Chapter Nine.

Kind Mrs Judson had gone to her own house. Jessie was seated at her work near the window for the sake of the light on an evening in the spring of the year, when she saw a man in a sailor’s dress pass the garden gate, then stop and make inquiries of a passer by. Presently he came back, and opening the gate, knocked at the door. Her heart beat violently. He was a stranger, not at all like Ralph; but could he have brought news of him? She flew to open the door.

“Beg pardon, ma’am; are you Jessie Flamank?” asked the stranger, pulling off his hat with a sailor’s courtesy.

“Oh, who are you? Oh, tell me why you have come!” exclaimed Jessie, scarcely able in her agitation to utter the words.

“Why, do you see, I’m an old shipmate of one you knew once upon a time, and I thought as now I was at Plymouth I’d come and look you up and see how you were getting on, and have a talk about him,” answered the man, stepping in as Jessie made way for him.

“Then do you bring me no news of him—of Ralph Michelmore?” she asked, in a trembling voice.

“Not what you may call news; seeing as how it’s better than two years since I last set eyes on my old messmate,” answered the stranger, taking a chair, while Jessie, unable to support herself, sank into the one she had left. “He told me all about you,” he continued, “how you were to be married when he was pressed along with me and others, and so I came to know you: and, said I to myself, now that he’s gone, poor fellow, and she’s all forlorn-like, maybe, I’ll try and comfort her a bit.”

Poor Jessie! This strange address from the rough sailor, though apparently kindly meant, had anything but the effect intended, for she burst into tears.

“Now don’t take on so,” said the sailor, “I didn’t think as how I’d have made you cry, or I wouldn’t have talked about Ralph. Maybe he wasn’t lost with the old Falcon. I’ve known men turn up after ever so many years, whom I thought fathoms deep below the waves long afore. Not but what he’d have been sure to come back to you if he could, that’s certain.”

“You have not told me who you are. How did you escape from the shipwreck?” said Jessie, at length becoming calm enough to speak.

“I’ve had a purser’s name (see note 1) for some time past, but I don’t mind telling you I’m Dick Bracewell, who sailed along with Captain Mudge in the Amity once upon a time,” answered her visitor. “And as to how I escaped, why I’d left the ship after we took the Frenchman and put into Rio, and I didn’t know but what Ralph was still aboard her, and a lieutenant by that time, till I heard when I came ashore last that she was lost with all hands.”

Jessie did not quite like Dick’s way of speaking, still it was a melancholy satisfaction to her to talk of Ralph; and as her visitor appeared to mean kindly, she did not express any wish that he would take his departure. He sat and sat on telling her many particulars about Ralph while on board the Falcon; how well he had behaved in the action, and how he had been made an officer, and been placed in command of the Eagle, Dick did not, however, tell her everything that had occurred regarding himself; but though he was not aware of it his tone betrayed the feeling of jealousy which he had entertained, and which her quick perception detecting, did not raise him in her estimation. At last she had to tell him that it was getting late, and to beg that he would go away.

“Well, I hope that I may call again and spin another yarn about old times,” he answered, as he took up his hat.

She did not like to say no, and yet his conversation had not left a pleasant impression on her mind. When she had closed the door behind him, she sat down and cried bitterly. It seemed to her more certain than ever that Ralph was lost. Her evening reading of the Bible and her prayers, that solace of the afflicted, restored calmness to her mind.

Day after day Dick Bracewell came to pay her a visit, and, believing him to have been Ralph’s particular friend, she did not like to decline seeing him. He told her that after he had left the Falcon he had joined a privateer, which had been wonderfully successful; that they had taken a rich Spanish galleon and many other valuable vessels, and that he, having become one of the mates of the ship, had had a large share of prize-money; enough, he declared, to set him up as an independent gentleman for life. To wind up his good luck he had come home in charge of the last prize they had made, which was fully as rich as any of the rest.

“My old shipmate, he that’s gone, told me that I should be ruined if I left the frigate, but he was wrong, you see,” added Dick. “He thought, too, that I hadn’t the sense to take care of my money, if I got any; but I had had a sharp lesson or two, and I made up my mind not to touch liquor, whether afloat or ashore, and I’ve kept to it for better than two years.”

Jessie had heard Ralph mention Dick Bracewell once or twice, but knowing nothing about his character, did not doubt the truth of his statements. Still Dick had not, as he supposed, gained her confidence. His frequent visits were, as might have been expected, noticed by Jessie’s neighbours, and Dame Judson looked in one morning on purpose to tell her of the remarks she had heard, and to give her advice on the subject. She concluded by saying, “If you think that he is worthy of you, my dear, which I don’t, why, there is nothing to say. You are your own mistress, and can marry him when—”

“I marry him!” interrupted Jessie. “Oh, Mrs Judson, how can you think of such a thing? I did not suppose that he or any one else dreamed for a moment that I fancied he was making up to me, or I would not have received him after his first visit. Do, Mrs Judson, stay with me to-day, and if he comes tell him that I cannot see him, and beg that he will not come again.”

Mrs Judson very readily consented to do as Jessie wished. She had made inquiries about Dick Bracewell, and did not altogether believe in the capture of the Spanish galleon, though she heard that he had come ashore from a prize brought into Plymouth to be sold. The dame had brought her work, and took Jessie’s usual place by the window to watch for Dick. She had not been there long before she saw a young sailor approach the house, and, without stopping, walk straight up to the door. “That isn’t Dick Bracewell. I wonder who he can be,” she exclaimed, as a knock was heard.

“Can it be Ralph?” gasped out Jessie, rising from her seat.

“Oh, no, my dear, he’s much too young-looking. You mustn’t have such a fancy. I’ll see what he wants,” said the dame, going to the door.

“Please, ma’am, does Miss Flamank still live here?” asked the young sailor.

“What do you want to say to her?” said the dame.

“I’ve a great deal to say to her, and I think shell know me when I tell her who I am,” replied the sailor.

“Do let him come in, Mrs Judson,” exclaimed Jessie, eagerly, her heart beating with the belief that she should hear news of Ralph.

The stranger, doffing his hat, advanced into the room and stood before Jessie with a smile on his countenance as if expecting instantly to be recognised. “I thought, Miss Flamank, that you’d have known me,” he said at length; “I’ve never forgotten you and your kindness to me. Don’t you remember Peter Puddle?”

“Oh! yes, yes; indeed I do,” exclaimed Jessie, putting out her hand. “And is the Amity not lost? Is Captain Mudge still alive?”

Peter shook his head. “I wish I could say there was any chance of that,” he answered. “When the old brig went down in the dead of night, I was left afloat on a hen-coop, which the old captain had just before cast loose and told me to cling to, for all our boats were stove in. And I never saw him, nor any one belonging to the Amity alive again. Next morning I was picked up by a ship bound out to the West Indies, and I’ve been knocking about in those seas ever since. The captain had taught me navigation, and, what was better still, to read the Bible; and as I just did what that tells me to do, I got a good character aboard. I was made third mate, and the other two dying, I became first mate for want of a better man; though I was very young for such a charge. But I did my best, and the captain was satisfied, and says that, as he didn’t want a better, I should sail with him again next voyage. We sailed for home at last, bound for London; but having sprung a leak, and carried away our fore-mast, we put into Plymouth for repairs—and that’s how I’ve been able to come up to see you. But I’ve not yet spun all my yarn. Tell me, Miss, have you never got any letters from me?”

“No,” answered Jessie, “I have not received a single letter from abroad for three long years or more,” and she sighed sadly.

“I thought ’twas so when I got no answers to three I wrote,” said Peter. “What I had to tell you was this,—that just before the brig went down the captain made fast to the hen-coop a bag with fifty golden guineas in it, and charged me, if I escaped, to take it to you. I unlashed it and managed to get it into my pocket just before I was hoisted on board. There would have been small chance of my keeping it, however, if I had not fallen among honest people; but when I came to know the captain, I was sure that it would be safe in his hands, so I gave it into his charge, and he stowed it away for me, and showed me where it was kept. If he hadn’t done this I should have lost it, for a few months ago, when we were down in the Bay of Honduras, we were chased and overtaken by a schooner under Spanish colours. Her crew, a set of fellows of all nations, calling themselves privateer’s-men, though they were more like pirates, robbed us of everything they could lay hands on, and all the specie they could find belonging to the captain and owners, and had begun to scuttle the ship, and would, no doubt, have set fire to her besides and carried off our boats, when an English man-of-war hove in sight, bringing up a strong breeze. The pirates, some of whom I was sure were Englishmen, in spite of their dress, for I heard them speaking, and should know two or three of them again, made off, and allowed us to stop the auger holes and pump out the water. Their schooner, being a fast craft, escaped; but the man-of-war, having seen us safe on our way to Barbadoes, went back to look for her. If she didn’t find her, she would at all events have made those seas too hot for the pirate. I was better pleased than anything else that your money was saved, and here it is all right, just as the captain did it up for you.”

As Peter spoke he placed on the table before Jessie a small weather-stained canvas bag, and, undoing the string, counted out fifty guineas.

“They are all right,” he continued, “and my heart is lightened of the thought I’ve always had that I might lose them, though I would have made it up to you somehow or other—that I would.”

Tears choked Jessie’s utterance as she thought of the kind captain who had remembered her in his last moments, and of the sturdy honesty and faithfulness of Peter.

“I am, indeed, grateful to you as I am to Captain Mudge,” she said at length; “but surely you are entitled to some of this.”

“Not a dollar would I touch, not if all the judges in the land were to order me to take it,” answered Peter, replacing the money in the bag, which he tied up and pressed into her hands. “There, it’s all for you, and I wish you knew how happy I am to give it to you safe at last.”

Before Jessie could reply there was a knock at the door. Mrs Judson went to open it. “Miss Flamank cannot see you,” Jessie heard her say.

“She never sent that message,” exclaimed Dick Bracewell, brushing by her and entering the room. He cast an angry glance at Peter, as if he considered him an intruder, and advanced to shake hands with Jessie. She drew back, greatly annoyed at his conduct.

“Mrs Judson told you I was engaged,” she said.

“She told me you couldn’t see me; but when a man loves a girl, and knows pretty well that she likes him, he isn’t to be stopped by trifles,” he answered, throwing himself into a chair, as if he felt perfectly at home.

A feeling of indignation prevented Jessie from saying anything. Meantime Peter had been narrowly eyeing her unwelcome visitor, and, stepping up to him, said—

“You’ve just come from the West Indies, mate, I’ve a notion?”

“Yes, I’ve been in those seas,” answered Dick, for, having told Jessie so, he could not deny the fact.

“I thought as much; and we met there not long ago in a way I’m not likely to forget,” said Peter, quietly. “Maybe you don’t remember me, but I do you, I can tell you; and there are not a few of the crew of the Kate who will remember you, too, if they set eyes on you.”

Dick; taken by surprise, turned pale, and declared he did not know what the young man meant; but Peter again minutely described how his ship had been boarded by pirates on the Spanish main, and positively asserting that Dick was one of them, advised him, if he valued his life and liberty, to clear out of Plymouth without delay.

Dick, as might have been expected, swore that the young man, as he called Peter, was mistaken; but shortly after, observing that it was clear he was not wanted, took up his hat, and, without much leave-taking, hurried out of the house.

Jessie, who feared that Peter was right in his suspicions, thanked him for giving Dick the warning.

“He was once, at all events, Ralph Michelmore’s friend, and I should have grieved if you had been the means of bringing him to punishment,” she said.

“I’d not hurt him, Miss Jessie, on any account,” answered Peter; “but as I judged by the way you spoke to him that he was not welcome, I thought I would just say what would make him keep away for the future.”

Peter remained to dinner and amused Jessie and Mrs Judson with an account of his adventures, in all of which his honesty and courage were remarkable, though he was not aware that what he said exhibited it.

“That’s what the right training of good Captain Mudge has done for him,” observed Mrs Judson, when he had gone. “I remember him a regular pickle; and, if he had been left to himself, he would have been a vagabond all his life, like many others who have had no kind friends to look after them.”

Peter’s warning had not, it appeared, been lost upon Dick Bracewell; for from that day Jessie saw him no more.

Peter came constantly, while he remained in Plymouth, to see her. At his last visit he put the sum of thirty pounds into her hands. “I want you to take this, Miss Flamank, and to spend any of it you like,” he said, while a blush spread over his sunburnt countenance. “It’s my savings since I was picked up by the Kate, and I always intended it for you.—Well, if you won’t accept it as a gift, remember, if what happens to many a sailor happens to me, it will be yours. Now, don’t say no, and you’ll make me more happy than I can tell you.”

Peter would take no refusal, so at last Jessie consented to receive the money, though she resolved not to spend it on any account. After Peter had sailed, Jessie lived on much as before, except that with the money she had received she was able to obtain many of the necessaries she had before denied herself. Still her pale cheek told of a sad heart, and though more than one young man well to do in the world asked her to become his wife, she remained faithful to the memory of her lost Ralph.

Note 1: A fictitious name sailors who have deserted generally assume to escape recognition.

Chapter Ten.

The Falcon proceeded on her voyage to India. Though she was refitted as thoroughly as was possible in a foreign port, her commander had no wish to encounter another enemy with so large a proportion of his crew untried and inexperienced. He did his utmost, however, to get them into efficient order, and every day that the weather permitted they were exercised at the guns, as well as at making and shortening sail, and taught the use of the small arms.

Ralph Michelmore was fully occupied, and had but little time to think of his bitter disappointment at not returning home in the Eagle. By the time the Falcon reached the Hoogly, the crew had been brought into excellent order, and were highly complimented by the admiral on the station. There being no post-captain to supersede him, Mr Handsel received an acting order to continue in the command. The Falcon was allowed just time to take on board a fresh supply of powder, shot, and other stores and provisions, when she was ordered to proceed in search of an enemy’s cruiser, said to have captured several English merchantmen in the southern part of the Indian Ocean. She was supposed to be a heavy frigate, equal, if not superior, in force to the Falcon, but neither Captain Handsel nor any of his ship’s company had the slightest doubt as to what would be the result of an action should they be fortunate enough to fall in with her.

A sharp look-out was kept, and the ocean traversed in all directions for several weeks, but no traces of her could be discovered, till at length a prize she had taken only two days before was re-captured. Her probable whereabouts having been ascertained from the prisoners, the prize being sent on to Calcutta, the Falcon under all sail steered in the direction where it was hoped the enemy would be found. The stormy season was approaching. The weather, indeed, had already changed for the worse; but still Captain Handsel was unwilling to return to port, when on the point, as he hoped, of meeting the long looked-for foe.

A strong breeze was blowing from the northeast, and the frigate was steering south, under all the canvas she could bear. The crew had just been piped to breakfast.

“A sail on the lee bow,” shouted the look-out at the mast-head.

Ralph was sent aloft to examine the stranger. She was standing close-hauled to the northward. From the squareness of her yards, he had little doubt, seen even at that distance, that she was a man-of-war, but as the two ships were rapidly nearing each other, the matter would soon be decided. The course of the Falcon was altered so as to intercept the stranger. Suddenly, however, the latter was seen to wear ship, and, setting more sail, to stand away before the wind. The Falcon was already carrying as much as she could well stagger under; still, eager to overtake the fugitive the captain ordered the topgallant sails to be loosed, and on flew the Falcon, like the bird from which she took her name, in chase of her expected prey. A stern chase is proverbially a long chase. It seemed doubtful, after the lapse of several hours, whether she was gaining ground on the stranger. The evening was drawing on: the gale was increasing.

“Hand the topgallant sails!” shouted the captain. The crew were going aloft when there came a loud crash. The fore and main topgallant masts were carried away. Two poor fellows were struck—one fell dead on the deck, the other was knocked overboard. To heave-to was impossible. The wreck of the masts was cleared away, and two reefs taken in the topsails, and the courses brailed up. The frigate flew on at her utmost speed. It was now almost night, and it was feared that the chase would escape in the darkness. Still it was possible, with the heavy gale blowing, that she might continue on the course she was steering.

When darkness came down over the ocean the chase could still be seen through the night-glasses, standing as before. As night, however, drew on, clouds gathered thickly in the sky, the obscurity became greater, the gale heavier, and after a tremendous squall, which struck the frigate, had passed over, those on the look-out could nowhere discern the chase.

The captain, however, did not believe that she had hauled her wind, and hoped to come up with her perhaps with her masts gone. The master, after speaking with the captain, had gone below to examine the chart, but even that could not be relied on, as the part of the ocean they were then in, was, in those days, but imperfectly known, and prudence dictated that they should heave-to till daylight.

The captain, in the meantime, expecting every instant again to sight the chase, kept the ship on her course. Ralph was standing aft with his two young messmates, Chandos and Dickenson, who had become much attached to him.

“What do you think of it, Michelmore? I don’t like running into the darkness as we are doing,” observed the former.

“The darkness will not hurt us, and provided there are no rocks or shoals in our course we may run on as safely as in the daytime,” answered Ralph. “I examined the chart, and the nearest islands marked on it are, if they are correctly laid down, full fifty leagues to the south of us, though there are some shoals rather nearer.”

The master, who had been below, returned hurriedly on deck, and spoke to the captain.

“If so, we’ll heave the ship to,” was the answer.

Scarcely had the order been given to “Put the helm a-lee,” than the look-out forward shouted “Breakers ahead!” and the next instant a fearful crashing sound was heard. The ship quivered from stem to stern, the tall masts rocked, and those on deck, unable to hold on to the bulwarks, were thrown off their feet. It was a moment of intense suspense. The head-sheets had been let fly. Would the ship answer her helm? No. A tremendous sea met her bows, sweeping over her deck, and carrying several men in its relentless grasp into the raging surf to leeward. Again she struck, with greater violence than before; the next sea hove her on her beam ends. The carpenter reported twelve feet of water in the hold, and rapidly increasing—a rock had gone through her. The captain ordered the masts to be cut away. He had abandoned all hopes of saving the ship, and his only thought now was how to preserve the lives of his people. A party of the crew, led by Ralph and other officers, with gleaming axes quickly severed the weather rigging, and a few strokes were sufficient to send the tall masts, with their spars, crashing over to leeward. The furious seas in quick succession struck the devoted ship, carrying away her bulwarks, and destroying several of her boats. The officers and crew were collected on the quarter-deck, for the stern of the ship having swung round it was least exposed to the assaults of the waves. Ralph had sought out his two young friends, Chandos and Dickenson, wishing to help them if he could. Looking over the larboard quarter, he observed that the water in that direction was less broken than elsewhere, and he felt sure that he saw the land rising to a considerable height at no great distance. He told the captain that he thought he might reach the shore, and, if it was inhabited, bring assistance to the ship. A small boat hung at the after-davits capable of carrying four or five people.

“You can try it,” said the captain; “choose any two of the men on whom you can rely to accompany you, and take these two youngsters,” touching Chandos and Dickenson on the shoulders, “there will be less risk for them than by their remaining on board, I fear. Remember, Michelmore, if you escape, that I was in chase of an enemy when the ship was lost, and that there was an error in the chart. Heaven bless and preserve you!” he wrung Ralph’s hand as he spoke.

The two young midshipmen were placed in the boat, which was carefully lowered, with Jacob Crane, and another man, Ned Hawkins, whom Ralph selected, he himself following. He put Jacob at the helm, confident of the old man’s judgment, and got out an oar, the rest doing the same. Sheltered by the wreck, the boat at first floated in comparatively smooth water, but scarcely had her head been got round than she was in the foaming waves, which rolled in towards the shore. They, however, did not break as they did at the fore part of the ship, and Ralph knew from this that she had struck on the extreme point of a reef, and he hoped that, could the remaining boats or rafts be launched, his shipmates might yet be saved. Anxious to communicate this information, he directed Jacob to steer back to the ship, but after pulling for some time they found that they had made no progress, and it became evident that a strong current was sweeping round the point, and that their utmost efforts would be in vain. The boat’s head was therefore once more turned towards the shore. The current, however, swept them at a rapid rate to the westward, so that they soon lost sight of the ship. Not a glimpse either of the land could be obtained, and they began to fear that they should be carried out to sea.

“Never say die if we are,” observed Jacob; “it may be better for us than having to run through the surf with the chance of being rolled over and over in it.”

The storm raged with greater fury than before. Jacob advised, as the only hope of preserving their lives, that they should keep the boat’s head to the sea, and allow her to drift on till daylight, when they might discover some spot where they could attempt to land with a prospect of success. In spite of all their efforts the seas continually washed into the boat, and compelled the two midshipmen to work hard at baling out the water, while Ralph and Ned Hawkins, with their two oars, kept the boat in a right position. Their anxiety about the fate of their shipmates prevented them from contemplating as much as they would otherwise have done the perils of their own situation. To return to the wreck was impossible; to land in safety seemed equally so. At any moment a raging sea might overwhelm them, and it required their utmost strength and skill to avert the catastrophe. Now and then, as the boat rose to the summit of a billow, Ralph fancied that he could distinguish through the darkness the dim outline of the coast, and as its form had changed since first seen, he was convinced that they were still drifting along it. He feared that, unless the direction of the current changed, they might be carried far away out to sea, when death from hunger and thirst must be their lot; still, trusting in God’s mercy, he did his utmost to keep up the courage of his companions. The midshipmen behaved as became them, not a word of complaint escaping their lips, while every time a sea broke on board, Chandos cried out, “Hurrah, here’s more work for us; bale away, Dickenson; we must clear her before the next comes.” It seemed, indeed, wonderful that so small a boat could live in such a sea. Thus the night wore on.

At dawn of day Ralph discovered, less than half a mile to the south-west, a rocky point, the extreme eastern end, he supposed, of a somewhat elevated island, along the northern coast of which they had been drifting during the night. The light rapidly increased, while the clouds cleared away, and the wind abated. As far as the eye could reach to the westward appeared an unbroken line of raging surf, into which, had the boat been carried, her destruction would have been certain. He pointed out to his companions how mercifully they had hitherto been preserved; “and if we can get round yonder point we shall be in smooth water, under the lee of the island, and shall probably without difficulty get on shore,” he added.

Once more he cast an anxious look westward, but not a trace of the wreck could be seen. Had the Falcon and her gallant crew been totally engulfed by the waves?

“I fear that it’s all over with them,” said Jacob; “I don’t think we could have come so far as to lose sight of the wreck altogether if she still hung together.”

The boat’s head was now cautiously got round, and the midshipmen resuming their oars, they pulled away in a direction which would enable them to round the point clear of the surf. They were round it at last, but a fringe of black rocks, over which the sea leaped and foamed, warned them to keep at a distance. On and on they rowed. The coast was uninviting. No trees were to be seen; no signs of human habitation. At length a small sandy bay appeared, with high rocks on either side of it, while beyond was a valley, its sides clothed with trees and green herbage. No spot could be more desirable. Pulling in, they landed, and hauled up their boat on the beach.

“We are not ashamed, I hope, of thanking Him who preserved us through the dangers of the last dark night, and asking Him to take care of us for the future,” said Jacob.

“No, indeed,” answered Ralph and the midshipmen, and at once they knelt down on the sand, and, led by the old man, together offered up their prayers to the All Merciful One, to Whom they acknowledged their safety was alone due; for vain would have been all their efforts and skill without His aid. Rising from their knees, they set off in search of water, and their eyes were soon gladdened by the sight of a clear stream running down the valley. Having quenched their thirst, they looked about for food.

They had not gone far when, to their surprise, they saw close under the hill, shaded by trees, a well-built hut, evidently not the habitation of a savage. They hurried towards it, expecting to find the occupant within. No one appeared. The door was open. They entered. There was a bedstead with the clothes still on it, a fireplace built of rough stone, the ashes of a recently burning fire within it. Hung against the wall were several cooking utensils, and on some shelves were arranged some plates and dishes and cups and knives and forks. In the centre of the hut was a cabin table, and placed round it were three chests, which had apparently served as seats. They contained only a few old shoes and worn-out clothes. No books or writing materials were found, or anything to show who had been the occupants of the hut. If it had contained any articles of value, they had been carried away. Both Ralph and Jacob were of the opinion, from the workmanship of the chests and table, that they were French. As no food was found in the hut, they were eager to continue their search for some. At a short distance off was a small garden, but it had lately been dug up, and all the vegetables and roots it had contained had been carried off.

“It’s my opinion that there were three people who messed together in the hut. One lived in it—either the captain or another officer—and the other two slept elsewhere,” observed Jacob. “We shall find their roosting place not far off. One thing seems certain, that they are not here now, and there’s little doubt that a vessel visited the place lately, and that they and everything of value were carried away by her, as well as the produce of the garden.”

Ralph and the rest thought that Jacob was probably right in his conjectures.

“Well, I can’t make it out at all,” exclaimed Jacob, who had gone ahead of his companions. He pointed, as they came up, to three long, narrow, grass-covered mounds on a level spot at some distance from the hut. They were evidently graves.

“If the poor fellows lie there they can’t have got away; but, then, how could the last have managed to bury himself?”

Chandos remarked that perhaps there were four people, and that a survivor had performed that office for the rest; but the old man was positive that there were only three, as he had counted that number of plates and knives and forks, and had, moreover, found three worn-out pairs of shoes. Their hunger put a speedy end to the discussion, and made them continue their search for food. Birds flitted by them, but they had no fowling-pieces, and in vain they tried to knock some down. Berries and some larger fruits hung temptingly on the trees out of reach above their heads.

“Those birds do not live upon nothing,” observed Chandos. “If we cannot catch them, we may at all events eat the fruit they live on.”

“A bright idea,” exclaimed Dickenson. “I see a big fellow pecking away at a yellow, juicy-looking fruit up there. Depend on it, he finds it ripe. Now, if you and Ned will give me a hoist, I can manage to reach the lowest branch, and though the boughs might break with the weight of a heavier man, they will bear me—if not, look out and catch me.”

Dickenson, with the aid of Chandos and Ned—the first of whom mounted on the others’ shoulders—soon clambered up the tree, and though the branches bent with his weight, he managed to throw down several ripe fruit. Having put two or three in his pocket, he retired to the inner end of a branch to stop the cravings of hunger, while Chandos and Ned were employed in the same way below. The fruit had stones in the centre, and was more mealy and much richer than a pear.

Ralph and Jacob had in the meantime gone down to the beach to collect mussels or other shell-fish. Chandos shouted to them, but as they did not hear him, he set off with a supply of the fruit in his pockets. They had found shell-fish in abundance, and had collected as many as they could require. Having no means of lighting a fire, they were obliged to eat them uncooked; but notwithstanding this, with the aid of the fruit, they contrived to make a hearty meal. Having thus somewhat recruited their strength, although they would gladly have thrown themselves on the ground and gone to sleep, they determined at once to set out in search of any of their shipmates who might have escaped from the wreck. The distance, Ralph feared, would, however, prove considerable, and tax their strength to the utmost. He proposed, therefore, that the midshipmen should remain behind, and, after taking the rest they required, employ themselves in searching for food.

“No! no! we’ll hold out as well as any of you,” exclaimed Chandos. “If our friends require help, the more there are to give it the better.”

As Ralph could not object to this he agreed that they should come.

The bay in which they had landed looked towards the rising sun, and was thus near one end of the island, while the wreck had occurred, Ralph calculated, close to the other. They would have probably ravines to cross, hills to ascend, and other impediments to encounter. Having collected as many shell-fish and fruit as they could carry, they—notwithstanding their expected difficulties—set out with sturdy hearts, determined to overcome them.

The country was generally rocky and barren. Bleak hills destitute of vegetation, narrow ravines, and savage gorges appeared on every side. Often it seemed impossible that they could make any further progress; but after several hours spent in climbing and scrambling they at length reached the point for which they had been directing their course, on the north-western shore. As they approached it they observed a few spots of a more fertile character, and below them on level ground, forming the shores of a small bay, waved several cocoa-nut and other tropical trees. As no other huts were seen, or any plantations, they were convinced that the island was uninhabited. Their chief attention was, however, directed seaward in search of the wreck. Though the wind had gone down, the surf still beat furiously along the whole line of coast, so that no boats or rafts could have reached the shore in safety. About half a mile off rose, from amid a mass of foam, the black rugged points of a reef, now for a minute in sight, now concealed by the heavy rollers which dashed over them and came rushing on with an angry roar towards the cliffs which formed that end of the island.

“That must be the reef on which the frigate struck,” said Ralph, with a deep sigh, and tears of manly sorrow sprang to his eyes. “Poor fellows! Not one can have escaped.”

“It’s too likely,” said Jacob, gazing at the spot; “the ship must have fallen off the reef, and the current would have swept her and all on board away.”

The rest of the party shared Ralph’s grief, but they had no time to indulge in it. He was anxious to examine the coast on the bare possibility of any one having been washed on shore alive, and they then would have to search for water and some sheltered spot where they might pass the night. With some difficulty they descended the cliffs to the first line of beach they could discover, which extended for some distance towards the east. Here and there lighter pieces of the wreck strewed the shore, but the heavier fragments had been carried away by the current. The wreck would serve for fire-wood, but then they had no means of lighting a fire, and none of the pieces were large enough to be of use towards building a hut. They did not therefore stop to collect them, but pushed on, still not without some faint hopes that one or more of their shipmates might have reached the shore alive on planks or spars. The midshipmen, though their spirits kept them up, were, however, much fatigued, and were longing to find a sheltered spot where they might stop and rest.

An object in the surf now caught their sight, some way ahead, at a spot free from rocks. Hastening forward they found that it was a cask, and after several efforts, at the risk of being carried off by the sea, they succeeded in rolling it upon the beach. It was full of beef, which, though they were compelled to eat it raw, greatly restored their strength. Further on a tangled mass of rigging had already been thrown on the shore. Perhaps a human being might be found among it. They ran on, eager to examine it. It consisted of spars and ropes and torn canvas. The latter might assist to form a roof for a hut, if not large enough for a tent. They were cutting it clear, when Chandos discovered the stock of a musket, with part of the barrel broken off, rolled up in its folds.

“That will not be of much use as we have no powder or shot,” observed Dickenson.

“No, but see, the lock and flint are still on it,” answered Chandos. “Hurrah! We shall now have the means of lighting a fire.”

This success encouraged them to make further search. Several casks of pork, and flour, and other provisions, an invaluable iron saucepan with the lid tightly jammed on, as well as two sea-chests, with clothing and numerous useful articles, rewarded their labours. The wide bay they had before seen was reached at last. The extent of fertile ground was smaller than they had supposed, and but few cocoa-nut trees grew on it. Still, as the evening was advancing, and a sheltered nook near a rill of water was discovered, they settled to go no further. While Ralph with Jacob and Ned were putting up a rough hut the midshipmen collected some dry grass and broken branches. As they were hunting about they discovered several fungi growing near the roots of the trees.

“This stuff looks very like tinder,” said Chandos. “Let us try if it will take a spark.”

He produced the flint from the lock of the musket. In a few minutes, by dint of blowing and puffing, they had a blazing fire, and the iron pot with a piece of beef in it was put on to boil. The flour, though damaged by the salt water, supplied them with cakes cooked under the ashes. They had now no longer the fear of suffering from starvation. After an ample meal they lay down to rest, and it was broad daylight before any of the party awoke. The next day they resumed their search along the shore. More casks of beef and pork were secured, and numerous other articles. Among the things in one of the chests was a Bible, which being enclosed in a leathern case had escaped injury. The owner had apparently but seldom opened it. To Ralph and his companions it was of unspeakable value. Though he had been accustomed to read the Scriptures on a Sunday on board ship he had seldom gone to them for guidance and strength on other days in the week. Now morning and evening he read aloud from the precious volume, which from henceforth became the source of comfort and support to the castaways. Several days were spent in collecting whatever the sea had thrown on the shore from the wreck, but not a human body was found. Probably the ship had broken suddenly up, and all on board had been engulfed together. Having dried the contents of the chests, and stored them and their provisions in the hut, they returned to the bay in which they had landed. Its attractions being far greater than those of any other part of the coast, in addition to its possessing a well-built abode, they resolved to settle there.

The direct distance across the island was less than three miles, and by a bird’s-eye survey from the highest point in the centre, they calculated that the most practicable path would be about five miles. By this they at once set about removing their goods; carrying them in some parts on their shoulders, and in others dragging them on a truck, built out of wreck timber. The whole north shore presented no safe landing-place, or could they have taken them round by sea much labour would have been saved. One of the most welcome prizes was a bundle of fish-hooks, found in the boatswain’s chest. Lines were easily manufactured, and less than an hour’s fishing gave them food for the day. Birds were frequently caught in snares; and roots and fruits were not wanting. Thus, sterile as the island at first appeared, they had reason to be thankful that it supplied them with everything absolutely necessary for sustaining life.

The end of three months found them settled in the hut, following an almost regular routine of labour. Men-of-war’s men, from their training, dislike idleness; and the three young officers and the two men cut out ample employment for themselves during every hour of the day. They did not fail, however, to discuss every possible means of escaping.

The midshipmen and Ned proposed to raise the sides of their small boat and to put to sea in her in the hopes of reaching India, or of finding some inhabited island at which ships were likely to touch, so that they might ultimately find their way home.

To this proposal Jacob Crane strongly objected, though Ralph was at first rather inclined to favour it, desperate as it appeared.

“Nothing we can do to the boat can make her fit for a long voyage, even if the weather should prove fine,” observed Jacob. “To my mind, we ought to be thankful at being as well off as we are. God has mercifully saved our lives and placed us here, and here we should be content to remain and make the best use of our time till He thinks fit to send us relief. If we were likely to be starved, or if there were savages threatening to kill us, the case would be different. It then would be perfectly right for us to put off in our boat, and we might trust to Him for protection. If we had been supplied with tools, it might then have been our duty to try and build a vessel large enough for the voyage to India or the Cape of Good Hope; but we haven’t got them, and there isn’t a shipwright among us. Perhaps some vessel may be wrecked on the coast, and we may be the means of saving the lives of the people aboard her. Depend on it God has always got a purpose in all that He does or allows, though we don’t see it—that’s my firm belief—therefore I say again, let us be content with the blessings God has sent us, and be resigned to His will.”

Jacob’s argument decided Ralph, and won over the rest of the party.

Though their boat was not large enough for a voyage, they made frequent trips in her along the coast, and were by her means able to catch many more fish than they could have caught from the rocks.

A few seeds were found in the hut, and several plants which had been left in the ground sprang up, so that they were able to restore the garden, which had been destroyed, and also greatly to increase its size.

The discovery of some strong fibre enabled them to manufacture twine, which served not only for fishing-lines, but as they improved in the art of making it, they produced a fishing-net of fair size. With this they caught at times far more fish than they could consume, so they pickled the remainder with salt collected from the hollows of the rocks, and had consequently a supply during stormy weather.

Happily in one of the chests were a couple of books on navigation, and three or four others of an interesting character. By means of the first Ralph was able to give instruction to the midshipmen in the science so necessary to them in their professional career. He also made the model of a ship’s deck and rigging, which, while it afforded a source of amusement, gave them a more thorough knowledge than they possessed of seamanship, while the other books were read till nearly got by heart. Thus the youngsters’ time, which might otherwise have been utterly lost, was usefully employed.

Flagstaffs were erected on high points at the northern and southern sides of the island: and a board was nailed to the former, with a direction carved on it to their cove. They were constantly on the look-out; but months and months went by and not even a distant sail was seen, to give them hopes that deliverance was near. At length, even Ralph began to fear that they were doomed to a life-long imprisonment on that unknown islet.