The Castaways | Page 6

most
of them with their heads bent despairingly downward. The Malay alone
kept his shining black eyes on the alert, as if despair had not yet
prostrated him.
The long sultry day that saw the last of their two sailor comrades, at
length came to a close, without any change in their melancholy
situation. The fierce hot sun went down into the bosom of the sea, and
was followed by the short tropic twilight. As the shades of night closed
over them, the father, kneeling beside his children, sent up a prayer to
Him who still held their lives in His hand; while Murtagh said the
Amen; and the dark-skinned Malay, who was a Mohammedan,
muttered a similar petition to Allah. It had been their custom every
night and morning, since parting from the foundered ship, and during
all their long-protracted perils in the pinnace.
Perhaps that evening's vesper was more fervent than those preceding it;
for they felt they could not last much longer, and that all of them were
slowly, surely dying.
This night, a thing something unusual, the sky became obscured by
clouds. It might be a good omen, or a bad one. If a storm, their frail
boat would run a terrible risk of being swamped; but if rain should
accompany it, there might be a chance of collecting a little water upon

a tarpaulin that lay at the bottom.
As it turned out, no rain fell, though there arose what might be called a
storm. The breeze, springing up at an early hour of the day, commenced
increasing after sunset.
It was the first of any consequence they had encountered since taking to
the boat; and it blew right in the direction whither they intended
steering.
With the freshening of the wind, as it came cool upon his brow, the
castaway captain seemed to become inspired with a slight hope. It was
the same with Murtagh and the Malay.
"If we only had a sail," muttered the captain, with a sigh.
"Sail, cappen--lookee talpolin!" said Saloo, speaking in "pigeon
English," and pointing to the tarpaulin in the bottom of the boat. "Why
no him makee sail?"
"Yis, indade; why not?" questioned the Irishman.
"Comee, Multa! you help me; we step one oal--it makee mass--we lig
him up little time."
"All roight, Sloo," responded Murtagh, leaning over and seizing one of
the oars, while the Malay lifted the tarpaulin from where it lay folded
up, and commenced shaking the creases out of it.
With the dexterity of a practised sailor, Murtagh soon had the oar
upright, and its end "stepped," between two ribs of the boat, and firmly
lashed to one of the strong planks that served as seats. Assisted by the
captain himself, the tarpaulin was bent on, and with a "sheet" attached
to one corner rigged sail-fashion. In an instant it caught the stiff breeze,
and bellied out; when the pinnace feeling the impulse, began to move
rapidly through the water, leaving in her wake a stream of sparkling
phosphorescence that looked like liquid fire.

They had no compass, and therefore could not tell the exact direction in
which they were being carried. But a yellowish streak on the horizon,
showing where the sun had set, was still lingering when the wind began
to freshen, and as it was one of those steady, regular winds, that endure
for hours without change, they could by this means guess at the
direction--which was toward that part of the horizon where the
yellowish spot had but lately faded out; in short, toward the west.
Westward from the place where the cyclone had struck the ship, lay the
great island of Borneo. They knew it to be the nearest land, and for this
had they been directing the boat's course ever since their disaster. The
tarpaulin now promised to bring them nearer to it in one night, than
their oars had done with days of hopeless exertion.
It was a long twelve-hour night; for under the "Line"--and they were
less than three degrees from it--the days and nights are equal. But
throughout all its hours, the wind continued to blow steadily from the
same quarter; and the spread tarpaulin, thick and strong, caught every
puff of it acting admirably. It was, in fact, as much canvas as the
pinnace could well have carried on such a rough sea-breeze, and served
as a storm-try sail to run her before the wind.
Captain Redwood himself held charge of the tiller; and all were cheered
with the fine speed they were making--their spirits rising in proportion
to the distance passed over. Before daylight came to add to their
cheerfulness, they must have made nearly a hundred miles; but ere the
day broke, a sound fell upon their ears that caused a commotion among