Philosopher Jack

“Stowaways don’t desarve to have their questions answered,” said Corkey; “in fact, they don’t desarve to live. If I had my way, I’d kill little Wilkins and salt him down to be ready for us when the pork and biscuit fail.”

“Well, now, as to the safety of this here raft in a gale, small Wilkins,” said Baldwin, regardless of Corkey’s interruption, “that depends summat on the natur’ o’ the gale. If it was only a half-gale we’d weather it all right, I make no doubt; but, if it should come to blow hard, d’ee see, we have no occasion to kill and eat you, as we’d all be killed together and eaten by the sharks.”

“Sharks!” exclaimed Mr Luke, whose damp garments were steaming under the powerful sun like a boiler on washing-day; “are there sharks here?”

“Ay,” said Corkey, pointing to the sea astern, where the glassy surface was broken and rippled by a sharp angular object, “that’s a shark a-follerin’ of us now, leastwise the back fin of one. If you don’t believe it, jump overboard and you’ll soon be convinced.”

This reference to the shark was overheard by Polly, who came out of her bower to see it. The monster of the deep came close up at that moment, as if to gratify the child, and, turning on its back, according to shark habit when about to seize any object, thrust its nose out of the water. For one moment its double row of teeth were exposed to view, then they closed on a lump of pork that had been accidentally knocked overboard by Corkey.

“Is that the way you take care of our provisions?” said the captain, sternly, to Baldwin.

“We’ve got a big hook, sir,” said Edwin Jack, touching his cap; “shall we try to recover the pork?”

“You may try,” returned the captain.

Little Wilkins uttered something like a war-whoop as he leaped up and assisted Jack to get out the shark-hook. It was soon baited with another piece of pork. Ben Trench, who had a strong leaning to natural history, became very eager; and the men generally, being ever ready for sport, looked on with interest and prepared to lend a hand. The shark, however, was cautious. It did indeed rush at the bait, and seemed about to swallow it, but suddenly changed its mind, swam round it once or twice, then fell slowly astern, and finally disappeared.

Although the fish was not caught, this little incident served to raise the spirits of every one, and as the calm sunny weather lasted the whole day, even the most thoughtful of the party found it difficult to realise their forlorn condition; but when evening drew near, the aspect of things quickly changed. The splendid ocean-mirror, which had reflected the golden crags and slopes, the towers and battlements of cloud-land, was shivered by a sudden breeze and became an opaque grey; the fair blue sky deepened to indigo; black and gathering clouds rose out of the horizon, and cold white crests gleamed on the darkening waves. The men gathered in anxious groups, and Polly sat in the entrance of her bower gazing on the gloomy scene, until her young heart sank slowly but steadily. Then, remembering her father’s advice, she betook herself to God in prayer.

Young though she was, Polly was no sentimentalist in religion. She believed with all her heart in Jesus Christ as a living, loving Saviour. Her faith was very simple, and founded on experience. She had prayed, and had been answered. She had sought Jesus in sorrow, and had been comforted. The theologian can give the why and how and wherefore of this happy condition, but in practice he can arrive at it only by the same short road. One result of her prayer was that she went to sleep that night in perfect peace, while most of her companions in misfortune sat anxiously watching what appeared to be a gathering storm.

Before going to rest however, Polly had an earnest little talk with her father.

“Polly,” said Captain Samson, sitting down under the shelter of the tarpaulin, and drawing the child’s fair head on his breast, “I never spoke to you before on a subject that p’r’aps you won’t understand, but I am forced to do it now. It’s about money.”

“About money!” exclaimed Polly in surprise; “oh, father, surely you forget! The very last night we spent on shore, you spoke to me about money; you gave me a half-sovereign, and said you meant to give a blow-out to old Mrs Brown before leaving, and told me to buy—stay, let me see—there was half a pound of tea, and four pounds of sugar, and three penn’orth of snuff, and—”

“Yes, yes, Polly,” interrupted the captain, with a smile, “but I meant about money in a business way, you know, because if you chanced, d’ee see, ever to be in England without me, you know,—it—”

“But I’ll never be there without you, father, will I?” asked the child with an earnest look.

“Of course not—that’s to say, I hope not—but you know, Polly, that God arranges all the affairs of this world, and sometimes in His love and wisdom He sees fit to separate people—for a time, you know, only for a time—so that they don’t always keep together. Now, my darling, if it should please Him to send me cruising to—to—anywhere in a different direction from you, and you chanced ever to be in England alone—in Scotland, that is—at your own home, you must go to Bailie Trench—you know him—our old friend and helper when we were in shoal water, my dear, and say to him that I handed all my savings over to Mr Wilkins—that’s Watty’s father, Poll—to be invested in the way he thought best. When you tell that to Bailie Trench he’ll know what to do; he understands all about it. I might send you to Mr Wilkins direct but he’s a very great man, d’ee see, and doesn’t know you, and might refuse to give you the money.”

“To give me the money, father! But what should I do with the money when I got it?”

“Keep it, my darling.”

“Oh! I see, keep it safe for you till you came back?” said Polly.

“Just so, Poll, you’re a clever girl; keep it for me till I come back, or rather take it to Bailie Trench and he’ll tell you how to keep it. It’s a good pot o’ money, Poll, and has cost me the best part of a lifetime, workin’ hard and spendin’ little, to lay it by. Once I used to think,” continued the captain in a sad soliloquising tone, “that I’d live to cast anchor near the old spot, and spend it with your mother, Polly, and you; but the Lord willed it otherwise, and He does all things well, blessed be His name! Now you understand what you’re to do about the money, don’t you, if you should ever find yourself without me in Scotland, eh?”

Polly did not quite clearly understand, but after a little further explanation she professed herself to be quite prepared for the transaction of that important piece of financial business.

Poor Captain Samson sought thus to secure, to the best of his ability, that the small savings of his life should go to Polly in the event of her being saved and himself lost. Moreover, he revealed the state of his finances to Philosopher Jack, Ben Trench, and Watty Wilkins, whom he found grouped apart at a corner of the raft in earnest conversation, and begged of them, if they or any of them should survive, to see his daughter’s interest attended to.

“You see, my lads, although I would not for the world terrify the dear child uselessly, by telling her that we are in danger, it must be clear to you that if a gale springs up and our raft should be broken up, it’s not likely that all of us would be saved. Yet Polly might escape, and some of you also. We are all in the Lord’s hands, however, and have nothing to fear if we are His followers.”

Ah! that “if” went home. The captain did not lay stress on it; nevertheless stress was laid on it somehow, for the three youths found it recurring again and again to memory that night, though they did not speak of it to each other.

As the night advanced, the threatening gale passed away; the stars came out in all their splendour, and the morning sun found the glassy sea again ready to reflect his image. Thus they floated for several days in comparative peace and comfort. But it came at last.

One evening a squall came rushing down on them, turning up the sea, and converting it to ink and foam as it approached. The rag of sail with which they had previously courted the breeze in vain was hastily taken in; the fastenings of everything were looked to. Polly was placed in her canvas bower, and the whole structure of the raft was strengthened with a network of hawsers and cordage.

When the squall struck them, the raft appeared to tremble. The seas broke clean over them, several articles not properly secured were swept off, and weak points in the main fastenings were made plain, as the spars, beams, and planks writhed and struggled to get free.

But Captain Samson and his men were equal to the occasion; an iron clamp here, and an extra turn of a chain or hawser there, made all fast, so that before the squall had time to raise the sea, the raft held well together, and yielded, without breaking, to the motions of the waves.

Of course every one was drenched, including poor little Polly, for although the tarpaulin turned off the waves and spray above, it could not prevent the water spirting up between the spars from below. But Polly was, according to Baldwin, “a true chip of the old block;” she bore her discomforts with heroism, and quite put to shame poor Mr Luke, whose nervous temperament caused him great suffering.

Thus was spent a night of anxiety. The next day was little better, and the night following was worse. In addition to the violence of the wind and constant breaking over them of heavy seas, the darkness became so intense that it was difficult to see where damage to the fastenings occurred, and repairs became almost impossible.

About midnight there was a terrible rending of wood in that part of the raft lying farthest from Polly’s bower, and a great cry of fear was heard. The more courageous among the men sprang, by a natural impulse, to assist those in distress. It was found that a large portion of the raft had broken adrift, and was only held to it by a single rope. On this portion were two passengers and one of the crew. The former were apparently panic-stricken; the latter made frantic but futile attempts to haul in on the rope.

“Bear a hand, boys!” cried Edwin Jack, as he laid hold of the inner end of the rope.

Strong and willing hands were ready, but before they could lay hold the rope parted, and Jack was dragged violently into the sea. He rose like a cork. Little Wilkins lay down, and stretched out a helping hand. Jack caught it, and would infallibly have dragged the little fellow into the water if Ben Trench had not thrown himself on his legs and held on. Baldwin Burr seized hold of Ben, and the captain coming up at the moment, lent his powerful aid. Jack was saved, but the broken part of the raft, with its hapless occupants, was swept away and lost sight of.

This sad event had naturally a very depressing effect on every one. True, the portion of the raft which had broken away was large enough to sustain the unfortunates who were on it. Moreover, some of the provisions had also gone with them, so that there was hope of their holding out for a time and being picked up by a passing ship, but the hope was slight, and in the event of rougher weather, their fate would be certain.

For six days and nights the raft was tossed about on the open sea. It could scarcely be said that it sailed, although as large a mast and piece of canvas as they could set up urged it slowly though the water when the wind was strong. As to steering, that was next to impossible, and in truth it did not matter much how they steered.

Constant exposure by night and by day now began to tell on the less robust of the crew. Little Polly, however, was not one of these. She possessed a naturally good constitution, and was, besides, specially cared for by her father, who devoted all the powers of an inventive mind to the strengthening and improving of “the bower.” In this he was ably assisted by Philosopher Jack, whose love for the child deepened daily as he watched the sweet contented manner with which she received every drenching—and she got many—and the anxious way in which she inquired for, and sought to help, those of the party whose health began to fail.

Among these latter was Ben Trench.

“Ah! Polly,” said Ben one sultry forenoon when she brought him a glass of sweetened lime-juice and water, “you’re a kind little nurse. I really don’t know how I should get on without you.”

“Upon my word,” said little Wilkins, pouting, “you’re a grateful fellow! Here have I been nursing you all the morning, yet you seem to think nothing of that in comparison with Polly’s glass of lime-juice.”

“Come, Watty, don’t be jealous,” said Ben; “it’s not the glass of lime-juice, but Polly’s sympathetic face beaming behind it, that does me so much good. Besides, you know, Polly’s a girl, and a girl is always a better nurse than a man; you must admit that.”

Watty was not at all prepared to admit that, but his being spoken of as a man did much to mollify his hurt feelings.

“But I do hope you feel better to-day,” said Polly, observing with some anxiety the short, half-breathless manner in which the invalid spoke.

“Oh yes! I feel better—that is to say, I think I do. Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t. You know, Polly, I came on this voyage chiefly on account of my health, and of course I must expect to be a little damaged by so much exposure, though your good father has indeed done his best to shelter me. Why, do you know, I sometimes think the berth he has made for me between the logs here is a greater triumph of his inventive genius than your bower. I often think they spoiled a splendid engineer when they made your father a sailor.”

Polly laughed at this, and Watty Wilkins tried to laugh, just by way of keeping up his friend’s spirits and being what Baldwin called good company; but poor Watty could not laugh. He had loved and played with Ben Trench since ever he could remember, and when he looked at his pale face and listened to his weak voice, a dread foreboding came over him, and brought such a rush of feeling to his heart that he was fain to leap up and spring to the farthest end of the raft, where he fell to hauling and tightening one of the rope-fastenings with all the energy of his little body and soul.

“Land ho!” shouted one of the men at that moment from the top of a cask, which formed the outlook, where, every day and all day, a man was stationed to watch for a sail or a sign of land.

An electric shock could not have produced greater excitement than these two words.

“Where away?” exclaimed the captain, leaping up beside the look-out.

“On the port-bow, sir,—there!” pointing eagerly.

“I don’t see it—oh—yes—no. It’s only a cloud. Who ever heard of the port-bow of a raft? Bah! your eyes have been squintin’. Not a bit of it, I see it—low lyin’; why, I see the palms—and I see the nuts—ah, and the monkeys, no doubt a-eatin’ of ’em—hip, hip, hurrah!”