Paul Gerrard Part 9

"'Faith, about two years, yer honour,' says the n.i.g.g.e.r.

"'Two years, did ye say--two years only to turn a white Irishman into a n.i.g.g.e.r?' exclaimed my countryman with no little alarm. 'Then faith the sooner I get away back from out of this black-burning country the better--or my own mither down in Ballyshannon won't be after knowing her own beautiful boy again at all, and my father would be after disowning me, and my sisters and brothers to boot, and Father O'Roony would be declaring that it was a white Christian he made of me, and that I couldn't be the same anyhow. Take my duds on sh.o.r.e. No. Take 'em below, and I'll go there too, and remain there too till the s.h.i.+p sails and I'm out of this n.i.g.g.e.r-making land.' My countryman kept to his intention, and from that day till the s.h.i.+p sailed, never set foot on sh.o.r.e. You'll understand that no small number of Irishmen go out to that country, and that the n.i.g.g.e.r boy had learnt his English from them-- for he wasn't a real Irishman after all, but that my countryman did not find out till he got back to auld Ireland again.

"Och, they are broths of boys the Paddies, but they do make curious mistakes somehow or other, it must be allowed.

"I was one day dining at the mess of some soldier officers, when one of them, a Captain O'Rourke, positively declared on his faith as a gentleman that 'he had seen anchovies growing on the walls at Gibraltar.'

"Most of the party opened their eyes, but said nothing, for O'Rourke was not a man whose word a quietly-disposed person would wish in his sober moments to call in question.

"Unfortunately, there was present an Englishman, a Lieutenant Brown, into whose head the fumes of the tawny port and ruby claret had already mounted.

"'Anchovies growing on a wall?' he blurted out. 'That's a cram if ever there was one.'

"O'Rourke was on his feet in a moment,--

"'What, sir--it's not you who mean to say that you don't believe me, I hope?' he exclaimed, in a voice which meant mischief.

"'Believe you! I should think I don't, or any man who can talk such gammon,' answered Brown, in a tone of defiance.

"As may be supposed, there was only one way in which such a matter could end. Preliminaries were soon settled. The affair would have come off that evening, but it would have broken up the party too soon, and besides it wouldn't have been fair, as Brown's hand was not as steady as it might have been. So it was put off till the next morning soon after daylight, when there was a good gathering to see the fun. The English generally took Brown's side. I of course stood by O'Rourke, not that I was quite sure he was in the right, by-the-by.

"It was very evident that Brown had no notion of handling his pistol.

"'I'll just wing him to teach the spalpeen better manners,' whispered O'Rourke to his second. 'He's unworthy game for my weapon.'

"The word was given to fire. Brown's bullet flew up among some trees away to the right, not a little frightening the young in a nest of birds, who popped out their heads to see what was the matter. It was now our friend's turn.

He smiled as he sent his ball through Brown's trousers, cruelly grazing his leg, whereon he began to skip about in the most comical way possible with the pain.

"'By ---, you've made that fellow cut capers at all events,' observed O'Rourke's second.

"'Cut capers, did ye say?' exclaimed O'Rourke. 'Them's the very things I saw growing on the wall, and not anchovies at all, at all.' And rus.h.i.+ng up to poor Brown, who had fallen on the ground, he took his hand, greatly to the surprise of the wounded man, crying out,--'It's myself made the trifle of a mistake, my dear fellow, it's capers, it's capers, grows on walls, so get up and don't think anything more about the matter.'

"Poor Brown went limping about for many a day afterwards, and didn't seem to consider the matter half as good a joke as the rest of us."

O'Grady's stories amused the party, though Croxton very properly remarked that duelling was a wicked heathen custom, and that he wondered people who called themselves Christians could ever indulge in it. Other stories were told, but their interest flagged, for people are not generally in a talkative mood with the thermometer above a hundred, and with a small supply of water. Alphonse, however, from time to time kept his fiddlestick going, both to his own satisfaction, and that of his hearers. Still he, on account of the heat, was often compelled to put it down, and to declare that he could play no longer.

Great and unusual, however, as was the heat, it did not appear to cause any apprehension of danger in the mind of Devereux. The night came on, and though the air even then was hot, the weary crew were refreshed by sleep. The sun rose, and the air was hotter than ever, notwithstanding a dense mist, which gradually filled the atmosphere, while soon a lurid glare spread over it. Croxton, as he watched the change, looked even graver than before. "You've not been in these seas before, Mr Devereux, sir?" he observed.

"No; and if the weather is always as broiling as it is at present, I don't wish to come to them again in a hurry," answered Devereux. "But one thing is fortunate--they are calm enough to please any old ladies who might venture on them."

"Don't count too much on that, sir, if an old man who has cruised for many a long year out here in every part may venture to give you advice,"

said Croxton, in an earnest tone. "The weather here is often like a pa.s.sionate man--calm one moment, and raging furiously the next. I tell you, sir, I don't like its look at present, and I fear, before long, that we shall have a job to keep the boat afloat."

"What do you mean, Croxton?" said Devereux. "The boat is the strongest and best-built belonging to the frigate."

"I mean, sir, that a hurricane is about to burst over us, and that the strongest and best-built boat can scarcely live through it," was the answer.

"I fear that you are right," replied Devereux. "We'll prepare the boat as best we can for what is coming."

No time was to be lost. The staves of a cask knocked to pieces were nailed round the sides of the boat, and to these a sail, cut into broad strips, was nailed, so that the water might the better be kept out. The men were also ordered to rest and to take some food, and then calmly they waited the expected event. They were not kept long in suspense.

"Here it comes," cried Croxton. "Our only chance is to run before it."

He pointed as he spoke astern, where a long line of snow-white foam was seen rolling on over the leaden ocean, the sky above it being even darker than before.

"Out oars, and pull for your lives, lads!" cried Devereux.

Scarcely had the boat gathered full away before the hurricane overtook her, and she was surrounded by a seething ma.s.s of foam; every instant the seas growing higher and higher, and rolling up with fierce roars, as if to overwhelm her. It seemed impossible that an open boat could live in such tumultuous waters, yet still she kept afloat, flying on before the tempest. Devereux firmly grasped the helm. He knew that any careless steering would cause the destruction of the boat and all in her. The crew looked at each other. No wonder that many a cheek was pale. Who could tell how soon they might be struggling helplessly amid the foam, while their boat was sinking down below their feet? It was impossible to say also where they might drive to.

On flew the boat. As the hurricane increased in strength and gained greater and greater power over the water, the seas increased in height and came rolling and tumbling on, foaming, hissing, and roaring-- threatening every instant to engulph her. So great was the force of the wind, that the oars were almost blown out of the men's hands, their efforts being expended solely in keeping the boat running before the sea. Those not rowing were employed in baling, for, in spite of all their efforts, the water washed in in such abundance as to require all their exertions to heave it out again.

Paul, as he laboured away with the rest, thought a great deal of home and the dear ones he had left there. He believed, and had good reason for believing, that he should never see them again, for by what possible means could he and his companions escape destruction, unless the hurricane was suddenly to cease, and it had as yet not gained its height. Even as it was, the boat could scarcely be kept afloat. Night, too, would soon arrive, and then the difficulty of steering before the sea would be greatly increased. Still the boat floated. Now a sea higher than its predecessors came roaring on--the foam blown from its summit half filled the boat. With difficulty she could be freed of water before another came following with a still more threatening aspect. The voice of old Croxton was heard raised in prayer. Each one believed that his last hour was come. It turned suddenly aside, and the boat still floated. Again and again they were threatened and escaped.

Darkness, however, was now rapidly coming on and increasing the terrific aspect of the tempest. Devereux, aided by Reuben Cole, sat steering the boat. Not a word was spoken. The roar of the waves increased.

"Breakers ahead!" cried old Croxton, in a deep solemn voice. "The Lord have mercy on our souls!"

The boat was lifted higher than before amid the tumultuous hissing cauldron of foaming waters, and then down she came with a fearful crash on a coral reef.

CHAPTER FIVE.

The shrieks and cries and shouts of Paul's companions rang in his ears as he found himself with them struggling in the foaming water amid the fragments of their boat. His great desire was to preserve his presence of mind. He struck out with hands and feet, not for the purpose of making way through the water, but that he might keep himself afloat till he could ascertain in which direction the sea was driving him. That some of his companions were yet alive, he could tell by hearing their voices, though already it seemed at some distance from each other. He felt that, though now swimming bravely, his strength must soon fail him.

Something struck him. He stretched out his hands and grasped an oar.

He found himself carried along, even more rapidly than before, amid the hissing foam. He judged by the sensation that he was lifted to the summit of a wave; it rolled triumphantly on with him, and it seemed as if he was thrown forward by it a considerable distance, for he dropped, as it were, into comparatively smooth water. He did not stop, but he was borne on and on till he felt his feet, for the first time, touch for an instant something hard. It might have been the top of a rock, and he would be again in deep water; but no--he stretched out one leg. It met the sand--a hard beach. Directly after, he was wading, and rapidly rising higher out of the water. He found some difficulty in withstanding the waters as they receded, but they did not seem to run back with the force they frequently do; and struggling manfully, he at length worked his way up till he was completely beyond their power.

Then exhausted nature gave way, and he sank down in a state of half-stupor on the ground. The hurricane howled over his head; the waves roared around him; he had the feeling that they would come up and claim him as their prey, and yet he had no power to drag himself farther away. He had consciousness enough left to show that he was on a wild sea beach, and to believe that his last moments were approaching. At length he fell asleep, and probably slept for some hours, for when he awoke he felt greatly refreshed. It was still dark. He tried to stand up, that he might ascertain the nature of the country on which he had been thrown; he could see no trees, and he fancied that he could distinguish the foam-covered waves leaping up on the other side of the land. It might be a point of land, or it might be some small sandy islet; it had, at all events, a very desolate appearance. Was he its sole occupant? He scarcely dared to shout out an inquiry, lest the sea-bird's shriek should be the only reply he might receive--or, what would be worse, no responding voice should answer him. He sat down again, wis.h.i.+ng that day would come. He felt very sad--very forlorn. He could scarcely refrain from crying bitterly, and almost wished that he had been swallowed up by the foaming sea. He sat on, wis.h.i.+ng that the night would come to an end. How long it seemed! Hour after hour pa.s.sed by; he could not sleep, and yet he would gladly have lost all recollection of his past sufferings, and thoughts of those which were to come. He watched the hurricane decreasing; the wind grew less and less in strength; the waves lashed the island sh.o.r.es with diminished fury; and the foam no longer flew, as heretofore, in dense showers over him.

Dawn at last broke, and before long the sun himself rose up out of his ocean bed. Paul started to his feet, and looked about him. Along the beach, at no great distance, his eye fell on two figures. He rushed towards them. They did not see him, for they were sitting down, looking the other way. He shouted for joy on recognising Devereux and O'Grady.

On hearing his voice they turned their heads, and the latter, jumping up, ran to meet him. The greeting was warm, for both looked on each other as rescued from the grave. Poor Devereux, however, did not move; and as Paul got nearer to him he saw that he was very pale.

"I'm so glad that you have escaped, Gerrard, both for your sake and ours," exclaimed O'Grady, shaking hands with Paul, and forgetting all about their supposed difference in rank: "I do believe that with your help Devereux may recover. He and I, you see, were thrown on sh.o.r.e near here, and as his feet were hurt I managed to drag him up here; but, had my life depended on it, I could not have dragged him up an inch further.

We can manage to get some shelter for him from the heat of the sun, and while one stays by him, the other can go in search of food."

"Oh! my good fellow, it will be all right," said Devereux, scarcely able to restrain a deep groan. "I am sure Gerrard will be a great help, and we ought to be thankful; but I can't help mourning for the poor fellows who have gone. There's Alphonse, and his fiddle too--I didn't know how much I liked the poor fellow."

"Yes, he was a merry little chap; and then that honest fellow, Reuben Cole, and old Croxton too, in spite of his sermons--they were not very long, and he had good reason for them," chimed in O'Grady with a sigh, which sounded strange from his lips. "It seems a wonder that any of us are alive. But I am getting terribly hungry, and it doesn't seem as if there were many fruits or vegetables to be procured on this island; however, I will go in search of what is to be found, though I suspect we shall have to make up our minds to live on sh.e.l.l-fish and sea-weed. In the meantime, Gerrard, do you look after Mr Devereux."

"I will do as you order, sir; but perhaps I know more about getting sh.e.l.l-fish out of the crevices in the rocks than you do, and a person may easily slip in and be drowned: so if you will let me I will go,"

observed Gerrard.

"No, no, I'll go," said O'Grady; "lend me your knife--I shall want it to sc.r.a.pe the sh.e.l.ls off the rocks. And now I'm off."

"Look out for fresh water on your way," said Devereux, as O'Grady was moving off; "I am already fearfully thirsty."

Devereux and Paul watched O'Grady for some time as he walked along the beach, where, as there were no rocks, he vainly searched for sh.e.l.l-fish.

At length he was lost to sight in the distance.

"This is, I fear, a barren spot we are on, Gerrard; still, we must never give in while we are alive," observed Devereux. "I say this, because I feel that I am not long for this world; and when you and O'Grady are left alone, you may fall into despair. Remember, struggle on till the last moment, for you do not know when help may come."