Jarwin and Cuffy by R. M. Ballantyne (digital ebook reader txt) đź“•
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- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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Just then the sail flapped.
“Hallo! Cuff,” exclaimed Jarwin, with a look of anxiety, “the wind’s going to shift.”
This was true. The wind did shift, and in a few minutes had veered so much round that the raft was carried away from the blue line on the horizon, which Jarwin had so fondly hoped would turn out to be an inhabited island. It blew lightly, however, and when the sun went down, had completely died away. In these circumstances Jarwin and his dog supped together, and then lay down to rest, full of sanguine hope.
They were awakened during the night by a violent squall, which, however, did no further damage than wash a little spray over them, for Jarwin had taken the precaution to lower and make fast the sail. He now turned his attention to preparing the raft for rough weather. This consisted in simply drawing over the hollow—in which he, his dog, and his provisions lay—a piece of canvas that he had cut off the sail, which was unnecessarily large. It served as a tarpaulin, and effectually shielded them from ordinary sprays, but when the breeze freshened to a gale, and green seas swept over the raft, it leaked so badly, that Jarwin’s cabin became a salt-water bath, and his provisions by degrees were soaked.
At first he did not mind this much, for the air and water were sufficiently warm, but after being wet for several hours he began feel chilled. As for poor Cuffy, his trembling body bore testimony to the state of his feelings; nevertheless he did not complain, being a dog of high spirit and endurance. In these circumstances the seaman hailed the rising sun with great joy, even although it rose in the midst of lurid murky clouds, and very soon hid its face altogether behind them, as if it had made up its mind that the state of things below was so bad as to be not worth shining upon.
All that day and night the gale continued, and they were driven before it. The waves rushed so continuously and furiously over the raft, that it was with the utmost difficulty Jarwin could retain his position on it. Indeed it would have been impossible for him to have done so, if he had not taken the precaution of making the hollow in the centre, into which he could crouch, and thus avoid the full force of the seas. Next day the wind abated a little, but the sea still rolled “mountains high.” In order to break their force a little, he ventured to show a little corner of the sail. Small though it was, it almost carried away the slender mast, and drove the raft along at a wonderfully rapid rate.
At last the gale went down, and, finally, it became a dead calm, leaving the raft like a cork heaving on the mighty swell of the Pacific Ocean. Weary and worn—almost dead with watching and exposure—John Jarwin lay down and slept, but his slumber was uneasy and unrefreshing. Sunrise awoke him, and he sat up with a feeling of deep thankfulness, as he basked once more in its warm rays and observed that the sky above him was bright blue. But other feelings mingled with these when he gazed round on the wide waste of water, which still heaved its swelling though now unruffled breast, as if panting after its recent burst of fury.
“Ho! Cuffy—what’s that? Not a sail, eh?” exclaimed Jarwin, suddenly starting up, while his languid eyes kindled with excitement.
He was right. After a long, earnest, anxious gaze, he came to the conclusion that it was a sail which shone, white and conspicuous, like a speck or a snow-flake on the horizon.
Immediately on discovering the sail, Jarwin hoisted a small canvas flag, which he had prepared for the purpose, to the mast-head, and then sat down to watch with indescribable earnestness the motions of the vessel. There was great cause for anxiety he well knew, because his raft was a mere speck on the great waste of waters which might easily be overlooked even by a vessel passing at a comparatively short distance, and if the vessel’s course should happen to lie across that of the raft, there was every probability she would only be visible for a short time and then pass away like a ray of hope dying out.
After gazing in perfect silence for half-an-hour, Jarwin heaved a deep sigh and said—
“She steers this way, Cuffy.”
Cuffy acknowledged the remark with a little whine and a very slight wag of his tail. It was evident that his spirits had sunk to a low ebb, and that he was not prepared to derive comfort from every trifling circumstance.
“Come, we’ll have a bit of summat to eat, my doggie,” said the sailor, reaching forward his hand to the provision bundle.
Thoroughly understanding and appreciating this remark, Cuffy roused himself and looked on with profound interest, while his master cut up a dried fish. Having received a large share of it, he forgot everything else, and devoted all his powers, physical and mental, to the business in hand. Although Jarwin also applied himself to the food with the devotion of a man whose appetite is sharp, and whose strength needs recruiting, he was very far indeed from forgetting other things. He kept his eyes the whole time on the approaching sail, and once or twice became so absorbed and so anxious lest the vessel should change her course, that he remained with his mouth half open, and with the unconsumed morsel reposing therein for a minute or more at a time.
But the vessel did not change her course. On she came; a fine large schooner with raking masts, and so trim and neat in her rig that she resembled a pleasure-yacht. As she drew near, Jarwin rose, and holding on to the mast, waved a piece of canvas, while Cuffy, who felt that there was now really good ground for rejoicing, wagged his tail and barked in an imbecile fashion, as if he didn’t exactly know whether to laugh or cry.
“We’re all safe now, doggie,” exclaimed Jarwin, as the schooner came cutting through the water before a light breeze, leaving a slight track of foam in her wake.
When within about two or three hundred yards of the raft, the castaway could see that a figure leant on the vessel’s side and brought a telescope to bear on him. With a feeling of irrepressible gladness he laughed and waved his hand.
“Ay, ay, take a good squint,” he shouted, “an’ then lower a boat—eh!—”
He stopped abruptly, for at that moment the figure turned towards the steersman; the schooner’s head fell away, presenting her stern to the raft, and began to leave her behind.
The truth flashed upon Jarwin like a thunderbolt. It was clear that the commander of the strange vessel had no intention of relieving him. In the first burst of mingled despair and indignation, the seaman uttered a bass roar of defiance that might have done credit to the lungs of a small carronade, and at the same time shook his fist at the retiring schooner.
The effect of this was as sudden as it was unexpected. To his surprise he observed that the schooner’s head was immediately thrown up into the wind, and all her sails shook for a few moments, then, filling out again, the vessel bent gracefully over on the other tack. With returning joy the castaway saw her run straight towards him. In a few minutes she was alongside, and her topsails were backed.
“Look out! catch hold!” cried a gruff voice, as a sailor sent a coil of rope whirling over the raft. Jarwin caught it, took a turn round the mast, and held on.
In a minute the raft was alongside. Weak though he was, Jarwin retained enough of his sailor-like activity to enable him to seize a rope and swing himself on board with Cuffy in his arms.
He found himself on the pure white deck of a craft which was so well appointed and so well kept, that his first impressions were revived—namely, that she was a pleasure-yacht. He knew that she was not a vessel of war, because, besides the absence of many little things that mark such a vessel, the few men on deck were not clothed like man-of-war’s-men, and there was no sign of guns, with the exception of one little brass carronade, which was probably used as a signal-gun.
A tall stout man, in plain costume, which was neither quite that of a seaman nor a landsman, stood with his arms crossed on his broad chest near the man at the wheel. To him, judging him to be the captain or owner of the vessel, Jarwin went up, and, pulling his forelock by way of salutation, said—
“Why, sir, I thought ’ee was a-goin’ to leave me!”
“So I was,” answered the captain, drily. “Hold on to the raft,” he added, turning to the man who had thrown the rope to Jarwin.
“Well, sir,” said the latter in some surprise, “in course I don’t know why you wos a-goin’ to leave a feller-creetur to his fate, but I’m glad you didn’t go for to do it, ’cos it wouldn’t have bin Christian-like. But I’m bound for to thank ’ee, sir, all the same for havin’ saved me—and Cuffy.”
“Don’t be too free with your thanks, my good man,” returned the captain, “for you’re not saved, as you call it, yet.”
“Not saved yet?” repeated Jarwin.
“No. Whether I save you or not depends on your keeping a civil tongue in your head, and on your answers to my questions.”
The captain interlarded his speech with many oaths, which, of course, we omit. This, coupled with his rude manners, induced Jarwin to suspect that the vessel was not a pleasure-yacht after all, so he wisely held his peace.
“Where do you belong to?” demanded the captain.
“To Yarmouth, sir.”
“What ship did you sail in, what has come of her, and how came you to be cast adrift?”
“I sailed in the Nancy, sir, from Plymouth, with a miscellaneous cargo for China. She sprung a leak in a gale, and we was ’bliged to make a raft, the boats bein’ all stove in or washed away. It was barely ready when the ship went down starn foremost. Durin’ the gale all my mates were washed off the raft or died of exposure; only me and my dog left.”
“How long ago was that?” asked the captain.
“Couldn’t rightly say, sir, I’ve lost count o’ time, but it’s more than a year gone by anyhow.”
“That’s a lie,” said the captain, with an oath.
“No, ’taint, sir,” replied Jarwin, reddening, “it’s a truth. I was nigh starved on that raft, but was cast on an island where I’ve bin till a few days ago ever since, when I put to sea on the raft that now lays a-starn there.”
For a few seconds the captain made no rejoinder, but a glance at the raft seemed to satisfy him of the truth of what was said. At length he said abruptly—
“What’s your name?”
“John Jarwin, sir.”
“Well, John Jarwin, I’ll save you on one condition, which is, that you become one of my crew, and agree to do my bidding and ask no questions. What say you?”
Jarwin hesitated.
“Haul up the raft and let this man get aboard of it,” said the captain, coolly but sternly, to the seaman who held the rope.
“You’ve no occasion to be so sharp, sir,” said John, remonstratively. “If you wos to tell me to cut my own throat, you know, I could scarce be expected for to do it without puttin’ a few questions as to the reason why. You’re a trader, I suppose?”
“Yes, I’m a trader,” replied the captain, “but I don’t choose to be questioned by you. All you’ve got to do is to agree to my proposal or
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