Every hour or so Mr Button would shake his lethargy off, and rise and look round for “sea-gulls”. When Dick would fret now and then, the old sailor would always think up some means of amusing him. He made him fishing-tackle out of a bent pin and some small string that happened to be in the boat; and Dick, with the enthusiasm of childhood, fished.
Then he told them things, which he had learned quite a few[81] in his long, shell-back life[82].
They dined somewhere about eleven o’clock, and at noon Paddy unstepped the mast and made a sort of little tent in the bow of the boat to protect the children from the rays of the sun.
Then he took his place in the bottom of the boat, in the stern, put Dick’s straw hat over his face to preserve it from the sun, and fell asleep.
He had slept an hour and more when he was awakened by a thin and prolonged shriek. It was Emmeline in a nightmare, or more properly a day-mare. When she was shaken and comforted, the mast was restepped.
As Mr Button stood looking round him, an object struck his eye some three miles ahead. Objects rather, for they were the masts of a small ship rising from the water.
He stared at this sight for twenty or thirty seconds without speaking, then he gave a wild “Hurroo!”
“What is it, Paddy?” asked Dick.
“Hurroo!” replied Mr Button. “Ship ahoy! ship ahoy! Are they aslape or dhramin’? The wind’ll take us up to her quicker than we’ll row.”
He took the rudder; the breeze took the sail, and the boat moved ahead.
“Is it daddy’s ship?” asked Dick, who was almost as excited as his friend.
“I dinno; we’ll see when we fetch her.”
“Shall we go on her, Mr Button?” asked Emmeline.
“Ay will we, honey.”
Emmeline bent down, and fetching her parcel from under the seat, held it in her lap.
As they drew nearer, the outlines of the ship became more apparent. She was a small brig, with topmasts. It was apparent soon to the old sailor’s eye what was wrong with her.
“She’s abandoned!” he muttered; “abandoned and done for[83]—just me luck!”
“I can’t see any people on the ship,” cried Dick, who had crept forward to the bow. “Daddy’s not there.”
When they were within twenty cable lengths[84] or so he unstepped the mast and took to the oars.
The little brig floated very low on the water, and presented a mournful enough appearance. It was easy enough to see that she was a timber ship, and that she had flooded herself and been abandoned.
Paddy lay on his oars within a few strokes of her. She was floating as quietly as though she were in the harbour of San Francisco. A few strokes brought them under the stern. The name of the ship was there in faded letters, also the port to which she belonged. “Shenandoah[85]. Martha’s Vineyard.”
“There’s letters on her,” said Mr Button. “But I can’t make thim out. I’ve no larnin’.”
“I can read them,” said Dick.
“So c’n I,” murmured Emmeline.
“S-H-E-N-A-N-D-O-A-H,” spelt Dick.
“What’s that?” enquired Paddy.
“I don’t know,” replied Dick, rather sadly.
“There you are[86]!” cried the oarsman, pulling the boat round to the starboard side of the brig. “They pretend to teach letters to children in schools, picking their eyes out with book-reading[87], and here’s letters as big as my face and they can’t make head or tail of them[88]—be dashed to book-reading[89]!”
The brig floated so low in the water that they were scarcely a foot above the level of the dinghy.
Mr Button secured the boat[90], then, with Emmeline and her parcel in his arms or rather in one arm, he climbed the board and passed her over the rail on to the deck. Then it was Dick’s turn, and the children stood waiting while the old sailor brought the water, the biscuit, and the tinned stuff on board.
It was a place to delight the heart of a boy, the deck of the Shenandoah. The place had a delightful smell of sea-beach, decaying wood, tar, and mystery. A bell was hung just forward of the foremast. In half a moment Dick was forward hammering at the bell with a pin he had picked from the deck.
Mr Button shouted to him to stop; the sound of the bell got on his nerves.
Dick dropped the pin and ran forward. He took Paddy’s hand, and the three went to the door of the deck-house[91]. The door was open, and they peeped in.
The place had three windows on the starboard side, and through the windows the sun was shining. There was a table in the middle of the place. A seat was pushed away from the table as if some one had risen in a hurry. On the table lay the remains of a meal, a teapot, two teacups, two plates. On one of the plates rested a fork with a bit of bacon. Near the teapot stood an open tin of condensed milk. Some old salt[92] had just been in the act of putting milk in his tea when something had happened. Never did a lot of dead things speak so clearly as these things spoke.
One could imagine it all up. The skipper, most likely, had finished his tea, and the mate was hard at work at his, when the leak had been discovered, or whatever had happened.
One thing was evident, that since the abandonment of the brig she had experienced fine weather, or else the things would not have been left standing on the table.
Mr Button and Dick entered the place, but Emmeline remained at the door. The charm of the old brig appealed to her almost as much as to Dick, but she was afraid to enter the gloomy deck-house, and afraid to remain alone outside; so she sat down on the deck. Then she placed the small bundle beside her, and hurriedly took the rag-doll from her pocket, propped it up against the door, and told it not to be afraid.
There was not much to be found in the deck-house, but there were two small cabins, once inhabited by the skipper and his mate. Here there were great findings in the way of rubbish. Old clothes, old boots, an old top-hat, a telescope without a lens, a nautical almanac, a box of fish hooks. And in one corner – a coil of what seemed to be ten yards or so of black rope.
“My God!” shouted Pat, seizing upon his treasure. It was pigtail[93]. A pipe full of it would make a hippopotamus vomit, yet old sailors chew it and smoke it with pleasure.
“We’ll bring all the lot of the things out on deck, and see what’s worth keepin’ an’ what’s worth leavin’,” said Mr Button.
“Em,” shouted Dick, as he appeared in the doorway, “see what I’ve got!”
He put the top-head on his head. It went right down to his shoulders.
Emmeline gave a shriek.
“It smells funny[94],” said Dick, taking it off and applying his nose to the inside of it—“smells like an old hair brush. Here, you try it on.”
Emmeline ran away as far as she could, till she reached the starboard side, where she sat, breathless and speechless and wide-eyed. She was always dumb when frightened, and this hat suddenly scared her. Besides, it was a black thing, and she hated black things—black cats, black horses; worst of all, black dogs.
Meanwhile Mr Button was putting armful after armful of stuff on deck. When the heap was complete, he sat down beside it, and lit his pipe.
He had searched neither for food or water as yet; happy with the treasure God had given him. And, indeed, if he had searched he would have found only half a sack of potatoes.
They all sat round the pile.
“Thim pair of brogues,” said the old man, holding a pair of old boots up for inspection like an auctioneer, “would cost half a dollar in any sayport in the world. Put them beside you, Dick, and stritch this pair of britches.”
The trousers were stretched out, examined and approved of, and laid beside the boots.
“Here’s a tiliscope wid wan eye shut,” said Mr Button, examining the broken telescope. “Stick it beside the brogues; it may come in handy[95] for somethin’. Here’s a book”—giving the nautical almanac to the boy. “Tell me what it says.”
Dick examined the pages of figures hopelessly.
“I can’t read ’em,” said Dick; “it’s numbers.”
“Toss it overboard,” said Mr Button.
Dick did what he was told joyfully.
Paddy tried on the tall hat, and the children laughed. On her old friend’s head the thing didn’t have terror for Emmeline.
She had two methods of laughing. The angelic smile—a rare thing—and, almost as rare, a laugh in which she showed her little white teeth, whilst she pressed her hands together.
Paddy put the hat on one side, and continued the sorting, searching all the pockets of the clothes and finding nothing. When he had arranged what to keep, they tossed the rest overboard, and the valuables were taken to the captain’s cabin, there to remain till wanted.
Then the idea that food might be useful as well as old clothes in their present condition struck the mind[96] of Mr Button, and he began to search, though couldn’t find anything else.
Still, the provisions and water brought on board from the dinghy would be sufficient to last them some ten days or so, and in the course of ten days a lot of things might happen.
Mr Button leaned over the side. The dinghy was nestling beside the brig like a duckling beside a duck. Having made all secure, he climbed slowly up to the top, and looked round upon the sea.
“Daddy’s a long time coming,” said Dick all of a sudden.
They were seated on the deck of the brig. The sun was setting in a sea that seemed like a sea of boiling gold. Some mystery of mirage caused the water to tremble.
“Ay, is he,” said Mr Button; “but it’s better late than never. Now don’t be thinkin’ of him, for that won’t bring him. Look at the sun goin’ into the wather, and don’t be spakin’ a word, now, but listen and you’ll hear it hiss.”
The children gazed and listened, Paddy also. All three were silent.
You could hear the water hiss—if you had imagination enough. Once having touched the water, the sun went down behind it, as swiftly as a man in a hurry going down a ladder. As the sun vanished, a ghostly and golden twilight spread over the sea. Then the sea became a violet shadow, the west darkened, and the stars rushed over the sky.
“Mr Button,” said Emmeline, nodding towards the sun as he vanished, “where’s over there?”
“The west,” replied he, staring at the sunset. “Chainy and Injee[97] and all away beyant.”
“Where’s the sun gone to now, Paddy?” asked Dick.
“He’s gone chasin’ the moon, an’ she’s running off for all she’s worth[98]; she’ll be up in a minit. He’s always afther her, but he’s never caught her yet.”
The moon, silver and splendid, was breaking from the water. She was full, and her light was powerful almost as the light of day. The shadows of the children and the shadow of Mr Button were cast on the wall of the caboose hard and black as silhouettes.
“Look at our shadows!” cried Dick, taking off his straw hat and waving it.
Emmeline held up her doll to see its shadow, and Mr Button held up his pipe.
“Come now,” said he, putting the pipe back in his mouth, and making to rise, “and be off to bed; it’s time you were aslape, the both of you.”
Dick began to wail.
“I don’t want to go to bed; I aint tired, Paddy—les’s stay a little longer.”
“Not a minit,” said the other, with all the decision of a nurse; “not a minit afther me pipe’s out!”
“Fill it again,” said Dick.
Mr Button made no reply.
“Mr Button!” said Emmeline. She was holding her nose in the air and sniffing; her delicate sense of smell felt something lost to the others.
“What is it, acushla[99]?”
“I smell something.”
“What d’ye say you smell?”
“Something nice.”
“What’s it like?” asked Dick, snifnif g hard. “I don’t smell anything.”
Emmeline sniffed again to make sure.
“Flowers,” said she.
The breeze was bearing with it a faint, faint odour: a perfume of vanilla and spice so faint as to be insensible to almost all.
“Flowers!” said the old sailor, tapping the ashes out of his pipe against the heel of his boot. “And where’d you get flowers in middle of the say? It’s dhramin’ you are. Come now—to bed wid yiz!”
“Fill it again,” wailed Dick, referring to the pipe.
“It’s a spankin’ I’ll give you,” replied his guardian, lifting him from the deck, and then assisting Emmeline, “in two ticks[100] if you don’t behave. Come along, Em’line.”
He started off, a small hand in each of his, Dick bellowing.
As they passed the ship’s bell, Dick stretched towards the pin that was still lying on the deck, seized it, and hit the bell a mighty bang. It was the last pleasure to be had before sleep, and he got it.
Paddy had made up beds for himself and his charges in the deck-house; he had cleared the stuff off the table, opened the windows to get the musty smell away, and placed the mattresses from the captain and mate’s cabins on the floor.
When the children were in bed and asleep, he went to the starboard rail, and, leaning on it, looked over the moonlit sea. He was thinking of ships as his eye wandered over the sea, little dreaming of the message that had been received and dimly understood by Emmeline. Then he leaned with his back to the rail and his hands in his pockets. He was not thinking now, he was meditating.
The basis of the Irish character, Paddy Button being an example, is a deep laziness mixed with a deep melancholy. Yet Paddy, in his left-handed way, was as hard a worker as any man on board ship; and as for melancholy, he was the life and soul of the cockpit[101].
Suddenly Mr Button came back from his dreams to find himself on the deck of the Shenandoah; and he instantly became taken by fears. Beyond the white deserted deck, he could see the door of the caboose. Suppose he should suddenly see a head pop out—or, worse, a shadowy form go in?
He turned to the deck-house, where the children were sound asleep[102], and where, in a few minutes, he, too, was sound asleep beside them, while all night long the brig rocked to the gentle ripple of the Pacific, and the breeze blew, bringing with it the perfume of flowers.
When the fog lifted after midnight the people in the long-boat saw the quarter-boat half a mile to starboard of them.
“Can you see the dinghy?” asked Lestrange of the captain, who was standing up searching the horizon.
“Not a speck,[103]” answered Le Farge. “Damn that Irishman! but for him I’d have got the boats away properly supplied and all[104]; as I don’t know what we’ve got aboard. You, Jenkins, what have you got there?”
“Two bags of bread and a small barrel of water,” answered the steward.
“A barrel of water, half full!” came another voice.
Then the steward’s voice: “So it is; there’s not more than a couple of gallons[105] in her.”
“My God!” said Le Farge. “Damn that Irishman!”
“There’s not more than’ll give us two half pannikins apiece all round,” said the steward.
“Maybe,” said Le Farge, “the quarter-boat’s better stocked; pull for her[106].”
“She’s pulling for us,” said the stroke oar[107].
“Captain,” asked Lestrange, “are you sure there’s no sight of the dinghy?”
“None,” replied Le Farge.
The unfortunate man’s head sank on his breast. He had little time to think over his troubles, however, for a tragedy was beginning to start around him, the most shocking, perhaps, in the history of the sea.
When the boats were within hearing distance, a man in the bow of the long-boat rose up.
“Quarter-boat ahoy!”
“Ahoy!”
“How much water have you?”
“None!”
The word came floating over the moonlit water. At it the fellows in the long-boat ceased rowing, and you could see the water-drops dripping off their oars like diamonds in the moonlight.
“Quarter-boat ahoy!” shouted the fellow in the bow. “Lay on your oars.”
“Here, you scowbanker[108]!” cried Le Farge, “who are you to be giving directions—”
“Scowbanker yourself!” replied the fellow. “Bullies, put her about[109]!”
The starboard oars backed water, and the boat came round.
By chance the worst lot of the Northumberland’s crew were in the long-boat—real “scowbankers,” scum; and how scum clings to life you will never know, until you have been amongst it in an open boat at sea. Le Farge had no more command over this lot than you have who are reading this book.
“Heave to[110]!” came from the quarter-boat, as she laboured behind.
“Lay on your oars, bullies!” cried the rufaif n at the bow, who was still standing up like an evil genius[111] who had taken momentary command over events. “Lay on your oars, bullies; they’d better have it now.”
The quarter-boat in her turn ceased rowing, and lay a cable’s length away.
“How much water have you?” came the mate’s voice.
“Not enough to go round.”
Le Farge made to rise, and the stroke oar struck at him, catching him in the wind and doubling him up in the bottom of the boat.
“Give us some, for God’s sake!” came the mate’s voice; “we’re parched with rowing, and there’s a woman on board.”
The fellow in the bow of the long-boat broke into blasphemy[112].
“Give us some,” came the mate’s voice, “or, by God, we’ll lay you aboard[113]!”
Before the words were well spoken the men in the quarter-boat carried the threat into action. The conflict was brief: the quarter-boat was too crowded for fighting. The starboard men in the long-boat fought with their oars, while the fellows to port steadied the boat[114].
The fight did not last long, and presently the quarter-boat went away, half of the men in her cut about the head and bleeding—two of them senseless.
It was sundown on the following day. The long-boat lay adrift. The last drop of water had been served out eight hours before.
The quarter-boat had been pursuing her all day, begging for water when there was none.
The men in the long-boat, gloomy and morose, tortured by thirst, and tormented by the voices imploring for water, lay on their oars when the other boat tried to approach.
Now and then, suddenly, and as if moved by a common impulse, they would all shout out together: “We have none.” But the quarter-boat would not believe. It was in vain[115] to hold the open barrel upside down to prove its dryness, the half-delirious creatures had it fixed in their minds that their comrades were hiding from them the water that was not.
Just as the sun touched the sea, Lestrange raised himself and looked over the side. He saw the quarter-boat drifting a cable’s length away, lit by the full light of sunset, and the ghosts in it, seeing him, held out in silent appeal their blackened tongues.
Of the night that followed it is almost impsible to speak. Thirst was nothing to what the scowbankers suffered from the torture of the appeal for water that came to them at intervals during the night.
When at last the Arago, a French whale ship, saw them, the crew of the long-boat were still alive, but three of them were raving madmen[116]. Of the crew of the quarter-boat was saved—not one.
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