“See, my child,” said Mr Seagrave, “the wreck and devastation which are here. See how the pride of man is humbled before the elements of the great Jehovah.”

  “Ay, Master Willy,” said old Ready, “look around you, as you well may. Do you remember the verses in the Bible? — if not, I remember them well, for I have often read them, and have often felt the truth of them: ‘They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters, these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.’”

  “But, father,” said Willy, after a pause, “how shall we ever get to Sydney without masts or sails?”

  “Why, William,” replied Ready, “we must do what we can: we sailors are never much at a loss, and I dare say before night you will find us under some sort of sail again. We have lost our great masts, so we must put up jury-masts, as we call them; that is, little ones, and little sails upon them; and, if it pleases God, we shall see Sydney yet. How is Madam, sir?” continued Ready to Mr Seagrave. “Is she better?”

  “I fear she is very weak and ill,” replied Mr Seagrave; “nothing but fine weather will do her any good. Do you think that it will be fine now?”

  “Why, sir, to tell you the truth, I fear we shall have more of it yet: I have not given my thoughts to the captain, as I might be mistaken; but still I think so — I’ve not been fifty years at sea without learning something. I don’t like the gathering of that bank there, Mr Seagrave, and I shouldn’t wonder if it were to blow again from the very same quarter, and that before dark.”

  “God’s will be done,” replied Mr Seagrave, “but I am very fearful about my poor wife, who is worn to a shadow.”

  “I shouldn’t think so much about that, sir, as I really never knew of people dying that way, although they suffer much. William, do you know that we have lost some of our men since you were down below?”

  “No — I heard the steward say something outside about the foremast.”

  “We have lost five of our smartest and best men — Wilson was washed overboard, Fennings and Masters struck dead with the lightning, and Jones and Emery crushed by the fall of the foremast. You are young, Master Willy, but you cannot think too early of your Maker, or call to mind what they say in the burial service,— ‘In the midst of life we are in death.’”

  “Thank you, Ready, for the lesson you have given my son,” said Mr Seagrave; “and, William, treasure it up in your memory.”

  “Yes, William, they are the words of an old man who has seen many and many a one who was full of youth and spirits called away before him, and who is grateful to God that he has been pleased to preserve his life, and allow him to amend his ways.”

  “I have been thinking,” said Mr Seagrave, after a silence of a minute or two, “that a sailor has no right to marry.”

  “I’ve always thought so, sir,” replied Ready; “and I dare say many a poor deserted sailor’s wife, when she has listened to the wind and rain in her lonely bed, has thought the same.”

  “With my permission,” continued Mr Seagrave, “my boys shall never go to sea if there is any other profession to be found for them.”

  “Well, Mr Seagrave, they do say that it’s no use baulking a lad if he wishes to go to sea, and that if he is determined, he must go: now I think otherwise — I think a parent has a right to say no, if he pleases, upon that point; for you see, sir, a lad, at the early age at which he goes to sea, does not know his own mind. Every high-spirited boy wishes to go to sea — it’s quite natural; but if the most of them were to speak the truth, it is not that they so much want to go to sea, as that they want to go from school or from home, where they are under the control of their masters or their parents.”

  “Very true, Ready; they wish to be, as they consider they will be, independent.”

  “And a pretty mistake they make of it, sir. Why, there is not a greater slave in the world than a boy who goes to sea, for the first few years after his shipping: for once they are corrected on shore, they are punished ten times at sea, and they never again meet with the love and affection they have left behind them. It is a hard life, and there have been but few who have not bitterly repented it, and who would not have returned, like the prodigal son, and cast themselves at their fathers’ feet, only that they have been ashamed.”

  “That’s the truth, Ready, and it is on that account that I consider that a parent is justified in refusing his consent to his son going to sea, if he can properly provide for him in any other profession. There never will be any want of sailors, for there always will be plenty of poor lads whose friends can do no better for them; and in that case the seafaring life is a good one to choose, as it requires no other capital for their advancement than activity and courage.”

  Chapter Six.

  Mr Seagrave and William went down below into the cabin, where they found that there was plenty of employment; the steward had brought a basin of very hot pea-soup for the children. Tommy, who was sitting up in the bed-place with his sister, had snatched it out of Juno’s left hand, for she held the baby with the other, and in so doing, had thrown it over Caroline, who was screaming, while Juno, in her hurry to assist Caroline, had slipped down on the deck with the baby, who was also crying with fright, although not hurt. Unfortunately, Juno had fallen down upon Vixen the terrier, who in return had bitten her in the leg, which had made Juno also cry out; while Mrs Seagrave was hanging her head out of her standing bed-place, frightened out of her wits at the accident, but unable to be of any assistance. Fortunately, Mr Seagrave came down just in time to pick up Juno and the baby, and then tried to comfort little Caroline, who after all was not much scalded, as the soup had had time to cool.

  “Massa Tommy is a very naughty boy,” cried Juno, rubbing her leg. Master Tommy thought it better to say nothing — he was duly admonished — the steward cleaned up the mess, and order was at length restored.

  In the meantime, they were not idle upon deck; the carpenter was busy fixing a step for one of the spare topmasts instead of a mainmast, and the men were fitting the rigging; the ship unfortunately had sprung a leak, and four hands at the pumps interfered very much with their task. As Ready had prophesied, before night the gale blew, the sea rose again with the gale, and the leaking of the vessel increased so much, that all other labour was suspended for that at the pump. For two more days did the storm continue, during which time the crew were worn out with fatigue — they could pump no longer: the ship, as she rolled, proved that she had a great deal of water in her hold — when, melancholy as were their prospects already, a new disaster took place, which was attended with most serious results. Captain Osborn was on the forecastle giving some orders to the men, when the strap of the block which hoisted up the main-topgallant yard on the stump of the foremast gave way, the yard and sail came down on the deck, and struck him senseless. As long as Captain Osborn commanded them, the sailors had so high an opinion of his abilities as a seaman, and were so encouraged by his cheerful disposition, that they performed their work well and cheerfully; but now that he was, if not killed, at all events senseless and incapable of action, they no longer felt themselves under control. Mackintosh was too much disliked by the seamen to allow his words to have any weight with them. They were regardless of his injunctions or requests, and they now consulted among themselves.

  “The gale is broke, my men, and we shall have fine weather now,” observed Ready, going up to the sailors on the forecastle. “The wind is going down fast.”

  “Yes,” replied one of the men, “and the ship is going down fast, that’s quite as certain.”

  “A good spell at the pumps would do us some good now,” replied Ready. “What d’ye say, my lads?”

  “A glass of grog or two would do us more,” replied the seaman. “What d’ye say, my boys? I don’t think that the captain would refuse us, poor fellow, if he could speak.”

  “What do you mean to do, my lads?” inquired Mackintosh: “not get drunk, I hope?”

  “Why not?” observed another of the men; “the ship must go down soon.”

  “Perhaps she may — I will not deny it,” said Mackintosh; “but that is no reason why we should not be saved: now, if you get drunk, there is no chance of any one being saved, and my life is precious to me. I’m ready to join with you in anything you please, and you may decide what is to be done; but get drunk you shall not, if I can help it, that’s certain.”

  “And how can you help it?” replied one of the seamen, surlily.

  “Because two resolute men can do a great deal — I may say three, for in this instance Ready will be of my side, and I can call to my assistance the cabin passenger — recollect the firearms are all in the cabin. But why should we quarrel? — Say at once what you intend to do; and if you have not made up your minds, will you listen to what I propose?”

  As Mackintosh’s courage and determination were well known, the seamen again consulted together, and then asked him what he proposed.

  “We have one good boat left, the new yawl at the booms: the others, as you know, are washed away, with the exception of the little boat astern, which is useless, as she is knocked almost to pieces. Now we cannot be very far from some of the islands, indeed I think we are among them now. Let us fit out the boat with everything we require, go about our work steadily and quietly, drink as much grog as will not hurt us, and take a good provision of it with us. The boat is complete with her masts, sails, and oars; and it’s very hard if we do not save ourselves somewhere. Ready, do I give good advice or not?”

  “You give very good advice, Mackintosh — only what is to become of the cabin passengers, the women, and children? and are you going to leave poor Captain Osborn? or what do you mean to do?”

  “We won’t leave the captain,” said one of the seamen.

  “No — no!” exclaimed the others.

  “And the passengers?”

  “Very sorry for them,” replied the former spokesman; “but we shall have enough to do to save our own lives.”

  “Well, my lads, I agree with you,” said Mackintosh. “Charity begins at home. What do you say? — shall it be so?”

  “Yes,” replied the seamen, unanimously; and Ready knew that it was in vain to expostulate. They now set about preparing the boat, and providing for their wants. Biscuits, salt pork, two or three small casks of water, and a barrel of rum were collected at the gangway; Mackintosh brought up his quadrant and a compass, some muskets, powder and shot; the carpenter, with the assistance of another man, cut away the ship’s bulwarks down to the gunnel, so as to enable them to launch the boat overboard, for they could not, of course, hoist her out now that the masts were gone. In an hour everything was prepared. A long rope was made fast to the boat, which was brought to the gunnel ready for launching overboard, and the ship’s broadside was brought to the wind. As this was done, Mr Seagrave came on deck and looked around him.

  He perceived the boat ready for launching, the provisions and water at the gangway, the ship brought to the wind, and rolling slowly to the heave of the sea; at last he saw Ready sitting down by Captain Osborn, who was apparently dead. “What is all this, Ready?” inquired Seagrave. “Are they going to leave the ship? have they killed Captain Osborn?”

  “No, sir, — not quite so bad as that. Poor Captain Osborn was struck down by the fall of the yard, and has been insensible ever since; but, as to the other matter, I fear that is decided: you see they are launching the boat.”

  “But my poor wife, she will never be able to go — she cannot move — she is so ill!”

  “I’m afraid, Mr Seagrave, that they have no idea of taking either you, or your wife, or your children, with them.”

  “What! leave us here to perish! Merciful Heaven! how cruel — how barbarous!”

  “It is not kind, Mr Seagrave, but still you see it is the law of nature. When it is a question of life, it is every one for himself, for life is sweet: they are not more unkind than they would be to each other, if there were too many for the boat to hold. I’ve seen all this before in my time,” replied Ready, gravely.

  “My wife! my children!” cried Mr Seagrave, covering his face with his hands. “But I will speak to them,” continued he after a pause; “surely they will listen to the dictates of humanity; at all events Mr Mackintosh will have some power over them. Don’t you think so, Ready?”

  “Well, Mr Seagrave, if I must speak, I confess to you that there is not a harder heart among them than that of Mr Mackintosh, and it’s useless speaking to him or any one of them; and you must not be too severe upon them neither: the boat is small, and could not hold more people with the provisions which they take with them — that is the fact. If they were to take you and your family into the boat, it might be the cause of all perishing together; if I thought otherwise I would try what I could do to persuade them, but it is useless.”

  “What must be done, then, Ready?”

  “We must put our trust in a merciful God, Mr Seagrave, who will dispose of us as he thinks fit.”

  “We must? What! do not you go with them?”

  “No, Mr Seagrave. I have been thinking about it this last hour, and I have made up my mind to remain with you. They intend to take poor Captain Osborn with them, and give him a chance, and have offered to take me; but I shall stay here.”

  “To perish?” replied Mr Seagrave, with surprise.

  “As God pleases, Mr Seagrave. I am an old man, and it is of little consequence. I care little whether I am taken away a year or two sooner, but I do not like to see blossoms cut off in early spring: I may be of use if I remain, for I’ve an old head upon my shoulders, and I could not leave you all to perish when you might be saved if you only knew how to act. But here the seamen come — the boat is all ready, and they will now take poor Captain Osborn with them.”

  The sailors came aft, and lifted up the still insensible captain. As they were going away one of them said, “Come, Ready, there’s no time to lose.”

  “Never mind me, Williams; I shall stick to the ship,” replied Ready. “I wish you success with all my heart; and, Mr Mackintosh, I have but one promise to exact from you, and I hope you will not refuse me: which is, that if you are saved, you will not forget those you leave here on board, and take measures for their being searched for among the islands.”

  “Nonsense, Ready! come into the boat,” replied the first mate.

  “I shall stay here, Mr Mackintosh; and I only beg that you will promise me what I ask. Acquaint Mr Seagrave’s friends with what has happened, and where it is most likely we may be found, if it please God to save us. Do you promise me that?”

  “Yes, I do, if you are determined to stay; but,” continued he, going up to Ready, and whispering to him, “it is madness: — come away, man!”

  “Good-bye, Mr Mackintosh,” replied Ready, extending his hand. “You will keep your promise?”

  After much further expostulation on the part of Mackintosh and the seamen, to which Ready gave a deaf ear, the boat was pushed off, and they made sail to the north-east.

  Chapter Seven.

  For some time after the boat had shoved off from the ship, old Ready remained with his arms folded, watching it in silence. Mr Seagrave stood by him; his heart was too full for utterance, for he imagined that as the boat increased her distance from the vessel, so did every ray of hope depart, and that his wife and children, himself, and the old man who was by his side were doomed to perish. His countenance was that of a man in utter despair. At last old Ready spoke.

  “They think that they will be saved and that we must perish, Mr Seagrave; they forget that there is a Power above, who will himself decide that point — a power compared to which the efforts of weak man are as nought.”

  “True,” replied Mr Seagrave, in a low voice; “but still what chance we can have on a sinking ship, with so many helpless creatures around us, I confess I cannot imagine.”

  “We must do our best, and submit to His will,” replied Ready, who then went aft, and shifted the helm, so as to put the ship again before the wind.

  As the old man had foretold to the seamen before they quitted the vessel, the gale was now over, and the sea had gone down considerably. The ship, however, dragged but slowly through the water, and after a short time Ready lashed the wheel, and went forward. On his return to the quarter-deck, he found Mr Seagrave had thrown himself down (apparently in a state of despair) upon the sail on which Captain Osborn had been laid after his accident.

  “Mr Seagrave, do not give way,” said Ready; “if I thought our situation hopeless, I would candidly say so; but there always is hope, even at the very worst, — and there always ought to be trust in that God without whose knowledge not a sparrow falls to the ground. But, Mr Seagrave, I shall speak as a seaman, and tell you what our probabilities are. The ship is half-full of water, from her seams having opened by the straining in the gale, and the heavy blows which she received; but, now that the gale has abated, she has recovered herself very much. I have sounded the well, and find that she has not made many inches within the last two hours, and probably, as she closes her seams, will make less. If, therefore, it pleases God that the fine weather should continue, there is no fear of the vessel sinking under us for some time; and as we are now amongst the islands, it is not impossible, nay, it is very probable, that we may be able to run her ashore, and thus save our lives. I thought of all this when I refused to go in the boat, and I thought also, Mr Seagrave, that if you were to have been deserted by me as well as by all the rest, you would have been unable yourself to take advantage of any chances which might turn up in your favour, and therefore I have remained, hoping, under God’s providence, to be the means of assisting you and your family in this sore position. I think now it would be better that you should go down into the cabin, and with a cheerful face encourage poor Mrs Seagrave with the change in the weather, and the hopes of arriving in some place of safety. If she does not know that the men have quitted the ship, do not tell her; say that the steward is with the other men, which will be true enough, and, if possible, leave her in the dark as to what has taken place. Master William can be trusted, and if you will send him here to me, I will talk to him.”