progress of the long voyage—story-telling and journalising.
many weeks passed away, but the maid of the isle still held on her course over the boundless ocean.
day after day came and went, the sun rose in the east morning after morning, ran its appointed course, and sank, night after night, on the western horizon, but little else occurred to vary the monotony of that long, long voyage. when the sun rose, its bright rays leapt from the bosom of the ocean; when it set, the same bosom of the great deep received its descending beams. no land, no sail appeared to the anxious gazers in that little boat, which seemed to move across, yet never to reach the boundaries of that mighty circle of water and sky, in the midst of which they lay enchained, as if by some wicked enchanter’s spell.
breezes blew steadily at times and urged them swiftly on towards the circumference, but it fled as fast as they approached. then it fell calm, and the weary men resumed their oars, and with heavy hearts and weakened arms tugged at the boat which seemed to have turned into a mass of lead. at such times a dead silence was maintained, for the work, which once would have been to them but child’s play, had now become severe and heavy labour. still they did not murmur. even the cross-grained tarquin became subdued in spirit by the influence of the calm endurance and good-humour of his comrades. but the calms seldom lasted long. the winds, which happily continued favourable, again ruffled the surface of the sea, and sometimes blew so briskly as to oblige them to take in a reef or two in their sails. the oars were gladly drawn in, and the spirits of the men rose as the little boat bent over to the blast, lost her leaden qualities, and danced upon the broad-backed billows, like a cork. there was no rain during all this time; little or no stormy weather; and, but for their constant exposure to the hot sun by day and the cold chills by night, the time might have been said to pass even pleasantly, despite the want of a sufficiency of food. thus day after day and night after night flew by, and week after week came and went, and still the maid of the isle held on her course over the boundless ocean.
during all that time the one and a quarter ounces of salt junk and biscuit and the eighth of a pint of water were weighed and measured out to each man, three times a day, with scrupulous care and exactness, lest a drop or a crumb of the food that was more precious than diamonds should be lost. the men had all become accustomed to short allowance now, and experienced no greater inconvenience than a feeling of lassitude, which feeling increased daily, but by such imperceptible degrees that they were scarcely conscious of it, and were only occasionally made aware of the great reduction of their strength when they attempted to lift any article which, in the days of their full vigour, they could have tossed into the air, but which they could scarcely move now. when, however, the fair breeze enabled them to glide along under sail, and they lay enjoying complete rest, they experienced no unwonted sensations of weakness; their spirits rose, as the spirits of sailors always will rise when the waves are rippling at the bow and a white track forming in the wake; and they spent the time—when not asleep—in cheerful conversation and in the spinning of long yarns. they did not sing, however, as might have been expected—they were too weak for that—they called the feeling “lazy,” some said they “couldn’t be bothered” to sing. no one seemed willing to admit that his strength was in reality abated.
in story-telling the captain, the doctor, and glynn shone conspicuous. and when all was going smoothly and well, the anecdotes, histories, and romances related by these three were listened to with such intense interest and delight by the whole crew, that one would have thought they were enjoying a pleasure trip, and had no cause whatever for anxiety. gurney, too, and briant, and nikel sling came out frequently in the story-telling line, and were the means of causing many and many an hour to pass quickly and pleasantly by, which would otherwise have hung heavily on the hands of all.
ailie dunning was an engrossed and delighted listener at all times. she drank in every species of story with an avidity that was quite amusing. it seemed also to have been infectious, for even jacko used to sit hour after hour looking steadily at each successive speaker, with a countenance so full of bright intelligence, and grave surpassing wisdom, as to lead one to the belief that he not only understood all that was said, but turned it over in his mind, and drew from it ideas and conclusions far more bright and philosophical than could have been drawn therefrom by any human being, however wise or ingenious.
he grinned, too, did jacko, with an intensity and frequency that induced the sailors at first to call him a clever dog, in the belief that his perception of the ludicrous was very strong indeed; but as his grins were observed to occur quite as frequently at the pathetic and the grave as at the comical parts of the stories, they changed their minds, and said he was a “codger”—in which remark they were undoubtedly safe, seeing that it committed them to nothing very specific.
captain dunning’s stories were, more properly speaking, histories, and were very much relished, for he possessed a natural power of relating what he knew in an interesting manner and with a peculiarly pleasant tone of voice. every one who has considered the subject at all must have observed what a powerful influence there lies in the mere manner and tone of a speaker. the captain’s voice was so rich, so mellow, and capable of such varied modulation, that the men listened with pleasure to the words which rolled from his lips, as one would listen to a sweet song. he became so deeply interested, too, in the subject about which he happened to be speaking, that his auditors could not help becoming interested also. he had no powers of eloquence, neither was he gifted with an unusually bright fancy. but he was fluent in speech, and his words, though not chosen, were usually appropriate. the captain had no powers of invention whatever. he used to say, when asked to tell a story, that he “might as well try to play the fiddle with a handspike.” but this was no misfortune, for he had read much, and his memory was good, and supplied him with an endless flow of small-talk on almost every subject that usually falls under the observation of sea-captains, and on many subjects besides, about which most sea-captains, or land-captains, or any other captains whatsoever, are almost totally ignorant.
captain dunning could tell of adventures in the whale-fishery, gone through either by himself or by friends, that would have made your two eyes stare out of their two sockets until they looked like saucers (to use a common but not very correct simile). he could tell the exact latitude and longitude of almost every important and prominent part of the globe, and give the distance, pretty nearly, of any one place (on a large scale) from any other place. he could give the heights of all the chief mountains in the world to within a few feet, and could calculate, by merely looking at its current and depth, how many cubic feet of water any river delivered to the sea per minute. length, breadth, and thickness, height, depth, and density, were subjects in which he revelled, and with which he played as a juggler does with golden balls; and so great were his powers of numerical calculation, that the sailors often declared they believed he could work out any calculation backwards without the use of logarithms! he was constantly instituting comparisons that were by no means what the proverb terms “odious,” but which were often very astonishing, and in all his stories so many curious and peculiar facts were introduced, that, as we have already said, they were very much relished indeed.
not less relished, however, were glynn proctor’s astounding and purely imaginative tales. after the men’s minds had been chained intently on one of the captain’s semi-philosophical anecdotes, they turned with infinite zest to one of glynn’s outrageous flights. glynn had not read much in his short life, and his memory was nothing to boast of, but his imagination was quite gigantic. he could invent almost anything; and the curious part of it was, that he could do it out of nothing, if need be. he never took time to consider what he should say. when called on for a story he began at once, and it flowed from him like a flood of sparkling water from a fountain in fairy realms. up in the clouds; high in the blue ether; down in the coral caves; deep in the ocean waves; out on the mountain heaths; far in the rocky glens, or away in the wild woods green—it was all one to glynn; he leaped away in an instant, with a long train of adventurers at his heels—male and female, little and big, old and young, pretty and plain, grave and gay. and didn’t they go through adventures that would have made the hair of mortals not only stand on end, but fly out by the roots altogether? didn’t he make them talk, as mortals never talked before; and sing as mortals never dreamed of? and, oh! didn’t he just make them stew, and roast, and boil joints of savoury meat, and bake pies, and tarts, and puddings, such as soyer in his wildest culinary dreams never imagined, and such as caused the mouths of the crew of the maid of the isle to water, until they were constrained, poor fellows, to tell him to “clap a stopper upon that,” and hold his tongue, for they “couldn’t stand it!”
phil briant and gurney dealt in the purely comic line. they remarked—generally in an undertone—that they left poetry and prose to glynn and the captain; and it was as well they did, for their talents certainly did not lie in either of these directions. they came out strong after meals, when the weather was fine, and formed a species of light and agreeable interlude to the more weighty efforts of the captain and the brilliant sallies of glynn.
gurney dealt in experiences chiefly, and usually endeavoured by asseveration and iteration to impress his hearers with the truth of facts said to have been experienced by himself, which, if true, would certainly have consigned him to a premature grave long ago. briant, on the other hand, dealt largely in ghost stories, which he did not vouch for the truth of, but permitted his hearers to judge of for themselves—a permission which they would doubtless have taken for themselves at any rate.
but tales and stories occupied, after all, only a small portion of the men’s time during that long voyage. often, very often, they were too much exhausted to talk or even to listen, and when not obliged to labour at the oars they tried to sleep; but “nature’s sweet restorer” did not always come at the first invitation, as was his wont in other days, and too frequently they were obliged to resume work unrefreshed. their hands became hard and horny in the palms at last, like a man’s heel, and their backs and arms ached from constant work.
ailie kept in good health, but she, too, began to grow weak from want of proper nourishment. she slept better than the men, for the comfortable sleeping-box that glynn had constructed for her sheltered her from the heat, wet, and cold, to which the former were constantly exposed. she amused herself, when not listening to stories or asleep, by playing with her favourite, and she spent a good deal of time in reading her bible—sometimes to herself, at other times, in a low tone, to her father as he sat at the helm. and many a time did she see a meaning in passages which, in happier times, had passed meaningless before her eyes, and often did she find sweet comfort in words that she had read with comparative indifference in former days.
it is in the time of trial, trouble, and sorrow that the bible proves to be a friend indeed. happy the christian who, when dark clouds overwhelm his soul, has a memory well stored with the comforting passages of the word of god.
but ailie had another occupation which filled up much of her leisure, and proved to be a source of deep and engrossing interest at the time. this was the keeping of a journal of the voyage. on the last trip made to the wreck of the red eric, just before the great storm that completed the destruction of that ship, the captain had brought away in his pocket a couple of note-books. one of these he kept to himself to jot down the chief incidents of the intended voyage; the other he gave to ailie, along with a blacklead pencil. being fond of trying to write, she amused herself for hours together in jotting down her thoughts about the various incidents of the voyage, great and small; and being a very good drawer for her age, she executed many fanciful and elaborate sketches, among which were innumerable portraits of jacko and several caricatures of the men. this journal, as it advanced, became a source of much interest and amusement to every one in the boat; and when, in an hour of the utmost peril, it, along with many other things, was lost, the men, after the danger was past, felt the loss severely.
thus they spent their time—now pleasantly, now sadly—sometimes becoming cheerful and hopeful, at other times sinking almost into a state of despair as their little stock of food and water dwindled down, while the maid of the isle still held on her apparently endless course over the great wide sea.
