Chapter One.

The Indiaman.

“Well, Thudicumb, I hope by noon we may at last get a glimpse of the sun,” said Captain Davenport to his first officer, as they walked the deck of the Bussorah Merchant, homeward bound from the East Indies, and at that time rolling on over the long heaving seas of the Atlantic. The sky was overcast, but ever and anon a gleam of light burst forth amid the clouds, playing on the foaming crest of a wave. It was blowing hard, but had evidently been blowing much harder, of which fact the condition of the Indiaman gave evidence. A portion of the starboard bulwarks were stove in, one of her quarter boats was shattered, and other slight damages were visible.

“We must be ready for him, sir, at all events,” said the first officer, looking at his watch. “It is not far off noon now.”

“Tell Oliver to bring me my sextant,” said the captain, as the mate descended from the poop into his cabin.

Mr Thudicumb soon returned, bringing his own instrument, and followed by a boy with the captain’s. Continuing their walk, they looked anxiously every now and then at the spot in the heavens where they expected the sun to appear. They were accompanied by one who seemed to take as much interest as they did in what was going forward. When they turned, he turned; when they looked up at the sky, he looked up also; balancing himself when the ship rolled as they did, by leaning over to the opposite direction to which she was heeling. He, however, could not have afforded them any assistance in their observation, for though his eye and the expression of his countenance exhibited much sagacity, he was of the canine species—a large dog—a magnificent-looking fellow, who could, the crew declared, for he was a great favourite with them, do everything but talk—and, they might have added, take a meridional observation, or a lunar.

Mr Thudicumb again looked at his watch. “There he is, sir,” he exclaimed at length.

He and the captain stopped in their walk; their sextants were quickly at their eyes; and there they stood, their feet planted firmly on the heaving deck, in an attitude long practice alone could have enabled them to maintain. A clear space was seen in the sky, increasing rapidly, and yet not altogether blue, but the vapour which drove across it was not sufficiently thick to prevent the sun’s rays descending upon the sea.

“She has dipped, sir,” said the first officer.

“She has,” observed the captain.

The sun’s elevation was read off on the index, and the instruments were returned to their cases. The calculation was very quickly worked out on a scrap of card.

“Make it noon, Mr Thudicumb,” said the captain, as, returning the case to the young cabin-boy, he directed him to take it below. While the captain and his first officer were making their observation, a group of midshipmen had collected on the deck with their quadrants in their hands, doing their best to shoot the sun, but their less experienced eyes could make but little of it in that heavy sea; and when they came to read off their observations, they were somewhat surprised at the wonderful difference which existed among them. Stopping to listen to a few remarks made to them by the captain, they hurried off the deck to deposit their quadrants in places of safety. The dog all the time stood with his feet firmly planted on the deck, watching the captain, as if he fully understood what was going on. Captain Davenport, as he turned, patted him on the head. “You are a wise dog, Merlin,” he observed; “but you cannot take an observation yet.” Merlin wagged his tail as if he had received a compliment, or, at all events, well pleased at the notice taken of him.

The captain was a tall man of spare figure, his white locks and weather-beaten countenance making him appear considerably older than his firm, yet light and active step, seemed to warrant. His eye, too, was still full of life and fire, and his voice clear and strong, evidence of which had been given when he issued his orders in the late gale, and when, by his promptitude and decision, he had saved the ship, seemingly on the point of destruction.

Scarcely had eight bells been struck, when the voice of the boatswain from the forecastle was heard shouting, “A vessel on the lee bow, sir! A dismasted ship! It can be nothing else!”

Captain Davenport went forward, followed by Merlin.

“Where away is she, Mr Tarbox?” he asked of the boatswain.

“There, sir, you will catch her over the bumkin-head,” answered the boatswain. “I saw her again just as you stepped on the forecastle. She cannot have gone down in the meantime!”

“I hope not indeed,” said the captain, looking out eagerly in the direction towards which the boatswain pointed. At last he too caught sight of a dark object lifted on the top of a sea. “A dismasted ship; no doubt about that,” he observed. “We will keep away for her. There are probably people on board, and although it would be a difficult matter to take them off while this sea is running, we may do so if it goes down, as it has been gradually doing since daylight.”

The Indiaman stood on, now rising to the summit of a sea, now gliding into the valley below, gradually approaching the dark object which had been discovered. The boatswain had gone aloft, and quickly returned.

“No doubt about it, Captain Davenport. She is a big ship—lost her masts, no doubt, in the gale; and from the way she is rolling, I have a notion she has no small amount of water in her. If we had not sighted her, it is my opinion that those on board would be fathoms down in the ocean, as she will be before another sun rises.”

“We will do what we can to save any people on board her,” said Captain Davenport. “Get the life-boat ready for lowering, Mr Tarbox.”

“Ay, ay, sir; I am ready to go in her,” answered the boatswain.

“Perhaps Mr Thudicumb may wish to go, or the second officer; but if not, Tarbox, I would intrust her to you more readily than to anybody.”

The news that a dismasted ship was in sight brought all the passengers who were below on deck, and numerous glasses were now turned towards her. No signs, however, of any one being on board were discovered. She was a complete wreck; the masts had gone by the board, the bulwarks were stove in, the caboose and booms and everything on deck had been swept clear away. The Indiaman stood on, passing close to leeward of her.

“She is deserted, sir; little doubt about that,” said Mr Thudicumb, examining the ship. “The people thought she was going down, and took to their boats. Better have stuck to her in such a sea as they must have had to encounter. Little chance of any boat living.”

“Haul the tacks aboard then, Mr Thudicumb; down with the helm,” said the captain. “Unless for the sake of rescuing any fellow-creatures, I would not risk a boat to board her, while the sea runs as high as it now does.”

As he was speaking, Merlin had been eagerly watching the wreck; and now, stretching out his fore-feet and neck towards her, he uttered a loud mournful howl or wail, which sounded strangely wild and sad to all who heard it.

“What is the matter, Merlin?” asked the captain, bending down and patting the dog’s head.

“That dog has got more sense than many human beings,” observed the boatswain. “Now, I should not be surprised but what he knows there is somebody on board that craft—dead or dying, may be—just as well as if he saw them. If I was our skipper, I would not leave that wreck without an overhauling.”

Just then a human head was seen issuing from the companion-hatch. It was that of a young boy. He sprang on deck and waved a handkerchief wildly,