Part 24 (1/2)

”Think of it, lad?” he replied. ”I think it's likely to be a case with the old _Salamander_ before four bells in the morning watch.”

”You're a pessimist,” I said. This was a favourite expression of poor aunt's.

”It's the _mist_ that'll do it,” he said. ”Look, see sir, if the wind gets no higher the musgo will continue. Then we may drift quietly on sh.o.r.e and strike. If it does blow a real gale, away goes the musgo and out comes the moon; that would be a poor enough outlook, but we'd see what we were doing.”

Hour after hour went by, and though the storm increased, there was never a sign of the musgo rolling off. No one thought of turning in to-night.

The captain never even suggested when he came below, as he now and then did, that even Mrs Coates should go to her cabin.

There was something very awful in this waiting, waiting, waiting. And for what? Had any one dared ask himself this question, he would hardly have been brave enough to have answered it.

It must have been about four in the morning. I could not say for certain, for bells I do not think had even been struck, when suddenly, without a moment's warning, the wind increased to a shrieking, roaring squall of more than gale-force, and next minute we had struck and were engulfed in breakers.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

WE LEAVE THE DOOMED s.h.i.+P--PURSUED BY SAVAGES.

I was in the saloon at the time, and everything seemed to fall together, as it were. It felt as if the s.h.i.+p's bottom were dashed _in_ and upwards, and when I struck a light--for the lamp had been extinguished, though it did not leave the gymbals--all was chaos in our once cosy wee saloon. Piano, chairs, books, ornaments, all mixed up together. I hastened to help Mrs Coates to her feet, and called to the steward to gather up the burning coals off the deck, else with the spilt oil we should be on fire.

No need, for a green sea came tumbling down the companion, and surged foaming in at the doorway, till we stood ankle deep in water. Another and another followed. The wind roared with redoubled violence. Then louder than the wind and the voice of the sea, came the crash of a falling mast. The squall appeared to have done its worst now, and though the seas continued to break against and over us, it was more in sheets of spray than in green water. We had gone on sh.o.r.e stem foremost, and were firmly wedged between two low bush-clad cliffs.

Now slowly, almost imperceptibly, the wind went down, and the musgo rolled away, and when morning broke cold and drearily over the sea and hills, the sky was comparatively clear, our position could be clearly defined and our danger could be faced.

Three poor fellows had fallen under the wreck, and were either killed at once or quickly drowned. A few others were wounded or bruised, and all were shaken.

The boats to the number of three--whalers they were--remained intact.

We were in a kind of wooded cove, with hills rising high at each side save on the sea-board, and far away above us was a region of ice and snow, with a cataract tumbling its waters apparently out of the very sky itself.

When the sun rose at last, dismal as was our plight, I could not help admiring, nay, even marvelling at, the beauty of the scenery around us.

It was grand beyond compare.

We were in no immediate danger. We appeared to have been lifted in on the top of an immense wave, and deposited between the cliffs and on a hard flat bottom, from which we could not slide. There were timbers from her lower sides floating about us even now that told their own sad tale.

The s.h.i.+p was doomed, but we who were spared had much, very much, to be thankful for.

The captain consulted with Ritchie, who was carpenter on board, besides holding some other rating. He was not only the oldest on board, but by far the most experienced. It was resolved at once to put ourselves in a state of preparation, for the savages would a.s.suredly find us out before long.

Then we went to prayers.

I need hardly say they were solemn and heart-felt.

There was no time to be lost now, however. We must get ready at once to leave the wreck, and in boats make the best of our way eastward towards Sandy Point. Whether we could do so in peace and safety remained to be seen.

We were in the hands of an all-seeing Providence; we could but say ”Thy will be done,” and leave the rest to Him.

”We had better bury the dead on sh.o.r.e, Ritchie?” said the captain.

He really was asking a question for information. He seemed to quite defer to Ritchie.

”I wouldn't do that, sir. These canoe Indians are cannibals, and they'll have 'em up and eat them as sure as one belayin' pin's like another. No, sir, it'll be just as quick to tack 'em up and give 'em a sailor's grave.”