Having emptied it, Jacko went forward as he had been taught to do, and handed back the cup with quite a pleased expression of countenance—for he was easily satisfied, poor thing!
“You should not have done that, my darling,” said the captain, as he gave Ailie another portion.
“Dear papa, I couldn’t help it,” sobbed the child; “indeed I couldn’t—and you need not give me any. I can do without it to-day.”
“Can you? But you shan’t,” exclaimed Glynn, with a degree of energy that would have made every one laugh in happier times.
“No, no, my own pet,” replied the captain. “You shan’t want it. Here, you must drink it, come.”
From that day Jacko received his allowance regularly as long as a drop of water was left, and no one again murmured against it. When it was finished he had to suffer with the rest.
The calm which had set in proved to be of longer duration than usual, and the sufferings of the crew of the little boat became extreme. On the third day after its commencement the last drop of water was served out. It amounted to a couple of teaspoonfuls per man each meal, of which there were three a day. During the continuance of the calm, the sun shone in an almost cloudless sky and beat down upon the heads of the men until it drove them nearly mad. They all looked like living skeletons, and their eyes glared from their sunken sockets with a dry fiery lustre that was absolutely terrible to behold. Had each one in that boat possessed millions of gold he would have given all, gladly, for one drop of fresh water; but, alas! nothing could purchase water there. Ailie thought upon the man who, in the Bible, is described as looking up to heaven from the depths of hell and crying for one drop of water to cool his tongue, and she fancied that she could now realise his agony. The captain looked up into the hot sky, but no blessed cloud appeared there to raise the shadow of a hope. He looked down at the sea, and it seemed to mock him with its clear blue depths, which looked so sweet and pleasant. He realised the full significance of that couplet in Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner—
“Water, water, everywhere,
But not a drop to drink.”
and, drawing Ailie to his breast, he laid his cheek upon hers and groaned aloud.
“We shall soon be taken away, dear papa!” she said—and she tried to weep, but the tears that came unbidden and so easily at other times to her bright blue eyes refused to flow now.
The men had one by one ceased to ply their useless oars, and the captain did not take notice of it, for he felt that unless God sent relief in some almost miraculous way, their continuing to row would be of no avail. It would only increase their agony without advancing them more than a few miles on the long, long voyage that he knew still lay before them.
“O God, grant us a breeze!” cried Mr Millons, in a deep, tremulous tone breaking a silence that had continued for some hours.
“Messmates,” said Tim Rokens, who for some time had leaned with both elbows on his oar and his face buried in his hands, “wot d’ye say to a bath? I do believe it ’ud do us good.”
“P’haps it would,” replied King Bumble; but he did not move, and the other men made no reply, while Rokens again sank forward.
Gurney and Tarquin had tried to relieve their thirst the day before by drinking sea-water, but their inflamed and swollen throats and lips now showed that the relief sought had not been obtained.
“It’s time for supper,” said the captain, raising his head suddenly, and laying Ailie down, for she had fallen into a lethargic slumber; “fetch me the bread and meat can.”
Dick Barnes obeyed reluctantly, and the usual small allowance of salt junk was weighed out, but there were no eager glances now. Most of the crew refused to touch food—one or two tried to eat a morsel of biscuit without success.
“I’ll try a swim,” cried Glynn, suddenly starting up with the intention of leaping overboard. But his strength was more exhausted than he had fancied, for he only fell against the side of the boat. It was as well that he failed. Had he succeeded in getting into the water he could not have clambered in again, and it is doubtful whether his comrades had sufficient strength left to have dragged him in.
“Try it this way, lad,” said Tim Rokens, taking up a bucket, and dipping it over the side. “P’raps it’ll do as well.”
He raised the bucket with some difficulty and poured its contents over Glynn’s head.
“Thank God!” said Glynn, with a deep, long-drawn sigh. “Do it again, Tim, do it again. That’s it,—again, again! No, stop; forgive my selfishness; here, give me the bucket, I’ll do it to you now.”
Tim Rokens was quickly drenched from head to foot, and felt great and instantaneous relief. In a few minutes every one in the boat, Jacko included, was subjected to this species of cold bath, and their spirits rose at once. Some of them even began to eat their food, and Briant actually attempted to perpetrate a joke, which Gurney seconded promptly, but they failed to make one, even a bad one, between them.
Although the cold bathing seemed good for them at first, it soon proved to be hurtful. Sitting and lying constantly night and day in saturated clothes had the effect of rendering their skins painfully sensitive, and a feverish feeling was often alternated with cold shivering fits, so they were fain to give it up. Still they had found some slight relief, and they bore their sufferings with calm resignation—a state of mind which was fostered, if not induced, by the blessed words of comfort and hope which the captain read to them from the Bible as frequently as his strength would permit, and to which they listened with intense, all-absorbing interest.
It is ever thus with men. When death approaches, in almost all instances, we are ready—ay, anxious—to listen with the deepest interest to God’s message of salvation through His Son, and to welcome and long for the influences of the Holy Spirit. Oh! how happy should we be in life and in death, did we only give heartfelt interest to our souls’ affairs before the days of sorrow and death arrive.
On the fifth morning after the water had been exhausted the sun arose in the midst of dark clouds. The men could scarcely believe their eyes. They shouted and, in their weakness, laughed for joy.
The blessing was not long delayed. Thick vapours veiled the red sun soon after it emerged from the sea, then a few drops of rain fell. Blessed drops! How the men caught at them! How they spread out oiled cloths and tarpaulins and garments to gather them! How they grudged to see them falling around the boat into the sea, and being lost to them for ever. But the blessing was soon sent liberally. The heavens above grew black, and the rain came down in thick heavy showers. The tarpaulins were quickly filled, and the men lay with their lips to the sweet pools, drinking-in new life, and dipping their heads and hands in the cool liquid when they could drink no more. Their thirst was slaked at last, and they were happy. All their past sufferings were forgotten in that great hour of relief, and they looked, and laughed, and spoke to each other like men who were saved from death. As they stripped off their garments and washed the encrusted salt from their shrunken limbs, all of them doubtless felt, and some of them audibly expressed, gratitude to the “Giver of every good and perfect gift.”
So glad were they, and so absorbed in their occupation, that they thought not of and cared not for the fact that a great storm was about to break upon them. It came upon them almost before they were aware, and before the sails could be taken in the boat was almost upset.
“Stand-by to lower the sails!” shouted the captain, who was the first to see their danger.
The old familiar command issued with something of the old familiar voice and energy caused every one to leap to his post, if not with the agility of former times, at least with all the good will.
“Let go!”
The halyards were loosed, and the sails came tumbling down; at the same moment the squall burst on them. The Maid of the Isle bent over so quickly that every one expected she would upset; the blue water curled in over the edge of the gunwale, and the