Midnight Webs

It was a sad sight, and there was not a man there who did not feel for the poor girl. I felt it so much myself that I was glad to turn away; and there we all waited till the sun dipped down below the waves, lower and lower, till he was gone, and a deep rich purple darkness began to steal over the sea. From golden orange the sky too turned from red to a deep blue, with almost every colour of the rainbow staying where the sun had gone down. Then it grew darker and darker, with star after star peeping down at us, and the smooth sea here and there rippled by a soft breeze that came sighing by.

And now it was that Miss Bell’s sobs seemed to have stopped, and, leaning over her, I saw that she had gently slipped away, so that only her poor white arm lay across the body, and when Mr Ward gently lifted it, her head sank lower and lower, and we knew that her grief had been too strong for her, and she had swooned away.

I’ve been at more than one sailor’s funeral, which has a certain sadness about it that seems greater than what, you know ashore, but this seemed to me the worst I had ever had to do with. Trouble seemed to have been heaped upon trouble, and though in the heat and excitement of a storm or a fight you often go very near death, yet you don’t seem to fear it as you do at a time like this was, when, as I stood over that bit of canvas, it seemed to me that I was nearer to my end than I had ever felt in all the dangers I had been through before.

It was growing darker and darker; the birds had all stopped their twittering, and I was thinking and thinking, when in a slow sad way Mr Tomtit got up, and came and stood over the corpse, and tried to speak, but his voice seemed choked. He went on after a minute or two, though, and said, in a quiet deep voice, a short and earnest prayer, one that I had never seen in a book, nor heard before or since; and in it he prayed the great God of all people, who had seen the sufferings of this our poor brother, to take him to Himself, even as we committed his poor decaying body to the great deep – the Almighty’s great ocean, upon which we poor helpless ones now floated – thanking Him for His preservation of us so far, and praying that His protection might be with us evermore. And he prayed too that as it had pleased God to bereave the sorrowing sister, might it please Him to put it into the heart of every man present to be a new brother and protector to the weeping one, even, were it necessary, unto death.

And then there was a great silence fell upon us all; then came a slow grating sound, a soft rustle as I raised the hatch, and a heavy splash in the water, which broke up into little waves and flashes of light, to die away again into darkness.

There was more than one deep sob heard there that night from out of the darkness; and though dark, it was not so black but we could see Miss Bell at Mr Tomtit’s feet, holding his hand as he bent over her, and she seeming to be kissing and crying over it.

No one seemed to care to move for a long, long time, but at last Miss Bell’s dress rustled softly as she glided away to her tent, and then Mr Tomtit went and leaned over the side. And mind, I do not call him by that name from any disrespect, for, though we had all been ready to laugh at him for his looks and ways, there was not a man there but would have gone and gladly shaken the hand which Miss Bell had kissed; and I felt vexed myself for not feeling before how good a heart the man must have who had so great a love for all of God’s creatures, that he would risk his life even for his birds.

That was a sad, sad night, though the ship seemed lighter now that there was no longer death on board; and I was in such a low miserable state, that I did what seemed to me to be the only thing I could do that night, – I went and sat down beside the fat passenger.

Story 2-Chapter XXI

We had no time for sadness and sorrow; there was too much to be done. I would not fly a signal at the mast-head, for fear of its bringing back the mutineers; for, though it did not seem likely that it would, I did not wish to run any risk. But with the help of Mr Ward and the others, I set to, and we made a good strong raft, and provisioned it, in case of a change of weather, for, though keeping us up well now, I felt sure that a fresh wind must send the ship to the bottom. All I thought would be of use to us I got on the raft; and I spent a many days lashing on a cask here and a spar there, and even rigged up a little mast with a lug-sail, and had an oar or two for steering. I couldn’t get myself away from that raft, feeling to want to make it perfect, which it wasn’t at all. But there it was, and the best I could make; and day after day we rolled about in the long gentle swell of the great ocean, looking for something to heave in sight.

There was very little to occupy us beyond looking out, for sailing the ship was out of the question, since, if she had careened over, the water would have come pouring in at one of the rents in her side; so we waited on day after day, during which time it seemed to me that a sort of jealous feeling was springing up between Mr Ward and Mr Tomtit, for Miss Bell used to keep away all she could from the young doctor, and sit and talk hour after hour with Mr Tomtit about his birds. But Mr Tomtit, though he used to look pleased, only looked so in a quiet, sad sort of way, and I used to think that he felt it did not mean anything for him; and he’d go and feed his birds afterwards, and sigh as he did it, and always try to be good friends, as far as he could, with Mr Ward.

It was a fine thing for us that we had a doctor on board, for I believe he saved both Bill Smith’s and Sam’s lives, poor chaps, for they had been sadly mauled about by the mutineers, and for days and days all they could do was to lie still and talk wildly about things. Sam in particular would rouse us all of a night, by shouting out that Van was striking him. But they both got better by degrees.

Last of all, what I was afraid of happened – the wind changed, and it came on to blow a little. It was nothing more than a pleasant fresh breeze, but enough to make the sea dance a bit, and the old Sea-mew to roll and pitch, so that I was obliged to have a man at the wheel, and a bit of sail set, to keep her out of the trough; but handle her how I would, I couldn’t keep the water out, and the question got to be, how long could we wait without taking to the raft? And another question was, too, how long could we keep to the raft without being washed off? Thinking of this made me rig lines round it, and give an extra lashing here and there just where I could.

The next day, there was not a doubt about what our duty was; and getting the raft round to the lee quarter, we lowered Miss Bell down, and then made ready to join her; when, more from use than anything, I ran up the rigging to take a sweep round, when – I could hardly believe my eyes – there was a brig bearing down under easy canvas, and not three miles off! We were so busy, or we must have seen her before. Howsoever, my first act now was to hoist a signal; and then, there being no time to lose, I got aboard the raft, being last man to leave the vessel; and we hoisted a bit of sail, and made towards the brig.

We had not left the Mew a minute too soon, for just as we had got about two hundred yards away, a squall took her, and she bent right over, righted, careened again, and then settled rapidly down, and was gone.

We were all so taken up with the sight, that, for a moment, we forgot the brig, and when we turned to her again, she was bearing away. I thought that she had seen our ship, when we hoisted the signal; but, from her acts, this could not have been the case, and now every second she was increasing her distance. We shouted, we yelled, and hoisted a handkercher, on the end of a boat-hook; but she did not see us; and gradually we saw sail after sail dip down out of sight, and we were once more all alone on the great ocean.

If we had seen no ship, I should not have cared; but this seemed such tantalising, despairing work, and but for Miss Bell, I should have been about ready to give up.

That night I was sitting steering our lubberly craft, when Miss Bell came and sat beside me, and, after being silent for some time, she points out seaward, and asks me if what she saw was a star.

I looked at it for a few minutes, for I hardly dared to answer at first; but I felt sure directly after, as I told her it was, and a bright one for us, being a ship’s lantern.

Story 2-Chapter XXII

Soon after sunrise next morning, we were laughing, crying, and acting as bad as that there fat passenger, for we were aboard a large ship, whose light had shone out like a star of hope for us; and when they picked us up, I found that the vessel was bound for Sydney.

But our pleasure did not last long, for what with the exposure and excitement, Miss Bell broke down, and next day she was so far from being in safety that she was in a raging fever.

Perhaps I may be right, perhaps wrong; but measuring things as I saw them, it has always struck me that, true-hearted man as he was, Mr Ward would never have won his wife after all, if it had not been for that fever; but it must have been a fine thing for him, being the only doctor within reach, to have to tend on her, and most likely save her life.

It was in after-years that I saw them happily settled in Wellington; and as they had me seated there between them, they seemed to treat me quite as an old friend, as we went over together the old days, and Mr Ward told me laughingly how hard a fight he had had to win his wife.

We talked long over our old troubles; and I had news for them of some of the mutineers – of how I had learned that one boat had been picked up, with the crew’s story written on their faces, for they had suffered horribly before they were saved from certain death. As for the other boat, it was never heard of more.

I had news for them, too, of Mr Tomtit, whom I had seen in the street just before I left England on that cruise. He had shaken me heartily by the hand, just as if I was his equal, and taken me home to show me the collection of birds he was about to ship, with a lot of what he called baby-salmon, for Sydney. He was still a bachelor, and pressed me hard to go and see him again, and wanted me to stay dinner then; but my time was short, and I had to say good-bye, though not till I had asked if he had seen any more of the fat passenger. Mr Tomtit then told me that he had been to England, and called to see him, and shed tears when he said good-bye. I said it myself now; but he made me stop for a glass of grog, and a half-hour’s chat about our perils aboard the Sea-mew.

Story Three: Under the Tree-Ferns

Story 3-Chapter I.

Port Caroline

A few notes of preparation, a few words of command, and, grouped together in the fore-part of a large barque, bearing the unromantic title of the Sarah Ann, the sailors stood ready to let go the emblem of Hope – the anchor that had held them fast in many a stormy night of peril. The sails flapped and fluttered in that gentle gale; the tall masts swayed here and there as the graceful vessel rose with the grand swell of the Southern Ocean; and then there was a loud rattle as the chain-cable rushed out, while the great anchor plunged down fathoms deep in the bright blue waters; then, down lower and lower, to where bright-scaled fish of rainbow-tinted armour darted over the golden sands of the sunny South. Not the sunny South sung by poets; but the far-off land, where it is midday at our midnight, and the settlers – with many a thought, though, of the old home – shear their sheep, and gather in their harvest, while we sit round the cheery winter’s fire.

After a long and tedious voyage, the vessel had arrived in safety at her destination. There was the bright land, the beautiful bay dotted with vessels at anchor, and the brilliant sun. Ah, who need have felt the heartache at leaving England on a dark and misty morning, when so bright a country was ready to receive him? But it was not home.

There was bustle and excitement amongst the passengers to get ashore; so that it was hard work for Edward Murray, first mate, to have all made snug and shipshape, after the fashion taught in the navy, which he had left to enter the merchant-service. But, by degrees, the hurry gave place to comparative calm, and men leisurely coiled down ropes, and reduced the deck to something like order.

The captain had been rowed ashore almost before they dropped anchor; and at last there was nothing left for the mate to do but patiently await his return, before making arrangements for having the vessel towed closer up into the harbour of Port Caroline.

He leaned over the bulwarks – a handsome ruddy young Englishman of eight-and-twenty; and as he quietly puffed at his cigar, he watched the boats going and coming; noticed the pleasant villas of the merchants, dotted about the high ground behind the bay; gave an eye to the trim sloop-of-war on his right, and then to the blank-looking buildings of the convict station, from whose stony-looking wharves a large cutter was just being rowed out towards the sloop. There was the flash of a bayonet now and then in the stern-sheets, and the white belts and red coats of more than one soldier was plainly observable to the mate, as he gazed on the boat with some display of interest.

As he still leaned over the bulwarks, the boat was seen to reach the sloop-of-war, to stay alongside awhile, and then to return, heavily laden, towards the shore.

“Nice freight that, Ned,” said the second mate. “Old England ought to grow clean in time, sending out such cargoes as she does. I wonder how many they have here. Can’t say I should like to have them for neighbours.”

“Not pleasant, certainly,” said the other; “but here’s the skipper back.”

“I shall not go ashore again till to-morrow morning,” said the captain, coming on deck; “and if either of you want a few hours, settle it between yourselves who’s to go; and the other can see the rest of the passengers’ traps ashore. I shall sail to-morrow evening. We can do the rest of our business when we come back from the bay.”

The captain then went below; and after a short consultation, Edward Murray undertook two or three commissions, stepped into the boat, and was rowed ashore.

Any place looks pleasant after months on shipboard; but in reality, though charming enough from the deck of a ship, there was little to be seen fifty years ago at Port Caroline beyond the houses of a straggling little town, built without regard to regularity, but according to the fancy of the owner of each plot of land. It was busy enough, so far as it went; but there was a grim cold look about the place, made worse by the principal buildings – those connected with the Government convict works; and after making a few purchases, Edward Murray strolled out along the shore to where the white breakers came foaming in to dash upon the sands.

The sloop had apparently discharged her convict freight; and the young man stood and looked at her for a while in deep thought.

He was thinking he should like to command a vessel like that. “But then,” he sighed to himself, “how about Katie?” And he walked on, musing in no unhappy way.

“Now, boys – heel and toe!” shouted a rough voice.

“Hooroar! heel and toe!” was sounded in chorus; and from a turn in the cliff came slowly into sight about five-and-twenty of as ill-looking ruffians as ever walked the face of the earth. They were marching slowly, in a single line, and at the veriest snail’s pace.

There was every description of crime-marked aspect – sullen despair, with boisterous and singing men; but as the slow march continued, one struck up a kind of chant, in which all joined, greatly to the annoyance of a sergeant of foot, who, with four privates, with fixed bayonets, formed the escort.

“It’s all right, sojer!” shouted one. “Heel and toe!”

“Hullo, sailor!” shouted another. “Here, mates; here’s a chap out of that barque. How’s mother country, old ’un?”

“Come; get on, men,” said the sergeant, keeping a sharp look-out for evaders.

The mate did not answer the fellow, but coolly stopped to watch the strange procession pass; for he rightly judged it to be a gang of convicts returning from work.

“I’d give two days and a half for that half cigar you’re smoking, guv’ner,” said one of the convicts to the young sailor.

And then, as the gang moved on, a dark sun-browned fellow came abreast, and observed quietly, as one gentleman might to another:

“Have you another cigar about you, sir?”

Edward Murray started, and then turned on his heel, and walked beside the speaker.

“I really have not another,” he said hastily; “but here’s some tobacco;” and he thrust a large packet he had but an hour before bought into the man’s hand.

“Thanks – thanks!” said the convict. “You can’t think what a treat it will be. I may be able to do you a good turn for it some day, Ned Murray.”

The young man started, and would have spoken to the convict; but the sergeant laid his hand upon his arm.

“Won’t do, sir; I should get into trouble. We wink at a good deal; but we must draw the line somewhere. Now, men, forward!”

Edward Murray drew back, and nodded his acquiescence in the sergeant’s remarks as the gang slowly passed on along the beach; then trying in vain to call to mind who could be the speaker who so well knew his name, he turned to go on board.

“I’ll give it up,” said the young man at last; “it’s beyond me. I’ve a friend more, though, in the world than I thought for. Friend? Hum! Not much cause to be proud of him. Well, it’s better than for a black-looking rascal to say he’ll owe you a grudge. Well,” he continued, as he mounted the side, “I’ll give it up; but I shall most likely know some day.”

And like many another unconscious thinker, Edward Murray was, for the time being, amongst the prophets.

Story 3-Chapter II.

Night at a Convict Station

“Hullo! What’s wrong?” exclaimed Edward Murray, leaping out of his cot; for he had been awakened by a heavy sound like thunder; and directly after he heard the second mate’s voice calling to him.

“Here, come on deck; there’s a row ashore. Convicts broke loose, or something.”

The young man hastened on deck, as did the captain and the rest of the crew, to find that the night was intensely dark, but that there was a bright display of lights on shore, conspicuous amongst which was a dull heavy glimmer, which, however, soon increased to a glow, and then flames mounted higher and higher, and it became evident that some good-sized building was on fire.

At this moment there was a sudden flash, and the heavy thud of a gun from the sloop, followed by loud cries and shoutings on the beach.

“Hadn’t we better man a boat and go ashore?” said Edward Murray eagerly. “There’s a bad fire, and we might be of some use.”

“Better stay aboard,” said the captain. “That’s part of the prison on fire. Those fiends of convicts have fired the place, and they’re escaping, safe. There, I told you so. That’s not the sort of thing used for putting out fires.”

As he spoke, there came the loud sharp rattle of musketry, and, from the lights on board the sloop, it was evident that the men had been beat to quarters, ready for any emergency. The ports were open, showing the lights within; and a faint glimpse was obtained of a boat being lowered; but soon the noise and shouting ceased, the musketry was heard no more, and only a dull murmuring sound as from a busy crowd came floating across the bay.

But the light of the burning building still shone out strong and lurid, and by means of a night-glass it could be seen that men were busily endeavouring to extinguish the flames. When they shone in a ruddy path across the bay, a boat, too, could now and then be seen for a moment or two, as if some eager party were rowing ashore. Then an hour passed with the lurid flare settling slowly into a bright golden glow, the satiated flames sinking lower and lower, till, the excitement having worn away, first one and then another of the crew slipped down to his hammock, and Edward Murray was about to follow, when a faint sound off the port quarter arrested his steps.

Save where there was still the bright glow from the burning embers, all around was now intensely dark.

“Wasn’t that the rattle of a thole-pin?” said Murray to his companion.

“Didn’t hear it, for my part,” was the brusque reply.

“Then what’s that? Did you hear it then?”

“Yes, I heard that,” was the answer.

And then the two young men crossed the deck and leaned over the side, peering out into the darkness; but seeing nothing for all that, though there was the faint sound of oars dipping slowly, and it was evident that some boat was nearing them.

“Do they mean to board us?” said Murray. “Depend upon it, the man-of-war has boats on the lookout, and they’re rowing with muffled oars, ready to overhaul the escaping party; that is, if any of them have got loose.”

“That’s it, depend upon it,” said the mate. “They’ll hail us directly. They must see our lights.”

There was silence then for a few moments, during which two or three of the crew, attracted also by the noise they had heard, came over to their side. Then came the plash of an oar; and, starting into activity, as if moved by some sudden impulse, Murray shouted:

“Boat ahoy!”

“Ahoy, there!” was the answer.

And then the rowing was heard plainly, as if those who handled the oars had thrown off the secrecy of their movements.

“It’s the man-of-war’s boat,” said the second mate.

“What ship’s that?” was now asked from the darkness, but in anything but the loud hearty hail of a sailor.

“Sarah Ann, port of London,” answered the mate. “Are you from the sloop?”

“Ay, ay,” was the reply.

“Bring a lantern here, and swing over the side,” said Murray uneasily; and one of the anchor-lights was brought, and sent a feeble ray, cutting as it were the dense curtain that hung around. Then the bows of a boat were seen swiftly advancing, and for a moment Murray gazed at its occupants with a mixture of astonishment and terror; but the next instant he had seized one of the capstan-bars, and stood ready.

“Here, Smith, Norris, Jackson, be smart!” he shouted, “or we shall lose the ship. Convicts!”

That last word seemed to electrify the men into action; and as the boat grated against the side of the heavily-laden vessel, just beneath the fore-chains, man after man armed himself with the capstan-bars, and stood ready by the first mate.

The lantern was dashed out directly; and it was evident that men were climbing up the side by means of boat-hooks hitched into the fore-chains. Now followed a struggle – short, sharp, but decisive; for first one and then another convict was knocked back into the boat as he tried to gain a foothold. There was a little shouting, a few oaths; and then, apparently satisfied that the reception was too warm, and that they were fighting against odds, the occupants of the boat shoved off, just as the ship’s crew was reinforced by the captain and men who had gone below.

“That was a narrow escape,” said the captain. “Mr Murray, I sha’n’t forget to mention this to the owners.”

“Suppose we keep a sharp look-out for the rest of the night? They may come back, unless they find some other vessel less on the alert.”

“Oars again,” whispered one of the men.

They listened attentively, and once more could plainly make out the soft smothered dip of oars floating across the water.

Ten minutes passed, and then, as the crew stood with beating hearts waiting for the next assault, there came another hail out of the darkness.

“What ship’s that?”

“Never you mind!” answered the captain roughly. “What boat’s that?”

“First cutter – his Majesty’s ship Theseus,” was the reply. “Heard or seen anything of a boat, or boats, this way?”

“Nearly boarded by one, only we beat them off,” said the captain. “Convicts, weren’t they?”

“Hold hard a minute, and I’ll come on board,” was the answer. “Bows there – in oars, men!” and the boat was heard to thump against the vessel’s counter.

“Keep down there,” shouted the captain, cocking a pistol, “or I fire!”

“Confound you! don’t I tell you we’re friends?” said the same voice.

“Yes, you tell me,” muttered the captain. “Bring a lantern here.”