Moved by this sad thought I went forth to look on her, and great my sorrow to behold this once proud and stately vessel no more than woeful hulk and storm-beaten ruin. Now as I stood thus grieving, to me comes Antonia to slip her hand within my arm (with never a word) and lead me to my own cabin where sat Smy with open book afore him, this New Testament of King James, and with Absalom standing beside him. Now seeing what was to do, a faintness came on me and for a moment all things dimmed, perchance because of my much late exertions. So, there in my cabin, while the doomed ship was slowly sinking beneath us, these two were wed. Scarce was this done and I wished them every happiness, speaking from my very heart, than I went forth on deck and there met Sir Benjamin with Sir G. D'Arcy, they watching where men were busied casting loose the boats, pinnace, long-boat, yawl, etc.
"Thank God," says Sir George, "the boats took no damage; these shall now be our deliverance except we have another storm."
"Ay," groans Sir Benj, "or we perish by famine or thirst, or be taken to slave for damned Portugals or cursed Spaniards, or are whipped to death aboard their foul galleys, or tortured in the vile Inquisition, or slain by Indians, or——"
"Hold there, Ben, God ha' mercy, hold!" cries Sir George. "Pluck up heart now, let our late salvation be assurance of our future safety. How say you, Mr. Adam?"
"Ay, truly," I answered him, "if death come what matter the how of it so it be sure?"
Then down went I to help with the boats, and here found Smy with the Bo'sun, and both scowling to windward, and on my asking the reason for their gloom, Smy growled:
"The sooner we're away the better, Adam, for I like not the look o' things, eh, Bo'sun?"
"No, sir," answers Ned, "nor me neether. There be more foul weather acoming, or I'm a lubberly Dutchman, which I ain't!" So presently back went I to collect my papers with the books and instruments given me by poor Amos Perrin and (most especially) for my father's sword. Being here and alone I opened my Journal to set down these that are, I think, the last words I shall ever write herein. The Future is very dark and with perils abounding and whether I am to live or die is now all one to me since life hath so little to offer and death indeed may give back to me my long-lost mother and noble father. So if I go now to my death, my last prayer on this ship shall be—Lord God let Antonia be happy in this life and hereafter. Amen. And now is great ado and commotion on deck, so will
Here endeth the Journal of Adam Penfeather writ aboard the Bold Adventuress lost at sea, June 19, 1638.
And here also ends the First Book of this Narration.
BOOK TWO
CHAPTER XXIII
TELLS HOW THEY RODE THE STORM
"Bail! Bail for your lives!"
"Shake out a reef or we'm pooped!"
"Madman, you'll drown us!"
"Lubber, belay your chaffer! Shake out a reef there!"
Adam gasped to shivering wakefulness and sat up dizzily, to be half choked by wind and flying spray; he blinked and rubbed the water from his eyes to see a stumpy mast with shred of sail, the awful nearness of monstrous, hissing seas rushing to engulf him and, between his cowering body and this pursuing menace, the dripping, wind-smitten form of Bo'sun Ned at the tiller of a boat now soaring against angry sky, now plunging down beneath the curving, green chasm of following wave.
"Bail! Oh ... bail for your lives!" And now Adam saw the man who thus cried was Sir Benjamin bailing feverishly with sodden hat, with Sir George D'Arcy, and beyond them many other men who wrought as desperately with buckets, with pots, caps, shoes, hands,—anything to free them of this invading, murderous water; but nowhere did his eager, questing eyes see any sign of Antonia or Absalom. And so at last he turned back to the Bo'sun and shouted above howling wind:
"Oh, Ned ... Ned ... is my brother here?" And, crouched against blinding spindrift the Bo'sun answered:
"No, sir. Bleeve he was took aboard the Cap'n's boat ... the longboat, sir."
"What o' the ship?"
"Lost, sir ... Davy Jones."
"Where are ... the other boats?"
"Only the Lord o' Marcy knoweth, sir."
"Can any boat live ... in such sea?"
"Ay ... mayhap,—if handled sailorly. But should she broach-to 'tis the end o' we. Ay—sure-ly!"
"How came I here, Ned?"
"You was washed adown ... quarterdeck ladder when ... t'other squall struck us and ... laying onconscious would ha' been left, only ... Smidge found ee.
"Where is the boy ... Smidge ... where?"
"Forrard somewheers."
"Can I anyways help you, Ned?"
"Ay, off wi' your shoe and bail, sir, the lighter she be the easier she rides."
So Adam bailed, as he did most things, with all his might, till a plump, wet hand met his and he looked up into the pale, wet face of Sir Benjamin.
"Thought ye dead, Adam," he bellowed. "There's blood i' your hair!"
"The sea shall cure that."
"The sea, ay," wailed Sir Benjamin pettishly, "this cursed sea shall cure us o' living, like as not! And death by drowning is no fit end for a gentleman,—steel or a bullet, but—water! Ha, 'sblood, I quake!"
All day they drove, lashed by hissing spray, buffeted by hooting wind, tossed on foaming seas that threatened to swamp them, yet thanks to their stout craft and the Bo'sun's deft hand upon the tiller, they rode these fierce billows until as night drew on and the sun aflame in broken cloud, seas and wind gentled and, for the time being, their danger was past. Yet now it was that Sir Benjamin, being wet and miserable, began to make loud lament to all and sundry:
"'S death, now here's damnable coil and cursed pickle! Bo'sun, where a plague are we according to your reckoning,—where?"
"Somewheers off the Abrollos Shoal, I'd say, your honour. Wi' Brazil to looard and the Main right afore us."
"Then are we poor English in mighty parlous case, by God! Enemies' seas all about us! For the cursed Dutch don't love us, the damned Portugals fear us and the bloody-minded Spaniards hate us! Prison, slavery or the vile torments o' the Inquisition!"
"Why now then," said Adam, seeing all men greatly downcast by these words, "since God hath protected us in the past, let us pray He so do in the future, to be our ultimate salvation. Come now, let us call on our merciful Providence. Will you, Sir Benjamin, lead us in prayer?"
"Nay, I've no gift that way, Adam, and small belief."
"Then, will you, Sir George?"
"No, Mr. Adam, for though I've belief, I have no eloquence thereto."
"What o' thee, Bo'sun Ned?"
"Ay, I would, sir, right hearty, but begs excuse being a bit rusty like."
"Will any of you men forrard there,—John Fenn, Martin Frant?" He was answered by shaken heads, hoarse muttering or sullen silence. So now, therefore, crouched in this storm-tossed boat, Adam lifted hands and voice, praying thus:
"Almighty God, Lord of Battle and Storm, Thou giver of life and death—that is yet the loving and merciful Father of all men, look down on us thy lost children in this Thy desolation of waters and be now our comfort. As we are brothers now in adversity let us live brothers henceforth to each other's help. Make us strong to endure Thy will, to suffer all things valiantly since only by suffering may a man prove his worth and manhood. Guide us, O Heavenly Father, bring us safe out of all perils from fury of tempest and rage of foes, and so at last to thine everlasting glory ... Amen!"