It was principally on Mrs. Weldon’s account that the Captain began to feel uneasiness, and he made up his mind that if he could hail a vessel proceeding to America he should advise his passengers to embark on her; unfortunately, however, he felt that they were still in a latitude far too much to the south to make it likely that they should sight a steamer going to Panama; and at that date, communication between Australia and the New World was much less frequent than it has since become.
Still, nothing occurred to interrupt the general monotony of the voyage until the 2nd of February, the date at which our narrative commences.
It was about nine o’clock in the morning of that day that Dick and little Jack had perched themselves together on the topmast-yards. The weather was very clear, and they could see the horizon right round except the section behind them, hidden by the brigantine-sail on the mainmast. Below them, the bowsprit seemed to lie along the water with its staysails attached like three unequal wings; from the lads’ feet to the deck was the smooth surface of the foremast; and above their heads nothing but the small topsail and the topmast. The schooner was running on the larboard tack as close to the wind as possible.
Dick Sand was pointing out to Jack how well the ship was ballasted, and was trying to explain how it was impossible for her to capsize, however much she heeled to starboard, when suddenly the little fellow cried out—
“I can see something in the water!”
“Where? what?” exclaimed Dick, clambering to his feet upon the yard.
“There!” said the child, directing attention to the portion of the sea-surface that was visible between the staysails.
Dick fixed his gaze intently for a moment, and then shouted out lustily—
“Look out in front, to starboard! There is something afloat. To windward, look out!”
III
A Rescue
At the sound of Dick’s voice all the crew, in a moment, were upon the alert. The men who were not on watch rushed to the deck, and Captain Hull hurried from his cabin to the bows. Mrs. Weldon, Nan, and even Cousin Benedict leaned over the starboard taffrails, eager to get a glimpse of what had thus suddenly attracted the attention of the young apprentice. With his usual indifference, Negoro did not leave his cabin, and was the only person on board who did not share the general excitement.
Speculations were soon rife as to what could be the nature of the floating object which could be discerned about three miles ahead. Suggestions of various character were freely made. One of the sailors declared that it looked to him only like an abandoned raft, but Mrs. Weldon observed quickly that if it were a raft it might be carrying some unfortunate shipwrecked men who must be rescued if possible. Cousin Benedict asserted that it was nothing more nor less than a huge sea-monster; but the captain soon arrived at the conviction that it was the hull of a vessel that had heeled over onto its side, an opinion with which Dick thoroughly coincided, and went so far as to say that he believed he could make out the copper keel glittering in the sun.
“Luff, Bolton, luff!” shouted Captain Hull to the helmsman; “we will at any rate lose no time in getting alongside.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the helmsman, and the Pilgrim in an instant was steered according to orders.
In spite, however, of the convictions of the captain and Dick, Cousin Benedict would not be moved from his opinion that the object of their curiosity was some huge cetacean.
“It is certainly dead, then,” remarked Mrs. Weldon; “it is perfectly motionless.”
“Oh, that’s because it is asleep,” said Benedict, who, although he would have willingly given up all the whales in the ocean for one rare specimen of an insect, yet could not surrender his own belief.
“Easy, Bolton, easy!” shouted the captain when they were getting nearer the floating mass; “don’t let us be running foul of the thing; no good could come from knocking a hole in our side; keep out from it a good cable’s length.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the helmsman, in his usual cheery way; and by an easy turn of the helm the Pilgrim’s course was slightly modified so as to avoid all fear of collision.
The excitement of the sailors by this time had become more intense. Ever since the distance had been less than a mile all doubt had vanished, and it was certain that what was attracting their attention was the hull of a capsized ship. They knew well enough the established rule that a third of all salvage is the right of the finders, and they were filled with the hope that the hull they were nearing might contain an undamaged cargo, and be “a good haul,” to compensate them for their ill-success in the last season.
A quarter of an hour later and the Pilgrim was within half a mile of the deserted vessel, facing her starboard side. Waterlogged to her bulwarks, she had heeled over so completely that it would have been next to impossible to stand upon her deck. Of her masts nothing was to be seen; a few ends of cordage were all that remained of her shrouds, and the try-sail chains were hanging all broken. On the starboard flank was an enormous hole.
“Something or other has run foul of her,” said Dick.
“No doubt of that,” replied the captain; “the only wonder is that she did not sink immediately.”
“Oh, how I hope the
