Chapter 111.

Otago Witness, Issue 1582, 18 March 1882, Page 25

Chapter 111.

Men must work, and women must weep. —Three Fishers.

The burial was to take place early. The morning broke as usual, clear and calm— too calm. Hitherto they had never wanted sufficient wind to fill their sails, but now not a breath was stirring. The Australia lay like • a painted ship upon a painted ocean.' Far in the distant horizon a sister ship lay becalmed in {like manner ; looking— with her white sails spread, ready to catch the first breath of wind —like some beautiful bird, hovering over the face of the deep. Beautiful at a distance,' but, within, a floating hell— a pandemonium— a convict ship. On ncr deck stood a young, fine looking man, whose noble bearing not even the convict garb could hide. Leaning over the bulwarks, apart from his fellows, he waß lost inibitter anxious thought, and though seemingly gazing intently at the distant Australia, he might have been blind for all the impression it produced in his mind— wrapped in its own thick gloom, illumined but by one ray. Little —little did he dream that even as he looked that ray was extinguished ; that the burial service was even then being read over the body of his beloved wife ! All whom duty or health permitted were on deck as the hour for the burial drew near ; and for once ifc was a quiet and orderly assemblage. A funeral at sea is always a solemn and impressive ceremony, and although there had been several deaths ampng the children, (the last being Mrs William Smith's two-months' old baby, which had died the week before,) this was the first adult burial. The Allons lounged on the upper deck, gazing idly at the Bcene— excepting Kenneth, who, with head uncovered, joined the group round the shotted hammock. Mrs Smith atood nearest, the motherless infant in her arms ; and her own child, a little girl about two years old, clinging to her skirts. In later times what would not that infant have given to be able to recall the scene 1 The level rays of the morning sun flooded the deck, glittering on the white sails, and reflected with dazzling splendour from the motionless expanse around, for 'Every wave of the dark blue sea seemed hushed to hallow the friendless dead.' The beautiful and affecting service for those buried at sea was read by Captain Hencke in a slow, sonorous voice. Then there was a movement, a sudden plunge, and the glassy waves closed over the body as it sank gently to its last resting place, there to remain until that joyful day when ' the sea shall give up the dead which are in it.' And the man in the distant ship continued to lean over the bulwark, keeping the eye of his mind fixed upon that one solitary ray in his own gloom — that ray which no longer existed — as we see the light of the stars long, long after the stars themselves have vanished for ever. It was echoed by the Doctor, who, leaning on his stick, had stood beside the Captain during the service : then, as if ashamed of even so slight a manifestation of feeling, he turned quickly away, almost tumbling_ over Kenneth Allon, who was close behind him. ■ 'Fools!' exclaimed Dr Gryffyths, 'to sigh for her who is at rest, and has had Christian burial too, when we had need ' weep for ourselfs. 1 Look you>' he continued excitedly, 'it will be well for us if we don't go down to Davy ' Jones' locker without troubling anybody to read the service over us. Yes, indeed ! ' and striking his stick on the deck, as if he were in a towering passion, the little doctor marched off before Kenneth (who fancied he detected a hidden meaning in his words) could ask for an explanation. Still pondering them, he slowly returned to the upper deck, where he found his mother inveighing against the captain for the incessant noise the carpenters kept up.

'They are always tinkering at somethingsshe complained, in her whining, fretful voice, 'it's knock, knock, knock from morning to night, until my head, is ready to split. There has not been a day since we started but what men have been at those boats, working away as if the captain expected to finish the voyage in them.'

•The men must have something to do this fine weather,' observed Konneth, who always came in for the largest share of his mother's grumbling ; Francis and his father being given to shrugging their shoulders, and walking off whenever ifc became tiresome. ' But Ido believe,' he added, laughing, 'that Captain Hencke has taken seriously to heart the warning of good old Dr Watts, and is determined there shall be no " idle hands " aboard his 'Well, I wish he could find some quieter method ; goodness knows, the ship herself makes noise enough ! Such a creaky old tub I never was in before. I'm sure last night she gave a roll, and then such a shiver and rattle, I really thought we were all going to the bottom then and there.' ' You are nervous, mother ; if the vessel had been strained by severe storms, I should be so too ; but with* such a splendid passage as we have had, she must be almost as taut as when wo left the London docks ; there cannot be any cause for alarm.' Curiously enough, Kenneth seemed to be arguing quite as much against his own convitions as his mother's fears. _ But those convictions grew upon him, rendering him restless and uneasy. The doctm's words had given tangibility to a suspicion which had been floating in his mind for some days past. Kenneth was still brooding over that suspicion, as, towards evening, he thoughtfully paced the deck, which was deserted except by the watch, for it was the general tea-hour. Kenneth himself was in no mood for eating, and had put forth the excuse of the weather. It was ' too hot to eat,' he said ; and indeed it was hot. The sun had blazed oveihead the whole day, with not a cloud or breath of wind to mitigate his fierce heat, and was now slowly sinking, like a ball of fire, into the ocean, which lay like a molten mirror, with not a ripple to break its glassy surf age, Tlje ehij? was absolutely motionless, |

while melted pitch exuded from every seam. Suddenly Kenneth paused in his measured tread, and stood in a listening attitude. The man at the wheel was whistling: for wmd with praiseworthy perseverance, but it was not that which had attracted Kenneth's attention. Another sound broke the stillness; one towhich he might have become accustomed by time ; seeing that he had heard it for a longer or shorter period, almost every day since they started — the sound of the pumps at work. Hitherto Kenneth had heard it unthinkingly, but now he began to reflect, and to question with himself. His knowledge of nautical affairs was limited, this being his first voyage; • but he had a passion for reading sea-tales, and boo&s of adventure ; and calling to mind all he had ever read that bore on the subject, Kenneth soori decided that the pumps constantly at "work in fttir weather was a sign of something radically wrong with the vessel. Hardly had he arrived at this conclusion, when his ■ attention was arrested by the appearance. of' the carpenter and third mate, who came up the hatchway, dragging with them a large.jar of water, and a bag evidently containing provisions, which they proceeded to stow away in the locker of the boat they had been busy repairing for some days past. And as Kenneth watched them he instinctively understood thafc the other boats, as they had been rendered seaworthy, had been quietly furnished in like .

manner. • ' One would think,' he exclaimed, unconsciously echoing his mother's words aloud; 'that the captain expected us to finish our voyage in those boats.' 'Perhaps I do;' was the unexpected answer from Captain Hencke, who, coming quietlyon deck had overheard the involuntary exclamation

Kenneth wheeled quickly round. ' Surely ' you are not in earnest,' he cried. , >, ■ 'Am I likely to jest on such a subject?' was > the retort. ' See here j' and thrusting his finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket, the cap- - tain drew forth a pinch of something, which he offered for his companion's inspection. : Kenneth examined it, and turned a glancdof incredulous inquiry on Captain Hencke, !c! c Yes ;' was the reply.to the unspoken questian. ' I picked it out of one of the beams below, with my fingers, this afternoon. They are rotten to the core ; I hardly know how tha masts are kept from going through the bot* torn.' ■'But,' cried Kenneth, in consternation 5 'how came you to allow so unseaworthy an old tub to leave port? Surely you knew her condition?'

'' I had my suspicions, but they came nowhere near the truth ; had they done so I would have used all my power to prevent her sailing ; certain ruin though it would have been - to myself.' • How ? Gould you not easily have obtained another command V ' I will tell you my story, Kenneth, and you ' shall judge,' said the captain, as they stood' together, leaning over the vessel's sidei ■ ;•> ' .Captain Hencke was about fifty, strongly built, and rather short. His countenance .usually beamed with careless good-nature; !just i. now, however,, its' expression waß, very grave, and even sad. < He and Kenneth had become fast friends during, the voyage. 1 ' The need of sympatny, which most men feel at certain times during their lives is upon me to-night,' began Captain iHencke. 'After I have unburdened myneart, I shall, perhaps,he'able to brace myself for — •, — ''whatever, may happen. For many years ' I have commanded vessels owned by the firm ! to which the Australia belongs. About ten years ago I was captain' of the Sea Foam, belonging to them, and we were bound from England to i Jamaica. . We had on board, . among other, passengers, a gentleman and his daughter. Poor young thing! I pitied her; for her father did nothing but drink the whole way, and just before we sighted land 'he jumped overboard in a fit of delirium tremens. Bad as he had been, however, he was the poor girl's only relative ; and as well as ■friendless, she knew not what to do. It was no time for ceremony— in trying to help her during the voyage we became very good f henda • —and now I made her an honest, ship shape offer of marriage, and was accepted— rough old ■ sea-dog as I am, I do believe as much for love as fora home; though I did tell her, that if ' she'd only give me the right to protect her, I'd be content with her friendship at first. . We f were spliced at once^ but the proverb against ' marrying in haste has not come ,true in our case. She accompanied me onfall my voyages ■ < for two years : then I took a little cottage for her on Dover cliffs, where she could catch the ■ first glimpse of my returning vessel ; and, there our first boy was born— Fritz, as she would have him named . after me. He is eight now. i Would that he were older, and able to take care of his mother." Sorely will she need it, my poor Greta,' and breaking off abruptly, the captain remained silent for some minutes, j stedfastly gazing out over the tranquil sea. Presently He resumedj speaking almost more i to himself than to his sympathising friend. ' Home became very dear to me now. (I had never had one to speak of before), and I longed to quit this wandering life, and settle down on shore. But I was fit for no trade, and dared not give up my profession ; especially when my little Gretchen came to keep her brother company. I called her Margaret, after her mother ; and she is so like her, the same blue eyes, and sweet, sunny disposition. Bufc when my little Dot came (she is still 'the baby,' though almost three), when she came the longing grew irresistible. I thought if I could charter a vessel and trade on my own' account, I could in a few voyages— a few years at most— achieve independence. There was only one obstacle to this scheme— want of capital— and that, against my wife's advice, I determined to borrow. I knew the owners would willingly lend it to one they had known so long. I made haste to be rich; and you know what the Bible says of those who do so, my boy.' ' But, surely,' said Kenneth, ' your wish waa not wrong.' ' No, but I took the wrong way to gratify it, by borrowing money which I knew I had no means of repaying, should my venture fail. And fail it did. Certain as I had been of success, the first voyage was disastrous; the second was ruinous. The vessel was lost, and we barely escaped with our lives. That was six months ago, and I had to lay up for some time to repair damages, having been pretty well knocked about before < we < were rescued. And the thought of our ruin did not help my recovery. My wife must have been as anxious as myself, and might well have upbraided me for not taking her advice ; but, bless her heart, that was not her way. As soon as I could travel I went up to London, saw the owners, and made a clean breast of it, asking for more time, and to be received again on board one of their numerous vessels. I made my request with a doubtful heart, for, though kind enough to successful people, they were reputed to be very hard on those who failed. But I was agreeably disappointed. They sympathised with my loss ; told me there would be no difficulty in arranging about the money ; and as for a berth, they had one that would just sui mo. One of their vessels, bound for Australia, and to sail in a week, was yet without . captain, the one they bad secured haying at

the last moment found himself unable, through family affairs, to fulfil his engagement. But I've been pretty certain since,' added Captain Hencke 'in -a parenthesis, ' fehat it 'was his discovering the coudition of the vessel. It was very "short notice for such a long voyage, but they-offered such unexpectedly generous terms if I would consent, fcttd hinted so broadly what the consequences would be if I did not, that I had no choice but to close with their offer, and after ia brief survey of the vessel, I hastened home to break the news to Margaret* It overwhelmed her with grief ; I had never been so long a voyage before, and we had only three days m which to say farewell. It was only by promising that come what would, this should be my last voyage, that I won her con sent; ! My parting with them all I cannot speak of. I had a presentiment then that it would be final ; that this would indeed be my last voyage. lam certain of it now.' 'How?* said Kenneth; 'if the worst came to the' worst, there are boats enough for us all ; and you have taken care they shall be fleaworthy.' But the captain shook his head* "It is no use arguing,' he said; my conviction is firm, though 1 cannot explain upon what it is based. I nave said farewell to all that I hold dear in this world.' And abruptly turning away, he paced the deck for some moments in silence. At length he exclaimed, • I will speak— l will think no mere of lt>' •or I shall be unfitted for duty. But it has done me goodl ? • he added, ' addressing Kenneth more gently.; 'it has' done me good to tell you my story, 11 ' arid if you will but consent to take charge of this,' drawing a Ismail packet from bis 'breast pocket, 'you will be doing me the greatest' service. There is a letter for my wife;' it will not toe so hard for her if she has a test word from me ; and also the few things of value' belonging to that poot woman we buried this morning— her Bible, wedding-ring, and purse.' Should no one claim that child, and she .'lives to grow up, these things may prove invaluable to tier.' 'They may,' said Kenneth. 'I promise to take care of them, and to post your letter with my 3own' hands ; though I think if the worst does come, the chances are equal which of us ©scapes. 1 > By-the-by does the doctor know the state of affairs ?' 'Yesj he, the first mate, carpenter, and a few others know as I do. But the bulk of the creW'iß made up of men working their passage out, with the secret determination to desert for the; diggings as soon as we reach port. We shall' have trouble with them, I fear, when the boats borne to be lowered. You can't get the best class of seamen to risk their lives in such vessels as this.' •

"!The owners deserve to be hung for sending such a ship to sea, 1 burst forth Kenneth. '/They do so !■ but they are no worse than the rest.' 'Why I' 'you don't mean: to say that such a thing as this is of common occurrence,' exclaimed Kenneth. . < '

'ilf' you/knew all I could tell, you would say so !' replied'Captain Hencke bitterly. ' There is a 1 Vessel that 'has lasted as long as it wilt last —far longer than it ought— and is fit for nothing buti to.be broken up. Some shipping firm buys it Wan- "an old song," spends a few pounds in painting andi 'gilding the sepulchre, insures as heavily as they dare, and sends it forth, knowing' 1 it must— iwpiVJJ ** will— go to - the bottom* ' '

•(And you— the sailors !' *,Ah !' Baid. 'the captain, shrugging his shoulders, 'they say to us as the Pharisees said' to Judas :' " What is that to us— see thou to

that."? - ■ '• • • Kenneth' was shocked, as the youthful mind « always 1 is when first it realises the wickedness of fche world. Alas ! that the feeling should so soon wear off J .'Could the man of business who considers himself, and is considered by others,. to:be<almost morale respectable character, go bacbt'o thtfage of twenty, and from there view certain daily 1 actions ;— actions which now give him mo concern, or, at least, none that cannot beiallaye'd by the thought that business is business and he is no worse than others— how, ' I sayy would he feel ?, • ' < ■ s Well,' 'said Kenneth, presently, 'I hope withcall'my heart that the wretches will be' disappointed for once. ' They will be, if this splendid weather does but continue. 1 The 1 experienced sailor smiled. 1 Had you been at sea' as long as I have,' he said^ ' you would know that that would be ' little less than a miracle. Even now the "splendid weather" is on the wane; look yonder. ' And he pointed^ to a long, low, and to Kenneth,' most unsuspicious-looking Dank of grey clouds in the distant horizon, behind which the fierce sun had sunk slowly and sullenly to rest. f 'We shall have it before midnight,' declared the captain, 'or I am no sailor.' ' , ' ' (To be continued.)