“Yis, me hab, an’ me hab come for to make a preeposol to Missie Ally.”
“A what, Bumble?”
“A preeposol—a digestion.”
“I suppose you mean a suggestion, eh?”
“Yis, dat the berry ting.”
“Well, out with it.”
“Dis am it. Me ketch rock-coddles; well, me put ’em in bucket ob water an’ bring ’em to you, Missie Ally, an’ you put ’em into dat pool and tame ’em, an’ hab great fun with ’em. Eeh! wot you tink?”
“Oh, it will be so nice. How good of you to think about it, Bumble; do get them as quick as you can.”
Bumble looked grave and hesitated.
“Why, what’s wrong?” inquired Glynn.
“Oh, noting. Me only tink me not take the trouble to put ’em into dat pool where de fishes speak so imperently ob me. Stop, me will go an’ ask if dey sorry for wot dey hab say.”
So saying the negro uttered a shout, sprang straight up into the air, doubled his head down and his heels up, and cleft the water like a knife. Glynn uttered a cry something between a yell and a laugh, and sprang after him, falling flat on the water and dashing the whole pool into foam, and there the two wallowed about like two porpoises, to the unbounded delight of Ailie, who stood on the brink laughing until the tears ran down her cheeks, and to the unutterable horror, no doubt, of the little fish.
The rock-codlings were soon caught and transferred to the pool, in which, after that, neither Glynn nor Bumble were suffered to dive or swim, and Ailie succeeded, by means of regularly feeding them, in making the little fish less afraid of her than they were at first.
But while Ailie and Glynn were thus amusing themselves and trying to make the time pass as pleasantly as possible, Captain Dunning was oppressed with the most anxious forebodings. They had now been several weeks on the sandbank. The weather had, during that time, been steadily fine and calm, and their provisions were still abundant, but he knew that this could not last. Moreover, he found on consulting his charts that he was far out of the usual course of ships, and that deliverance could only be expected in the shape of a chance vessel.
Oppressed with these thoughts, which, however, he carefully concealed from every one except Tim Rokens and the doctor, the captain used to go on the point of rocks every day and sit there for hours, gazing out wistfully over the sea.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
Matters Grow Worse and Worse—The Mutiny—Commencement of Boat-Building, and Threatening Storms.
One afternoon, about three weeks after the Red Eric had been wrecked on the sandbank, Captain Dunning went out on the point of rocks, and took up his accustomed position there. Habit had now caused him to go to the point with as much regularity as a sentinel. But on the present occasion anxiety was more deeply marked on his countenance than usual, for dark, threatening clouds were seen accumulating on the horizon, an unnatural stillness prevailed in the hot atmosphere and on the glassy sea, and everything gave indication of an approaching storm.
While he sat on a low rock, with his elbows on his knees, and his chin resting in his hands, he felt a light touch on his shoulder, and looking round, found Ailie standing by his side. Catching her in his arms, he pressed her fervently to his heart, and for the first time spoke to her in discouraging tones.
“My own darling,” said he, parting the hair from her forehead, and gazing at the child with an expression of the deepest sadness, “I fear we shall never quit this dreary spot.”
Ailie looked timidly in her father’s face, for his agitated manner, more than his words, alarmed her.
“Won’t we leave it, dear papa,” said she, “to go up yonder?” and she pointed to a gathering mass of clouds overhead, which, although heavy with dark shadows, had still a few bright, sunny points of resemblance to the fairy realms in which she delighted to wander in her daydreams.
The captain made no reply; but, shutting his eyes, and drawing Ailie close to his side, he uttered a long and fervent prayer to God for deliverance, if He should see fit, or for grace to endure with Christian resignation and fortitude whatever He pleased to send upon them.
When he concluded, and again looked up, Dr Hopley was standing beside them, with his head bowed upon his breast.
“I fear, doctor,” said the captain, “that I have broken my resolution not to alarm my dear Ailie by word or look. Yet why should I conceal from her the danger of our position? Her prayers for help ought to ascend, as well as ours, to Him who alone can deliver us from evil at any time, but who makes us to feel, as well as know, the fact at such times as these.”
“But I am not afraid, papa,” said Ailie quickly. “I’m never afraid when you are by me; and I’ve known we were in danger all along, for I’ve heard everybody talking about it often and often, and I’ve always prayed for deliverance, and surely it must come; for has not Jesus said if we ask anything in His name He will give it to us?”
“True, darling; but He means only such things as will do us good.”
“Of course, papa, if I asked for a bad thing, I would not expect Him to give me that.”
“Deliverance from death,” said the doctor, “is a good thing, yet we cannot be sure that God will grant our prayer for that.”
“There are worse things than death, doctor,” replied the captain; “it may be sometimes better for men to die than to live. It seems to me that we ought to use the words, ‘if it please the Lord,’ more frequently than we do in prayer. Deliverance from sin needs no such ‘if,’ but deliverance from death does.”
At this point the conversation was interrupted by Tim Rokens, who came up to the captain, and said respectfully—
“If ye please, sir, it ’ud be as well if ye wos to speak to the men; there’s somethin’ like mutiny a-goin’ on, I fear.”
“Mutiny! why, what about?”
“It’s about the spirits. Some on ’em says as how they wants to enjoy theirselves here as much as they can, for they won’t have much chance o’ doin’ so ashore any more. It’s my belief that fellow Tarquin’s at the bottom o’t.”
“There’s not much spirits aboard the wreck to fight about,” said the captain, somewhat bitterly, as they all rose, and hurried towards the hut. “I only brought a supply for medicine; but it must not be touched, however little there is.”
When the captain came up, he found the space in front of their rude dwelling a scene of contention and angry dispute that bade fair to end in a fight. Tarquin was standing before the first mate, with his knife drawn, and using violent language and gesticulations towards him, while the latter stood by the raft, grasping a handspike, with which he threatened to knock the steward down if he set foot on it. The men were grouped round them, some with looks that implied a desire to side with Tarquin, while others muttered “Shame!”
“Shame!” cried Tarquin, looking fiercely round on his shipmates, “who cried shame? We’re pretty sure all on us to be starved to death on this reef; and it’s my opinion, that since we haven’t got to live long, we should try to enjoy ourselves as much as we can. There’s not much spirits aboard, more’s the pity; but what there is I shall have. So again I say, who cried ‘Shame?’”
“I did,” said Glynn Proctor, stepping quickly forward; “and I invite all who think with me to back me up.”
“Here