Part 13 (2/2)

”Yes! Yes! She's altering her course. She is steering directly for us now!” exclaimed Jack. ”We're seen! We're seen!” he and Bill shouted in chorus.

Mr Collinson had made no remark. He had been examining the vessel, and felt sure, from her appearance, that she was French. She was a flush-deck vessel, probably a privateer. Still their lives might be preserved, as those on board would scarcely have the barbarity to refuse to receive them. He said nothing, however, to his companions.

On came the vessel. As she approached, her topsails were clewed up, and a boat was lowered. The boat approached. Their wretched appearance, suffering from burning thirst and hunger, might have excited the compa.s.sion of even the most hardhearted. The people in the boat shouted to them.

”They're Frenchmen!” cried old Grim. ”They're somewhat better than Spaniards, that's all I can say in their favour!”

As the boat drew near, the party on the raft pointed to their lips.

”Water! Water!” they gasped out.

By this time, no one could speak with clearness. Even Jack Windy, who was the strongest, could scarcely stand upright on the raft.

”Oh! Pauvres garcons! Vite! Vite!”

Mr Collinson understood the words. It showed him that the men in the boat could feel for their sufferings. They were soon lifted into it, with the few articles which they had brought with them, and the boat then quickly pulled towards the s.h.i.+p. They were hoisted on board, for they could not help themselves. Mr Collinson was allowed to rest on a gun-carriage, near the gangway, while the rest of the party were left standing or leaning against the bulwarks. Bill and Tommy sunk down from weakness on the deck. The French seamen, however, immediately brought them up a jug of water, of which they eagerly drank.

”Well, this is sweet and nice!” said Bill, as he took the cup from his mouth.

The water, though not over-cool, greatly revived them all; and the Frenchmen stood by smiling, till they had emptied the contents of the jug. At length, a tall, stout man, with a very dark complexion, but who, by the uniform he wore, appeared to be an officer, came up to them.

”Who are you?” he demanded in a somewhat rough voice. ”But I need not ask that: I see, by your dress, that you are of the English marine. But where did you come from? How did you get on the raft?”

Mr Collinson briefly replied that they had been wrecked, and finding a brig which had been deserted by her crew, they had got on board her; but she had afterwards sunk, leaving them floating on the raft.

”What vessel was she?--Oh yes, I understand,” observed the officer; and then, turning to the men, he asked, ”To what s.h.i.+p do you belong?”

”The _Lilly_, sir,” said Jack, without hesitation.

”The _Lilly_? Why, that's the corvette we fell in with last week, away to the westward. You said she was wrecked,” he added, turning to Mr Collinson, and speaking in somewhat broken English, though sufficiently clear to make his meaning understood.

”I said that we were wrecked,” replied Mr Collinson. ”I did not say that our own s.h.i.+p was wrecked.”

”In what vessel, then, were you cast away?” asked the officer.

”In a prize we had taken,” answered Mr Collinson. ”We were ordered to bring her round to Jamaica; but, being caught in a hurricane, we were driven on a reef in the neighbourhood of the Tortugas.”

”I thought so!” exclaimed the officer, with an oath. ”She was our consort. You would have had a harder matter to take us, let me tell you. However, it's a satisfaction to find that you lost her. We heard that she was captured. However, it's a good reason why we should treat you as prisoners;--as such you must consider yourselves.”

”We must submit, if so you determine it,” said Mr Collinson; ”but our case is a hard one.”

”Not harder than that of the poor fellows who lost their vessel, and are now in one of your prisons in Jamaica.”

With this remark, the mulatto officer returned to his companions, to whom he seemed to be imparting the information he had obtained. At length another officer came up to Mr Collinson, and addressed him in French.

”I am the surgeon of the s.h.i.+p,” he said. ”I see that you are ill, and almost worn out; and, although you are an Englishman and an enemy, you must let me prescribe for you. Come down, therefore, into my cabin, where you can obtain some rest, which I see you greatly require.”

”I accept your offer gratefully,” answered Mr Collinson; ”and I must beg also that you will attend to the wants of my companions.”

”It is right in you, monsieur, to think of your men,” said the surgeon; ”and I will gladly do as you wish. I am afraid that both you and they will be subjected to some unpleasant treatment, for we have some terribly rough people on board, both among the officers and forward.”

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