A Jolly Fellowship

F >> Frank R. Stockton >> A Jolly Fellowship

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"We'll see a sail in the morning," said he; "make up your minds to that.
All we've got to do is to stick together on the raft, and we're almost
sure to be picked up."

I think he said things like this to give courage to us three, but I
don't believe we needed it, particularly. Rectus was very quiet, but I
think that if he could have kept himself dry he would have been pretty
well satisfied to float until daylight, for he had full faith in the
captain, and was sure we should be picked up. I was pretty much of the
same mind, but poor Corny was in a sad way. It was no comfort to her to
tell her that we should be picked up, unless she could be assured that
the same ship would pick up her father and mother. But we could say
nothing positive about this, of course, although we did all that we
could, in a general way, to make her feel that everything would turn out
all right. She sat wrapped up in her shawl, and seldom said a word. But
her eyes were wandering all over the waves, looking for a boat.

The ship was now quite a long way off, still burning, and lighting up
the tops of the waves and the sky. Just before day-break, her light
suddenly went out.

"She's gone down!" said the captain, and then he said no more for a long
time. I felt very sorry for him. Even if he should be saved, he had lost
his ship,--had seen it burn up and sink before his eyes. Such a thing
must be pretty hard on a captain. Even I felt as if I had lost a friend.
The old "Tigris" seemed so well known to us.

It was now more dismal than ever. It was darker; and although the
burning ship could do us no good, we were sorry to have her leave us.
Nobody said much, but we all began to feel pretty badly. Morning came
slowly, and we were wet and cold, and getting stiff. Besides, we were
all very thirsty, and I, for one, was hungry; but there was no good
reason for that, for it was not yet breakfast-time. Fortunately, after a
while, Corny went to sleep. We were very glad of it, though how she
managed to sleep while the raft was rising and falling and sliding and
sloshing from one wave to another, I can't tell. But she didn't have
much holding on to do. We did that for her.

At last daylight came, and then we began to look about in good earnest.
We saw a top-sail off on the horizon, but it was too far for our raft to
be seen from it, and it might be coming our way or it might not. When we
were down in the trough of the waves we could see nothing, and no one
could have seen us. It was of no use to put up a signal, the captain
said, until we saw a vessel near enough to see it.

We waited, and we waited, and waited, until it was well on in the
morning, and still we saw no other sail. The one we had seen had
disappeared entirely.

We all began to feel miserable now. We were weak and cold and wretched.
There wasn't a thing to eat or drink on the raft. The fire had given no
time to get anything. Some of the men began to grumble. It would have
been better, they said, to have started off as soon as they found out
the fire, and have had time to put something to eat and drink on the
raft. It was all wasted time to try to save the ship. It did no good,
after all. The captain said nothing to this. He knew that he had done
his duty in trying to put out the fire, and he just kept his mouth shut,
and looked out for a sail. There was one man with us--a red-faced,
yellow-haired man--with a curly beard, and little gold rings in his
ears. He looked more like a sailor than any other of the men, and Rectus
and I always put him down for the sailor who had been longer at sea, and
knew more about ships and sailing, than any other of the crew. But this
man was the worst grumbler of the lot, now, and we altered our opinion
about him.

Corny woke up every now and then, but she soon went to sleep again, when
she found there was no boat or sail in sight. At least, I thought she
went to sleep, but she might have been thinking and crying. She was so
crouched up that we could not see whether she was awake or not.

CHAPTER XX.

THE RUSSIAN BARK.

We soon began to think the captain was mistaken in saying there would be
lots of ships coming this way. But then, we couldn't see very far. Ships
may have passed within a few miles of us, without our knowing anything
about it. It was very different from being high up on a ship's deck, or
in her rigging. Sometimes, though, we seemed high enough up, when we got
on the top of a wave.

It was fully noon before we saw another sail. And when we saw this one
for the second or third time (for we only caught a glimpse of it every
now and then), a big man, who had been sitting on the edge of the raft,
and hardly ever saying a word, sung out:

"I believe that's a Russian bark."

And after he had had two or three more sights at her, he said:

"Yes, I know she is."

"That's so," said the captain; "and she's bearing down on us."

Now, how in the world they knew what sort of a ship that was, and which
way it was sailing, I couldn't tell for the life of me. To me it was a
little squarish spot on the lower edge of the sky, and I have always
thought that I could see well enough. But these sailors have eyes like
spy-glasses.

Now, then, we were all alive, and began to get ready to put up a signal.
Fortunately, the pole was on the raft,--I believe the captain had it
fastened on, thinking we might want it,--and now all we had to do was to
make a flag. We three got out our handkerchiefs, which were wet, but
white enough yet, and the captain took out his. We tied them together by
the corners, and made a long pennant of them. When we tied one end of
this to the pole, it made quite a show. The wind soon dried it, after
the pole was hoisted and held up, and then our flag fluttered finely.

The sun had now come out quite bright and warm, which was a good thing
for us, for it dried us off somewhat, and made us more comfortable. The
wind had also gone down a good deal. If it had not been for these two
things, I don't know how we could have stood it. But the waves were
still very high.

Every time we saw the ship, she seemed to look bigger and bigger, and we
knew that the captain was right, and that she was making for us. But she
was a long time coming. Even after she got so near that we could plainly
see her hull and masts and sails, she did not seem to be sailing
directly toward us. Indeed, sometimes I thought she didn't notice us.
She would go far off one way, and then off the other way.

"Oh, why don't she come right to us?" cried Corny, beating her hands on
her knees. "She isn't as near now as she was half an hour ago."

This was the first time that Corny had let herself out in this way, but
I don't wonder she did it. The captain explained that the ship couldn't
sail right to us, because the wind was not in the proper direction for
that. She had to tack. If she had been a steamer, the case would have
been different. We all sat and waited, and waved our flag.

She came nearer and nearer, and it was soon plain enough that she saw
us. The captain told us that it was all right now--all we had to do was
to keep up our courage, and we'd soon be on board the bark. But when the
men who were holding the pole let it down, he told them to put it up
again. He wanted to make sure they should see us.

At last, the bark came so near that we could see the people on board,
but still she went past us. This was the hardest to bear of all, for she
seemed so near. But when she tacked and came back, she sailed right down
to us. We could see her all the time now, whether we were up or down.

"She'll take us this time," said the captain.

I supposed that when the ship came near us she would stop and lower a
boat, but there seemed to be no intention of the kind. A group of men
stood in her bow, and I saw that one of them held a round life-preserver
in his hand,--it was one of the India-rubber kind, filled with air, and
to it a line was attached. When the ship was just opposite to us, this
man shouted something which I did not hear, and threw the
life-preserver. It fell close to the raft. I thought, indeed, it was
coming right into the midst of us. The red-faced man with the gold
ear-rings was nearest to it. He made a grab at it, and missed it. On
went the ship, and on went the life-preserver, skipping and dancing over
the waves. They let out lots of line, but still the life-preserver was
towed away.

A regular howl went up from our raft. I thought some of the men would
jump into the sea and swim after the ship, which was now rapidly leaving
us. We heard a shout from the vessel, but what it meant I did not know.
On she went, and on, as if she was never coming back.

"She'll come back," said the captain. "She'll tack again."

But it was hard to believe him. I don't know whether he believed
himself. Corny was wildly crying now, and Rectus was as white as a
sheet. No one seemed to have any hope or self-control except the
captain. Some of the men looked as if they did not care whether the ship
ever came back or not.

"The sea is too high," said one of them. "She'd swamp a boat, if she'd
put it out."

"Just you wait!" said the captain.

The bark sailed away so far that I shut my eyes. I could not look after
her any more. Then, as we rose on the top of a wave, I heard a rumble of
words among the men, and I looked out, and saw she was tacking. Before
long, she was sailing straight back to us, and the most dreadful moments
of my life were ended. I had really not believed that she would ever
return to us.

Again she came plowing along before us, the same group on her bow; again
the life-preserver was thrown, and this time the captain seized it.

In a moment the line was made fast to the raft. But there was no sudden
tug. The men on the bark knew better than that. They let out some two or
three hundred feet of line and lay to, with their sails fluttering in
the wind.

Then they began to haul us in. I don't remember much more of what
happened just about this time. It was all a daze of high black hull and
tossing waves, and men overhead, and ropes coming down, and seeing Corny
hauled up into the air. After a while, I was hauled up, and Rectus went
before me. I was told afterward that some of the stoutest men could
scarcely help themselves, they were so cramped and stiff, and had to be
hoisted on board like sheep.

I know that when I put my feet on the deck, my knees were so stiff that
I could not stand. Two women had Corny between them, and were carrying
her below. I was so delighted to see that there were women on board.
Rectus and I were carried below, too, and three or four rough looking
fellows, who didn't speak a word that we could understand, set to work
at us and took off our clothes, and rubbed us with warm stuff, and gave
us some hot tea and gruel, and I don't know what else, and put us into
hammocks, and stuffed blankets around us, and made me feel warmer, and
happier, and more grateful and sleepy than I thought it was in me to
feel. I expect Rectus felt the same. In about five minutes, I was fast
asleep.

I don't know how long it was before I woke up. When I opened my eyes, I
just lay and looked about me. I did not care for times and seasons. I
knew I was all right. I wondered when they would come around again with
gruel. I had an idea they lived on gruel in that ship, and I remembered
that it was very good. After a while, a man did come around, and he
looked into my hammock. I think from his cap that he was an
officer,--probably a doctor. When he saw that I was awake, he said
something to me. I had seen some Russian words in print, and the letters
all seemed upside down, or lying sideways on the page. And that was
about the way he spoke. But he went and got me a cup of tea, and some
soup, and some bread, and I understood his food very well.

After a while, our captain came around to my hammock. He looked a great
deal better than when I saw him last, and said he had had a good sleep.
He told me that Corny was all right, and was sleeping again, and that
the mate's wife had her in charge. Rectus was in a hammock near me, and
I could hear him snore, as if he were perfectly happy. The captain said
that these Russian people were just as kind as they could be; that the
master of the bark, who could speak English, had put his vessel under
his--our captain's--command, and told him to cruise around wherever he
chose in search of the two boats.

"And did you find them?" I asked.

"No," said he. "We have been on the search now for twenty-four hours,
and can see nothing of them. But I feel quite sure they have been picked
up. They could row, and they could get further into the course of
vessels than we were. We'll find them when we get ashore."

The captain was a hopeful man, but I could not feel as cheerfully as he
spoke. All that I could say was: "Poor Corny!"

He did not answer me, but went away; and soon, in spite of all my doubts
and fears, I fell asleep.

The next time I woke up, I got out of my hammock, and found I was pretty
much all right. My clothes had been dried and ironed, I reckon, and were
lying on a chest all ready for me. While Rectus and I were dressing, for
he got up at the same time that I did, our captain came to us, and
brought me a little package of greenbacks.

"The master of the bark gave me these," said the captain, "and said they
were pinned in your watch-pocket. He has had them dried and pressed out
for you."

There it was, all the money belonging to Rectus and myself, which,
according to old Mr. Colbert's advice, I had carefully pinned in the
watch-pocket of my trousers before leaving Nassau. I asked the captain
if we should not pay something for our accommodations on this vessel,
but he said we must not mention anything of the kind. The people on the
ship would not listen to it. Even our watches seemed to have suffered
no damage from the soaking they had had in our wet clothes.

As soon as we were ready, we went up on deck, and there we saw Corny.
She was sitting by herself near the stern, and looked like a different
kind of a girl from what she had been two or three days before. She
seemed several years older.

"Do you really think the other boats were picked up?" she said, the
moment she saw us.

Poor thing! She began to cry as soon as she began to speak. Of course,
we sat down and talked to her, and said everything we could think of to
reassure her. And in about half an hour she began to be much more
cheerful, and to look as if the world might have something satisfactory
in it after all.

Our captain and the master of the bark now came to us. The Russian
master was a pleasant man, and talked pretty good English. I think he
was glad to see us, but what we said in the way of thanks embarrassed
him a good deal. I suppose he had never done much at rescuing people.

He and our captain both told us that they felt quite sure that the boats
had either reached the Florida coast or been picked up; for we had
cruised very thoroughly over the course they must have taken. We were a
little north of Cape Canaveral when the "Tigris" took fire.

About sundown that day, we reached the mouth of the Savannah river and
went on board a tug to go up to the city, while our bark would proceed
on her voyage. There were fourteen grateful people who went down the
side of that Russian bark to the little tug that we had signalled; and
some of us, I know, were sorry we could not speak Russian, so we could
tell our rescuers more plainly what we thought of them.

When we reached Savannah, we went directly to the hotel where Rectus and
I had stopped on our former visit, and there we found ourselves the
objects of great attention,--I don't mean we three particularly, but the
captain and all of us. We brought the news of the burning of the
"Tigris," and so we immediately knew that nothing had been heard of the
two boats. Corny was taken in charge by some of the ladies in the hotel,
and Rectus and I told the story of the burning and the raft twenty or
thirty times. The news created a great sensation, and was telegraphed to
all parts of the country. The United States government sent a revenue
cutter from Charleston, and one from St. Augustine, to cruise along the
coast, and endeavor to find some traces of the survivors, if there were
any.

But two days passed and no news came. We thought Corny would go crazy.

"I know they're dead," she said. "If they were alive, anywhere, we'd
hear from them."

But we would not admit that, and tried, in every way, to prove that the
people in the boats might have landed somewhere where they could not
communicate with us, or might have been picked up by a vessel which had
carried them to South America, or Europe, or some other distant place.

"Well, why don't we go look for them, then, if there's any chance of
their being on some desert island? It's dreadful to sit here and wait,
and wait, and do nothing."

Now I began to see the good of being rich. Rectus came to me, soon after
Corny had been talking about going to look for her father and mother,
and he said:

"Look here, Will,"--he had begun to call me "Will," of late, probably
because Corny called me so,--"I think it _is_ too bad that we should
just sit here and do nothing. I spoke to Mr. Parker about it, and he
says, we can get a tug-boat, he thinks, and go out and do what looking
we can. If it eases our minds, he says, there's no objection to it. So
I'm going to telegraph to father to let me hire a tug-boat."

I thought this was a first-class idea, and we went to see Messrs. Parker
and Darrell, who were merchants in the city, and the owners of the
"Tigris." They had been very kind to us, and told us now that they did
not suppose it would do any real good for us to go out in a tug-boat and
search along the coast, but that if we thought it would help the poor
girl to bear her trouble they were in favor of the plan. They were
really afraid she would lose her reason if she did not do something.

Corny was now staying at Mr. Darrell's house. His wife, who was a
tip-top lady, insisted that she should come there. When we went around
to talk to Corny about making a search, she said that that was exactly
what she wanted to do. If we would take her out to look for her father
and mother, and we couldn't find them after we had looked all we could,
she would come back, and ask nothing more.

Then we determined to go. We hadn't thought of taking Corny along, but
Mr. Darrell and the others thought it would be best; and Mrs. Darrell
said her own colored woman, named Celia, should go with her, and take
care of her. I could not do anything but agree to things, but Rectus
telegraphed to his father, and got authority to hire a tug; and Mr.
Parker attended to the business himself; and the tug was to be ready
early the next morning. We thought this was a long time to wait. But it
couldn't be helped.

I forgot to say that Rectus and I had telegraphed home to our parents as
soon as we reached Savannah, and had answers back, which were very long
ones for telegrams. We had also written home. But we did not say
anything to Corny about all this. It would have broken her heart if she
had thought about any one writing to his father and mother, and hearing
from them.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE TRIP OF THE TUG.

The tug-boat was a little thing, and not very clean; but she was strong
and sea-worthy, we were told, and therefore we were satisfied. There was
a small deck aft, on which Corny and Rectus and I sat, with Celia, the
colored woman; and there were some dingy little sleeping-places, which
were given up for our benefit. The captain of the tug was a white man,
but all the rest, engineer, fireman and hands--there were five or six in
all--were negroes.

We steamed down the Savannah River in pretty good style, but I was glad
when we got out of it, for I was tired of that river. Our plan was to go
down the coast and try to find tidings of the boats. They might have
reached land at points where the revenue cutters would never have heard
from them. When we got out to sea, the water was quite smooth, although
there was a swell that rolled us a great deal. The captain said that if
it had been rough he would not have come out at all. This sounded rather
badly for us, because he might give up the search, if a little storm
came on. And besides, if he was afraid of high waves in his tug, what
chance could those boats have had?

Toward noon, we got into water that was quite smooth, and we could see
land on the ocean side of us. I couldn't understand this, and went to
ask the captain about it. He said it was all right, we were going to
take the inside passage, which is formed by the islands that lie along
nearly all the coast of Georgia. The strips of sea-water between these
islands and the mainland make a smooth and convenient passage for the
smaller vessels that sail or steam along this coast. Indeed, some quite
good-sized steamers go this way, he said.

I objected, pretty strongly, to our taking this passage, because, I
said, we could never hear anything of the boats while we were in here.
But he was positive that if they had managed to land on the outside of
any of these islands, we could hear of them better from the inside than
from the ocean side. And besides, we could get along a great deal better
inside. He seemed to think more of that than anything else.

We had a pretty dull time on that tug. There wasn't a great deal of
talking, but there was lots of thinking, and not a very pleasant kind of
thinking either. We stopped quite often and hailed small boats, and the
captain talked to people whenever he had a chance, but he never heard
anything about any boats having run ashore on any of the islands, or
having come into the inside passage, between any of them. We met a few
sailing vessels, and toward the close of the afternoon we met a big
steamer, something like northern river steamers. The captain said she
ran between the St. John's River and Savannah, and always took the
inside passage as far as she could. He said this as if it showed him to
be in the right in taking the same passage, but I couldn't see that it
proved anything. We were on a different business.

About nine o'clock we went to bed, the captain promising to call us if
anything turned up. But I couldn't sleep well--my bunk was too close and
hot, and so I pretty soon got up and went up to the pilot-house, where I
found the captain. He and one of the hands were hard at work putting the
boat around.

"Hello!" said he. "I thought you were sound asleep."

"Hello!" said I. "What are you turning round for?"

It was bright starlight, and I could see that we were making a complete
circuit in the smooth water.

"Well," said he, "we're going back."

"Back!" I cried. "What's the meaning of that? We haven't made half a
search. I don't believe we've gone a hundred miles. We want to search
the whole coast, I tell you, to the lower end of Florida."

"You can't do it in this boat," he said; "she's too small."

"Why didn't you say so when we took her?"

"Well, there wasn't any other, in the first place, and besides, it
wouldn't be no good to go no further. It's more 'n four days, now, since
them boats set out. There's no chance fur anybody on 'em to be livin'."

"That's not for you to decide," I said, and I was very angry. "We want
to find our friends, dead or alive, or find some news of them, and we
want to cruise until we know there's no further chance of doing so."

"Well," said he, ringing the bell to go ahead, sharp, "I'm not decidin'
anything. I had my orders. I was to be gone twenty-four hours; an' it'll
be more 'n that by the time I get back."

"Who gave you those orders?"

"Parker and Darrell," said he.

"Then this is all a swindle," I cried. "And we've been cheated into
taking this trip for nothing at all!"

"No, it isn't a swindle," he answered, rather warmly. "They told me all
about it. They knew, an' I knew, that it wasn't no use to go looking for
two boats that had been lowered in a big storm four days ago, 'way down
on the Florida coast. But they could see that this here girl would never
give in till she'd had a chance of doin' what she thought she was called
on to do, and so they agreed to give it to her. But they told me on no
account to keep her out more 'n twenty-four hours. That would be long
enough to satisfy her, and longer than that wouldn't be right. I tell
you they know what they're about."

"Well, it wont be enough to satisfy her," I said, and then I went down
to the little deck. I couldn't make the man turn back. I thought the tug
had been hired to go wherever we chose to take her, but I had been
mistaken. I felt that we had been deceived; but there was no use in
saying anything more on the subject until we reached the city.

I did not wake Rectus to tell him the news. It would not do any good,
and I was afraid Corny might hear us. I wanted her to sleep as long as
she could, and, indeed, I dreaded the moment when she should awake, and
find that all had been given up.

We steamed along very fast now. There was no stopping anywhere. I sat on
the deck and thought a little, and dozed a little; and by the time it
was morning, I found we were in the Savannah River. I now hated this
river worse than ever.

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