25. CHAPTER XXV.
JERMIN ENCOUNTERS AN OLD SHIPMATE.
During the morning of the day which dawned upon the
events just recounted, we remained a little to leeward of the
harbor, waiting the appearance of the consul, who had promised
the mate to come off in a shore boat for the purpose of seeing
him.
By this time the men had forced his secret from the cooper;
and the consequence was, that they kept him continually
coming and going from the after-hold. The mate must have
known this; but he said nothing, notwithstanding all the
dancing, and singing, and occasional fighting which announced
the flow of the Pisco.
The peaceable influence which the doctor and myself had
heretofore been exerting, was now very nearly at an end.
Confident, from the aspect of matters, that the ship, after all,
would be obliged to go in; and learning, moreover, that the
mate had said so, the sailors, for the present, seemed in no
hurry about it; especially as the bucket of Bungs gave such
generous cheer.
As for Bembo, we were told that, after putting him in
double irons, the mate had locked him up in the captain's
state-room, taking the additional precaution of keeping the
cabin scuttle secured. From this time forward we never saw
the Mowree again, a circumstance which will explain itself as
the narrative proceeds.
Noon came, and no consul; and as the afternoon advanced
without any word even from the shore, the mate was justly incensed;
more especially, as he had taken great pains to keep
perfectly sober against Wilson's arrival.
Two or three hours before sundown, a small schooner came
out of the harbor, and headed over for the adjoining island
of Imeeo, or Moreea, in plain sight, about fifteen miles distant.
The wind failing, the current swept her down under our bows,
where we had a fair glimpse of the natives on her decks.
There were a score of them, perhaps, lounging upon spread
mats, and smoking their pipes. On floating so near, and hearing
the maudlin cries of our crew, and beholding their antics,
they must have taken us for a pirate; at any rate, they got out
their sweeps, and pulled away as fast as they could; the sight
of our two six-pounders, which, by way of a joke, were now
run out of the side-ports, giving a fresh impetus to their efforts.
But they had not gone far, when a white man, with a red sash
about his waist, made his appearance on deck, the natives immediately
desisting.
Hailing us loudly, he said he was coming aboard; and after
some confusion on the schooner's decks, a small canoe was
lanched overboard, and, in a minute or two, he was with us.
He turned out to be an old shipmate of Jermin's, one Viner,
long supposed dead, but now resident on the island.
The meeting of these men, under the circumstances, is one
of a thousand occurrences appearing exaggerated in fiction; but,
nevertheless, frequently realized in actual lives of adventure.
Some fifteen years previous, they had sailed together as
officers of the bark Jane, of London, a South Seaman. Somewhere
near the New Hebrides, they struck one night upon an
unknown reef; and, in a few hours, the Jane went to pieces.
The boats, however, were saved; some provisions also, a
quadrant, and a few other articles. But several of the men
were lost before they got clear of the wreck.
The three boats, commanded respectively by the captain,
Jermin, and the third mate, then set sail for a small English
settlement at the Bay of Islands in New Zealand. Of course
they kept together as much as possible. After being at sea
about a week, a Lascar in the captain's boat went crazy; and,
it being dangerous to keep him, they tried to throw him overboard.
In the confusion that ensued, the boat capsized from
the sail's “jibing;” and a considerable sea running at the time,
and the other boats being separated more than usual, only one
man was picked up. The very next night it blew a heavy
gale; and the remaining boats taking in all sail, made bundles
of their oars, flung them overboard, and rode to them with
plenty of line. When morning broke, Jermin and his men
were alone upon the ocean; the third mate's boat, in all probability,
having gone down.
After great hardships, the survivors caught sight of a brig,
which took them on board, and eventually landed them in
Sydney.
Ever since then our mate had sailed from that port, never
once hearing of his lost shipmates, whom, by this time, of course,
he had long given up. Judge, then, his feelings, when Viner,
the lost third mate, the instant he touched the deck, rushed up
and wrung him by the hand.
During the gale his line had parted; so that the boat, drifting
fast to leeward, was out of sight by morning. Reduced,
after this, to great extremities, the boat touched, for fruit, at an
island of which they knew nothing. The natives, at first,
received them kindly; but one of the men getting into a
quarrel on account of a woman, and the rest taking his part,
they were all massacred but Viner, who, at the time, was in an
adjoining village. After staying on the island more than two
years, he finally escaped in the boat of an American whaler,
which landed him at Valparaiso. From this period he had continued
to follow the seas, as a man before the mast, until about
eighteen months previous, when he went ashore at Tahiti, where
he now owned the schooner we saw, in which he traded among
the neighboring islands.
The breeze springing up again just after nightfall, Viner
left us, promising his old shipmate to see him again, three days
hence, in Papeetee harbor.
