Soon after they had shoved off, the first mate said that he saw a small craft of some sort under sail coming in from the offing. All the telescopes on board were at once directed towards her, and before long she was pronounced to be a whale boat. On she came, steering for our ship, which, as we had the British flag flying, was easily distinguished from the American’s. The crew were lying along on the thwarts, the heads of two of them just raised above the gunwale, as if their eyes were directed towards us; one man only was sitting up steering, and he was leaning back seemingly in an exhausted state. I looked at him several times through my glass till the boat drew nearer, when I was convinced that he was my kind friend Captain Bland. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Fearful apprehensions crowded into my mind. What could have become of the “Lady Alice”?—had any accident happened to her? Captain Bland would, I was certain, not willingly have deserted his wife and daughter. How eager I felt to inquire!
Directly the boat came alongside the mate and I, with two other men, descended to assist up the people in her. “Take them first; they want help more than I do,” said the captain, pointing to the others, one of whom kept murmuring, “Water! water!”
The others scarcely spoke. Captain Bland himself looked bad enough—so haggard and thin. We soon had him and the rest on deck and their boat hoisted in, when their captain was carried into Captain Hake’s cabin. After he had taken some weak spirits and water and some food, he was able to speak without difficulty.
“O sir, do tell me where are Mrs Bland, and Mary, and the ‘Lady Alice,’” I said, as I was taking away his plate.
“I wish, Jack, that I could answer the question,” he answered. “They will be fearfully anxious about me, but I trust that they and the ship are safe enough. Just a fortnight ago, when off the Galapagos, we sighted three whales. I went in chase of one of them to the northward. The other boats pulled after the rest. The whale I was following headed away from the ship, but still I hoped to come up with him before dark and make him my prize; I had nearly succeeded, and in another minute should have had my harpoon in his side, when he turned flukes and disappeared. Though the sun was setting, I expected that he would come up again while there was light enough to strike him, so waited on the look-out, but the weather changed; a thick mist came up, the night became very dark, and though we heard the sound of spouting in the distance during the night, when morning broke no whale was to be seen—nor was the ship in sight. Anxious to be on board, I steered in the direction where I expected to find her, with, as I hoped, one or two whales alongside. It was blowing fresh with some sea on, but not sufficient to make it necessary to cut the whale adrift, should one have been secured. Every hour I expected to come in sight of the ship, but we had reached the spot where I thought she would be found, and she was nowhere to be seen. We then steered to the southward and south-east, supposing that she might have stood after the boats in that direction. Once we saw a sail, some small craft, a schooner apparently; we tried to speak her, to learn if she had fallen in with the ‘Lady Alice,’ but she kept away from us. At length I came to the painful conclusion that if we did not before long fall in with the ship, we should run a fearful risk of being starved. We had providentially brought away a bag of biscuits of about fourteen pounds weight, half a dozen sausages, and a breaker of water, and we had besides a pound and a half of wax candles. A portion of the biscuits and sausages had already been consumed, but I now put the crew on an allowance, so that the food might last us for eight or nine days—the time I calculated it would take us, should the wind hold from the westward, to reach this place, for which I at once steered. The sausages were soon gone, and then the wax candles helped out the biscuits. We should have died, I think, though, had not we caught six flying fish on one day and three another—for our last crumb of biscuit and drop of water were gone before we sighted the land.”
“I hope that Captain Hake will at once sail in search of the ‘Lady Alice,’” I exclaimed, “no time should be lost.”
I thought of the schooner, but I did not mention my fears respecting her, lest I should increase the anxiety of my friend.
“Captain Hake has not yet offered to sail, but I trust that he will without delay,” he answered.
Soon afterwards Captain Hake entered the cabin. My friend at once told him his wishes.
“Sorry that part of my crew are on shore; we must wait till they return,” was his answer.