University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

Park.

The departure of the boat was excellently timed. Had
it left the side of the ship while the Arabs on the raft were
unoccupied, and at a little distance, it would have been exposed
to their fire; for at least a dozen of those who boarded
had muskets; whereas the boat now glided away to leeward,
while they were busy in getting up her side, or were
so near the ship as not to be able to see the launch at all.
When Paul Powis, who was looking astern through a
crevice, saw the first Arab on the deck of the Montauk, the
launch was already near a cable's length from her, running
with a fresh and free wind into one of the numerous little
channels that intersected the naked banks of sand. The unusual
construction of the boat, with its enclosed roof, and
the circumstance that no one was visible on board her, had
the effect to keep the barbarians passive, until distance put
her beyond the reach of danger. A few muskets were discharged,
but they were fired at random, and in the bravado
of a semi-savage state of feeling.

Paul kept the launch running off free, until he was near
a mile from the ship, when, finding he was approaching the
reef to the northward and eastward, and that a favourable
sandbank lay a short distance ahead, he put down the helm,
let the sheet fly, and the boat's forefoot shot upon the sands.
By a little management, the launch was got broadside to the
bank, the water being sufficiently deep, and, when it was
secured, the females were enabled to land through the opening
of a shutter.

The change from the apparent hopelessness of their situation,
was so great, as to render the whole party comparatively
happy. Paul and John Effingham united in affirming

it would be quite possible to reach one of the islands to leeward
in so good a boat, and that they ought to deem themselves
fortunate, under the circumstances, in being the
masters of a little bark so well found in every essential.
Eve and Mademoiselle Viefville, who had fervently returned
their thanks to the Great Ruler of events, while in the boat,
walked about the hard sand with even a sense of enjoyment,
and smiles began again to brighten the beautiful features
of the first. Mr. Effingham declared, with a grateful
heart, that in no park, or garden, had he ever before met
with a promenade that seemed so delightful as this spot of
naked and moistened sand, on the sterile coast of the Great
Desert. Its charm was its security, for its distance from
every point that could be approached by the Arabs, rendered
it, in their eyes, a paradise.

Paul Powis, however, though he maintained a cheerful
air, and the knowledge that he had been so instrumental in
saving the party lightened his heart of a load, and disposed
him even to gaiety, was not without some lingering remains
of uneasiness. He remembered the boats of the Dane, and,
as he thought it more than probable Captain Truck had
fallen into the hands of the barbarians, he feared that the
latter might yet find the means to lay hands on themselves.
While he was at work fitting the rigging, and preparing a
jigger, with a view to render the launch more manageable,
he cast frequent uneasy glances to the northward, with a
feverish apprehension that one of the so-long-wished-for
boats might at length appear. Their friends he no longer
expected, but his fears were all directed towards the premature
arrival of enemies from that quarter. None appeared,
however, and Saunders actually lighted a fire on the bank,
and prepared the grateful refreshment of tea for the whole
party; none of which had tasted food since morning, though
it was now drawing near night.

“Our caterers,” said Paul, smiling, as he cast his eyes
over the repast which Ann Sidley had spread on the roof of
the boat, where they were all seated on stools, boxes, and
trunks, “our caterers have been of the gentler sex, as any
one may see, for we have delicacies that are fitter for a banquet
than a desert.”

“I thought Miss Eve would relish them, sir,” Nanny
meekly excused herself by saying; “she is not much accustomed
to a coarse diet; and mamerzelle, too, likes niceties,
as I believe is the case with all of French extraction.”

Eve's eyes glistened, though she felt it necessary to say
something by way of apology.

“Poor Ann has been so long accustomed to humour the
caprices of a petted girl,” she said, “that I fear those who
will have occasion for all their strength may be the sufferers.
I should regret it for ever, Mr. Powis, if you, who are every
way of so much importance to us, should not find the food
you required.”

“I have very inadvertently and unwittingly drawn down
upon myself the suspicion of being one of Mr. Monday's
gourmets, a plain roast and boiled person,” the young man
answered laughingly, “when it was merely my desire to
express the pleasure I had in perceiving that those whose
comfort and ease are of more account than any thing else,
have been so well cared for. I could almost starve with
satisfaction, Miss Effingham, if I saw you free from suffering
under the extraordinary circumstances in which we are
placed.”

Eve looked grateful, and the emotion excited by this
speech restored all that beauty which had so lately been
chilled by fear.

“Did I not hear a dialogue between you and Mr. Saunders
touching the merits of sundry stores that had been left
in the ship?” asked John Effingham, turning to Paul by way
of relieving his cousin's distress.

“Indeed you might; he relieved the time we were rousing
at the chains with a beautiful Jeremiad on the calamities of
the lockers. I fancy, steward, that you consider the misfortunes
of the pantry as the heaviest disaster that has befallen
the Montauk!”

Saunders seldom smiled. In this particular he resembled
Captain Truck; the one subduing all light emotions from an
inveterate habit of serious comicality, and the responsibility
of command; and the other having lost most of his disposition
to merriment, as the cart-horse loses his propensity to
kick, from being overworked. The steward, moreover, had

taken up the conceit that it was indicative of a “nigger” to
be merry; and, between dignity, a proper regard to his
colour—which was about half-way between that of a Gold
Coast importation, and a rice-plantation overseer, down with
the fever in his third season—and dogged submission to unmitigated
calls on his time, the prevailing character of the
poor fellow's physiognomy was that of a dolorous sentimentality.
He believed himself to be materially refined by having
had so much intimate communication with gentlemen
and ladies suffering under sea-sickness, and he knew that
no man in the ship could use language like that he had
always at his finger's ends. While so strongly addicted to
melancholy, therefore, he was fond of hearing himself talk;
and, palpably encouraged as he had now been by John
Effingham and Paul, and a little emboldened by the familiarity
of a shipwreck, he did not hesitate about mingling in
the discourse, though holding the Effinghams habitually in
awe.

“I esteem it a great privilege, ladies and gentlemen,” he
observed, as soon as Paul ceased, “to have the honour of
being wracked (for so the steward, in conformity with the
Doric of the forecastle, pronounced the word,) in such company.
I should deem it a disgrace to be cast away in some
society I could name, although I will predicate, as we say in
America, nothing on their absence. As to what inwolves
the stores, it surgested itself to me that the ladies would like
delicate diet, and I intermated as much to Mrs. Sidley and
t'other French waiting-woman. Do you imagine, gentlemen,
that the souls of the dead are permitted to look back
at such ewents of this life as touches their own private concerns
and feelings?”

“That would depend, I should think, steward, on the
nature of the employment of the souls themselves,” returned
John Effingham. “There must be certain souls to which any
occupation would be more agreeable than that of looking
behind them. But, may I ask why you inquire?”

“Because, Mr. John Effingham, sir, I do not believe Captain
Truck can ever be happy in heaven, as long as the ship
is in the hands of the Arabs! If she had been honourably
and fairly wracked, and the captain suffercated by drowning,

he could go to sleep like another Christian; but, I do
think, sir, if there be any special perdition for seamen, it
must be to see their vessel rummaged by Arabs. I'll warrant,
now, those blackguards have had their fingers in every
thing already; sugar, chocolate, raisins, coffee, cakes, and
all! I wonder who they think would like to use articles
they have handled! And there is poor Toast, gentlemen,
an aspiring and improving young man; one who had the
materials of a good steward in him, though I can hardly say
they were completely deweloped. I did look forward to the
day when I could consign him to Mr. Leach as my own
predecessor, when Captain Truck and I should retire, as I
have no doubt we should have done on the same day, but
for this distressing accident. I dewoutly pray that Toast is
deceased, for I would rather any misfortune should befal him
in the other world than that he should be compelled to associate
with Arab niggers in this. Dead or alive, ladies, I am
an advocate for a man's keeping himself respectable, and in
proper company.”

So elastic had the spirits of the whole become by their
unlooked-for escape, that Saunders was indulged to the top
of his humour, and while he served the meal, passing
between his fire on the sands and the roof of the launch, he
enjoyed a heartier gossip than any he had had since they
left the dock; not even excepting those sniggering scenes
with Mr. Toast in the pantry, in which he used to unbend
himself a little, forgetting his dignity as steward in the
native propensities of the black.

Paul Powis entered but a moment into the trifling, for on
him rested the safety of all. He alone could navigate, or
even manage the boat in rough water; and, while the others
confided so implicitly in his steadiness and skill, he felt the
usual burthen of responsibility. When the supper was
ended, and the party were walking up and down the little
islet of sand, he took his station on the roof therefore, and
examined the proceedings of the Arabs with the glass; Mr.
Sharp, with a species of chivalrous self-denial that was not
lost on his companion, foregoing the happiness of walking
at the side of Eve, to remain near him.

“The wretches have laid waste the cabins already!” observed

Mr. Sharp, when Paul had been looking at the ship
some little time. “That which it took months to produce
they will destroy in an hour.”

“I do not see that,” returned Paul; “there are but about
fifty in the ship, and their efforts seem to be directed to hauling
her over against the rocks. They have no means of
landing their plunder where she lies; and I suspect there is
a sort of convention that all are to start fair. One or two,
who appear to be chiefs, go in and out of the cabins; but
the rest are actively engaged in endeavouring to move the
ship.”

“And with what success?”

“None, apparently. It exceeds their knowledge of mechanics
to force so heavy a mass from its position. The
wind has driven the ship firmly on the bank, and nothing
short of the windlass, or capstan, can remove her. These
ignorant creatures have got two or three small ropes between
the vessel and the reef, and are pulling fruitlessly at both
ends! But our chief concern will be to find an outlet into
the ocean, when we will make the best of our way towards
the Cape de Verds.”

Paul now commenced a long and close examination of the
reef, to ascertain by what openings he might get the launch
on the outside. To the northward of the great inlet there
was a continued line of rocks, on which he was sorry to
perceive armed Arabs beginning to show themselves; a sign
that the barbarians still entertained the hope of capturing the
party. Southward of the inlet there were many places in
which a boat might pass at half-tide, and he trusted to getting
through one of them as soon as it became dark. As the escape
in the boat could not have been foreseen, the Arabs had
not yet brought down upon them the boats of the wreck;
but should morning dawn and find them still within the reef,
he saw no hope of final escape against boats that would possess
the advantage of oars, ignorant as the barbarians might
be of their proper use.

Every thing was now ready. The interior of the launch
was divided into two apartments by counterpanes, trunks,
and boxes; the females spreading their mattresses in the forward
room, and the males in the other. Some of those profound

interpreters of the law, who illustrate legislation by
the devices of trade, had shipped in the Montauk several
hundred rude leaden busts of Napoleon, with a view to save
the distinction in duties between the metal manufactured and
the metal unmanufactured. Four or five of these busts had
been struck into the launch as ballast. They were now
snugly stowed, together with the water, and all the heavier
articles, in the bottom of the boat. The jigger had been
made and bent, and a suitable mast was stepped by means
of the roof. In short, every provision for comfort or safety
that Paul could think of had been attended to; and every
thing was in readiness to re-embark as soon as the proper
hour should arrive.

The gentler portion of the party were seated on the edge
of the roof, watching the setting sun, and engaged in a discourse
with feelings more attempered to their actual condition
than had been the case immediately after their escape.
The evening had a little of that wild and watery aspect
which, about the same hour, had given Captain Truck so
much concern, but the sun dipped gorgeously into the liquid
world of the West, and the whole scene, including the endless
desert, the black reef, the stranded ship, and the movements
of the bustling Arabs, was one of gloomy grandeur.

“Could we foretell the events of a month,” said John
Effingham, “with what different feelings from the present
would life be chequered! When we left London, the twenty
days since, our eyes and minds were filled with the movements,
cares, refinements, and interest of a great and polished
capital, and here we sit, houseless wanderers, gazing
at an eventide on the coast of Africa! In this way, young
men, and young ladies too, will you find, as life glides away,
that the future will disappoint the expectations of the present
moment!”

“All futures are not gloomy, cousin Jack,” said Eve;
“nor is all hope doomed to meet with disappointment. A
merciful God cares for us when we are reduced to despair
on our own account, and throws a ray of unexpected light
on our darkest hours. Certainly we, of all his creatures,
ought not to deny this!”

“I do not deny it. We have been rescued in a manner

so simple as to seem unavoidable, and yet so unexpected
as to be almost miraculous. Had not Mr. Blunt, or Mr.
Powis, as you call him—although I am not in the secret
of the masquerade—but, had not this gentleman been a
seaman, it would have surpassed all our means to get this
boat into the water, or even to use her properly were she
even launched. I look upon his profession as being the
first great providential interference, or provision, in our behalf;
and his superior skill and readiness in that profession
as a circumstance of no less importance to us.”

Eve was silent; but the glow in the western sky was
scarcely more radiant and bright than the look she cast on
the subject of the remark.

“It is no great merit to be a seaman, for the trade is
like another, a mere matter of practice and education,”
observed Paul, after a moment of awkward hesitation.
“If, as you say, I have been instrumental in serving you,
I shall never regret the accidents—cruel accidents of my
early life I had almost called them—that cast my fortunes
so early on the ocean.”

A falling pin would have been heard, and all hoped the
young man would proceed; but he chose to be silent.
Saunders happened to overhear the remark, for he was
aiding Ann Sidley in the boat, and he took up the subject
where it was left by the other, in a little aside with his
companion.

“It is a misfortune that Mr. Dodge is not here to question
the gentleman,” said the steward to his assistant,
“and then we might hear more of his adwentures, which, I
make no doubt, have been werry pathetic and romantical.
Mr. Dodge is a genuine inquisitor, Mistress Ann; not such
an inquisitor as burns people and flays them in Spain,
where I have been, but such an inquisitor as torments people,
and of whom we have lots in America.”

“Let the poor man rest in peace,” said Nanny, sighing.
“He's gone to his great account, steward; and I fear
we shall none of us make as good a figure as we might at
the final settling. Besides Miss Eve, I never knew a mortal
that wasn't more or less a sinner.”

“So they all say; and I must allow that my experience

leans to the wicked side of the question. Captain Truck,
now, was a worthy man; but he had his faults, as well as
Toast. In the first place he would swear when things
took him aback; and then, he had no prewarication about
speaking his mind of a fellow-creature, if the coffee happened
to be thick, or the poultry didn't take fat kindly.
I've known him box the compass with oaths if the ship
was got in irons.”

“It's very sinful; and it is to be feared that the poor
man was made to think of all this in his latter moments.”

“If the Arabs undertook to cannibalize him, I think he
must have given it to them right and left,” continued Saunders,
wiping an eye, for between him and the captain there
had existed some such affection as the prisoner comes to
feel for the handcuffs with which he amuses his ennui;
“some of his oaths would choke a dog.”

“Well, let him rest—let him rest. Providence is kind;
and the poor man may have repented in season.”

“And Toast, too! I'm sure, Mrs. Ann, I forgive Toast
all the little mistakes he made, from the bottom of my heart;
and particularly that affair of the beefsteak that he let fall
into the coffee the morning that Captain Truck took me so
flat aback about it; and I pray most dewoutly that the captain,
now he has dropped this mortal coil, and that there is
nothing left of him but soul, may not find it out, lest it should
breed ill-blood between them in heaven.”

“Steward, you scarcely know what you say,” interrupted
Ann, shocked at his ignorance, “and I will speak of it no
more.”

Mr. Saunders was compelled to acquiesce, and he amused
himself by listening to what was said by those on the roof.
As Paul did not choose to explain farther, however, the conversation
was resumed as if he had said nothing. They
talked of their escape, their hopes, and of the supposed fate
of the rest of the party; the discourse leaving a feeling of
sadness on all, that harmonized with the melancholy, but not
unpicturesque, scene in which they were placed. At length
the night set in; and as it threatened to be dark and damp,
the ladies early made their arrangements to retire. The
gentlemen remained on the sands much later; and it was

ten o'clock before Paul Powis and Mr. Sharp, who had assumed
the watch, were left alone.

This was about an hour later than the period already described
as the moment when Captain Truck disposed himself
to sleep in the launch of the Dane. The weather had
sensibly altered in the brief interval, and there were signs
that, to the understanding of our young seaman, denoted a
change. The darkness was intense. So deep and pitchy
black, indeed, had the night become, that even the land was
no longer to be distinguished, and the only clues the two
gentlemen had to its position were the mouldering watch-fires
of the Arab camp, and the direction of the wind.

“We will now make an attempt,” said Paul, stopping in
his short walk on the sand, and examining the murky vault
over head. “Midnight is near; and by two o'clock the tide
will be entirely up. It is a dark night to thread these narrow
channels in, and to go out upon the ocean, too, in so
frail a bark! But the alternative is worse.”

“Would it not be better to allow the water to rise still
higher? I see by these sands that it has not yet done coming
in.”

“There is not much tide in these low latitudes, and the
little rise that is left may help us off a bank, should we strike
one. If you will get upon the roof, I will bring in the grapnels
and force the boat off.”

Mr. Sharp complied, and in a few minutes the launch was
floating slowly away from the hospitable bank of sand. Paul
hauled out the jigger, a small sprit-sail, that kept itself close-hauled
from being fastened to a stationary boom, and a little
mast stepped quite aft, the effect of which was to press the
boat against the wind. This brought the launch's head up,
and it was just possible to see, by close attention, that they
had a slight motion through the water.

“I quit that bank of sand as one quits a tried friend,”
said Paul, all the conversation now being in little more
than whispers: “when near it, I know where we are;
but presently we shall be absolutely lost in this intense
darkness.”

“We have the fires of the Arabs for lighthouses still.”

“They may give us some faint notions of our position;

but light like that is a very treacherous guide in so dark a
night. We have little else to do but to keep an eye on the
water, and to endeavour to get to windward.”

Paul set the lug-sail, into which he had converted the
royal, and seated himself directly in the eyes of the boat,
with a leg hanging down on each side of the cutwater. He
had rigged lines to the tiller, and with one in each hand he
steered, as if managing a boat with yoke-lines. Mr. Sharp
was seated at hand, holding the sheet of the mainsail; a boat-hook
and a light spar lying on the roof near by, in readiness
to be used should they ground.

While on the bank, Paul had observed that, by keeping
the boat near the wind, he might stretch through one of the
widest of the channels for near two miles unless disturbed
by currents, and that, when at its southern end, he should
be far enough to windward to fetch the inlet, but for the
banks of sand that might lie in his way. The distance had
prevented his discerning any passage through the reef at the
farther end of this channel; but, the boat drawing only two
feet of water, he was not without hopes of being able to find
one. A chasm, that was deep enough to prevent the passage
of the Arabs when the tide was in, would, he thought,
certainly suffice for their purpose. The progress of the boat
was steady, and reasonably fast; but it was like moving in
a mass of obscurity. The gentleman watched the water
ahead intently, with a view to avoid the banks, but with little
success; for, as they advanced, it was merely one pile
of gloom succeeding another. Fortunately the previous observation
of Paul availed them, and for more than half an
hour their progress was uninterrupted.

“They sleep in security beneath us,” said Paul, “while
we are steering almost at random. This is a strange and
hazardous situatien in which we are placed. The obscurity
renders all the risks double.”

“By the watch-fires, we must have nearly crossed the
bay, and I should think we are now quite near the southern
reef.”

“I think the same; but I like not this baffling of the
wind. It comes fresher at moments, but it is in puffs, and I
fear there will be a shift. It is now my best pilot.”

“That and the fires.”

“The fires are treacherous always. It looks darker than
ever ahead!”

The wind ceased blowing altogether, and the sail fell in
heavily. Almost at the same moment the launch lost its
way, and Paul had time to thrust the boot-hook forward just
in season to prevent its striking a rock.

“This is a part of the reef, then, that is never covered,”
said he. “If you will get on the rocks and hold the boat, I
will endeavour to examine the place for a passage. Were
we one hundred feet to the southward and westward, we
should be in the open ocean, and comparatively safe.”

Mr. Sharp complied, and Paul descended carefully on the
reef, feeling his way in the intense darkness by means of the
boat-hook. He was absent ten minutes, moving with great
caution, as there was the danger of his falling into the sea
at every step. His friend began to be uneasy, and the whole
of the jeopardy of their situation presented itself vividly to
his mind in that brief space of time, should accident befall
their only guide. He was looking anxiously in the direction
in which Paul had disappeared, when he felt a gripe of his
arm.

“Breathe even with care!” whispered Paul hurriedly.
“These rocks are covered with Arabs, who have chosen to
remain on the dry parts of the reef, in readiness for their
plunder in the morning. Thank Heaven! I have found you
again; for I was beginning to despair. To have called to
you would have been certain capture, as eight or ten of the
barbarians are sleeping within fifty feet of us. Get on the
roof with the least possible noise, and leave the rest to me.”

As soon as Mr. Sharp was in the boat, Paul gave it a
violent shove from the rocks, and sprang on the roof at the
same moment. This forced the launch astern, and procured
a momentary safety. But the wind had shifted. It now
came baffling, and in puffs, from the Desert, a circumstance
that brought them again to leeward.

“This is the commencement of the trades,” said Paul;
“they have been interrupted by the late gale, but are returning.
Were we outside the reef, our prayers could not be
more kindly answered than by giving us this very wind;

but here, where we are, it comes unseasonably. Ha!—this,
at least, helps her!”

A puff from the land filled the sails, and the ripple of the
water at the stern was just audible. The helm was attended
to, and the boat drew slowly from the reef and ahead.

“We have all reason for gratitude! That danger, at
least, is avoided. Ha! the boat is aground!”

Sure enough the launch was on the sands. They were
still so near the rocks, as to require the utmost caution
in their proceedings. Using the spar with great care, the
gentlemen discovered that the boat hung astern, and there
remained no choice but patience.

“It is fortunate the Arabs have no dogs with them on
the rocks: you hear them howling incessantly in their
camps.”

“It is, truly. Think you we can ever find the inlet in
this deep obscurity?”

“It is our only course. By following the rocks we
should be certain to discover it; but you perceive they are
already out of sight, though they cannot be thirty fathoms
from us. The helm is free, and the boat must be clear of
the bottom again. This last puff has helped us.”

Another silence succeeded, during which the launch
moved slowly onward, though whither, neither of the gentlemen
could tell. But a single fire remained in sight, and
that glimmered like a dying blaze. At times the wind
came hot and arid, savouring of the Desert, and then intervals
of death-like calm would follow. Paul watched the
boat narrowly for half an hour, turning every breath of air
to the best account, though he was absolutely ignorant of
his position. The reef had not been seen again, and three
several times they grounded, the tide as often floating them
off. The course, too, had been repeatedly varied. The result
was that painful and profound sensation of helplessness
that overcomes us all when the chain of association is
broken, and reason becomes an agent less useful than instinct.

“The last fire is out,” whispered Paul. “I fear that the
day will dawn and find us still within the reef.”

“I see an object near us. Can it be a high bank?”

The wind had entirely ceased, and the boat was almost
without motion. Paul saw a darkness more intense even
than common ahead of him, and he leaned forward, naturally
raising a hand before him in precaution. Something
he touched, he knew not what; but feeling a hard smooth
surface, that he at first mistook for a rock, he raised his
eyes slowly, and discerned, by the little light that lingered
in the vault of heaven, a dim tracery that he recognized.
His hand was on the quarter of the ship!

“ 'This the Montauk!” he whispered breathlessly, “and
her decks must be covered with Arabs. Hist!—do you
hear nothing?”

They listened, and smothered voices, those of the watch,
mingled with low laughter, were quite audible. This was
a crisis to disturb the coolness of one less trained and
steady than Paul; but he preserved his self-possession.

“There is good as well as evil in this,” he whispered.
“I now know our precise position; and, God be praised!
the inlet is near, could we but reach it.—By a strong shove
we can always force the launch from the vessel's side, and
prevent their boarding us; and I think, with extreme caution,
we may even haul the boat past the ship undetected.”

This delicate task was undertaken. It was necessary to
avoid even a tread heavier than common, a fall of the boat-hook,
or a collision with the vessel, as the slightest noise became
distinctly audible in the profound stillness of deep night.
Once enlightened as to his real position, however, Paul saw
with his mind's eye obstructions that another might not have
avoided. He knew exactly where to lay his hand, when to
bear off, and when to approach nearer to the side of the ship,
as he warily drew the boat along the massive hull.—The
yard of the launch luckily leaned towards the reef, and
offered no impediment. In this manner, then, the two gentlemen
hauled their boat as far as the bows of the ship, and
Paul was on the point of giving a last push, with a view to
shove it to as great a distance possible ahead of the packet,
when its movement was suddenly and violently arrested.