As they continued to gaze, the tiny spark seemed to increase, not only in size, but intensity; and, before many minutes had elapsed, it proclaimed itself no longer a mere spark, but a blaze of light, with its own luminous halo around it. The gradual chastening of colour in the western sky, along with the increased darkness of the atmosphere around it, would account for this change in the appearance of the light. So reasoned the spectators,--now more than ever convinced that what they saw was the glare of a galley-fire.
CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE.
TOWARDS THE BEACON!
As soon as they were satisfied that the bright spark upon the horizon was a burning light, every individual on the raft became inspired with the same impulse,--to make for the spot where the object appeared.
Whether in the galley or not,--and whether the glow of a fire or the gleam of a lamp,--it must be on board a ship. There was no land in that part of the ocean; and a light could not be burning upon the water, without something in the shape of a ship to carry it.
That it was a ship, no one for a moment doubted. So sure were they, that several of the men, on the moment of making it out, had vociferated, at the top of their voices, "Ship ahoy!"
The voices of none of them were particularly strong just then. They were weak, in proportion to their attenuated frames; but had they been ten times as strong as they were, they could not have been heard at such a distance as that light was separated from the raft.
It was not less than twenty miles from them. In the excited state of their senses,--arising from thirst, starvation, and all the wild emotions which the discovery itself had roused within them,--they had formed a delusive idea of the distance; many of them fancying that the light was quite near!
There were some among them who reasoned more rationally. These, instead of wasting their strength in idle shouting, employed their time in impressing upon the others the necessity of making some exertion to approach the light.
Some thought that much exertion would not be required; as the light appeared to be approaching them. And, in truth, it did appear so; but the wiser ones knew that this might be only an optical illusion,--caused by the sea and sky each moment a.s.suming a more sombre hue.
These last--both with voice and by their example--urged their companions to use every effort towards coming up with what they were sure must be a ship.
"Let us meet her," they said, "if she"s standing this way; if not, we must do all we can to overtake her."
It needed no persuasion to put the most slothful of the crew upon their mettle. A new hope of life,--an unexpected prospect of being rescued from what most of them had been contemplating as almost certain death,-- inspired all to the utmost effort; and with an alacrity they had never before exhibited in their raft navigation,--and a unanimity of late unknown to them,--they went to work to propel their clumsy craft across the ocean.
Some sprang to the oars, while others a.s.sisted at the sail. For days the latter had received no attention; but had been permitted to hang loosely from the mast,--flopping about in whatever way the breeze chanced to blow it. They had entertained no idea of what course they ought to steer in; or if they did think of a direction, they had not sufficient decision to follow it. For days they had been drifting about over the surface of the sea, at the discretion of the currents.
Now the sail was reset, with all the trimness that circ.u.mstances would admit of. The sheets were drawn home and made fast; and the mast was stayed _taut_, so as to hinder it from slanting.
As the object upon which they were directing their course was not exactly to leeward, it was necessary to manage the sail with the wind slightly abeam; and for this purpose two men were appointed to the rudder,--which consisted of a broad plank, poised on its edge and hitched to the stern timbers of the raft. By means of this rude rudder, they were enabled to keep the raft "head on" towards the light.
The rowers were seated along both sides. Nearly every individual of the crew, who was not occupied at the sail or steering-board, was employed in propelling. A few only were provided with oars; others wielded handspikes, capstan-bars, or pieces of split plank,--in short, anything that would a.s.sist in the "pulling," if only to the value of a pound.
It was,--or, at all events, they thought it was,--a life and death struggle. They were sure that a ship was near them. By reaching her they would be saved; by failing to do so they would be doomed. Another day without food would bring death, at least to one of them; another day without water would bring worse than death to almost every man of them.
Their unanimous action, a.s.sisted by the broad sail, caused the craft, c.u.mbersome as it was, to make considerable way through the water,-- though by far too slow to satisfy their wishes. At times they kept silent; at times their voices could be heard mingled with the plunging of the oars; and too often only in profane speech.
They cursed the craft upon which they were carried,--its clumsiness,-- the slowness with which they were making way towards the ship,--the ship itself, for not making way towards them: for, as they continued on, those who formerly believed that the light was approaching them, no longer held to that faith. On the contrary, after rowing nearly an hour, all were too ready to agree in the belief that the ship was wearing away.
Not an instant pa.s.sed, without the eyes of some one being directed towards the light. The rowers, whose backs were turned upon it, kept occasionally twisting their necks around, and looking over their shoulders,--only to resume their proper att.i.tudes with countenances that expressed disappointment.
There were not wanting voices to speak discouragement. Some declared that the light was growing less; that the ship was in full sail, going away from them; and that there would not be the slightest chance of their coming up with her.
These were men who began to feel fatigued at the oar.
There were even some who professed to doubt the existence of a ship, or a ship"s light. What they saw was only a bright spot upon the ocean,-- some luminous object--perhaps the carca.s.s of some phosphorous fish, or "squid," floating upon the surface. They had many of them seen such things; and the conjecture was not offered to incredulous ears.
These surmises produced discontent,--which in time would have exhibited itself in the gradual dropping of the oars, but for a circ.u.mstance which brought this climax about, in a more sudden and simultaneous manner,-- the _extinction of the light_.
It went out while the eyes of several were fixed upon it; not by any gradual disappearance,--as a waning star might have pa.s.sed out of sight,--but with a quick "fluff;"--so one of the spectators described it,--likening its extinction to "a tub of salt-water thrown over the galley-fire."
On the instant of its disappearance, the oars were abandoned,--as also the rudder. It would have been idle to attempt steering any longer.
There was neither moon nor stars in the sky. The light was the only thing that had been guiding them; and that gone, they had not the slightest clue as to their course. The breeze was buffeting about in every direction; but, even had it been blowing steadily, every one of them knew how uncertain it would be to trust to its guidance,-- especially with such a sail, and such a steering apparatus.
Already half convinced that they had been following an _ignis fatuus_,-- and half resolved to give over the pursuit,--it needed only what had occurred to cause a complete abandonment of their nocturnal navigation.
Once more giving way to despair,--expressed in wild wicked words,--they left the sail to itself, and the winds to waft them to whatever spot of the ocean fate had designed for the closing scene of their wretched existence.
CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX.
A DOUBLE DARKNESS.
The night was a dark one; by a Spanish figure of speech, comparable to a "pot of pitch." It was scarce further obscured by a thick fog that shortly after came silently over the surface of the ocean, enveloping the great raft along with its ruffian crew.
Through such an atmosphere nothing could be seen,--not even the light, had it continued to burn.
Before the coming on of the fog, they had kept a look-out for the light,--one or other remaining always on the watch. They had done so, with a sort of despairing hope that it might reappear; but, as the surrounding atmosphere became impregnated with the filmy vapour, this dreary vigilance was gradually relaxed, and at length abandoned altogether.
So thick fell the fog during the mid-hours of the night, that nothing could be seen at the distance of over six feet from the eye. Even they who occupied the raft could only distinguish those who were close by their side; and each appeared to the others as if shrouded under a screen of grey gauze.
The darkness did not hinder them from conversing. As nearly all hope of succour from a supposed ship had been extinguished, along with that fanciful light, it was but natural that their thoughts should lapse into some other channel; and equally so, that they should turn back to that from which they had been so unexpectedly diverted.
Hunger,--keen, craving hunger,--easily transported them to the spectacle which the sheen of that false torch had brought to an unsatisfactory termination; and their minds now dwelt on what would have been the different condition of affairs, had they not yielded to the delusion.
Not only had their thoughts reference to this theme, but their speeches; and in the solemn hour of midnight,--in the midst of that gloomy vapour, darkly overshadowing the great deep,--they might have been heard again discussing the awful question, "Who dies next?"
To arrive at a decision was not so difficult as before. The majority of the men had made up their minds as to the course that should be pursued.
It was no longer a question of casting lots. That had been done already; and the two who had not yet drawn clear--and between whom the thing still remained undecided--were undoubtedly the individuals to determine the matter.
Indeed, there was no debate. All were unanimous that either Le Gros or O"Gorman should furnish food for their famishing companions,--in other words, that the combat, so unexpectedly postponed, should be again resumed.
There was nothing unfair in this,--except to the Irish man. He had certainly secured his triumph, when interrupted. If another half-second had been allowed him, his antagonist would have lain lifeless at his feet.
Under the judgment of just umpires this circ.u.mstance would have weighed in his favour; and, perhaps, exempted him from any further risk; but, tried by the shipwrecked crew of a slaver,--more than a moiety of whom leaned towards his antagonist,--the sentence was different; and the majority of the judges proclaimed that the combat between him and Le Gros should be renewed, and continued to the death.
The renewal of it was not to take place on the moment. Night and darkness both forbade this; but the morning"s earliest light was to witness the resumption of that terrible strife.
Thus resolved, the ex-crew of the _Pandora_ laid themselves down to sleep,--not quite so calmly as they might have done in the forecastle of the slaver; for thirst, hunger, and fears for a hopeless future,-- without saying anything of a hard couch,--were not the companions with which to approach the shrine of Somnus. As a counterpoise, they felt la.s.situde both of mind and body, approaching to prostration.
Some of them slept. Some of them could have slept within the portals of Pluto, with the dog Cerberus yelping in their ears!
A few there were who seemed either unable to take rest or indifferent to it. All night long some one or other--sometimes two at a time--might be seen staggering about the raft, or crawling over its planks, as if unconscious of what they were doing. It seemed a wonder that some of them--semi-somnambulists in a double sense--did not fall overboard into the water. But they did not. Notwithstanding the eccentricity of their movements, they all succeeded in maintaining their position on the raft.
To tumble over the edge would have been tantamount to toppling into the jaws of an expectant shark, and getting "scrunched" between no less than six rows of sharp teeth. Perhaps it was an instinct--or some presentiment of this peril--that enabled these wakeful wanderers to preserve their equilibrium.