Fifty-Two Stories For Girls 20 – Anonymous · Library Across
Literature · Short Stories
Fifty-Two Stories For Girls 20Part 2 · Chapter 1
18
Literature · Short Stories
Fifty-Two Stories For Girls 20
Part 2 · Chapter 1
AnonymousEnglish
The captain was drowned, and the May Queen was wrecked, and we were adrift on the ocean. Adrift in a cockle-shell of an open boat more than six hundred miles from land! No--no! It's some horrible nightmare!
For the first few moments everybody sat benumbed, staring awe-struck into each other's faces.
Then--"Christ have mercy on his soul!" somebody said.
And, "Amen!" came the answer in a deep whisper.
Then Mr. Wheeler gave some order in a voice that shook, and we rowed from the fatal spot.
Sylvia sat with one hand covering her face. Her other arm crept round my waist. I was so dazed I could hardly think--too bewildered to grasp what had happened.
"Poor child!" said Dr. Atherton.
"Sara, Dr. Atherton is speaking to you ... Sara!"
I raised my head.
"Poor child!" I heard again. "Sit up and drink this," said the doctor's voice, and I felt him chafing my hand.
"Miss Sara, won't you try to be brave? Look at Miss Sylvia," he said.
"She be a rare plucked 'un, she be. Cheer up, you poor little 'un!"
"While there is life, there's 'ope, little miss. Thank the Lord, we're not all on us drowned."
I burst into tears, I was ashamed that I did; but it was oh! such a relief to cry.
When I came to myself they were talking together. I heard in a stupefied way.
"No immediate peril, thank God."
"Not in calm weather like this."
"Two chances for life--she must either make land, or be picked up by some vessel at sea."
"... Beautifully still it is, Miss Sylvia. Might have been shipwrecked in a storm, you know."
It came to my confused senses that they were very good--these men; for they, too, were in peril of their lives; yet the chief anxiety of one and all was to calm mine and Sylvia's fears.
Another blanket was passed up for us to sit upon. And then they started an earnest consultation among themselves.
There were four sailors in our boat. Gilliland--the big, burly fellow who had lighted his pipe--and Evans, and Hookway, and Davis. Dr. Atherton and the first mate made six; and Sylvia and I made eight.
The long-boat was a good deal bigger than the cutter; and she held eighteen to twenty men.
We gathered from their talk that the May Queen, after Captain Maitland had altered her course, had run two hundred and fifty miles out of what they termed "the track of trade"; and that unless we got back to the old track again, there was small chance of our being picked up by another vessel.
On the other hand, to make for the nearest land, we would have to traverse the ocean for some six hundred miles, and Mr. Wheeler, it seemed, was hesitating as to which course to take.
The men in the long-boat bawled to the men in the cutter, and the men in the cutter shouted their answers back, the upshot of which was that Mr. Wheeler decided to get back into the track of trade.
"Make all sail," he shouted to the men in the long-boat, "and keep her head nor' east."
And, "Ay, ay, sir," came the answer over the water.
The men in the cutter ran up the sails too, and soon we were sailing after the long-boat. The longboat, however, sailed much faster than the cutter. Sometimes she lowered her sails on purpose to wait for us.
The weather was perfect. The sea was beautiful. In the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and hardly a ripple on the waves!
"We could hold out for weeks in weather like this!" cried the doctor cheerfully. And then to Gilliland:
"The boats are well provisioned, you say?"
"A month's provisions on board, sir. That was the captain's orders. Me and Hookway had the doing of it."
"And water?" asked the doctor anxiously.
"Plenty of water, and rum likewise," replied the sailor, with an affectionate glance at one of the little barrels.
"I see only two small casks here," said the doctor sharply.
"Plenty more on board the long-boat. Ain't there, Hookway?"
"Plenty more, sir. The long-boat can stow away a deal more than the cutter. When we've got through this keg of spirit," putting his hand on one of the little casks, "and drunk up that there barrel of water, we've only got to signal the long-boat, and get another barrel out of her."
"The food is on the long-boat, too, I suppose?"
"Right you are, sir. And here's a lump o' corned beef. And here's a loaf o' bread. And likewise a bag o' biscuit for present requirements."
"Humph!" said the doctor, "I'm glad of that. Hand me up that loaf, Davis, if you please. Mr. Wheeler, the spirits, of course, are in your charge. May I ask you to mix a small mug of rum and water for these ladies?"
"Oh! I couldn't drink rum, doctor," objected Sylvia.
"Oh! yes, you can. And you're going to eat this sandwich of corned beef and bread. Excuse fingers, Miss Sara," he added, handing me a sandwich between his finger and thumb. "Fingers were made before knives and forks. And now you're to share this mug of rum and water."
"It's very weak, I assure you," said Mr. Wheeler, smiling. "Drink up every drop of it," he added kindly. "It will do you both good."
We thanked him and obeyed. And while we ate our sandwiches the men ate biscuit and beef; and then Mr. Wheeler poured them out a small allowance of rum.
The cutter sailed smoothly. And the men told yarns. But every eye was on the look-out for the smoke of some passing ship.
We saw none. Not a speck on the ocean, save the long-boat ahead. And by-and-by the sun set, and a little fog crept up. And the night came on as black as pitch and very drear.
Sylvia and I huddled close in the blanket that Dr. Atherton had tied about our shoulders; and whispered our prayers together.
"To-morrow will be Sunday, Sylvia," I said.
And she whispered back: "They will pray for those that travel by water in the Litany."
