A SEA QUEEN.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 602, 18 August 1883, Page 6

A SEA QUEEN.

By W. CLARK RUSSELL, Author of “The Wreck of the Grosvf.nor, “ A Sailor’s Sweetheart,” “An Ocean Free Lance,” &c., &c.

CHAPTER XXXll.—Continued. A Fever-Stricken Brio.

There is nothing better for infected clothes than hot sunshine and fresh air. Richard was right not to throw all the bedding overboard, for though we were in warm latitudes now, yet we might find ourselves in cold ones before we met with help, and with nothing but the clothes we stood up in to cover us, and not a blanket on board, we should think ourselves poorly off indeed.

After Richard had closed the cabin door and spread the bed clothes upon the deck, he stood looking around him very earnestly, closely examining the appointments and rig of the brig, and considering within himself what was to be done. Presently, his eye lighting upon the harness cask that was lashed to ringbolts in the deck close against the cabin, he went to it, found it open, and peering in, called out, ‘ Here’s plenty of beef, Jessie. Spence, ore there any cookod provisions knocking about, d’ye know ?’ ‘ There should be store enoigh in the cabin, sir,’ answered spence. On this Richard went into the cabin, reappeared, holding a china dish containing the remains of a piece of salt pork. ‘ This is all I could see to find,’ said he, sneezing and puffing, and his eyes full of water. ‘ There are no pitch fumes about yet, but the coal-smoke is abominably irritating. Spence, look into the galley for a plate and a knife or two.’

The young fellow ran forward, his movements full of life and eagerness, and returned with a couple of tin plates, some blackhandled knives, a pot of mustard and a botile half full of vinegar. These he set down on deck, looking as pleased as Punch that lie should have found them for us, and Richard then told him to jump into thebont alongside and bring up the bag of bread out of the locker in the stern-sbeetß.

We had now the materials for a meal, and getting together in the port gangway, where the shadow of the mainsail lay, we heaped up some of the gear into seats, and fell to our repast. The pork was pretty sweet, and by eating it with plenty of vinegar and mustard we found it relishable enough. Both Richard and I were exhausted rather than hungry ; the biscuit we had with us in the boat had appeased our appetite without yielding us the nourishment we needed ; but the pork made out a meal for us, and this breakfast and the rest we took whilst eating it, did us both a great deal of good. Spence ate heartily. Indeed, the poor fellow seemed half-starved. ‘ Why, my lad,’ says Richard, ‘ I thought you told us you had plenty to eat aboard the brig V ‘ So I had, Bir,’ he answered, ‘ whilst all hands was up and well. But when I found the cap’n dead, and myself the only man left, I took no thought of eating. I went forrard ’twixt the house yonder and the foremast, and sat down, and gave myself up to die.’ ‘That wasn’t British sailor fashion, Spence,’ said Richard. ‘ You should have hoisted a distress signal, and kept a look out. How many hands went to your ; complement ?’ ‘ There was the cap’n and the mate, two ; four able seamen, six ; two boys, eight, and the cook, nine he answered. ‘ You say the mate sickened first and died V ‘Ay,’ answered the poor fellow, giving bis wild, reddieli hair a jerk that exposed his

eyes, which showed in pink circles in the grimo upon his flesh, ‘ the mate went first. That was a week arter we had left Sherborough. He was ill two days, and in that time two others were down, both able seaman. In five days these were all dead. Then the other boy fell ill, and in two days he died, and wo dropped him overboard arter the others. That left five of us, counting the cap’n. Then two more kept their hammocks, and next day the third man lay ill. The cap’n was wore out; we’d no medicine aboard, and could’nt attend to ’em. We could hear ’em shouting sometimes when they was delirious, but the cap’n and me had to mind the brig, and all we could do was to put pannikins of water near ’em, so that they could help themselves when they felt thirsty.- Lord, what a time it was !’ cried the poor creature, lifting the back of bis hand, that was shaking like an old man’s, to pass it over his forehead, upon which large drops of sweat had gathered whilst he talked.

Richard looked at me, and said under bis breath, * This is the sailor’s life. These horrors are standing portions of the perils of the deep ; but how few landsmen know anything about them !-’ He might well say that. Often had I flattered myself, when living at home with father, that my knowledge of the sea and the sailor’s profession was a hundredfold greater than that of most people who belong to the shore ; but what was it then as compared with what it was now, confronted as I was by the experience of three short days, in which I had stood upon the deck of a burning ship, had been exposed to the scorching light of the sun in a little open boat, with all the agony of the mighty solitude of the ocean in my soul, finally to come upon a vessel that had been the theatre of such lonely, helpless suffering, that to relate it bit by bit as it happened would be to tell a story which a heart of stone would recoil from, shocked, sick, and trembling ? Most surely to know the sailor’s life, and to be able to follow him into that universe of wild thrilling and indescribable realities in whichhe sinks as his shipdrawsdown behindthe distant water-line, you must have been to sea with him, suffered With him, felt with him the anguish of shipwreck, and those nameless tortures of flesh and spirit—for tortures come to him that have no names—which are among the gifts of the ocean oftenest to those who love the mighty mother best. I said to Richard it seemed almost miraculous that Spence should have escaped a malady so deadly as this fever bad been. ‘ Ay,’ said he, looking at him. ‘ It’s wonderful that he should not have been attacked ; but it is more wonderful that all the men Who sickened should have died. This sort of thing comes of sending vessels of this pattern to sea without medical stores —not so much as an ounce of quinine aboard. Only laet year I heard of such a case as this. A steamer fell in with a little barque, five of whose crew had died of African fever, whilst four of them lay living, but prostrate with it, and there were only the master and one man left to work the vessel. There was not a drop of physic aboard. The steamer manned the barque with some of her own men, and brought away the sick seamen, all of whom were able to resume their duty within eight days, thanks to the steamer’s medicine chest. And now,’ said he, jumping up, ‘ breakfast being over, and the three of us the better for it, let’s turn-to smartly and shove this brig into latitudes where there’ll be other folks than ourselves. Spence, give us a hand here to clear these decks, that we may see where we are.’ And we all three of us fell to work to coil the ropes over the pins. This did not take us very long, and when we had done, Richard jumped on the top of the cabin, and took a long, long look around. ‘There’s nothing in sight,’he called out ; ‘ nothing but beautiful weather. Spence, run out on to the jiboom, and pick up that flyingjib. If it’s too heavy for you, sing out and I’ll lend you a hand.’ He then came off the top of the deek-liouse, taking a look at the compass as he did so, for the little deck-house ladder led close to the binnacle, and called to me to help him to get the yards round. Luckily, no manoeuvring was wanted, for the vessel’s head lay within a few points of the course he proposed to steer. I could now be of real help to him, for my knowledge of the rigging of a ship enabled me to obey his orders without any hesitation. When he told tee to let go such and such braces I did so at once, and then crossed over and hauled with him. He seemed to have recovered all his old strength, and worked with wonderful energy and spirit. ‘Jess,’ said he, pausing to speak to me, ‘ this brig is a true God-send to us, not only because in puts a solid fabric under our feet instead of a little fragile open boat, but because the money we shall get for saving her, if God wills that we should save her, will twenty fold repay us for the loss of our personal property in the Aurora.’ ‘Yes,’ I answered, feeling the light of his smile upon my face, ‘ and let Mr Heron and the crew tell what falsehoods they will of you if they escape being drowned, which will be more than they deserve, Richard—l am sure when our story comes to be heard it will leave you high in the owner’s esteem, and with a fine character for your brave singlehanded struggle with a gang of unprincipled wretches ?’

‘May be, maybe, Jess; any way, I shall have jour father on my side,’ said he. ‘How, roy darling, let’s get those foreyards swung. This weather looks too beautiful to last, and there is much to be done.’

When I say that the size of this brig did not exceed two hundred tons you will suppose that the yards were not very heavy nor hard to drag round in so light an air as was then blowing. And light as the air was, it helped us when it got inside the sails by gently carrying the yards with it, and in a few moments we heard the lip, lipping of water over the side as the brig gathered way. ‘Jessie, you can steer,’ said Richard ; ‘ run to the wheel, my pet. Keep her north-west by north for the present. That course will do until I can come across a chart and a sextant.’ ' I ran aft, took hold of the wheel, and put it over until I had the course named by Richard against the lubber’s point; this brought the wind on the quarter ; but, now that we were moving, it seemed to have died away, and I felt the sun striking down on my back as fiercely as ever it did in

the boat ; nay, the spokes of the wheel were so hot that I had to keep constantly shifting hands, holding first one spoke, then another. But, cruel as the sun was, it made but a light trial now, As I looked along the deck and then up at the sails, so deep a feeling of gratitude swelled my heart that the tears gushed from my eyes, and if I could have then let go of the wheel I should have knelt and given thanks to God for His merciful preservation of us from the torments and the loneliness of the open boat.

, When I took the wheel Richard went to the side and peered over. ‘Jessie,’ he called, ‘ here is the Aurora’s boat. We have no use for her now. Shall I send her adrift ?’ ‘ She is an old friend,’ I answered, not liking the thought that she should be sent adrift.

He hung over the side musing, and then said, ‘ Yes, she is an old friend, but we have three good boats, and there is no room for her.’ And, so saying, he reached over into the chains, cast the painter adrift, and let the end fall into the water. The boat veered slowly astern, and as she came clear of the counter and plain in my view, I turned my head to look at her. 1 never should have believed that the sight of any inanimate object could have moved me as that boat did. It waa the letting go of the last link of a chain of associations, bitter and happy, the bitter ones making the memory of those which were happy the more plaintive and tender for the mingling. She took me back, ay, to that very hour when father and Richard and I had first boarded the Aurora in the Tyne ; and she unrolled the old panorama of the voyage, the fading Tynemouth coasts, the sparkling Downs, the mutiny, the barque on fire lighting up the heavens with a blood-red glow, the leagues of lonely sea on which the sun poured his scorching fires, the mystery and awe of the dark, silent, starlit night, and then this brig, a floating charnel-bouse, with death riding lazily upon the eluggisb, sickly atmosphere of fever. As she receded and grew smaller, I thought of Richard and me in her, and I then gauged in a manner that would have been impossible to me by other means, the immensity of that ocean on which we had floated ; and how mere a speck we made I could judge by this : that though the boat was under the counter but just now, already she was swallowed up in the violet shadow of the blue swell, and was only visible when the heave of the gleaming surface of the gentle undulation threw her up into th« white glory of the sunshine that flashed a b.-am of silver from her wet sides.

{To be Continued.')