The Ocean Waifs Part 17

The mind of the Coromantee, hitherto distracted by conflicting emotions, had now but one thought. It was less purpose than a despairing instinct. It was to support the child who had been intrusted to him-- the Lilly Lalee--above water as long as he should have strength; and then to go down along with her into that vast, fathomless tomb, that leaves no trace and carries no epitaph!

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

THE SAIL OUT OF SIGHT.

The sea-cook and the sailor were now swimming towards each other. It is true that Ben was not making very rapid way, nor did s...o...b..ll return on his course with any great alacrity. Despair had rendered the latter somewhat irresolute; and he scarcely knew why he was swimming back, unless it was to be drowned in company with the others; for drowning now appeared their inevitable fate.

Slowly as both swam, they soon came together,--the countenances of both, as they met, exhibiting that fixed, despairing look which bespeaks the utter extinction of hope.

The _Catamaran_ was now at such a distance, that even could she have been suddenly arrested in her course, and brought to an anchor, it was doubtful whether either s...o...b..ll or the sailor could have reached her by swimming. The raft itself and the water-casks lashed around it were no longer to be seen. Only the white sail, that like a bit of fleecy cloud, equally fleeting, was fast lessening to a speck upon the distant horizon. No wonder that hope had forsaken them!

The sailor wondered that the sail was still set. During the first moments, while endeavouring to come up with the craft, he had shouted to William to let go the halliards. He had kept repeating this order, until his voice, already hoa.r.s.e and faltering, grew almost inarticulate from sheet exhaustion of breath, and the rail, moreover, had drifted to such a distance that it was not likely the lad could hear him. Under this impression he had at length discontinued his feeble cries, and swam on in slow and gloomy silence, wondering why William had not obeyed his injunctions, feeling chagrin at his not doing so, and with good reason, since the lowering of the sail might have still given them some chance of overtaking the craft.

It was just as the sailor had given over calling out, and relapsed into sullen silence, that s...o...b..ll was seen returning towards him. It was an additional argument for despair this abandonment of the chase on the part of the Coromantee. When such a swimmer had given it up, Ben knew it was hopeless.

In a moment after they met face to face. The glance exchanged between them was mutually understood without a word spoken by either. Each tacitly read in the eyes of the other the dread destiny that awaited them,--near, and soon to be fulfilled,--drowning!

s...o...b..ll was the first to break the terrible silence.

"You nigh done up, Ma.s.sa Ben,--you muss be! Gib me de lilly gal. You Lally! you lay hold on ma shoulder, and let Ma.s.sa Brace ress a bit."

"No,--no!" protested the sailor, in a despairing tone. "It bean't no use. I can carry her a bit longer. 'Tain't much longer as any o' us 'll be--"

"s.h.!.+ Ma.s.sa Brace," interrupted the negro, speaking in a suppressed whisper, and looking significantly towards the child. "Hope dar 's no danger yet," he added, in a voice intended for the ear of Lalee. "We oberhaul de _Catamaran_ by 'm by. De wind change, and bring dat craff down on us. 'Peak in de French, Ma.s.sa Ben," he continued, at the same time adroitly adopting a _patois_ of that language. "De _pauvre jeune fille_ don't understan' de French lingo. I know it am all ober wi' boaf you an' me, and de gal, too but doan let her know it to de la.s.s minute.

It be no use to do dat,--only make her feel wuss."

"_Eh bien_! all right!" muttered Ben, indiscriminately mingling his French and English phrases. "_Pauvre enfant_! She shan't know nothin'

from me o' what be afore her. Lord a marcy on all o' us! I don't see the raft any more! Whar be it? Can you see it, s...o...b..ll?"

"Gorramity, no!" replied the black, raising himself up in the water to get a better view. "Gone out o' de sight altogedder! We nebba see dat _Catamaran_ any more,--no, nebba!"

The additional accent of despair with which these words were uttered was scarce perceptible. Had there been a hope, it would have been shattered by the disappearance of the raft,--whose white sail was now no longer visible against the blue background of the horizon. But all hope had previously been abandoned; and this new phase of the drama produced but slight change in the minds of its chief actors. Death was already staring them in the face with that determination which promised no prospect of avoiding it, and none was cherished. The only change that occurred was in the action. The swimmers no longer directed themselves in a particular course. There was none for them to follow. With the disappearance of the sail they no longer knew in what direction to look for the raft. For all they now knew of it, it might have gone to the bottom, leaving them alone upon the bosom of the limitless ocean.

"No use swimmin' on'ards!" said Ben, despairingly. "It'll only waste the bit of strength that be left us."

"No use," a.s.sented the negro. "Less lay to, and float on de water. Dat be easier, and we can keep up de longer. Do, Ma.s.sa Ben,--gib me de gal.

You mo' tired dan I. Come, lilly Lally, you grasp hold on ma shoulder!

Dat's de bess way. Come, now,--come, dear lilly gal."

And as s...o...b..ll spoke, he swam close alongside the girl and, gently detaching her hand from the shoulder of the sailor, transferred its feeble grasp to his own.

Ben no longer offered resistance to this generous action on the part of his old comrade: for, in truth, he stood in dire necessity of the relief; and, the transfer having been effected, both continued to float upon the water, sustaining themselves with no more effort than was absolutely necessary to keep their heads above the surface.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

WAITING FOR DEATH.

For several minutes the wretched castaways of the _Catamaran_ remained in their perilous position,--almost motionless in the midst of the deep blue water,--precariously suspended upon its surface,--suspended between life and death!

Under any circ.u.mstances the situation would have been trying to the stoutest nerves,--even under circ.u.mstances where a hope of deliverance might have been indulged in. Without this it was awful.

Neither black man nor white one any longer contemplated the _danger_ of death: both believed in its _certainty_.

How could they doubt it?

Had either been standing upon the scaffold, with the condemned cap drawn over his eyes and the rope adjusted around his neck, he could not have felt surer of the nearness of his end.

Both believed it to be simply a question of time; an hour or two,-- perhaps not so much, since the fatigues and struggles through which they had just pa.s.sed had already made sad inroads upon their strength,--but an hour or two at most, and all would be over. Both must succ.u.mb to the laws of Nature,--the laws of gravitation,--or rather of specific gravity,--and sink below the surface,--down, down into the fathomless and unknown abysm of the ocean. Along with them, sharing their sad fate, Lilly Lalee,--that pretty, uncomplaining child, the innocent victim of an ill-starred destiny, must disappear forever from a world of which she had as yet seen so little, and that little of the least favourable kind.

Throughout the whole affair the girl had shown but slight signs of the terrible affright that, under the circ.u.mstances, might have been expected. Born in a land and brought up among a people where human life was lightly and precariously held, she had been often accustomed to the spectacle of death,--which to some extent robs it of its terrors. At all events, they who are thus used appear to meet it with a more stoical indifference.

It would be a mistake to suppose that the girl appeared indifferent.

Nothing of the sort. She exhibited apprehension,--fear sufficient; but whether her mind was overwhelmed by the extreme peril of the situation, or that she was still ignorant of its being extreme, certain it is that her behaviour, from beginning to end, was characterised by a calmness that seemed supernatural, or at all events superhuman. Perhaps she was sustained by the confidence she had in the brace of brave protectors swimming alongside of her,--both of whom, even in that extreme hour, carefully refrained from communicating to her the belief which they themselves in all fulness entertained,--that their lives were fast approaching to a termination.

The minds of both were fully imbued with this conviction, though not in the same degree of fulness. If possible, the white man felt more certain of the proximity of his end than did the negro. It is not easy to tell why it was so. The reason may, perhaps, be found in the fact, that the latter had been so often on the edge of the other world, had so often escaped entering it, that, despite the impossibility of escaping from his present peril,--to all appearance absolute,--there still lingered in his breast some remnant of hopefulness.

Not so with the sailor. From the bosom of Ben Brace every vestige of hope had vanished. He looked upon life as no longer possible. Once or twice the thought had actually entered his mind to put an end to the struggle, and, along with it, the agony of that terrible hour, by suspending the action of his arms, and suffering himself to sink to the bottom of the sea. He was only restrained from the suicidal act, by the influence of that instinct of our nature, which abhors self-destruction, and admonishes, or rather compels us, to abide the final moment when death comes to claim us as its own.

Thus, by different circ.u.mstances, and under different influences, were the three castaways of the _Catamaran_ sustained upon the surface of the water,--Lilly Lalee by s...o...b..ll,--s...o...b..ll, by the slightest ray of hope still lingering in a corner of his black bosom,--the sailor by an instinct causing him to refrain from the committal of that act which, in civilised society, under all circ.u.mstances, is considered as a crime.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

A CHEST AT SEA.

All conversation had come to an end. Even the few phrases at intervals exchanged between s...o...b..ll and the sailor,--the solemn import of which had been zealously kept from the child by their being spoken in _French_--were no longer heard.

The swimmers, now wellnigh exhausted, had for a long interval preserved this profound silence, partly for the reason of their being exhausted, and partly that no change had occurred in the circ.u.mstances surrounding them,--nothing that required a renewal of the conversation. The awe of approaching death,--now so near, that twenty minutes or a quarter of an hour might be regarded as the ultimate moment,--held, as if spellbound, the speech both of s...o...b..ll and the sailor.

There were no other sounds to interrupt the silence of that solemn moment,--at least none worthy of being mentioned. The slightest ripple of the water, stirred by a zephyr breeze, as it played against the bodies of the languid swimmers, might have been heard, but was not heeded. No more did the scream of the sea-mew arrest the attention of any of them, or if it did, it was only to add to the awe which reigned above and around them.

In this moment of deep silence and deepest misery, a voice fell upon the ears of the two swimmers that startled both of them, as if it had been a summons from the other world. It sounded sweet as if from the world of eternal joy. There was no mystery in the voice; it was that of the Lilly Lalee.

The child, sustained upon the shoulder of the buoyant black, was in such a position that her eyes were elevated over the surface of the water several inches above those either of him who supported her, or the sailor who swam by her side. In this situation she had a better view than either; and, as a consequence of this advantage, she saw what was visible to neither,--a dark object floating upon the surface of the sea at no great distance from the spot where the exhausted swimmers were feebly struggling to sustain themselves.

It was the announcement of this fact that had fallen with such startling effect upon the ears of the two men, simultaneously rousing both from that torpor of despair which for some time had held possession of them.

"Who you see, Lilly Lally? Who you see?" exclaimed s...o...b..ll, who was the first to interrogate the girl. "Look at 'im 'gain,--look, good lilly gal!" continued he, at the same time making an effort to elevate the shoulder which gave support to his _protege_.

"Wha be it? I ain't de raff,--de _Catamaran_? Eh?"

"No, no," replied the child. "It isn't that. It's a small thing of a square shape. It looks like a box."

"A box? how come dat? A box! what de debbel!"