It was of no use attempting to recover them. All the energies of the crew were required to bale out the water and keep the boat afloat, and during the whole storm some of them were constantly employed in baling. For three days it blew a perfect hurricane, and during all that time the men had nothing whatever to eat; but they did not suffer so much as might be supposed. The gnawing pangs of hunger do not usually last beyond a few days when men are starving. After that they merely feel ever-increasing weakness. During the fall of the rain they had taken care to fill their jars, so that they had now a good supply of water.
After the first burst of the squall had passed, the tarpaulins were spread over the boat, and under one of these, near the stern, Ailie was placed, and was comparatively sheltered and comfortable. Besides forming a shelter for the men while they slept, these tarpaulins threw off the waves that frequently broke over the boat, and more than once bid fair to sink her altogether. These arose in enormous billows, and the gale was so violent that only the smallest corner of the foresail could be raised—even that was almost sufficient to tear away the mast.
At length the gale blew itself out, and gradually decreased to a moderate breeze, before which the sails were shaken out, and on the fourth morning after it broke they found themselves sweeping quickly over the waves on their homeward way, but without a morsel of food, and thoroughly exhausted in body and in mind.
On that morning, however, they passed a piece of floating seaweed, a sure indication of their approach to land. Captain Dunning pointed it out to Ailie and the crew with a cheering remark that they would probably soon get to the end of their voyage; but he did not feel much hope; for, without food, they could not exist above a few days more at the furthest—perhaps not so long. That same evening, several small sea-birds came towards the boat, and flew inquiringly round it, as if they wondered what it could be doing there, so far away from the haunts of men. These birds were evidently unaccustomed to man, for they exhibited little fear. They came so near to the boat that one of them was at length caught. It was the negro who succeeded in knocking it on the head with a boat-hook as it flew past.
Great was the praise bestowed on King Bumble for this meritorious deed, and loud were the praises bestowed on the bird itself, which was carefully divided into equal portions (and a small portion for Jacko), and eaten raw. Not a morsel of it was lost—claws, beak, blood, bones, and feathers—all were eaten up. In order to prevent dispute or jealousy, the captain made Ailie turn her back on the bird when thus divided, and pointing to the different portions, he said—
“Who shall have this?” Whoever was named by Ailie had to be content with what thus fell to his share.
“Ah, but ye wos always an onlucky dog!” exclaimed Briant, to whom fell the head and claws.
“Ye’ve no reason to grumble,” replied Gurney; “ye’ve got all the brains to yerself, and no one needs them more.”
The catching of this bird was the saving of the crew, and it afforded them a good deal of mirth in the dividing of it. The heart and a small part of the breast fell to Ailie—which every one remarked was singularly appropriate; part of a leg and the tail fell to King Bumble; and the lungs and stomach became the property of Jim Scroggles, whereupon Briant remarked that he would “think as much almost o’ that stomach as he had iver done of his own!” But there was much of sadness mingled with their mirth, for they felt that the repast was a peculiarly light one, and they had scarcely strength left to laugh or jest.
Next morning they knocked down another bird, and in the evening they got two more. The day after that they captured an albatross, which furnished them at last with an ample supply of fresh food.
It was Mr Markham, the second mate, who first saw the great bird looming in the distance, as it sailed over the sea towards them.
“Let’s try to fish for him,” said the doctor. “I’ve heard of sea-birds being caught in that way before now.”
“Fish for it!” exclaimed Ailie in surprise.
“Ay, with hook and line, Ailie.”
“I’ve seen it done often,” said the captain. “Hand me the line, Bumble, and a bit o’ that bird we got yesterday. Now for it.”
By the time the hook was baited, the albatross had approached near to the boat, and hovered around it with that curiosity which seems to be a characteristic feature of all sea-birds. It was an enormous creature; but Ailie, when she saw it in the air, could not have believed it possible that it was so large as it was afterwards found to be on being measured.
“Here, Glynn, catch hold of the line,” said the captain, as he threw the hook overboard, and allowed it to trail astern; “you are the strongest man amongst us now, I think; starvation don’t seem to tell so much on your young flesh and bones as on ours!”
“No; it seems to agree with his constitution,” remarked Gurney.
“It’s me that wouldn’t give much for his flesh,” observed Briant; “but his skin and bones would fetch a good price in the leather and rag market.”
While his messmates were thus freely remarking on his personal appearance—which, to say truth, was dreadfully haggard—Glynn was holding the end of the line, and watching the motions of the albatross with intense interest.
“He won’t take it,” observed the captain.
“Me tink him will,” said Bumble.
“No go,” remarked Nikel Sling sadly.
“That was near,” said the first mate eagerly, as the bird made a bold swoop down towards the bait, which was skipping over the surface of the water.
“No, he’s off,” cried Mr Markham in despair.
“Cotched! or I’m a Dutchman!” shouted. Gurney.
“No!” cried Jim Scroggles.
“Yes!” screamed Ailie.
“Hurrah!” shouted Tim Rokens and Tarquin in a breath.
Dick Barnes, and the doctor, and the captain, and, in short, everybody, echoed the last sentiment, and repeated it again and again with delight as they saw the gigantic bird once again swoop down upon the bait and seize it.
Glynn gave a jerk, the hook caught in its tongue, and the albatross began to tug, and swoop, and whirl madly in its effort to escape.
Now, to talk of any ordinary bird swooping, and fluttering, and tugging, does not sound very tremendous; but, reader, had you witnessed the manner in which that enormous albatross conducted itself, you wouldn’t have stared with amazement—oh, no! You wouldn’t have gone home with your mouth as wide open as your eyes, and have given a gasping account of what you had seen—by no means! You wouldn’t have talked of feathered steam-engines, or of fabled rocs, or of winged elephants in the air—certainly not!
Glynn’s arms jerked as if he were holding on to the sheet of a shifting mainsail of a seventy-four.
“Bear a hand,” he cried, “else I’ll be torn to bits.”
Several hands grasped the line in a moment.
“My! wot a wopper,” exclaimed Tim Rokens.
“Och! don’t he pull? Wot a fortin he’d make av he’d only set his-self up as a tug-boat in the Thames!”
“If only we had him at the oar for a week,” added Gurney.
“Hoich! doctor, have ye strength to set disjointed limbs?”
“Have a care, lads,” cried the captain, in some anxiety; “give him more play, the line won’t stand it. Time enough to jest after we’ve got him.”
The bird was now swooping, and waving, and beating its great wings so close to the boat that they began to entertain some apprehension lest any of the crew should be disabled by a stroke