandy bay appeared, with high rocks on either side of it, while beyond was a valley, its sides clothed with trees and green herbage. No spot could be more desirable. Pulling in, they landed, and hauled up their boat on the beach.

“We are not ashamed, I hope, of thanking Him who preserved us through the dangers of the last dark night, and asking Him to take care of us for the future,” said Jacob.

“No, indeed,” answered Ralph and the midshipmen, and at once they knelt down on the sand, and, led by the old man, together offered up their prayers to the All Merciful One, to Whom they acknowledged their safety was alone due; for vain would have been all their efforts and skill without His aid. Rising from their knees, they set off in search of water, and their eyes were soon gladdened by the sight of a clear stream running down the valley. Having quenched their thirst, they looked about for food.

They had not gone far when, to their surprise, they saw close under the hill, shaded by trees, a well-built hut, evidently not the habitation of a savage. They hurried towards it, expecting to find the occupant within. No one appeared. The door was open. They entered. There was a bedstead with the clothes still on it, a fireplace built of rough stone, the ashes of a recently burning fire within it. Hung against the wall were several cooking utensils, and on some shelves were arranged some plates and dishes and cups and knives and forks. In the centre of the hut was a cabin table, and placed round it were three chests, which had apparently served as seats. They contained only a few old shoes and worn-out clothes. No books or writing materials were found, or anything to show who had been the occupants of the hut. If it had contained any articles of value, they had been carried away. Both Ralph and Jacob were of the opinion, from the workmanship of the chests and table, that they were French. As no food was found in the hut, they were eager to continue their search for some. At a short distance off was a small garden, but it had lately been dug up, and all the vegetables and roots it had contained had been carried off.

“It’s my opinion that there were three people who messed together in the hut. One lived in it—either the captain or another officer—and the other two slept elsewhere,” observed Jacob. “We shall find their roosting place not far off. One thing seems certain, that they are not here now, and there’s little doubt that a vessel visited the place lately, and that they and everything of value were carried away by her, as well as the produce of the garden.”

Ralph and the rest thought that Jacob was probably right in his conjectures.

“Well, I can’t make it out at all,” exclaimed Jacob, who had gone ahead of his companions. He pointed, as they came up, to three long, narrow, grass-covered mounds on a level spot at some distance from the hut. They were evidently graves.

“If the poor fellows lie there they can’t have got away; but, then, how could the last have managed to bury himself?”

Chandos remarked that perhaps there were four people, and that a survivor had performed that office for the rest; but the old man was positive that there were only three, as he had counted that number of plates and knives and forks, and had, moreover, found three worn-out pairs of shoes. Their hunger put a speedy end to the discussion, and made them continue their search for food. Birds flitted by them, but they had no fowling-pieces, and in vain they tried to knock some down. Berries and some larger fruits hung temptingly on the trees out of reach above their heads.

“Those birds do not live upon nothing,” observed Chandos. “If we cannot catch them, we may at all events eat the fruit they live on.”