On floating so near, and hearing the maudlin
cries of our crew, and beholding their antics, they must have taken
us for a pirate; at any rate, they got out their sweeps, and pulled
away as fast as they could; the sight of our two six-pounders, which,
by way of a joke, were now run out of the side-ports, giving a fresh
impetus to their efforts. But they had not gone far, when a white
man, with a red sash about his waist, made his appearance on deck,
the natives immediately desisting.
Hailing us loudly, he said he was coming aboard; and after some
confusion on the schooner's decks, a small canoe was launched
over-hoard, and, in a minute or two, he was with us. He turned out to
be an old shipmate of Jermin's, one Viner, long supposed dead, but
now resident on the island.
The meeting of these men, under the circumstances, is one of a
thousand occurrences appearing exaggerated in fiction; but,
nevertheless, frequently realized in actual lives of adventure.
Some fifteen years previous, they had sailed together as officers of
the barque Jane, of London, a South Seaman. Somewhere near the New
Hebrides, they struck one night upon an unknown reef; and, in a few
hours, the Jane went to pieces. The boats, however, were saved; some
provisions also, a quadrant, and a few other articles. But several of
the men were lost before they got clear of the wreck.
The three boats, commanded respectively by the captain, Jermin, and
the third mate, then set sail for a small English settlement at the
Bay of Islands in New Zealand. Of course they kept together as much
as possible. After being at sea about a week, a Lascar in the
captain's boat went crazy; and, it being dangerous to keep him, they
tried to throw him overboard. In the confusion that ensued the boat
capsized from the sail's "jibing"; and a considerable sea running at
the time, and the other boats being separated more than usual, only
one man was picked up. The very next night it blew a heavy gale; and
the remaining boats taking in all sail, made bundles of their oars,
flung them overboard, and rode to them with plenty of line. When
morning broke, Jermin and his men were alone upon the ocean: the
third mate's boat, in all probability, having gone down.
After great hardships, the survivors caught sight of a brig, which
took them on board, and eventually landed them at Sydney.
Ever since then our mate had sailed from that port, never once hearing
of his lost shipmates, whom, by this time, of course, he had long
given up. Judge, then, his feelings when Viner, the lost third mate,
the instant he touched the deck, rushed up and wrung him by the hand.
During the gale his line had parted; so that the boat, drifting fast
to leeward, was out of sight by morning. Reduced, after this, to
great extremities, the boat touched, for fruit, at an island of which
they knew nothing. The natives, at first, received them kindly; but
one of the men getting into a quarrel on account of a woman, and the
rest taking his part, they were all massacred but Viner, who, at the
time, was in an adjoining village. After staying on the island more
than two years, he finally escaped in the boat of an American whaler,
which landed him at Valparaiso. From this period he had continued to
follow the seas, as a man before the mast, until about eighteen
months previous, when he went ashore at Tahiti, where he now owned the
schooner we saw, in which he traded among the neighbouring islands.
The breeze springing up again just after nightfall, Viner left us,
promising his old shipmate to see him again, three days hence, in
Papeetee harbour.
CHAPTER XXVI.
WE ENTER THE HARBOUR - JIM THE PILOT
EXHAUSTED by the day's wassail, most of the men went below at an early
hour, leaving the deck to the steward and two of the men remaining on
duty; the mate, with Baltimore and the Dane, engaging to relieve them
at midnight. At that hour, the ship - now standing off shore, under
short sail - was to be tacked.
It was not long after midnight, when we were wakened in the forecastle
by the lion roar of Jermin's voice, ordering a pull at the
jib-halyards; and soon afterwards, a handspike struck the scuttle,
and all hands were called to take the ship into port.
This was wholly unexpected; but we learned directly that the mate, no
longer relying upon the consul, and renouncing all thought of
inducing the men to change their minds, had suddenly made up his own.
He was going to beat up to the entrance of the harbour, so as to show
a signal for a pilot before sunrise.
Notwithstanding this, the sailors absolutely refused to assist in
working the ship under any circumstances whatever: to all mine and
the doctor's entreaties lending a deaf ear. Sink or strike, they
swore they would have nothing more to do with her. This perverse-ness
was to be attributed, in a great measure, to the effects of their
late debauch.
With a strong breeze, all sail set, and the ship in the hands of four
or five men, exhausted by two nights' watching, our situation was bad
enough; especially as the mate seemed more reckless than ever, and we
were now to tack ship several times close under the land.
Well knowing that if anything untoward happened to the vessel before
morning, it would be imputed to the conduct of the crew, and so lead
to serious results, should they ever be brought to trial; I called
together those on deck to witness my declaration; - that now that the
Julia was destined for the harbour (the only object for which I, at
least, had been struggling), I was willing to do what I could toward
carrying her in safely.
