Wild Life in the Land of the Giants: A Tale of Two Brothers

“And the coals?”

“We sank their canoes with these. A kick would knock a Fuegian canoe in bits any day, so our task was easy. They sent an arrow to the very heart of poor Bill Wheeler, and he fell backwards dead, and they harpooned another of our men; but few of them went back with a whole skin, I’ll warrant.”

Before my watch was over there was no more wind than would have sufficed to move a child’s paper boat, but the night was not quite so dark, the moon escaping now and then to cast a few silvery rays on the water or light up the rugged tops of the distant sierras, then being speedily engulfed once more in great inky-dark clouds.

The situation was by no means a desirable one, for currents run here like mill streams, and we were a measurable distance from the wild, desolate shore.

Ritchie was right; and when I went on deck next morning before breakfast, I found that the musgo was thick and white around us, and though it was easy enough to see one’s finger at arm’s length, it is no exaggeration to say it was impossible to see the jib-boom end from the foremast.

We must have been somewhere off Point Gallant, in an ugly place, so it is no wonder the captain concluded to anchor if he could get near enough to find soundings.

The wind was rising now, and though but in puffs which just gave the Salamander a send now and then, we were forging ahead at perhaps two knots an hour.

It continued like this all day long, but the wind had increased by evening, and almost threatened a gale. We could not now be far off the English Reach, which, as a glance at a map will show you, is narrow, and therefore dangerous in the extreme. So long, therefore, as we had a surety of width of water, we determined to lay to with as little sail as possible on her.

Night seemed to come on a full hour sooner. It was a night I shall never forget. Anxiety was depicted on every face that there was a chance of getting a glimpse at. And though the captain tried to speak cheerfully in his wife’s presence, it was evident his thoughts were not with his words. Every extra puff of the still rising wind must have felt going through his heart like a knife. I know it did through mine. Even Peter was serious for once.

On going forward I saw Ritchie standing by the winch.

“What do you think of it now, Ritchie?” I asked.

“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 shore 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 Ship – 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 ship’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 shore 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 ship 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 assuredly 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 shore, 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.”

“You see to that then, Ritchie. Will you take charge of the boat, Mr Jack? Thank you.”

The broken and buried corpses of the poor fellows were speedily sewn in hammocks, which were heavily weighted with iron, and taken out to sea as far as we dared to go; and then, while the solemn burial service was read by Ritchie, one by one they were dropped overboard, and sank into the murky water with sullen booming plash. As he closed the book, Ritchie looked round him on all sides, but there was no sign of savages to be seen, neither smoke on shore nor canoe at sea. Nor was there any sound to break the stillness except the plaintive cry of a sea-bird; and yet who could tell what eyes of Indians the forest might not hide?

On our return we found our comrades all very busy indeed.

Poor Mrs Coates, looking very pale and resigned, sat on the companion. Woman-like, even in this dire strait she had not forgotten to bring a basket with her, and Leila clutched another. Both were warmly clad, and both wore guanaco mantles, the very garments we had purchased at Sandy Point.

Captain Coates put another question to Ritchie:

“Should we or should we not fire the ship, Mr Ritchie, think you?”

“For the matter o’ that,” replied Ritchie, “I’d as soon feed snakes in the woods as put any good thing in the way o’ these cannibal fiends, but I think, sir, leaving the ship for them will be our salvation. You ask my opinion, sir, and I give it. The wind is changing round already. It’s a way the winds have here, where the Pacific and the Atlantic seem to me to fight for mastery like. We needn’t be in a hurry then to leave the ship till they come.”

“You feel sure they’ll come?”

“Ah! never doubt ’em, sir. When they see we’re leaving the ship, they won’t chase us till they’ve cleared the wreck. My advice is, have up the ’baccy for ’em all ready, and the rum too. Let them look for everything else.”

“You seem obliging to them.”

“There’s a method in my obligingness, sir. Let’s leave the rum in different jars about, and cut the ’baccy all in bits and scatter it over the decks. Wolves, sir, fighting over a dead horse’ll be nothing to the scramble they’ll have for the ’baccy and rum.”

The boats were now lowered and laden with the ship’s valuables. Each boat was well provisioned, and supplied with water and rum, and also armed.

The men were twenty and two, all told, giving about five to each of two whalers, and seven to the largest whaler or cutter, as she was sometimes called. The captain himself took charge of this, his wife and Leila as passengers; Peter took command of the second boat, and I of the third, in my boat Ritchie being rifleman. Jill, it is needless to say, came with me, his elder brother. Ah! that five minutes of difference in our ages made me the man, you see, and Jill the child, and I would not have had it otherwise for all the world.

The day wore on. Noon passed, yet never a sign of Indian was seen. So we did what all right-thinking Englishmen would have done under the circumstances. We dined.