The Pirate, and The Three Cutters Part 12

'Be it so.'

The chest of Francisco was handed into the boat.

'Is that all?' cried Hawkhurst.

'My lads, am I to have no provisions or water?' inquired Francisco.

'No,' replied Hawkhurst.

'Yes--yes,' cried most of the pirates.

Hawkhurst did not dare put it to the vote; he turned sulkily away. The Kroumen brought up two breakers of water, and some pieces of pork.

'Here, ma.s.sa,' said Pompey, putting into Francisco's hand a fis.h.i.+ng-line with hooks.

'Thank you, Pompey; but I had forgot--that book in the cabin--you know which I mean.'

Pompey nodded his head, and went below; but it was some time before he returned, during which Hawkhurst became impatient. It was a very small boat which had been lowered down; it had a lug-sail and two pair of sculls in it, and was quite full when Francisco's chest and the other articles had been put in.

'Come! I have no time to wait,' said Hawkhurst; 'in the boat!'

Francisco shook hands with many of the crew, and wished all of them farewell. Indeed, now that they beheld the poor lad about to be cast on a desolate island, even those most opposed to him felt some emotions of pity. Although they acknowledged that his absence was necessary, yet they knew his determined courage; and with them that quality was always a strong appeal.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Before Francisco had gained the sand-bank she was hull-down to the northward._]

'Who will row this lad ash.o.r.e, and bring the boat off?'

'Not I,' replied one; 'it would haunt me ever afterwards.'

So they all appeared to think, for no one volunteered. Francisco jumped into the boat.

'There is no room for any one but me; and I will row myself on sh.o.r.e,'

cried he. 'Farewell, my lads! farewell!'

'Stop! not so; he must not have the boat--he may escape from the island,' cried Hawkhurst.

'And why shouldn't he, poor fellow?' replied the men. 'Let him have the boat.'

'Yes--yes, let him have the boat;' and Hawkhurst was again overruled.

'Here, Ma.s.sa Francisco--here de book.'

'What's that, sir?' cried Hawkhurst, s.n.a.t.c.hing the book out of Pompey's hand.

'Him, ma.s.sa, Bible.' Francisco waited for the book.

'Shove off!' cried Hawkhurst.

'Give me my book, Mr. Hawkhurst!'

'No!' replied the malignant rascal, tossing the Bible over the taffrail; 'he shall not have that. I've heard say that _there is consolation in it for the afflicted_.'

Francisco shoved off his boat, and seizing his sculls, pushed astern, picked up the book, which still floated, and laid it to dry on the after-thwart of the boat. He then pulled in for the sh.o.r.e. In the meantime the schooner had let draw her foresheet, and had already left him a quarter of a mile astern. Before Francisco had gained the sand-bank she was hull-down to the northward.

CHAPTER X

THE SAND-BANK

The first half-hour that Francisco was on this desolate spot he watched the receding schooner; his thoughts were unconnected and vague.

Wandering through the various scenes which had pa.s.sed on the decks of that vessel, and recalling to his memory the different characters of those on board of her, much as he had longed to quit her--disgusted as he had been with those with whom he had been forced to a.s.sociate--still, as her sails grew fainter and fainter to his view, as she increased her distance, he more than once felt that even remaining on board of her would have been preferable to his present deserted lot. 'No, no!'

exclaimed he, after a little further reflection, 'I had rather perish here, than continue to witness the scenes which I have been forced to behold.'

He once more fixed his eyes upon her white sails, and then sat down on the loose sands, and remained in deep and melancholy reverie until the scorching heat reminded him of his situation; he afterwards rose and turned his thoughts upon his present situation, and to what would be the measures most advisable to take. He hauled his little boat still farther on the beach, and attached the painter to one of the oars, which he fixed deep in the sand; he then proceeded to survey the bank, and found that but a small portion was uncovered at high water; for, trifling as was the rise of the tide, the bank was so low that the water flowed almost over it. The most elevated part was not more than fifteen feet above high-water mark, and that was a small knoll of about fifty feet in circ.u.mference.

To this part he resolved to remove his effects; he returned to the boat, and having lifted out his chest, the water, the provisions, with the other articles which he had obtained, he dragged them up, one by one, until they were all collected at the spot he had chosen. He then took out of the boat the oars and little sail, which, fortunately, had remained in her. His last object, to haul the little boat up to the same spot, was one which demanded all his exertion; but, after considerable fatigue, he contrived, by first lifting round her bow, and then her stern, to effect his object.

Tired and exhausted, he then repaired to one of the breakers of water and refreshed himself. The heat, as the day advanced, had become intolerable; but it stimulated him to fresh exertion. He turned over the boat, and contrived that the bow and stern should rest upon two little hillocks, so as to raise it above the level of the sand beneath it two or three feet; he spread out the sail from the keel above, with the thole-pins as pegs, so as to keep off the rays of the sun. Dragging the breakers of water and the provisions underneath the boat, he left his chest outside; and having thus formed for himself a sort of covering which would protect him from the heat of the day and the damp of the night, he crept in to shelter himself until the evening.

Although Francisco had not been on deck, he knew pretty well whereabouts he then was. Taking out a chart from his chest, he examined the coast to ascertain the probable distance which he might be from any prospect of succour. He calculated that he was on one of a patch of sand-banks off the coast of Loango, and about seven hundred miles from the Isle of St.

Thomas--the nearest place where he might expect to fall in with a European face. From the coast he felt certain that he could not be more than forty or fifty miles at the most; but could he trust himself among the savage natives who inhabited it? He knew how ill they had been treated by Europeans; for, at that period, it was quite as common for the slave-trader to land and take away the inhabitants as slaves by force, as to purchase them in the more northern territories: still, he might be fortunate enough to fall in with some trader on the coast, as there were a few who still carried on a barter for gold-dust and ivory.

We do not know--we cannot conceive a situation much more deplorable than the one we have just described to have been that of Francisco.

Alone--without a chance of a.s.sistance--with only a sufficiency of food for a few days, and cut off from the rest of his fellow-creatures, with only so much _terra firma_ as would prevent his being swallowed up by the vast, unfathomable ocean, into which the horizon fell on every side around him! And his chance of escape how small! Hundreds of miles from any from whom he might expect a.s.sistance, and the only means of reaching them a small boat--a mere c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l, which the first rough gale would inevitably destroy.

Such, indeed, were the first thoughts of Francisco; but he soon recovered from his despondency. He was young, courageous, and buoyant with hope; and there is a feeling of pride--of trust in our own resources and exertions, which increases and stimulates us in proportion to our danger and difficulty; it is the daring of the soul proving its celestial origin and eternal duration.

So intense was the heat that Francisco almost panted for sufficient air to support life, as he lay under the shade of the boat during the whole of that day; not a breath of wind disturbed the gla.s.sy wave--all nature appeared hushed into one horrible calm. It was not until the shades of night were covering the solitude that Francisco ventured forth from his retreat; but he found little relief; there was an unnatural closeness in the air--a suffocation unusual even in those climes. Francisco cast his eyes up to the vault of heaven, and was astonished to find that there were no stars visible--a gray mist covered the whole firmament. He directed his view downwards to the horizon, and that, too, was not to be defined; there was a dark bank all around it. He walked to the edge of the sand-bank; there was not even a ripple--the wide ocean appeared to be in a trance, in a state of lethargy or stupor.

He parted the hair from his feverish brow, and once more surveying the horrible, lifeless, stagnant waste, his soul sickened, and he cast himself upon the sand. There he lay for many hours in a state bordering upon wild despair. At last he recovered himself, and, rising to his knees, he prayed for strength and submission to the will of Heaven.

When he was once more upon his feet, and had again scanned the ocean, he perceived that there was a change rapidly approaching. The dark bank on the horizon had now risen higher up; the opaqueness was everywhere more dense; and low murmurs were heard as if there was wind stirring aloft, although the sea was still gla.s.sy as a lake. Signs of some movement about to take place were evident, and the solitary youth watched and watched. And now the sounds increased, and here and there a wild thread of air--whence coming, who could tell? and as rapidly disappearing--would ruffle, for a second, a portion of the stagnant sea.

Then came whizzing sounds and moans, and then the rumbling noise of distant thunder--loud and louder yet--still louder--a broad black line is seen sweeping along the expanse of water--fearful in its rapidity it comes!--and the hurricane burst, at once and with all its force, and all its terrific sounds, upon the isolated Francisco.

The first blast was so powerful and so unexpected that it threw him down, and prudence dictated to him to remain in that position, for the loose sand was swept off and whirled in such force as to blind and prevent his seeing a foot from him; he would have crawled to the boat for security, but he knew not in which direction to proceed. But this did not last; for now the water was borne up upon the strong wings of the hurricane, and the sand was rendered firm by its saturation with the element.

Francisco felt that he was drenched, and he raised his head. All he could discover was that the firmament was mantled with darkness, horrible from its intensity, and that the sea was in one extended foam--boiling everywhere, and white as milk--but still smooth, as if the power of the wind had compelled it to be so; but the water had encroached, and one half the sand-bank was covered with it, while over the other the foam whirled, each portion chasing the other with wild rapidity.

And now the windows of heaven were opened, and the rain, mingled with the spray caught up by the hurricane, was dashed and hurled upon the forlorn youth, who still lay where he had been first thrown down. But of a sudden, a wash of water told him that he could there remain no longer: the sea was rising--rising fast; and before he could gain a few paces on his hands and knees, another wave, as if it chased him in its wrath, repeated the warning of his extreme danger, and he was obliged to rise on his feet and hasten to the high part of the sand-bank, where he had drawn up his boat and his provisions.

Blinded as he was by the rain and spray, he could distinguish nothing.

Of a sudden he fell violently; he had stumbled over one of the breakers of water, and his head struck against his sea-chest. Where, then, was the boat? It was gone!--it must have been swept away by the fury of the wind. Alas, then all chance was over! and if not washed away by the angry waters, he had but to prolong his existence but a few days, and then to die. The effect of the blow he had received on his forehead, with the shock of mind occasioned by the disappearance of the boat, overpowered him, and he remained for some time in a state of insensibility.

When Francisco recovered, the scene was again changed: the wide expanse was now in a state of wild and fearful commotion, and the waters roared as loud as did the hurricane. The whole sand-bank, with the exception of that part on which he stood, was now covered with tumultuous foam, and his place of refuge was occasionally invaded, when some vast ma.s.s, o'erlording the other waves, expended all its fury even to his feet.

Francisco prepared to die!