CHAPTER SIXTY ONE.

It soon became evident that the foremost swimmers, who had been for the moment repulsed, had no intention of turning back. Why should they?

Behind them they had left no hope--not a plank to cling to--only a ship on fire blazing upward to the skies and now almost hid under the flames.

Even she, before they could reach her, would be burned down to the water's edge. Why should they think of swimming back? No; the raft was the only thing upon the whole face of that wide sea upon which human foot might now find a resting-place. Though it would be but a straw among so many, at that straw had they determined to clutch, so long as life remained.

They had no design of leaving us, but now swam round and round the floating spars, evidently waiting until their main body could come up, so that all might rush forward together and get possession of the raft.

This was plainly their intention: and, knowing it, the white men were fast yielding to despair.

Not all of them. There were some of those rough men who still preserved their presence of mind; and in that perilous hour, when all hope appeared to have vanished, these men suddenly hit upon a plan to save the raft, and the lives of those upon it, from the apparently inevitable fate that threatened them.

I was, myself, in a state of half-stupor. I had watched the movements of the poor wretches in the water till my head grew giddy, and I scarce knew what was going on around me. My face was turned towards the blazing ship, and I had not for a long while looked elsewhere. I heard the sailors e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. loudly, and shouting words of encouragement; but I supposed they were encouraging each other to repel the attack of the swimmers, who were now on all sides of the raft, forming a sort of irregular ring around it, of several feet in depth. I was expecting that we would soon be sinking into the sea! I was stupefied, and I thought I was dreaming.

All of a sudden I was aroused from my stupor by hearing a loud huzza.

It came from the sailors behind me. I could not tell its meaning till I turned round, and then, to my surprise, I saw a piece of sail spread out transversely across the raft, and held by several men in a vertical position. There was one at each end and one in the middle, who, with their arms extended upward, held the sail as high as they could reach.

For what purpose were they doing this? I needed not ask the question.

I saw that there was wind blowing against the canvas. I felt the breeze upon my cheeks.

I looked back to the water. I saw that the raft was moving rapidly through it. There was a rushing along the edge of the timbers--there was froth where the spars were cleaving the sea. I looked for the swimmers. I saw their round heads and grim faces, but no longer around the raft--they were already in its wake, every moment falling further away. Merciful heaven! at least from that terrible fate were we saved.

I kept gazing behind. I still saw the dark heads above the water. I could no longer distinguish their faces. I thought they had turned them away. I thought they were swimming back toward the blazing barque.

They may have turned back, but with what hope? They could have had none; though despair may have driven them in that direction as well as any other.

It was a sad beacon to guide them; nor did it serve them long. They could not have got near it--not half-way--before that event, so dreaded by Brace and myself, came to pa.s.s. The crisis had at length arrived.

Wherever the powder had been kept, it was long before the fire had reached it--far longer than we had expected; but the searching flames found it at last, and the concussion came.

It was a terrific explosion, that resembled not the report of a cannon, but a hundred guns simultaneously fired. Bed ma.s.ses were projected far up into the heavens, and still farther out to the sea, hurtling and hissing as they fell back into the water. A cloud of fiery sparks hung for some minutes over the spot; but these at length came quivering down, and, as soon as they reached the surface, were observed no more. These sparks were the last that was seen of the _Pandora_.

The crew at this moment were awed into silence. There was silence far over the sea; yet for nearly another hour that silence was at intervals broken by the death-shriek of some exhausted swimmer or some victim of the ravening shark.

The breeze still continued to blow, the raft moved on, and long before morning the _Pandora's_ crew were carried far away from the scene of the terrible tragedy.

CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.

The breeze died away before the morning, and when day broke there was not a breath stirring. The calm had returned, and the raft lay upon the water as motionless as a log.

The men no longer tried to propel it; it could have served no purpose to make way--since, go in what direction we might, there would be hundreds of miles of the ocean to be crossed, and to sail a raft over that long distance was not to be thought of.

Had there been a stock of provisions and water, sufficient to have lasted for weeks, then such an idea would have been more feasible; but there was nothing of this, and the idea of sailing in search of land was not entertained for a moment. The only hope was that a sail might appear in sight, that some ship might be pa.s.sing across the ocean, and come sufficiently near to see us and pick us up. One and all were agreed that this was our only chance of being saved.

A cheerless chance it appeared when examined in all its bearings; so cheerless, indeed, that only the most sanguine of the party drew any hope from it. Notwithstanding the hundreds of thousands of ships that are constantly ploughing the mighty deep, and sailing from port to port, you will meet with but a very few of them on any long voyage you may make. You may go from England to the Cape of Good Hope, without seeing more than one or two sail during the whole pa.s.sage! and yet that would be travelling upon one of the great highways of the ocean--in the track of all the ships sailing to the vast world of the East Indies, and also to those prosperous commercial colonies of Australia, whose mercantile marine almost rivals that of England herself. Again, you may cross the Atlantic upon another great water-way--that between Liverpool and New York--and yet between one port and the other, you may see less than half-a-dozen sail, and sometimes only two or three, during the whole of your voyage. Vast and wide are the highways of the great ocean.

With a knowledge of these facts, but few of the men indulged in any very strong expectation of our coming in sight of a sail. We were in that very part of the Atlantic where the chances of such an encounter were few and far between. We were out of the line of navigation between any two great commercial countries; and although formerly Spanish vessels had travelled a good deal near the track we were in--in their intercourse with their South American colonies--this intercourse had been greatly diminished by revolution, and most of the traffic with these countries was now carried on in vessels belonging to the United States, and these were not likely to sail so far to the eastward as we were. Portuguese ships still traded to the Brazils in considerable numbers, and upon these we built most of our hopes--these and the chances that some ship engaged in the same traffic as the _Pandora_ might be crossing westward with slaves, or returning for a fresh cargo.

There was yet other vessels that occasionally navigated this part of the Atlantic--cruisers on their way from the African coast to the Brazils, or warships from Gibraltar, going round the Horn into the Pacific, or pa.s.sing from the Cape of Good Hope to the West Indies.

All these chances were eagerly brought forward by the men, and discussed with every circ.u.mstance of minuteness. Every point was produced that seemed to promise a hope of deliverance; for most, if not all, of these outlaws were seamen of experience, and well knew the ways of the ocean.

Some held the opinion that our chances of being picked up were not so bad after all. There was a sail that could be rigged, by means of oars and handspikes, and spread out so as to be visible from afar. Some ship would be certain to come along and see us, and then all would be right again.

So talked those of more sanguine temperament; but the wiser ones shook their heads and doubted. They reasoned in an opposite strain, and made use of arguments, the force of which could not be denied, and which produced great discouragement. There are some who seem always to prefer exhibiting the darker side of the picture--perhaps not from any pleasure that it gives them to do so, but, by accustoming themselves to the worst view of the case they may be the better able to endure it when it comes.

Otherwise, in the event of success, that they may derive all the greater enjoyment from the reaction.

These last alleged that the chances of meeting with any vessel in that solitary part of the ocean were slight, very slight indeed; that even if there were ships--hundreds of them--how could they approach the raft during a calm? Of course the ships would be becalmed as they themselves were, and would have to remain so as long as the calm continued. This would be likely to last for weeks, and how were they to exist for weeks?

How long would their provisions keep them alive? Not weeks; a few days perhaps, not more?

These remarks led to an immediate examination of the stock of provisions that had been brought away from the wreck; and every article on the raft was now turned up and scrutinised. Strange to say the only thing of which there was a tolerable supply was water. The large cask that had hitherto stood on deck--and which was still nearly half-full--was now upon the raft. It had been bunged up and rolled overboard, and then safely deposited among the spars, where it floated of itself. What water may have been carried away in the gig no one knew, but certain it was that the cask was still nearly half-full.

This discovery produced a momentary cheerfulness--for, in such cases, water is usually the most important consideration, and ofttimes the very one that is neglected.

But the joy was of short continuance; when every article upon the raft was overhauled, and every portion of it carefully searched, the only food that could be found was a small bag of biscuits--not enough to give two biscuits to each of us--not enough for a single meal!

This astounded intelligence was received with cries of chagrin and looks of dismay. Some shouted in anger. One half recriminated the other.

Some had been entrusted specially to provide the food. These alleged that a barrel of pork had been put upon the raft. Where was it?

Certainly there was a barrel; but, on breaking it open, to the dismay of all, it proved to be a barrel of pitch!

A scene now ensued that it would be impossible to describe. Oaths, exclamations, and angry words pa.s.sed freely, and the men almost came to blows. The pitch was thrown into the sea, and those who had put it upon the raft were threatened with a similar fate. Their negligence would prove fatal to all. But for them there might still have been a chance; but now, what hope? With two biscuits apiece, how long could they exist? Not three days without suffering the extreme of hunger. Ere a week should pa.s.s, one and all must perish!

The probability, nay, the positive certainty, of such a doom produced a scene of despondence--mingled with angry excitement on the part of those who called themselves "betrayed"--that it would be difficult to paint.

Harsh revilings were freely used; and threats of throwing the delinquents into the sea continued to be uttered at intervals during the whole night.

There was still another barrel upon the raft, that had been better left upon the burning wreck. But it was not likely that it should be forgotten. Its contents were of a nature too highly prized by the sailor who fears death by drowning, or any other sudden or violent means. It is supposed to make death easy, and, therefore, the despairing wretch clings to it as a friend. It is a sad resource, an awful termination to human existence; but often is it appealed to in the last moments of misery. I need not say that this barrel contained rum.

Whether it was the same that had been lowered into the long-boat with such pernicious effect I cannot say. Perhaps it was. It may have floated and been picked up again; or it may have been still another one, for among the stores of the ill-fated barque there was a plentiful supply of this horrible liquor. It const.i.tuted the chief "tipple" of the dissipated crew--the main source of their indulgence and b.e.s.t.i.a.l enjoyment. A vile cheap stuff it was, freely served out to them, scarce kept under lock and key; and there was not an hour in which one or other of them might not have been seen refreshing himself at this odious fountain. If the barrel of pork had been forgotten and left behind, here was a subst.i.tute; and the sight of this reeking cask, strange to say, produced a cheering effect upon numbers of those savage men. Many were heard proclaiming, in a sort of jocular bravado, that if the rum wouldn't keep them alive it would help them to die!

CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.

As soon as day dawned every eye was bent upon the horizon. Not a point of the whole circle that was not scanned with the minutest earnestness by one and all. Round and round they turned, sweeping the surface with anxious glances, and raising themselves as high as they could in order to command the most distant view.

But all ended in disappointment. No sail was in sight; nothing that had life or motion; not even fish or fowl broke the monotony of that vast surface of sleeping water.

There were no signs of the gig: she must have rowed off in some different direction; no signs either of the wreck, the breeze had carried us far from it; but even had we remained near, there might have been seen no traces of it. All had long since gone to the bottom of the sea.

The sun rose higher and higher, and at noon stood right over our heads.

We had no protection from his beams--they were almost hot enough to blister us.

The calm continued--there was not enough motion in the air to have wafted a feather, and the raft lay as still as if it had been aground.

It only moved, when those who were on it pa.s.sed from place to place.

There was not much changing about. There was no great room for it.

There were in all thirty-four of us, and the bodies of the men--some sitting and others lying--covered nearly the whole s.p.a.ce. There was no reason for moving about. Most were sullen and despondent, and kept the places, they had first taken, without the energy to stir out of them.

Others were of lighter heart, or, under the influence of the rum which they drank freely, were more noisy. Now and then there was wrangling among them.