"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 from them before the bird could be secured. Glynn, therefore, left the management of the line to others, and, taking up an oar, tried to strike it. But he failed in several attempts.
"Wait till we haul him nearer, boy," said the captain. "Now, then!"
Glynn struck again, and succeeded in hitting it a slight blow. At the same instant the albatross swept over the boat, and almost knocked the doctor overboard. As it brushed past, King b.u.mble, who was gifted with the agility of a monkey, leaped up, caught it round the neck, and the next moment the two were rolling together in the bottom of the boat.
The creature was soon strangled, and a mighty cheer greeted this momentous victory.
We are not aware that albatross flesh is generally considered very desirable food, but we are certain that starving men are particularly glad to get it, and that the supply now obtained by the wrecked mariners was the means of preserving their lives until they reached the land, which they did ten days afterwards, having thus accomplished a voyage of above two thousand miles over the ocean in an open boat in the course of eight weeks, and on an amount of food that was barely sufficient for one or two weeks" ordinary consumption.
Great commiseration was expressed for them by the people at the Cape, who vied with each other in providing for their wants, and in showing them kindness.
Ailie and her father were carried off bodily by a stout old merchant, with a broad kind face, and a hearty, boisterous manner, and lodged in his elegant villa during their stay in that quarter of the world, which was protracted some time in order that they might recruit the wasted strength of the party ere they commenced their voyage home in a vessel belonging to the same stout, broad-faced, and vociferous merchant.
Meanwhile, several other ships departed for America, and by one of these Captain Dunning wrote to his sisters Martha and Jane. The captain never wrote to Martha or to Jane separately--he always wrote to them conjointly as "Martha Jane Dunning."
The captain was a peculiar letter-writer. Those who may feel curious to know more about this matter are referred for further information to the next chapter.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
HOME, SWEET HOME--THE CAPTAIN TAKES HIS SISTERS BY SURPRISE--A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.
It is a fact which we cannot deny, however much we may feel disposed to marvel at it, that laughter and weeping, at one and the same time, are compatible. The most resolute sceptic on this point would have been convinced of the truth of it had he been introduced into the Misses Martha and Jane Dunning"s parlour on the beautiful summer morning in which the remarkable events we are about to relate occurred.
On the morning in question, a letter-carrier walked up to the cottage with the yellow-painted face, and with the green door, so like a nose in the middle; and the window on each side thereof, so like its eyes; and the green Venetian blinds, that served so admirably for eyelids, attached thereto--all of which stood, and beamed, and luxuriated, and vegetated, and grew old in the centre of the town on the eastern seaboard of America, whose name (for strictly private reasons) we have firmly declined, and do still positively refuse to communicate.
Having walked up to the cottage, the letter-carrier hit it a severe smash on its green nose, as good Captain Dunning had done many, many months before. The result now, as then, was the opening thereof by a servant-girl--the servant-girl of old. The letter-carrier was a taciturn man; he said nothing, but handed in the letter, and went his way. The servant-girl was a morose damsel; she said nothing, but took the letter, shut the door, and laid it (the letter, not the door) on the breakfast-table, and went her way--which way was the way of all flesh, fish, and fowl--namely, the kitchen, where breakfast was being prepared.
Soon after the arrival of the letter Miss Jane Dunning--having put on an immaculately clean white collar and a spotlessly beautiful white cap with pink ribbons, which looked, if possible, taller than usual-- descended to the breakfast-parlour. Her eye instantly fell on the letter, and she exclaimed--"Oh!" at the full pitch of her voice.
Indeed, did not respect for the good lady forbid, we would say that she _yelled_ "Oh!"
Instantly, as if by magic, a faint "oh!" came down-stairs like an echo, from the region of Miss Martha Dunning"s bedroom, and was followed up by a "What is it?" so loud that the most unimaginative person could not have failed to perceive that the elder sister had opened her door and put her head over the banisters.
"What is it?" repeated Miss Martha.
"A letter!" answered Miss Jane.
"Who from?" (in eager surprise, from above.)
"Brother George!" (in eager delight, from below.)
Miss Jane had not come to this knowledge because of having read the letter, for it still lay on the table unopened, but because she could not read it at all! One of Captain Dunning"s peculiarities was that he wrote an execrably bad and illegible hand. His English was good, his spelling pretty fair, considering the absurd nature of the orthography of his native tongue, and his sense was excellent, but the whole was usually shrouded in hieroglyphical mystery. Miss Jane could only read the opening "My dearest Sisters," and the concluding "George Dunning,"
nothing more. But Miss Martha could, by the exercise of some rare power, spell out her brother"s hand, though not without much difficulty.
"I"m coming," shouted Miss Martha.
"Be quick!" screamed Miss Jane.
In a few seconds Miss Martha entered the room with her cap and collar, though faultlessly clean and stiff, put on very much awry.
"Give it me! Where is it?"
Miss Jane pointed to the letter, still remaining transfixed to the spot where her eye had first met it, as if it were some dangerous animal which would bite if she touched it.
Miss Martha s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, tore it open, and flopped down on the sofa.
Miss Jane s.n.a.t.c.hed up an imaginary letter, tore it open (in imagination), and flopping down beside her sister, looked over her shoulder, apparently to make believe to herself that she read it along with her. Thus they read and commented on the captain"s letter in concert.
"`Table Bay"--dear me! what a funny bay that must be--`My dearest Sisters"--the darling fellow, he always begins that way, don"t he, Jane dear?"
"Bless him! he does, Martha dear."
"`We"ve been all"--I can"t make this word out, can you, dear?"
"No, love."
"`We"ve been all-worked!" No, it can"t be that. Stay, `We"ve been all _wrecked_!""
Here Martha laid down the letter with a look of horror, and Jane, with a face of ashy paleness, exclaimed, "Then they"re lost!"
"But no," cried Martha, "George could not have written to us from Tablecloth Bay had he been lost."
"Neither he could!" exclaimed Jane, eagerly.
Under the influence of the revulsion of feeling this caused, Martha burst into tears and Jane into laughter. Immediately after, Jane wept and Martha laughed; then they both laughed and cried together, after which they felt for their pocket-handkerchiefs, and discovered that in their haste they had forgotten them; so they had to call the servant-girl and send her up-stairs for them; and when the handkerchiefs were brought, they had to be unfolded before the sisters could dry their eyes.
When they had done so, and were somewhat composed, they went on with the reading of the letter.
"`We"ve been all wrecked"--Dreadful--`and the poor _Red Angel_""--"Oh!
it can"t be that, Martha dear!"
"Indeed, it looks very like it, Jane darling. Oh! I see; it"s _Eric_--`and the poor _Red Eric_ has been patched," or--`pitched on a rock and smashed to sticks and stivers"--Dear me! what can that be? I know what `sticks" are, but I can"t imagine what `stivers" mean. Can you, Jane?"
"Haven"t the remotest idea; perhaps Johnson, or Walker, or Webster may-- yes, Webster is sure to."