The Red Eric by R. M. Ballantyne (web ebook reader txt) 📕

in the stern-sheets of the boat, and taking the tiller; “I had no idea I could have come to like such a barren bit of sand so well.”

There was a long pause after this remark. Every eye in the boat was turned with a sad expression on the bright-yellow sandbank as they rowed away, and the men dipped their oars lightly into the calm waters, as if they were loth to leave their late home.

Any spot of earth that has been for some time the theatre of heart-stirring events, such as rouse men’s strong emotions, and on which happy and hopeful as well as wretched days have been spent, will so entwine itself with the affections of men that they will cling to it and love it, more or less powerfully, no matter how barren may be the spot or how dreary its general aspect. The sandbank had been the cause, no doubt, of the wreck of the Red Eric, but it had also been the means, under God, of saving the crew and affording them shelter during many succeeding weeks—weeks of deep anxiety, but also of healthful, hopeful, energetic toil, in which, if there were many things to create annoyance or fear, there had also been not a few things to cause thankfulness, delight, and amusement.

Unknown to themselves, these rough sailors and the tender child had become attached to the spot, and it was only now that they were about to leave it for ever that they became aware of the fact. The circumscribed and limited range on which their thoughts and vision had been bent for the last few weeks, had rendered each individual as familiar with every inch of the bank as if he had dwelt there for years.

Ailie gazed at the low rocks that overhung the crystal pool in Fairyland, until the blinding tears filled her eyes, and she felt all the deep regret that is experienced by the little child when it is forcibly torn from an old and favourite toy—regret that is not in the least degree mitigated by the fact that the said toy is but a sorry affair, a doll, perchance, with a smashed head, eyes thrust out, and nose flattened on its face or rubbed away altogether—it matters not; the long and happy hours and days spent in the companionship of that battered little mass of wood or wax rush on the infant memory like a dear delightful dream, and it weeps on separation as if its heart would break.

Each man in the boat’s crew experienced more or less of the same feeling, and commented, according to his nature, either silently or audibly, on each familiar object as he gazed upon it for the last time.

“There’s the spot where we built the hut when we first landed, Ailie,” said Glynn, who pulled the aft oar; “d’ye see it?—just coming into view; look! There it will be shut out again in a moment by the rock beside the coral-pool.”

“I see it!” exclaimed Ailie eagerly, as she brushed away the tears from her eyes.

“There’s the rock, too, where we used to make our fire,” said the captain, pointing it out. “It doesn’t look like itself from this point of view.”

“Ah!” sighed Phil Briant, “an’ it wos at the fut o’ that, too, where we used to bile the kittle night an’ mornin’. Sure it’s many a swait bit and pipe I had beside ye.”

“Is that a bit o’ the wreck?” inquired Tim Rokens, pointing to the low rocky point with the eagerness of a man who had made an unexpected discovery.

“No,” replied Mr Millons, shading his eyes with his hands, and gazing at the object in question, “it’s himpossible. I searched every bit o’ the bank for a plank before we came hoff, an’ couldn’t find a morsel as big as my ’and. W’at say you, doctor?”

“I think with you,” answered Dr Hopley; “but here’s the telescope, which will soon settle the question.”

While the doctor adjusted the glass, Rokens muttered that “He wos sure it wos a bit o’ the wreck,” and that “there wos a bit o’ rock as nobody couldn’t easy git a t’other side of to look, and that that wos it, and the bit of wreck was there,” and much to the same effect.

“So it is,” exclaimed the doctor.

“Lay on your oars, lads, a moment,” said the captain, taking the glass and applying it to his eye.

The men obeyed gladly, for they experienced an unaccountable disinclination to row away from the island. Perhaps the feeling was caused in part by the idea that when they took their last look at it, it might possibly be their last sight of land.

“It’s a small piece of the foretopmast crosstrees,” observed the captain, shutting up the telescope and resuming his seat.

“Shall we go back an’ pick it up, sir?” asked Dick Barnes gravely, giving vent to the desires of his heart, without perceiving at the moment the absurdity of the question.

“Why, what would you do with it, Dick?” replied the captain, smiling.

“Sure, ye couldn’t ait it!” interposed Briant; “but afther all, there’s no sayin’. Maybe Nikel Sling could make a tasty dish out of it stewed in oakum and tar.”

“It wouldn’t be purlite to take such a tit-bit from the mermaids,” observed Gurney, as the oars were once more dipped reluctantly, in the water.

The men smiled at the jest, for in the monotony of sea life every species of pleasantry, however poor, is swallowed with greater or less avidity; but the smile did not last long. They were in no jesting humour at that time, and no one replied to the passing joke.

Soon after this a soft gentle breeze sprang up. It came direct from Fairyland, as if the mermaids referred to by Gurney had been touched by the kindly feelings harboured in the sailors’ bosoms towards their islet, and had wafted towards them a last farewell. The oars were shipped immediately and the sails hoisted, and, to the satisfaction of all on board, the Maid of the Isle gave indications of being a swift sailer, for, although the puff of wind was scarcely sufficient to ruffle the glassy surface of the sea, she glided through the water under its influence a good deal faster than she had done with the oars.

“That’s good!” remarked the captain, watching the ripples as they passed astern; “with fair winds, and not too much of ’em, we shall get on bravely; so cheer up, my lassie,” he added, patting Ailie on the head, “and let us begin our voyage in good spirits, and with hopeful, trusting hearts.”

“Look at Fairyland,” said Ailie, clasping her father’s hand, and pointing towards the horizon.

At the moment she spoke, an opening in the great white clouds let a ray of light fall on the sandbank, which had now passed almost beyond the range of vision. The effect was to illumine its yellow shore and cause it to shine out for a few seconds like a golden speck on the horizon. No one had ceased to gaze at it from the time the boat put forth; but this sudden change caused every one to start up, and fix their eyes on it with renewed interest and intensity. “Shall we ever see land again?” passed, in one form or another, through the minds of all. The clouds swept slowly on the golden point melted away, and the shipwrecked mariners felt that their little boat was now all the world to them in the midst of that mighty world of waters.