The Island of Gold: A Sailor's Yarn
Page 19
she said, when he rose to leave; `I'll prayfor ye on the ragin' sea, but I know the Lord will never let me beholdye again.'
"And simple James's eyes were wet with tears as he held her skinny handfor a moment, then dropped it and bore away up the street, never oncelooking back, so full was his heart.
"When the clock struck one, James shyly proposed a few moments'devotion. Then he mounted the awful specs and opened the Good Book.
"Half an hour after this, all in the great house were asleep, and not asound could I hear--for I lay long awake thinking--save the sighing ofthe wind in the trees above my open jalousies, to me a very sweet andsoothing sound.
"`Heigho!' I murmured to myself. `Will I _ever_ have a home on thegreen earth, I wonder, or shall I die on the blue sea?'
"Then I began to doze, and mingling with my waking thoughts came dreamswhich proved that poor James's prescriptions had not yet been entirelysuccessful.
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"Just three weeks after this we were far away in the centre of the SouthAtlantic Ocean, and bearing up for Rio de Janeiro. The sea around uswas of the darkest blue, but sparkling in the sunshine, and there wasjust sufficient wind to gladden the heart of a sailor.
"What induced James and me to change our plans and sail west instead ofsouth and east, I never could tell, though I have often thought aboutit. A friend of mine says it was Fate, and that Fate often rules thedestinies of men, despite all that can be done to alter her plans andintentions. This line of reasoning may be right; my friend is so oftenright that I daresay it must be.
"But one thing now occurred to me that at times rendered me ratheruneasy, and which, when I tried to describe it to James, caused thathonest sailor some anxiety also. I have spoken of it more than once toso-called psychologists and even to so-called mediums; but theirattempted explanations, although seemingly satisfactory enough tothemselves, sounded to me like a mere chaos of words, the meaning ofwhich as a whole I never could fathom. But the mystery with me wasthis: I seemed at times to be possessed of a second self, or rather, asecond soul.
"I struggled against the feeling all I could, but in vain. James readhis mother's Bible to me, and otherwise, not in a spiritual way, he didall he could to cheer me up, as he phrased it. But--and here comes inthe most curious part of it--I did not feel that I wanted any cheeringup. I was happy enough in the companionship of my second self. Thiswas not always present. Sometimes absent for days indeed, and never asyet did it talk to me in my dreams. At other times it came, and wouldbe with me for hours; and it spoke to my mind as it were, I beingcompelled to carry on a conversation, in thought, of course, but neveronce did I have any notion beforehand as to what the remarks made wereto be. They were simple in the extreme, and usually had reference tothe working or guidance of the ship, the setting or shortening of sail,and making the good barque snug for the night.
"We called at Rio. The harbour here could contain all the war fleets inthe world; grand old hills; a city as romantic as Edinburgh--that is,when seen from the sea--quaintness of streets, a wealth and beauty ofvegetation, of treescape and flowerscape, that I have never seenequalled anywhere, and a quaintly dressed, quiet, and indolent people.
"We landed much stores here and filled up with others. On the whole,James and I were not sorry we had come, we drove such excellentbargains.
"Again, at Buenos Ayres, with its fine streets and public buildings, andits miles upon miles of shallow sea all in front, we did trade enough toplease us.
"`When I retire from sailing the salt seas, sir,' said James, `it's 'ereand nowhere else I'm goin' to make my 'ome; and I only wish the old ladywere livin', for then I'd retire after the very next voyage.'
"Shortly after resuming our voyage southwards towards the stormy CapeHorn, we encountered gale after gale of wind that taxed all the strengthof our brave barque, as well as the skill of the officers and seamen.Again and again had we to lie to for long dark days and nights; and whenwe ventured to run before the storm, we had literally to stagger alongunder bare poles.
"But when we reached the Cape at last, and stood away to the west aroundthe bleak and inhospitable shores of Tierra del Fuego, or the Land ofFire, never before in all the years I had been to sea had I encounteredweather so fearful or waves so high and dangerous. So stormy, indeed,did it continue, that hardly did either James or I dare to hope weshould ever double the Cape. But we both had a sailor's aversion toturning back, and so struggled on and on.
"The danger seemed to culminate and the crisis come in earnest, when oneweird moonlight midnight we suddenly found ourselves bows on to a hugeiceberg, or rather one vast island of ice that appeared to have nohorizon either towards the north or towards the south. The barrierpresented seemed impassable. We could only try, so we put about on theport tack, the wind blowing there with great violence from the west andnorth.
"This course took us well off the great ice island. It took ussouthwards, moreover.
"`But why not steer northwards?' said James. `We'd have to tack a bit,it is true, only we'd be lessening our danger; leastways that's myopinion. This berg may be twenty or thirty miles long, and every milebrings us closer to great bergs that, down yonder, float in dozens.Before now, Charles Halcott, I've seen a ship sunk in the twinkling of amarling-spike by a--'
"`By striking against a berg, James?' I interrupted. `So have I.'
"`No, sir, no; you're on the wrong tack. Wherever big bergs are thereare small ones too--little, hard, green lumps of ice, not bigger thanthe wheel-house, that to hit bows on would scarcely spill your tea.But, friend, it is different where there are mountain seas on. Theselittle green bergs are caught by a wave-top and hurled against theship's side with the strength of a thousand Titans. And--the ship goesdown.'
"There was something almost solemn in the manner James brought out thelast four words. It kept me silent for minutes; and shading my eyeswith my hand, I kept peering southwards into the weird-like moonshine,the ice away on the right, a strange white haze to leeward, and farahead the foam-tipped waves, wild-maned horses of the ocean, careeringalong on their awful course.
"`James,' I said at last, `danger or not danger, southwards I steer.Something tells me to do so; everything bids me. "Steer south--steersouth," chimes the bell when it strikes; "steer south," ticks the clock.James Malone, my very heart's pulse repeats the words; and I hear themmournfully sung by the very waves themselves, and by the wind that goesmoaning through the rigging. And--I'm going to obey.'
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"For nights I had hardly slept a wink, but now I felt as if slumberwould soon visit my pillow if I but threw myself on the bed. The moon,a full round one, was already declining in the west when I went belowand turned in all standing, and in three minutes' time I had sunk into adeep and dreamless sleep.
"James told me afterwards that it had taken him one long minute of solidshaking and shouting to arouse me, but he succeeded at last.
"`Anything wrong, James?' I said anxiously, as I sat up in my cot.
"`Can't say as there's anything radically wrong, sir,' he repliedslowly. `Leastways, our ship's all right. Wind and sea have both gonedown. We've doubled the berg at last, and a good forty mile she was,and now we're nearing another. But the strange thing is this, sir.There is men on it, a-waving their coats and things, and makin' signs.I can just raise 'em with our Mons Meg glass.'
"`Some natives of Tierra del Fuego, perhaps,' I said. `Anyhow, James,'I added, `keep bearing up towards them.'
"`Ay, ay, sir.'
"In ten minutes' time I was on deck, glass in hand.
"It was a grey uncertain morning, the sun just rising astern of us, andtingeing the wave-tops with a yellow glare.
"I could see the people on the ice with the naked eye. But I steadiedMons Meg on the bulwark, and had a look through that.
"`Mercy on us, James!' I cried, `these are no savages, b
ut our owncountrymen or Americans. I can count five alive, and oh, James, threelie at some little distance stretched out dark and stiff. Shake anotherreef out--those people want us. A sad story will be theirs to tell.'
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"We got them all on board at last, though with difficulty, for the surfwas beating high above the snow-clad ice, and twice our boat was dashedagainst the hard, green edge of the monster berg, her timbers crackingominously. We brought off the dead too, and buried them in a Christianway, James himself reading over them the beautiful service of theEnglish Church. Though they were strangers to us, yet, as their bodiesdropped down into