The Castaways | Page 8

the
boat. The oar that had been set up as a mast was left standing, for there
were five others lying idle in the pinnace; and with four of these, Saloo
and Murtagh each taking a pair, the boat was manned, the captain
himself keeping charge of the tiller. His object was not to approach the
land, but to prevent being carried among the breakers, which, surging
up snow-white, presented a perilous barrier to their advance.
To keep the boat from driving on the dangerous reef, was just as much
as the oarsmen could accomplish. Weakened as they were, by long
suffering and starvation, they had a tough struggle to hold the pinnace
as it were in statu quo--all the tougher from the disproportion between
such a heavy craft and the light oar-stroke of which her reduced and
exhausted crew were capable.
But as if taking pity upon them, and in sympathy with their efforts, the
sun, as he rose above the horizon, seemed to smile upon them and hush
the storm into silence. The wind, that throughout the night had been
whistling in their ears, all at once fell to a calm, as if commanded by
the majestic orb of day; and along with the wind went down the waves,
the latter subsiding more gradually. It was easier now to hold the
pinnace in place, as also to row her in a direction parallel to the line of
the breakers; and, after coasting for about a mile, an opening was at
length observed where the dangerous reef might perhaps be penetrated
with safety.
Setting the boat's head toward it, the oars were once more worked with
the utmost strength that remained in the arms of the rowers, while her
course was directed with all the skill of which an American skipper is
capable.
Yet the attempt was one of exceeding peril. Though the wind had
subsided, the swell was tremendous; billow after billow being carried
against the coral reefs with a violence known only to the earthquake
and the angry ocean. Vast volumes of water surged high on either side,
projecting still higher their sparkling shafts of spray, like the pillars of a

waterspout.
Between them spread a narrow space of calm sea--yet only
comparatively calm, for even there an ordinary boat, well managed,
would be in danger of getting swamped. What then was the chance for
a huge pinnace, poorly manned, and therefore sure of being badly
trimmed? It looked as if after all the advantages that had arisen--that
had sprung up as though providentially in their favour--Captain
Redwood and the small surviving remnant of his crew were to perish
among the breakers of Borneo, and be devoured by the ravenous sharks
which amidst the storm-vexed reefs find their congenial home.
But it was not so to be. The prayer offered up, as those snow-white but
treacherous perils first hove in sight, had been heard on high; and He
who had guided the castaways to the danger, stayed by their side, and
gave strength to their arms to carry them through it.
With a skill drawn from the combination of clear intelligence and long
experience, Captain Redwood set the head of his pinnace straight for
the narrow and dangerous passage; and with a strength inspired by the
peril, Murtagh and the Malay pulled upon their oars, each handling his
respective pair as if his life depended on the effort.
With the united will of oarsmen and steerer the effort was successful;
and ten seconds later the pinnace was safe inside the breakers, moving
along under the impulse of two pairs of oars, that rose and fell as gently
as if they were pulling her over the surface of some placid lake.
In less than ten minutes her keel touched bottom on the sands of
Borneo, and her crew, staggering ashore, dropped upon their knees, and
in words earnest as those uttered by Columbus at Cat Island, or the
Pilgrims on Plymouth Rock, breathed a devout thanksgiving for their
deliverance.
CHAPTER SIX.
A GIGANTIC OYSTER.

"Water! water!"
The pain of hunger is among the hardest to endure, though there is still
a harder--that of thirst. In the first hours of either, it is doubtful which
of the two kinds of suffering is the more severe; but, prolonged beyond
a certain point, hunger loses its keenness of edge, through the sheer
weakness of the sufferer, while the agony of thirst knows no such
relief.
Suffering, as our castaways were, from want of food for nearly a week,
their thirst was yet more agonising; and after the thanksgiving prayer
had passed from their lips, their first thought was of water--their cry,
"Water! water!"
As they arose to their feet they instinctively looked around to see if any
brook or spring were near.
An