While the doctors were thus differing, the practical engineers were busy making the needful preparations for picking-up—an operation involving great risk of breaking the cable, and requiring the utmost delicacy of treatment, as may be easily understood, for, while the cable is being payed out the strain on it is comparatively small, whereas when it is being picked up, there is not only the extra strain caused by stoppage, and afterwards by hauling in, but there is the risk of sudden risings of the ship's stern on the ocean swell, which might at any moment snap the thin line like a piece of packthread.

The first difficulty and the great danger was to pass the cable from the stern to the bow, and to turn the ship round, so as to enable them to steam up to the cable while hauling it in. Iron chains were lashed firmly to the cable at the stern, and secured to a wire-rope carried round the outside of the ship to the picking-up apparatus at the bows. The cable was down in 400 fathoms of water when the paying-out ceased, and nice management was required to keep the ship steady, as she had now no steerage-way; and oh! with what intense interest and curiosity and wonder did Robin Wright regard the varied and wonderful mechanical appliances, with which the whole affair was accomplished!

Then the cable was cut, and, with its shackles and chains, allowed to go plump into the sea. Robin's heart and soul seemed to go along with it, for, not expecting the event, he fancied it was lost for ever.

"Gone!" he exclaimed, with a look of horror.

"Not quite," said Jim Slagg, who stood at Robin's elbow regarding the operations with a quiet look of intelligence. "Don't you see, Robin, that a wire-rope fit a'most to hold the big ship herself is holdin' on to it."

"Of course; how stupid I am!" said Robin, with a great sigh of relief; "I see it now, going round to the bows."

At first the rope was let run, to ease the strain while the ship swung round; then it was brought in over the pulley at the bow, the paddles moved, and the return towards Ireland was begun. The strain, although great, was far from the breaking-point, but the speed was very slow—not more than a mile an hour being considered safe in the process of picking-up.

"Patience, Robin," observed Mr Smith, as he passed on his way to the cabin, "is a virtue much needed in the laying of cables. We have now commenced a voyage at the rate of one mile an hour, which will not terminate till we get back to Owld Ireland, unless we find the fault."

Patience, however, was not destined to be so severely tried. All that day and all night the slow process went on. Meanwhile—as the cable was not absolutely unworkable, despite the fault—the chief engineer, Mr Canning, sent a message to Mr Glass in Ireland, asking him to send out the Hawk steamer, in order that he might return in her to search for the defect in the shore-end of the cable, for if that were found he purposed sacrificing the eighty odd miles already laid down, making a new splice with the shore-end, and starting afresh. A reply was received from Mr Glass, saying that the Hawk would be sent out immediately.

Accordingly, about daybreak of the 25th the Hawk appeared, but her services were not required, for, about nine that morning, when the cable was coming slowly in and being carefully examined foot by foot—nay, inch by inch—the fault was discovered, and joy took the place of anxiety. Ten and a quarter miles of cable had been picked up when the fault came inboard, and a strange unaccountable fault it turned out to be—namely, a small piece of wire which had been forced through the covering of the cable into the gutta-percha so as to injure, but not quite to destroy, the insulation. How such a piece of wire could have got into the tank was a mystery, but the general impression was that it had been carried there by accident and forced into the coil by the pressure of the paying-out machinery as the cable flew through the jockey-wheels.

Signals were at once made to the fleet that the enemy had been discovered. Congratulatory signals were returned. The fault was cut out and a new splice made. The Hawk was sent home again. The big ship's bow was turned once more to the west, and the rattling of the machinery, as the restored and revived cable passed over the stern, went merrily as a marriage bell.

The detention had been only about twelve hours; the great work was going on again as favourably as before the mishap occurred, and about half a mile had been payed out, when—blackness of despair—the electric current suddenly ceased, and communication with the shore was ended altogether.



CHAPTER NINE.

IN WHICH JOYS, HOPES, ALARMS, GHOSTS, AND LEVIATHANS TAKE PART.

That man who can appreciate the feelings of one who has become suddenly bankrupt may understand the mental condition of those on board the Great Eastern when they were thus tossed from the pinnacle of joyous hope to the depths of dark despair. It was not, however, absolute despair. The cable was utterly useless indeed—insensate—but it was not broken. There was still the blessed possibility of picking it up and bringing it to life again.

That, however, was scarcely an appreciable comfort at the moment, and little could be seen or heard on board the Great Eastern save elongated faces and gloomy forebodings.

Ebenezer Smith and his confreres worked in the testing-room like Trojans. They connected and disconnected; they put in stops and took them out; they intensified currents to the extent of their anxieties they reduced them to the measure of their despair—nothing would do. The cable was apparently dead. In these circumstances picking-up was the only resource, and the apparatus for that purpose was again rigged up in the bows.

In the meantime the splice which had been made to connect the tanks was cut and examined, and the portions coiled in the fore and main tanks were found to be perfect—alive and well—but the part between ship and shore was speechless.

So was poor Robin Wright! After Mr Field—whose life-hope seemed to be doomed to disappointment—the blow was probably felt most severely by Robin. But Fortune seemed to be playfully testing the endurance of these cable-layers at that time, for, when the despair was at its worst, the tell-tale light reappeared on the index of the galvanometer, without rhyme or reason, calling forth a shout of joyful surprise, and putting an abrupt stoppage to the labours of the pickers-up!

They never found out what was the cause of that fault; but that was a small matter, for, with restored sensation in the cable-nerve, renewed communication with the shore, and resumed progress of the ship towards her goal, they could afford to smile at former troubles.

Joy and sorrow, shower and sunshine, fair weather and foul, was at first the alternating portion of the cable-layers.

"I can't believe my eyes!" said Robin to Jim Slagg, as they stood next day, during a leisure hour, close to the whirling wheels and never-ending cable, about 160 miles of which had been laid by that time. "Just look at the Terrible and Sphinx; the sea is now so heavy that they are thumping into the waves, burying their bows in foam, while we are slipping along as steadily as a Thames steamer."

"That's true, sir," answered Slagg, whose admiration for our hero's enthusiastic and simple character increased as their intimacy was prolonged, and whose manner of address became proportionally more respectful, "She's a steady little duck is the Great Eastern! she has got the advantage of length, you see, over other ships, an' rides on two waves at a time, instead of wobblin' in between 'em; but I raither think she'd roll a bit if she was to go along in the trough of the seas. Don't the cable go out beautiful, too—just like a long-drawn eel with the consumption! Did you hear how deep the captain said it was hereabouts?"

"Yes, I heard him say it was a little short of two miles deep, so it has got a long way to sink before it reaches its oozy bed."

"How d'ee know what sort o' bed it's got to lie on?" asked Slagg.

"Because," said Robin, "the whole Atlantic where the cable is to lie has been carefully sounded long ago, and it is found that the ocean-bed here, which looks so like mud, is composed of millions of beautiful shells, so small that they cannot be distinguished by the naked eye. Of course, they have no creatures in them. It would seem that these shell-fish go about the ocean till they die, and then fall to the bottom like rain." See note one.

"You don't say so!" returned Slagg, who, being utterly uneducated, received suchlike information with charming surprise, and regarded Robin as a very mine of knowledge. "Well now, that beats cock-fighting. But, I say, how is it that the electricity works through the cable? I heerd one o' your electrical fellers explaining to a landlubber t'other evenin' that electricity could only run along wires when the circuit was closed, by which he meant to say that it would fly from a battery and travel along a wire ever so far, if only that wire was to turn right round and run back to the same battery again. Now, if that's so, seems to me that when you've got your cable to Newfoundland you'll have to run another one back again to Ireland before it'll work."

"Ah, Slagg, that would indeed be the case," returned Robin, "were it not that we have discovered the important fact that the earth—the round globe on which we stand—itself acts the part of a grand conductor. So we have only to send down earth-wires at the two ends—one into the earth of Ireland, the other into the earth of Newfoundland, and straightway the circuit is closed, and the electricity generated in our batteries passes through the cable from earth to earth."

"Robin," said Slagg doubtingly, "d'you expect me for to believe that?"

"Indeed I do," said Robin simply.

"Then you're greener than I took you for. No offence meant, but it's my opinion some o' these 'cute electricians has bin tryin' the width of your swallow."

"No, you are mistaken," returned Robin earnestly; "I have read the fact in many books. The books differ in their opinions as to the causes and nature of the fact, but not as to the fact itself."

It was evident that Robin looked upon this as an unanswerable argument, and his friend seemed perplexed.

"Well, I don' know how it is," he said, after a pause, "but I do believe that this here wonderful electricity is fit for a'most anything, an' that we'll have it revoloosionising everything afore long—I do indeed."

The intelligent reader who has noted the gigantic strides which we have recently made in electric lighting of late will observe that Slagg, unwittingly, had become almost prophetic at this time.

"We're going along splendidly now," said Mr Smith, coming up to Robin that evening while he was conversing with Slagg, who immediately retired.—"Who is that youth? He seems very fond of you; I've observed that he makes up to you whenever you chance to be on deck together."

"He is one of the steward's lads, sir; I met him accidentally in the train; but I suspect the fondness is chiefly on my side. He was very kind to me when I first came on board, and I really think he is an intelligent, good fellow—a strange mixture of self-confidence and humility. Sometimes, to hear him speak, you would think he knew everything; but at the same time he is always willing—indeed anxious— to listen and learn. He is a capital fighter too."

Here Robin related the battle in the boys' berth, when Slagg thrashed Stumps, whereat Mr Smith was much amused.

"So he seems a peculiar lad—modest, impudent, teachable, kindly, and warlike! Come below now, Robin, I have some work for you. Did you make the calculations I gave you yesterday?"

"Yes, sir, and they corresponded exactly with your own."

"Good. Go fetch my little note-book: I left it in the grand saloon on the furthest aft seat, port side."

Robin found the magnificent saloon of the big ship ringing with music and conversation. Joy over the recent restoration to health of the ailing cable, the comfortable stability of the ship in rough weather, and the satisfactory progress then being made, all contributed to raise the spirits of every one connected with the great work, so that, while some were amusing themselves at the piano, others were scattered about in little groups, discussing the profounder mysteries of electric science, or prophesying the speedy completion of the enterprise, while a few were speculating on the probability of sport in Newfoundland, or planning out journeys through the United States.

"There's lots of game, I'm told, in Newfoundland," said one of the youthful electricians, whose ruling passion—next to the subtle fluid— was the gun.

"So I've been told," replied an elder and graver comrade. "Polar bears are quite common in the woods, and it is said that walrus are fond of roosting in the trees."

"Yes, I have heard so," returned the youthful sportsman, who, although young, was not to be caught with chaff, "and the fishing, I hear, is also splendid. Salmon and cod are found swarming in the rivers by those who care for mild occupation, while really exciting sport is to be had in the great lakes of the interior, where there are plenty of fresh-water whales that take the fly."

"The swan, you mean," said another comrade. "The fly that is most killing among Newfoundland whales is a swan fastened whole to a shark hook—though a small boat's anchor will do if you haven't the right tackle."

"Come, don't talk nonsense, but let's have a song!" said a brother electrician to the sporting youth.

"I never sing," he replied, "except when hurt, and then I sing out. But see, our best musician has just seated himself at the instrument."

"I don't talk shop, Nimrod; call it the piano."

Most of those present drew towards the musical corner, where Ebenezer Smith, having just entered the saloon in search of Robin, had been prevailed on to sit down and enliven the company. Robin, who had been delayed by difficulty in finding the note-book, stopped to listen.

Smith had a fair average voice and a vigorous manner.

"You wouldn't object to hear the cook's last?" asked Smith, running his fingers lightly over the keys.

"Of course not—go on," chorused several voices.

"I had no idea," lisped a simple youth, who was one of a small party of young gentlemen interested in engineering and science, who had been accommodated with a passage,—"I had no idea that our cook was a poet as well as an admirable chef de cuisine."

"Oh, it's not our cook he means," explained the sporting electrician; "Mr Smith refers to a certain sea-cook—or his son, I'm not sure which—who is chef des horse-marines."

"Is there a chorus?" asked one.

"Of course there is," replied Smith; "a sea-song without a chorus is like a kite without a tail—it is sure to fall flat, but the chorus is an old and well-known one—it is only the song that is new. Now then, clear your throats, gentlemen."

Song—The Loss of the Nancy Lee.

I.

'Twas on a Friday morning that I went off, An' shipped in the Nancy Lee, But that ship caught a cold and with one tremendous cough Went slap to the bottom of the sea, the sea, the sea, Went slap to the bottom of the sea.

Chorus.—Then the raging sea may roar, An' the stormy winds may blow, While we jolly sailor boys rattle up aloft, And the landlubbers lie down below, below, below And the landlubbers lie down below.

II.

For wery nigh a century I lived with the crabs, An' danced wi' the Mermaids too, An' drove about the Ocean in mother o' pearl cabs, An' dwelt in a cavern so blue, so blue, so blue, An' dwelt in a cavern so blue. Chorus.—Then the raging sea, etcetera.

III.

I soon forgot the sorrows o' the world above In the pleasures o' the life below; Queer fish they made up to me the want o' human love, As through the world o' waters I did go, did go, did go; As through the world o' waters I did go. Chorus.—Then the raging sea, etcetera.

IV.

One day a horrid grampus caught me all by the nose, An' swung me up to the land, An' I never went to sea again, as everybody knows, And as everybody well may understand, 'derstand, 'derstand, And as everybody well may understand. Chorus.—Then the raging sea, etcetera.

The plaudits with which this song was received were, it need scarcely be remarked, due more to the vigour of the chorus and the enthusiasm of the audience than to intrinsic merit. Even Robin Wright was carried off his legs for the moment, and, modest though he was, broke in at the chorus with such effect—his voice being shrill and clear—that, he unintentionally outyelled all the rest, and would have fled in consternation from the saloon if he had not been caught and forcibly detained by the sporting electrician, who demanded what right he had to raise his steam-whistle in that fashion.

"But I say, young Wright," he added in a lower tone, leading our hero aside, "what's this rumour I hear about a ghost in the steward's cabin?"

"Oh! it is nothing to speak of," replied Robin, with a laugh. "The lad they call Stumps got a fright—that's all."

"But that's enough. Let us hear about it."

"Well, I suppose you know," said Robin, "that there's a ghost in the Great Eastern."

"No, I don't know it from personal experience, but I have heard a report to that effect."

"Well, I was down in Jim Slagg's berth, having a chat with him about the nature of electric currents—for he has a very inquiring mind,—and somehow we diverged to ghosts, and began to talk of the ghost of the Great Eastern.

"'I don't believe in the Great Eastern ghost—no, nor in ghosts of any kind,' said Stumps, who was sitting near us eating a bit of cheese.

"'But I believe in 'em,' said the boy Jeff, who was seated on the other side of the table, and looked at us so earnestly that we could scarce help smiling—though we didn't feel in a smiling humour at the time, for it was getting dark, and we had got to talking in low tones and looking anxiously over our shoulders, you know—

"'Oh yes, I know,' replied the sportsman, with a laugh; 'I have shuddered and grue-oo-ed many a time over ghost-stories. Well?'

"'I don't believe in 'em, Jeff. Why do you?' asked Stumps, in a scoffing tone.

"'Because I hear one every night a'most when I go down into the dark places below to fetch things. There's one particular spot where the ghost goes tap-tap-tapping continually.'

"'Fiddlededee,' said Stumps.

"'Come down, and you shall hear it for yourself,' said Jeff.

"Now, they say that Stumps is a coward, though he boasts a good deal—"

"You may say," interrupted the sportsman, "that Stumps is a coward because he boasts a good deal. Boasting is often a sign of cowardice—though not always."

"Well," continued Robin, "being ashamed to draw back, I suppose, he agreed to accompany Jeff.

"'Won't you come too, Slagg?' said Stumps.

"'No; I don't care a button for ghosts. Besides, I'm too busy, but Wright will go. There, don't bother me!' said Jim.

"I noticed, as I went last out of the room, that Slagg rose quickly and pulled a sheet off one of the beds. Afterwards, looking back, I saw him slip out and run down the passage in the opposite direction. I suspected he was about some mischief, but said nothing.

"It was getting dark, as I have said, though not dark enough for lighting the lamps, and in some corners below it was as dark as midnight. To one of these places Jeff led us.

"'Mind how you go now,' whispered Jeff; 'it's here somewhere, and there's a hole too—look-out—there it is!'

"'What! the ghost?' whispered Stumps, beginning to feel uneasy. To say truth, I began to feel uneasy myself without well knowing why. At that moment I fell over something, and came down with a crash that shook Stumps's nerves completely out of order.

"'I say, let's go back,' he muttered in a tremulous voice.

"'No, no,' whispered Jeff seizing Stumps by the arm with a sudden grip that made him give a short yelp, 'we are at the place now. It's in this dark passage. Listen!'

"We all held our breath and listened. For a few seconds we heard nothing, but presently a slight tapping was heard.

"'I've heard,' whispered Jeff in a low tone, 'that when the big ship was buildin', one o' the plate-riveters disappeared in some hole between the two skins o' the ship hereabouts, and his comrades, not bein' able to find him, were obliged at last to rivet him in, which they did so tight that even his ghost could not get out, so it goes on tappin', as you hear, an' is likely to go on tappin' for ever.'

"'Bosh!' whispered Stumps; thus politely intimating his disbelief, but I felt him trembling all over notwithstanding.

"At that moment we saw a dim shadowy whitish object at the other end of the dark passage. 'Wha'—wha'—what's that?' said I.

"Stumps gasped. I heard his teeth chattering, and I think his knees were knocking together. Jeff made no sound, and it was too dark to see his face. Suddenly the object rushed at us. There was no noise of footsteps—only a muffled sound and a faint hissing. I stood still, unable to move. So did Jeff. I felt the hair of my head rising. Stumps gasped again—then turned and fled. The creature, whatever it was, brushed past us with a hideous laugh. I guessed at once that it was Jim Slagg, but evidently Stumps didn't, for he uttered an awful yell that would have roused the whole ship if she had been of an ordinary size; at the same moment he tripped and fell on the thing that had upset me, and the ghost, leaping over him, vanished from our sight.

"To my surprise, on returning to our cabin, we found Slagg as we had left him, with both hands on his forehead poring over his book. I was almost as much surprised to see Jeff sit down and laugh heartily.—Now, what do you think it could have been?"

"It was Slagg, of course," answered the sporting electrician.

"Yes, but what causes the tapping?"

"Oh, that is no doubt some little trifle—a chip of wood, or bit of wire left hanging loose, which shakes about when the ship heaves."

A sudden tramping of feet overhead brought this ghostly discussion to an abrupt close, and caused every man in the saloon to rush on deck with a terrible feeling in his heart that something had gone wrong.

"Not broken?" asked an electrician with a pale face on reaching the deck.

"Oh no, sir," replied an engineer, with an anxious look, "not quite so bad as that, but a whale has taken a fancy to inspect us, and he is almost too attentive."

So it was. A large Greenland whale was playing about the big ship, apparently under the impression that she was a giant of his own species, and it had passed perilously close to the cable.

A second time it came up, rolling high above the waves. It went close past the stern—rose again and dived with a gentle flop of its great tail, which, if it had touched the cable, would have cut it like a thread. At that trying moment, as they saw its huge back glittering in the moonlight, the hearts of the helpless spectators appeared absolutely to stand still. When the monster dived its side even touched the cable, but did not damage it. Being apparently satisfied by that time that the ship was not a friend, the whale finally disappeared in the depths of its ocean home.

————————————————————————————————————

Those who visited the Crystal Palace at Sydenham during the recent Electrical Exhibition had an opportunity of seeing the shells here referred to under a powerful microscope.



CHAPTER TEN.

TELLS OF GREAT EFFORTS AND FAILURES AND GRAND SUCCESS.

Thus happily and smoothly all things went, with little bursts of anxiety and little touches of alarm, just sufficient, as it were, to keep up the spirits of all, till the morning of the 30th July. But on that morning an appearance of excitement in the testing-room told that something had again gone wrong. Soon the order was given to slow the engines, then to stop them!

The bursting of a thunder-clap, the explosion of a powder-magazine, could not have more effectually awakened the slumberers than this abrupt stoppage of the ship's engines. Instantly all the hatchways poured forth anxious inquirers.

"Another fault," was the reply to such.

"O dear!" said some.

"Horrible!" said others.

"Not so bad as a break," sighed the hopeful spirits.

"It is bad enough," said the chief electrician, "for we have found dead earth."

By this the chief meant to say that insulation had been completely destroyed, and that the whole current of electricity was escaping into the sea.

About 716 miles had been payed out at the time, and as signals had till then been regularly received from the shore, it was naturally concluded that the fault lay near to the ship.

"Now then, get along," said an engineer to one of the cable-men; "you'll have to cut, and splice, and test, while we are getting ready the tackle to pick up."

"I don't like that cuttin' o' the cable, Bill," said one of the sailors, as he went forward, "it seems dangerous, it do."

"No more do I, Dick," replied his mate; "I feel as if it never could be rightly spliced again."

"Why, bless you, boys," said a cable-man near them, "cables is used to that now, like eels to bein' skinned; and so are we, for that matter. We think nothin' of it."

Clearly the cable-man was right, for, while the picking-up apparatus was being got ready, the cable was cut in no fewer than three places, in order to test the coils that lay in the tanks. These being found all right, the picking-up was begun with anxious care. The moment of greatest danger was when the big ship was swinging round. For a few, but apparently endless, moments the cable had to bear the strain, and became rigid like a bar of steel. Then it was got in over the bows, where all was bustle, and noise, and smoke, as the picking-up machinery panted and rattled.

All day the work went on. Night descended, but still the cable was coming in slowly, unwillingly,—now jerkily, as if half inclined to yield, anon painfully, as if changing its mind, until the strain was equal to two and a half tons. A row of lanterns lighted it, and the men employed watched and handled it carefully to detect the "fault," while the clattering wheels played harsh music.

"We'll never find it," growled an impatient young electrician.

As if to rebuke him for his want of faith, the "fault" came in then and there—at 9:50 p.m., ship's time.

"Ah!" said Mr Field, whose chief characteristic was an unwavering faith in ultimate success, "I knew we should find it are long. I have often known cables to stop working for two hours, no one knew why, and then begin again."

"Well now, Mr Wright, it floors me altogether, does this here talkin' by electricity."

The man who made this remark to our hero was one who could not have been easily "floored" by any other means than electricity. He was a huge blacksmith—a stalwart fellow who had just been heaving the sledge-hammer with the seeming powers of Vulcan himself, and who chanced to be near Robin when he paused to rest and mop the streaming perspiration from his brow, while a well-matched brother took his place at the anvil.

"You see," he continued, "I can't make out nohow what the electricity does when it gits through the cable from Ireland to Noofun'land. Of course it don't actooally speak, you know—no more does it whistle, I suppose; an' even if it did I don't see as we'd be much the wiser. What do it do, Mr Wright? You seem to be well up in these matters, an' not above explainin' of 'em to the likes o' us as ha'n't got much edication."

Few things pleased Robin more than being asked to impart what knowledge he possessed, or to make plain subjects that were slightly complex. He was not always successful in his attempts at elucidation, partly because some subjects were too complex to simplify, and partly because some intellects were obtuse, but he never failed to try.

"You must know," he replied, with that earnest look which was apt to overspread his face when about to explain a difficulty, "that a piece of common iron can be converted into a magnet by electrifying it, and it can be unconverted just as fast by removing the electricity. Well, suppose I have a bit of iron in America, with an electric battery in Ireland, or vice versa—"

"W'ot's wicey wersa, Mr Wright?"

"Oh, it means the terms being changed—turned the other way, you know— back to the front, as it were—in short, I mean the battery being in America and the bit of iron in Ireland."

"Well, well, who'd a thought there was so much in wicey wersa; but go on, Mr Wright."

"Now, you must suppose," continued Robin, "that a needle, like the mariner's compass needle, hangs beside my bit of iron, close to it, and that a wire, or conductor of electricity, connects the iron with my electric battery in Ireland. Well, that makes a magnet of it, and the suspended needle, being attracted, sticks to it. Then I disconnect the wire from my battery by touching a handle, the bit of iron ceases to be a magnet, and the needle was free. Again I connect the battery, and the needle flies to the remagnetised bit of iron. Thus, as fast as I choose, I can make the needle wag, and by a simple arrangement we can make it wag right or left, so many beats right or left, or alternately, representing letters. By varying the beats we vary the letters, and thus spell out our messages. Now, do you understand it?"

"I ain't quite sure that I does," replied Vulcan; "I've got a hazy notion that by touchin' and removin' the touch from a conductor, connecting and disconnecting wires and batteries, you can make electricity flow just as you let on or stop water by turnin' a stopcock—"

"Not exactly," interrupted Robin, "because, you see, electricity does not really flow, not being a substance."

"Not a substance, sir! w'y, w'ot is it then?"

"Like light and sound, it is merely an effect, an influence, a result," answered Robin. "We only use the word flow, and talk of electricity as a fluid, for convenience' sake."

"Well, w'otever it is or isn't," continued the puzzled Vulcan, gazing at vacancy for a few seconds, "when you've set it agoin'—or set agoin' the things as sets it agoin'—you make a suspended needle wag, and when you stop it you make the needle stop waggin', and by the way in which that there needle wags you can spell out the letters o' the alphabit—so many wags to the right bein' one letter, so many wags to the left bein' another letter, an' so on,—so that, what between the number o' wags an' the direction o' the waggin's, you—you come for to—there, I'm lost again, an' I must go in for another spell wi' the sledge, so we'll have to tackle the subject another time, Mr Wright."

Thus speaking, Vulcan seized the ponderous hammer in his powerful grasp and proceeded to beat form into a mass of glowing metal with much greater ease than he had been able to thump telegraphy into his own brain.

In the discovery of the "fault" and the cutting out of the injured part of the cable, twenty-six hours were lost. During all the time Captain Anderson was obliged to remain on deck, while the minds and bodies of the engineers and electricians were subjected to a severe strain for the same period. They had scarcely begun to breathe freely again, and to congratulate each other on being able to continue the voyage, when they received another shock of alarm by the cable suddenly flying off the drum, while it was being transferred from the picking-up machinery in the bow to the paying-out arrangements in the stern. Before the machinery could be stopped, some fathoms of cable had become entangled among the wheels and destroyed. This part having been cut out, however, and new splices made, the paying-out process was resumed.

"I'll turn in now and have a snooze, Robin," said Ebenezer Smith, "and you had better do the same; you look tired."

This was indeed true, for not a man or boy in the ship took a more anxious interest in the cable than did our little hero; he had begun to regard it as a living creature, and to watch over it, and dream about it, as if it were a dear friend in extreme danger. The enthusiastic boy was actually becoming careworn and thin, for he not only performed all the duties required of him with zealous application, but spent his leisure, and much of the time that should have been devoted to rest, in the careful study of his idol—intensely watching it, and all that was in the remotest way connected with it.

"You're a goose," said Stumps, in passing, when he heard Robin decline to retire as Smith had advised him.

"It may be so, and if so, Stumps, I shall continue to cackle a little longer on deck while they are examining the fault."

That examination, when finished, produced a considerable sensation. The process was conducted in private. The condemned portion was cut in junks and tested, until the faulty junk was discovered. This was untwisted until the core was laid bare, and when about a foot of it had been so treated, the cause of evil was discovered, drawing from the onlookers an exclamation of horror rather than surprise, as they stood aghast, for treachery seemed to have been at work!

"An enemy in the ship!" murmured one.

"What ship without an enemy?" thought another.

That mischief had been intended was obvious, for a piece of iron wire, bright as if cut with nippers at one end and broken off short at the other, had been driven right through the centre of the cable, so as to touch the inner wires—thus forming a leak, or conductor, into the sea. There could be no doubt that it had not got there by accident; neither had it been driven there during the making or shipping of the cable, for in that case the testings for continuity would have betrayed its presence before the starting of the expedition. The piece of wire, too, was the same size as that which formed the protecting cover, and it was of the exact diameter of the cable. There was also the mark of a cut on the Manilla hemp, where the wire had entered. It could have been done only by one of the men who were at work in the tank at the time the portion went over, and, strange to say, this was the same gang which had been at work there when the previous "fault" occurred.

"Call all the men aft," was the order that quickly followed this discovery.

The piece of cable was handed to them, and they were allowed to examine it in silence. They did so in great surprise, mingled with indignation.

"It's bin done a'purpose, an' driven in by a skilful hand," said one.

"You're right, Joe," said another.

"I knows," whispered a third, "that one of the men expressed satisfaction when the last fault occurred, an' I've heard say that we've got enemies to the makers o' the cable aboard."

The man thus darkly referred to, whoever he was, of course looked as innocent and as indignant as the most virtuous among them; the guilt, therefore, could not be brought home to him. Woe betide him if it had been, for there was a serious talk of lynching some one among the wrathful men, each of whom was now subject to suspicion.

In these trying circumstances, the chief engineer accepted an offer made by the gentlemen in the ship, to take turn about in superintending the men at work in the tank paying-out the cable.

"It's not pleasant, of course," replied one of the men, speaking for the rest, "but we feel it to be justifiable, as well as necessary, and are very glad the plan has been adopted."

Once more the big ship went merrily on her way, and the great cable went down to its ocean-bed so smoothly and regularly, that men began to talk of speedy arrival at Heart's Content—their destination in Newfoundland—which was now only about 600 miles distant; but their greatest troubles still lay before them. About eight o'clock in the morning of 2nd August another bad fault was reported, and they had once again to resort to the wearisome process of picking-up.

At first all seemed about to go well. A gale was indeed blowing at the time, but that did not much affect the colossal ship. The cable was cut, fastened to its iron rope, passed to the bow, and got in over the pulleys. Then, and very slowly, it was drawn on board. When a mile or so had been recovered, the gearing of one of the engines got a little out of order, and the process had to be temporarily stopped; then something went wrong with the boilers, but soon these difficulties were removed. Immediately after, the Great Eastern drifted, so that it was impossible to prevent the cable from chafing against her bows. Equally impossible was it to go astern, lest the strain should be too great. Then the wind suddenly shifted, making matters worse. Suddenly the chain shackle and wire-rope attached to the cable came in over the wheel at the bows with considerable violence. Another moment and the cable parted, flew through the stoppers, and, with one bound, flashed into the sea and disappeared!

Now, at last, the fatal climax so much dreaded had arrived. The days and nights of anxious labour had been spent in vain. The cable was lost, and with it went not only hundreds of thousands of pounds, but the hopes of hundreds of thousands of people, whose sanguine expectations of success were thus rudely dispelled.

Need it be said that something very like despair reigned for the moment on board the Great Eastern?

Most of the gentlemen on board—never dreaming of catastrophe—were at luncheon, when Mr Canning entered the saloon with a look that caused every one to start.

"It is all over!—it is gone!" he said, and hastened to his cabin.

Mr Field, with the composure of faith and courage, though very pale, entered the saloon immediately after, and confirmed the chief engineer's statement.

"The cable has parted," he said, "and has gone overboard."

From the chiefs down even to Stumps and his fraternity all was blank dismay! As for our hero Robin Wright, he retired to his cabin, flung himself on his bed, and sobbed as though his heart would break.

But such a state of things could not last. Men's spirits may be stunned and crushed, but they are seldom utterly overwhelmed so long as life endures.

Recovering from the shock, Mr Canning set about the process of grappling for the lost cable with persistent energy. But fishing in water two and a half miles deep is no easy matter. Nevertheless, it was done. Again and again, and over again, were two monster hooks in the shape of grapnels let down to the bottom of the sea, with an iron rope for a line, and the Great Eastern for a float!

The plan, of course, was to go back a few miles on their course and then drag across the known position of the lost treasure.

We say known, because good observations had fortunately been obtained by Captain Anderson just before the accident.

Two hours did the grapnels descend before they reached the bottom of the sea! All night did the cable-layers fish, with the characteristic patience of fishermen, but did not get a nibble. Towards morning, however, there was a decided bite, and the line became taut.

"Got him!" exclaimed an enthusiast eagerly.

"Don't be too sure," replied a philosopher cautiously.

"It may be a bit of wreck," suggested Ebenezer Smith, who was a natural doubter.

"Or a whale, or the great sea-serpent," said the sporting electrician, who was everything by turns and nothing long.

"We shall very soon know," remarked a matter-of-fact engineer. "If it is a loose object the strain will decrease as it nears the surface, but if it be the cable the strain will certainly increase, because its weight will be greater the more of it we lift off the bottom."

Earnestly did every one regard the dynamometer which told the exact amount of strain on the iron fishing-line, and to their joy the strain increased until the object caught had been raised three-quarters of a mile from the bottom. Then a swivel gave way, and the cable went back to its ocean-bed.

But those plucky engineers were not to be overcome by a first failure. Having started with five miles of fishing-line, they proceed at once to make a second attempt.

"Oh, I do hope they will hook it again!" said Robin Wright.

"And so they will," said Ebenezer Smith.

And so they did. Late in the afternoon of the Monday following, their fish was again hooked and raised a full mile from the bottom, when another swivel gave way, and down it went a second time!

The fishing-line was now getting short. It behoved them to act with more caution. New bolts were put in each shackle and swivel, and the capstan was increased in diameter, being belted with thick plates of iron. To effect these alterations the forges had to be erected on deck, and at night these cast a lurid glare on the busy workers, bringing out every near object in vivid relief against the ebony background of space behind, while they made preparations for a third cast of the fishing-line. The cast was made successfully, it was thought, but one of the grapnels had caught the line with one of its flukes, so that it could not catch anything else, and the result was—nothing.

A fourth attempt was then made. It was to be the last. The fishing-line seemed too weak, and its frequent breakings had reduced it so much that other chains had to be attached to it. With this thing of shreds and patches the cable was once more hooked and brought up nearly eight hundred fathoms, when the line gave way once more, and the cable went down for the last time.

Nothing more could be done. The Great Eastern turned her large bows to the east and steered grandly though sadly, away for old England.

But don't imagine, good reader, that these cable-layers were beaten. They were baffled, indeed, for that year (1865), but not conquered. Cyrus Field had resolved that the thing should be done—and done it was the following year; for the laying of the cable had been so nearly a success, that great capitalists, such as Brassey, Gooch, Barclay, Campbell, Pender, and others, at once came forward. Among these were the contractors, Glass and Elliot, who agreed not only to make and lay a new cable, but to pick up and complete the old one. Cyrus Field himself, besides energising like Hercules to push the matter on, was one of ten subscribers who each contributed 10,000 pounds. Thus 230,500 pounds were privately subscribed before a prospectus was issued.

Our little hero was at the laying of that (1866) cable, when the same great ship, with the same captain and most of the engineers and electricians who had gone out on the previous voyage, landed the end of the 1820-mile rope on the shores of Newfoundland, on Friday, 27th July. He cheered with the rest in wild enthusiasm when the Great Eastern dropped anchor in "Heart's Content." He accompanied Captain Anderson and the officers of the fleet when they went in a body to the little church there, to thank God for the successful completion of the great enterprise. He was present when the big ship, having received from other ships 8000 tons of coal, and some six hundred miles of the old cable, went back to mid-ocean to grapple for the lost cable of 1865. He assisted and watched with the deepest interest the amazing efforts of scientific and mechanical power put forth in the mere matter of dragging for the cable from the bottom, and observed with reverence, amounting almost to awe, the great moving spirit of the whole affair, the indomitable Mr Field, as he went to the bow and sat on the rope to feel the quiver which told him it was dragging the bottom of the sea two miles below. He was present, with blazing cheeks and eyes and bated breath, when, on the 17th of August, the cable was caught, dragged to the surface, and actually seen, and broke and sank again as deep as ever—though not so deep as the hearts of those who saw it go! He shared in the weary delays that followed, and in the final triumph when the cable was fairly caught and at last brought on board, and carried to the testing-room, amid intense excitement, lest it should prove to have been damaged by its rough treatment; and his voice helped to swell the roar of enthusiastic cheering that greeted the announcement that the old cable was still alive!

But all this we must leave, and carry the reader back to old England faster than the Great Eastern could have rushed—ay, faster than the message on the flashing cable itself could have sped, for mind is more subtle than matter, and thought is swifter than even the Atlantic Telegraph.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

HOME!

"At last!" exclaimed Robin, bursting into his old home and seizing his mother in his arms.

Robin had just returned home after the laying of the 1866 Atlantic Cable, as briefly narrated in the last chapter.

It may be said with some truth that the old home became, during the next few days, a private lunatic asylum, for its inmates went mildly mad with joy.

Chief among the lunatics was uncle Rik, the retired sea-captain. That madman's case, however, was not temporary derangement, like the others'. It was confirmed insanity, somewhat intensified just then by the nephew's return.

"So, young man," he said, one evening at supper, when the family traveller was dilating to open-eyed-and-mouthed listeners, "you actually believe that these cables are goin' to work?"

"Of course I do, uncle. They are working now, and have been working for many years."

"Well, now, the gullibility o' some people is stupendous!" returned Rik. "Don't you know, Robin, that everything a'most works for a time, and then, sooner or later—usually sooner—the ridiculous thing bursts up?"

"But, uncle, you beg the question in classing submarine cables among ridiculous things. Besides, have not dozens of cables been working satisfactorily for many years, without showing signs of bursting up as yet?"

"Pooh! bah! boh!" replied uncle Rik, by which he meant to say that though convinced against his will he was of the same opinion still.

At that moment cousin Sam Shipton entered with an eager, excited look.

"It's all settled," he said, taking Robin by the hand.

"What is settled?" asked Mrs Wright, somewhat anxiously.

"Mother, don't be angry," said Robin, laying his hand on his mother's shoulder, and speaking tenderly, "I meant to have told you the moment I came in to-day, but uncle Rik with his argumentative spirit drove it and everything else except cables out of my head—"

"Well, but what is it?" interrupted Madge impatiently; "why do you keep us in suspense?"

"I have some prospect, mother, of being appointed to go with a telegraph-laying party to the East, but Sam is wrong when he says it is all settled. Whatever he may have to tell us, it is by no means settled until I have your and father's opinion."

"Well, you horribly good but ungrateful boy," returned Sam, "it is at least settled as far as I have do with it. I have made application at head-quarters, and they are willing to take you on my recommendation. Moreover, I am myself going."

"You're joking, Sam!" exclaimed Robin, with a flush of joy; "I thought you had neither intention nor desire to go far from home."

"You thought wrong, Robin. I always had desire, and now have intention—and I go as second in command. So, Miss Mayland," he continued, turning to Madge, "I shan't be able to continue those electrical lectures which you were so fond of once, but have lately seemed to grow tired of."

Madge was at that tender age of budding womanhood when sensitive girls are apt to misunderstand a jest. She blushed, stammered something, then forced a laugh, and turned to speak to Robin; but Sam perceived that tears rose to her eyes, and he instantly sank in his own estimation to the condition of a loathsome reptile.

"Well, now, that is good news," cried Robin, applying himself to the viands on the table with renewed zest. "You cannot have the smallest objection or anxiety, mother, I should think, when you know I shall be under so able a guide."

"I have not yet thought it over, Robin."

"And you, father?"

"Go, my boy, and my blessing go with you," said Mr Wright, all but choking the blessing with a huge oyster.

"Are any labourers to go with us?" asked Robin.

"One or two picked ones."

"Then you must allow me to pick one, Sam. My friend Jim Slagg is at present cast adrift with a considerable part of the Great Eastern's crew. He will be delighted to go, I know, and is a first-rate, hard-working, willing, conscientious youth."

"He ought to be proud of having so warm a friend and advocate," said Sam, "but I have no power to choose the men."

"O yes, you have, Sam. If you could get me appointed, you can get him appointed; and you must, for, if you don't, I won't go."

"You are hard on me, Robin, but I'll try."

"But you have not yet told us where it is that they are going to send you," said Mrs Wright.

"Ah! that's not fixed," replied Sam; "they are laying down lines in Turkey; and Egypt is talked of, and telegraph to India itself is even hinted at. All I know is that we shall be sent to the East somewhere."

"Bah! boo! Why does nobody ask for my opinion on the matter?" said uncle Rik, as he gazed at the company over a goose drumstick, which was obviously not tender.

"Your opinion, brother," said Mr Wright, "is so valuable, that no doubt your nephew has been keeping it to the last as a sort of tit-bit—eh, Robin?"

"Well, uncle; come, let us have it," said Robin.

"You don't deserve it," returned Rik, with a wrench at the drumstick, "but you shall have it all the same, free, gratis. Was this bird fed on gutta-percha shavings, sister Nan?"

"Perhaps—or on violin strings, I'm not sure which," replied Mrs Wright blandly.

"Well," continued the captain, "you youngsters will go off, I see, right or wrong, and you'll get half-drowned in the sea, roasted in the East, smothered in the desert, eaten alive by cannibals, used-up by the plague, poisoned by serpents, and tee-totally ruined altogether. Then you'll come home with the skin of your teeth on—nothing more."

"I sincerely hope it will be summer at the time," said Sam, laughing; "but we are grateful to you for prophesying that we shall return, even though in such light clothing."

"That's what'll happen," continued the captain, regarding the other drumstick with some hesitation; "you may take the word of an old salt for it. I've lived in the good old times, lads, and I know that all these new-fangled notions are goin' to burst up—and that's what'll come of it."

Whether that was what came of it remains to be seen.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

A GREAT DYNAMO-ELECTRIC SEA-FIGHT.

A few weeks after the utterance of Captain Rik's famous prophecy, Robin, Sam, Stumps, and Slagg found themselves on board of a large submarine cable steam-ship, named the Triton, ploughing the billows of the Southern Ocean.

A few weeks later and they were drawing near to that great concourse of islands known as the Malay Archipelago, where nature is exceptionally beautiful, but man is rather vile. At all events, that region of the ocean lying to the south of China has been long infamous for the number and ferocity of its pirates, who, among the numerous islands, with their various channels, creeks, and rivers, have found a suitable field for their bloody and remorseless game.

"D'you know, I don't believe in pirates?" said Robin to Sam, as they stood at the bow of the cable-ship, conversing about these sea-robbers.

"They believe in you nevertheless, as you'd find out to your cost if we came across one just now."

The voice that replied was not Sam's, but that of the captain, who had come forward to get a clearer sweep of the horizon ahead with his glass.

"Do you think it likely, sir, that we may meet with any of the rascals?" asked Sam.

"Not at all unlikely," replied the captain, fixing his glass and putting it to his eye, "though I don't think it likely that we shall be attacked, as we are large and don't look like a richly freighted merchant-man. However, there is no saying. These scoundrels fear nothing, and when hard up will attack anything but a man-of-war, I half suspect that I am looking at one of them now."

This latter announcement, calmly uttered, threw all who heard it into quite a flutter of excitement.

The captain was a big, dark-skinned, bearded man, with a quiet, half-humorous, half-sarcastic expression of countenance.

"Do you really think it is a pirate?" asked Robin, eagerly.

"I really do," replied the captain, "and I fear we may have to run out of our course to avoid her. You see, I am a man of peace, and abhor bloodshed, therefore I won't fight if I can help it."

Saying this he gave orders to have the course of the steamer changed.

Just then there occurred one of those contretemps which don't often happen, but which, when they do, are often prolific of disaster; an important part of the machinery broke down, and the engine, for the moment, was rendered useless. It was most unfortunate, for the suspicious craft lay to windward, and a light breeze was blowing carried it steadily towards them, although all the sail the steamer possessed was crowded on her.

"Come aft here, Mr Shipton, and tell your chief to come with you. I want to hold a council of war," said the captain.

Summoning the first mate and chief engineer, as well as the electricians, the captain went to the after part of the quarter-deck, where, seated on the taffrail, he deliberated with the extemporised council measures for repelling an expected attack.

What these deliberations tended to, those not of the council could not tell, but from the energy of the members, and an occasional burst of laughter from the group, it was obvious, as Jim Slagg remarked, that "mischief o' some sort was in the wind."

Presently the council broke up, and the members went actively below, as men do who have a purpose to carry out promptly.

Meanwhile the pirate vessel came within range and fired a shot which missed them. The fire was not repeated. Evidently they meant to get within easy range before trying another shot.

In a few minutes the electricians came on deck with several large coils of copper wire, which they uncoiled and distributed mysteriously about the sides of the vessel. At the same time several lengths of leathern pump hose were laid along the deck, and fire-branches or nozzles attached to them.

"Run out our stern-guns now," said the captain, with a grim smile, "and give it 'em hot. It won't do to seem to give in too easy. Run up the Union Jack. Don't take aim. I want more noise and smoke than mischief—d'ye understand?"

The officer to whom this was addressed, said, "Ay, ay, sir," in the usual tone of ready obedience, adding, however, in an undertoned growl, "but I don't understand, for all that!"

He obeyed the orders literally, being well disciplined, and the result was a sudden and most furious cannonade, for the pirate replied with vigour, using all the guns he could bring to bear; but no damage was done on either side for some time, until at last a ball from the enemy went crash through the smoke funnel of the Triton with a most sonorous bang!

"That'll do now," cried the captain, "cease firing and haul down the colours."

If the captain had said, "Cut away the rudder and heave the boilers overboard," he could scarcely have caused more surprise in his crew, who, by his orders, had assembled on deck, every man being armed with musket, cutlass, and revolver. His orders were strictly and promptly obeyed, however.

By this time the light breeze had fallen and a dead calm prevailed, so that the sails of the pirate flapped idly against her masts, and her crew were seen busily lowering her boats.

"We could have soon got out of her way if our engines had not broke down," growled the captain, as he went toward the front of the quarter-deck and looked down on the armed men in the waist. "My lads," he said, "the blackguards are Malay pirates. They are lowering their boats, and will be alongside in less than half an hour. I don't need to tell you what you'll have to expect if they take us. We must beat 'em off or die; for it's better to die sword in hand than to be tortured or strangled. Those of you, however, who prefer the latter modes of going under may show the white feather and enjoy yourselves in your own way. Now, lads, you know me. I expect obedience to orders to the letter. I hate fighting and bloodshed—so don't kill unless you can't help it. Also, take care that you don't touch these copper wires on the sides with either finger or foot. If you do you'll repent it, for electricians don't like their gear handled."

Turning abruptly round, for the oars of the approaching boats could now be distinctly heard, the captain asked Sam if his batteries were well charged.

"Chock-full, sir," replied Sam with a broad grin; "there's not a bit of iron all round the ship that a man could lay hold of without receiving his due!"

"Good," said the captain, turning to the chief engineer; "are the hose attached and the boilers hot?"

"Bubblin' up fit to burst, sir. I've weighted the safety-valves to give it force?"

Without another word the captain stepped to the port gangway, and took off his hat to the advancing pirates. The pirate captain, not to be outdone in civility, took off his fez and bowed as the boat ranged alongside. The captain carefully held out one of the man-ropes to his enemy. He grasped it and seized the other.

An instantaneous yell of the most appalling nature issued from his mouth, and never before, since ship-building began, were a couple of man-ropes thrown off with greater violence! The pirate captain fell back into his boat, and the captain of the steamer stepped promptly back to avoid the storm of bullets that were let fly at his devoted head. At the starboard gangway the chief mate performed the same ceremony to another boat with a like result.

The pirates were amazed and enraged, but not cowed. With a wild cheer they made a simultaneous dash at the ship's sides all round. With a wilder yell they fell back into their boats,—shocked beyond expression! A few of them, however, chanced to lay hold of ropes or parts of the vessel that were not electrified. These gained the bulwarks.

"Shove in some more acid," said the chief electrician in suppressed excitement to Sam Shipton, who stood beside the batteries below.

"Stir up the fires, lads," cried the chief engineer to his men at the boilers beneath, as he stood holding a fire-nozzle ready.

Intensified yells all round told that chemical action had not been applied in vain, while the pirates who had gained the bulwarks were met with streams of boiling water in their faces. Heroes may and do face shot and shell coolly without flinching, but no hero ever faced boiling water coolly. The pirates turned simultaneously and received the streams in rear. Light cotton is but a poor defence in such circumstances. They sloped over the sides like eels, and sought refuge in the sea. Blazing with discomfiture and amazement, but not yet dismayed, these ferocious creatures tried the assault a second time. Their fury became greater, so did the numbers that gained a footing on the bulwarks, but not one reached the deck! The battery and the boiler played a part that day which it had never before entered into the brain of the wildest scientist to conceive. The hissing of the hot shower and the vigour of the cold shock were only equalled by the unearthly yelling of the foe, whose miraculous bounds and plunges formed a scene that is altogether indescribable.

The crew of the steamer stood spell-bound, unable to fight even if there had been occasion for so doing. The dark-skinned captain became Indian-red in the face from suppressed laughter.

Suddenly a tremor ran through the steamer, as if she too were unable to restrain her feelings. During the fight—if we may so call it—the engineers had been toiling might and main in the buried depths of their engine-room; the broken parts of the engine had been repaired or refitted, and a throb of life had returned to the machinery. In its first revolution the screw touched the stern of a pirate-boat and turned it upside down. Another boat at the bow was run over. The crews of both swam away like ducks, with their long knives between their teeth. The other boats hauled off.

"Now, captain," cried Robin Wright, who, during the whole time, had stood as if transfixed, with a cutlass in one hand, a pistol in the other, and his mouth, not to mention his eyes, wide open; "Now, captain, we shall get away without shedding a drop of blood!"

"Yes," replied the captain, "but not without inflicting punishment. Port your helm—hard a port!"

"Port it is, sir—hard over," replied the man at the wheel, and away went the steamer with a grand circular sweep which speedily brought her, bow-on, close to the pirate vessel.

"Steady—so!" said the captain, at the same time signalling "full steam" to the engine-room.

The space between the two vessels quickly decreased. The part of the pirate crew which had been left on board saw and understood. With a howl of consternation, every man sprang into the sea. Next moment their vessel was cut almost in two and sent fathoms down into the deep, whence it rose a limp and miserable remnant, flattened out upon the waves.

"Now," observed the captain, with a pleasant nod, "we'll leave them to get home the best way they can. A boat voyage in such fine weather in these latitudes will do them good."

Saying which, he resumed his course, and steamed away into the regions of the far East.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

TELLS OF A SUDDEN AND UNLOOKED-FOR EVENT.

How often it has been said, "Good for man that he does not know what lies before him." If he did we fear he would face his duty with very different feelings from those which usually animate him. Certain it is that if Robin Wright and Sam Shipton had known what was before them— when they stood one breezy afternoon on the ship's deck, casting glances of admiration up at the mountain waves of the southern seas, or taking bird's-eye views of the valleys between them—their eyes would not have glistened with such flashes of delight, for the fair prospects they dreamed of were not destined to be realised.

What these prospects were was made plain by their conversation.

"Won't it be a splendid opportunity, Sam, to become acquainted with all the outs and ins of telegraphy, this laying of lines from island to island in the China Seas?"

"It will, indeed, Robin,—a sort of compound or alternating land-and-submarine line. At one time we shall be using palm-trees for posts and carrying wires through the habitations of parrots and monkeys, at another we shall be laying them down among the sharks and coral groves."

"By the way," said Robin, "is it true that monkeys may prove to be more troublesome to us in these regions than sparrows and crows are at home?"

"Of course it is, my boy. Have you never heard that on some of our Indian lines, baboons, vultures, and other heavy creatures have sometimes almost broken down the telegraphs by taking exercise and roosting on the wires?"

"Indeed, I hope it won't be so with us. At all events, sharks won't be much tempted, I should fancy, by submarine cables."

"There's no saying, Robin. They are not particular when hungry. By the way, I saw you talking with unusual earnestness this morning to Jim Slagg; what was the matter with him?"

"Poor fellow! you'd scarcely believe it, to look at him," replied Robin, "but the lad is actually home-sick."

"Home-sick! Why, how's that? If we were only a few days out from port, or even a week or two, I could understand it, but seeing that we are now drawing near to the China Seas, I should have thought—"

"Oh, that's easily explained," interrupted Robin. "This is his mother's birthday, it seems, a day that has always been kept with much rejoicing, he tells me, by his family, and it has brought back home and home-life with unusual force to him. With all his rough off-handedness, Slagg is a tender-hearted, affectionate fellow. Somehow he has taken it into his head that this voyage will be disastrous, and that he will never see his mother again. I had great difficulty in showing him the unreasonableness of such a belief."

"No doubt you had. It is unreasonable beliefs that people usually hold with greatest tenacity," replied Sam, with a touch of sarcasm. "But tell me, have he and Stumps never once quarrelled since leaving England?"

"Never."

"I'm amazed—they are so unlike in every way."

"You would not be surprised if you knew them as I do," returned Robin. "Ever since Slagg gave him that thrashing on board the Great Eastern in 1865, Stumps has been a changed man. It saved him from himself, and he has taken such a liking to Slagg that nothing will part them. It was that made me plead so hard for Stumps to be taken with us, because I felt sure Slagg would not go without him, and although we might easily have done without Stumps, we could not have got on so well without Slagg."

"I'm not so sure of that, my boy. Your opinion of him is too high, though I admit him to be a first-rate youth. Indeed, if it were not so, he should not be here.—Was that a shark's fin alongside?"

"Yes, I think so. Cook has been throwing scraps overboard, I suppose.— See, there goes an empty meat-tin."

As he spoke the article named rose into the air, and fell with a splash in the water. At the same time Jim Slagg was seen to clamber on the bulwarks and look over.

"Come here—look alive, Stumps!" he shouted.

Stumps, whose proper name, it is but fair to state, was John Shanks, clambered clumsily to his friend's side just in time to see a shark open its horrid jaws and swallow the meat-tin.

"Well now, I never!" exclaimed Slagg. "He didn't even smell it to see if it was to his taste."

"P'r'aps he's swallowed so many before," suggested Stumps, "that he takes for granted it's all right."

"Well it's on'y flavour; and he has caught a Tartar this time," returned the other, "unless, maybe, tin acts like pie-crust does on human vitals."

The low deep voice of the captain was heard at this moment ordering a reef to be taken in the top-sails, and then it began to strike Robin and Sam that the breeze was freshening into something like a gale, and that there were some ominous-looking clouds rising on the windward horizon. Gazing at this cloud-bank for a few minutes, the captain turned and ordered the top-sails to be close-reefed, and most of the other sails either furled or reduced to their smallest size.

He was in good time, and the vessel was ready for the gale, when it rushed down on them hissing like a storm-fiend.

The good ship bent before the blast like a willow, but rose again, and, under the influence of able seamanship, went bravely on her course, spurning the billows from her swelling bows.

"What a thing it is to know that there is a good hand at the helm in times of danger!" remarked Sam as he and our hero stood under the shelter of the starboard bulwarks, holding on with both hands to the rigging, while the rushing waves tossed them on high or let them drop in the troughs of the seas; "I should feel safe with our captain in any circumstances."

"So should I," said Robin with enthusiasm, his eyes glistening with delight as he gazed on the angry ocean.

There was no thought of danger in the mind of any one at that moment. A good ship, ably commanded, well manned, and with plenty of sea-room,— what more could be desired? Nevertheless, deadly peril was close at hand.

That marvellous little creature—which, in the southern seas, builds its little cell, works its little day and dies, leaving to succeeding generations of its kind to build their little cells and die, each using its predecessor's mansion as a foundation for its own, until pile on pile forms a mass, and mass on mass makes a mountain—the coral insect, had reared one of its submarine edifices just where the cable-ship Triton had to pass that day. For ages man had traversed that sea without passing exactly over that mountain, and even if he had, it would not have mattered, for the mountain had been always many fathoms below the surface. But now the decree had gone forth. The conjunction of events predestined had come about. The distance between the mountain summit and the ocean surface had been reduced to feet. The Triton rose on the top of a mighty billow as she reached the fated spot. The coral peak rose near the bottom of the water-hollow beyond, and down on it the doomed ship went with an awful crash!

Her speed was checked only an instant, for the top of the rock was knocked off by the force of the blow, and the ship passed swiftly on, but there could be no mistaking the significance of that shock. An involuntary shout of alarm from some,—a gasp, halt of surprise, half of horror, from others,—then a rush of active effort when the captain gave orders to man the pumps.

There was urgent need for haste. The mass of coral rock had stuck in the hole it had made, else had they gone down in a few minutes. As it was, the water rushed in furiously, so much so that the captain detailed a party of men to construct a raft, while the rest relieved each other at the pumps. No doubt he was partly urged to this course by the consideration that a vessel weighted with telegraph-cables and other heavy material connected therewith could not float long in a leaky condition.

"Keep close to me, Robin; we must sink or swim together."

It was Sam who spoke. He was very pale, but his firmly-compressed lips showed no sign of unmanly fear. Robin, on the contrary, taken by surprise, and too inexperienced to correctly estimate sudden danger, was flushed with the feeling that now was the time to do and dare whatever should be required of him! They went to the pumps together, where Stumps and Slagg were already at work with many others.

It is surprising how fast and hard men will toil when life depends on the result. There was a cat-like activity about the carpenter and his mates as they cut, sawed, lashed, and bolted together the various spars and planks which formed the raft. In a marvellously short space of time it was ready and launched over the side, and towed astern by the strongest cable on board, for the danger of parting from it in such weather was very great. Knowing this they had lashed some casks of pork and other provisions to it before launching.

Still they laboured with unflagging resolution at the pumps, for many of those on board were picked men, whose sense of honour urged them to strive to the uttermost to save the ship, for it was no ordinary merchant-man, freighted with an ordinary cargo, which could easily be replaced as well as insured, but a vessel freighted with those magic wires which couple continents and unite humanity, whose loss might delay, though it could not ultimately arrest, the benign and rapid intercourse of man with man in all parts of the globe.

"Keep your eye on Sam and me," whispered Robin to Jim Slagg, finding himself alongside that worthy during a spell of rest. "Let us keep together, whatever happens."

Robin did not quite believe that anything serious was going to happen. Some spirits find it as difficult to believe in impending disaster as others find it to believe in continued safety. It seemed so impossible to Robin, in his inexperience, that the strong and still buoyant vessel which had borne them so long and bravely should sink! Nevertheless, like the rest, he laboured with a will.

Slagg took the opportunity to give a similar caution to his friend Stumps.

"She's sinking, sir," said the carpenter, who had been sounding the well, to the captain, about an hour later.

"I know it; stand by to have the raft hauled alongside. Knock off now, lads, there's no use in pumping any more."

The men ceased, with a deep sigh, and by that act the death-warrant of the cable-ship was signed.

During the next quarter of an hour the crew were busy slipping down the cable that held the raft. A few ran below to fetch small articles that they valued, but by that time the vessel was so low in the water, that there was little time to spare, and the captain began to urge haste.

"Now then, lads, over the side with you," he said, chancing to look at Sam Shipton as he spoke!

That spirit of heroism which induces men to resolve to be the last to quit a sinking ship, came over Sam just then, and he shrank back. He and his chief were in charge of the telegraph apparatus. It would be disgraceful to quit until all on board had left. He laid his hand on the strong cable that held the raft and said, "I'll stay to the last, sir, and cast off the rope, if you'll allow me."

"We don't cast off ropes in such circumstances," replied the captain; "we cut 'em."

Sam was silenced, but not the less resolved to hold to his point, if possible. He still held back, while the captain, being busy with the others, some of whom were rather too eager to go, paid no further attention to him. Robin, Slagg, and Stumps, recognising Sam as their leader, fell behind him and kept close.

At last all were on the raft except the captain and the four friends.

"Now, then, come along," said the former, somewhat impatiently.

"After you, sir," said Sam, with a polite bow.

"Overboard, sir!" shouted the captain, in a voice that would brook no denial, and Sam at once stepped on the bulwark, for he was not naturally rebellious.

Just as he spoke the rope broke, and the raft fell astern.

"Jump! jump! it's your only chance," cried the captain, at the same moment springing into the sea.

Sam was on the point of following, when an exclamation from Slagg checked him. Looking quickly back, he saw that Robin was not there.

Our hero, while modestly standing behind his comrades, had suddenly remembered that the small bible given him by his mother was lying on the shelf at the side of his berth. He would have lost anything rather than that. There was yet time to fetch it, so, without a word, he turned and sprang below, supposing that he had ample time.

"Robin! Robin!" shouted Sam and Slagg together, at the top of their voices.

"Coming! coming!" reached them faintly from below, but Robin did not come. The hasty summons induced him to leap over a chest in returning. He struck his head violently against a beam, and fell back stunned.

With another wild shout his friends rushed down the companion-hatch to hasten his movements by force. They found him almost insensible. Lifting him quickly, they carried, him on deck, and bore him to the stern of the vessel.

"Robin! Robin!" cried Sam, in an agony of impatience—for the raft was by that time far astern, besides which the shades of evening were beginning to descend—"do try to rally. We must swim. We're almost too late. Can you do it?"

"Yes, yes, I can swim like a duck," cried Robin, rising and staggering towards the bulwarks.

"But I can't swim at all!" cried Stumps in a voice of horror.

Sam stopped as if suddenly paralysed. Then, laying hold of Robin, held him back. He felt, as he looked at the dark heaving sea and the now distant raft, that it was not possible for him and Slagg to save both their injured and their helpless comrade.

"Too late!" he said in a voice of despair, as he sat down and for a moment covered his face with his hands. Slagg looked at him with a bewildered rather than a despairing expression.

"So, we'll have to sink together since we can't swim together," he said at last, with a touch of reckless vexation, as he gazed at the naturally stupid and by that time imbecile face of his friend Stumps.

"Come, only cowards give way to despair," cried Sam, starting up. "We have one chance yet, God be praised, but let's work with a will, boys, for the time is short."



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE RAFT.

Sam Shipton's one chance did not seem a bright one, but, with characteristic energy, he proceeded to avail himself of it at once.

When the raft was launched over the side, as described, the carpenters had embarked upon it with the rest of the ship's crew, dropping their tools on the deck beside the mass of unused material of ropes, spars, planks, etcetera, as they left. Four of the spars were pretty equal in length. Sam selected them hastily and laid them on the deck in the form of a square, or oblong frame. Then he seized an axe.

"Unravel some of the ropes, Robin," he cried. "You two select some planks as near ten feet long as possible. Quick—ask no questions, but do what I tell you."

Sam Shipton was one of those who hold the opinion that every man born into the world, whether gentle or simple, should learn a trade. He had acted on his belief and taught himself that of a carpenter, so that he wielded the axe with skill, and gave his orders with the precision of one who knows what he is about. His comrades, although not trained to any special trade, were active handy fellows, with the exception, indeed, of John Shanks, whose fingers were usually described as "thumbs," and whose general movements were clumsy; but Stumps had a redeeming quality to set against defects—he was willing.

With a few powerful well-directed blows, Sam cut four deep notches into the two longest of the selected spars, near their ends, at equal distances from each other. Into these he laid the ends of the two shorter spars, thus forming a frame-work.

"Twelve feet by ten, not a bad raft," he muttered, as if to himself, while he snatched a rope from the bundle of those disentangled by Robin. "Take a rope of same size, you two, and lash the opposite corners as you see me doing. Stumps will go on selecting the planks."

Sam jerked out his words with as much rapidity and force as he applied to the labour of his hands. There was something quite tremendous in his energy, and little wonder—for, as he glanced now and then along the deck he saw that the ship was rapidly settling down to her final dive, and that the closing scene would be sudden.

Powerfully impressed by his example, the others worked in total silence and with all their might, for Sam's conduct, far more than the appearance of things, convinced them of their danger.

"The planks now, Stumps! Drive in as many of these clamps as you can find, Slagg—so," (he set the example)—"we've no time to bore holes for bolts. A plank now; that's it! Hand some nails—no, the biggest nails and the big hammer. Mind your fingers!"

Down came the heavy hammer on a four-inch nail, which went half through the thick plank. Two more such blows and the iron head was buried in the wood. Six planks sufficed to cover the frame. They were laid lengthwise with nails just sufficient to hold them. A piece of thick rope passed four times round the entire fabric still further secured them in position.

"Tie a lot of these nails in a bit of sail-cloth, Slagg, and fix 'em to the raft—to one of the spars, not the planks. Do the same with a saw, hammer, axe, and cask of biscuit,—water, too; don't forget water. Make a belt of a bit of rope, Robin, and stick that small axe in it. Have it handy."

While he spoke Sam did not look up, but gave all his attention to the tightening, with a hand-spike, of the knot on the thick rope that bound the raft together; for we may as well inform those who don't know it, that the tying of a knot on a cable is not managed in the same way or with the same ease that a similar operation is performed on a piece of twine.

"But how shall we lift it over the side?" asked Stumps, becoming suddenly alive to a difficulty.

"Help me to haul on this rope and you shall see," said Sam.

He ran to the side, lifted a coil of rope off its belaying-pin, threw it on the deck, cut the rope clear, and hauled it to the raft, to one end of which he made it fast.

It was the strong rope, by means of which one of the mizzen yards was braced, and was rove through a block attached to the outward end of the yard.

"Hoist away now—with a will!"

"Hold on," cried Slagg, stuffing a mass of sail-cloth violently, by means of a hand-spike, underneath the binding rope of the raft.

"There now—yo ho! heave ho-o!"

Up went the end of the little ark of safety, and when one end was raised very little force was required to push it over.

"Hold on! hold on! hold o-o-on!" yelled Stumps, straining to prevent the raft from leaving the ship.

"No, no.—Let go! let go! let go-o-o!" roared Sam.

Stumps did let go and almost fell from the combined effect of his efforts and despair, as the raft swung off, splashed into the sea far out of reach, and hung half suspended from the yard-arm.

"It's all up with us," gasped Stumps.

"Not yet, but it will be all up with us in two minutes," returned Sam, unable to repress a smile even at that moment.

"What d'ye mean?" said Stumps in amazement. "How can we ever git at it now?"

"Why, stoopid," said Slagg, "don't you see that we've only to go up the mast, out on the yard-arm, and slip down the rope."

While he was speaking, Robin, by Sam's orders, was performing the feat referred to.

"Look sharp!" he cried, turning to the others.

A heavy lurch of the ship caused their breasts to leap almost as fast as their bodies, for they were all more or less aware of the danger of the ship sinking before they could get clear of her. The darkness, too, was, as we have said, increasing by that time, though it was still light enough to enable them to see what they were about.

In a few minutes they all had gained the end of the yard-arm, slipped down the rope, and got upon the raft, but it was difficult to hold on, because at each heave of the ship, the fore-end of the raft was raised quite out of the sea, and then let fall with considerable violence. As soon as Sam reached it, he bade Robin cut adrift with his axe, so great was the heave; but at the moment the raft hung almost perpendicularly in the air, and Robin could do nothing but cling to the rope that bound it. Next instant it again fell flat on the sea.

"Now—cut!" cried Sam.

The rope was severed with one blow; almost at the same instant the stern of the Triton flew up with a degree of violence that no wave could account for. It was her last fling. Instantly after she went down head foremost. The masts, by good fortune, leaned away from the raft at the time, else they would have been struck by the yards, or involved in the rigging. As it was they did not escape. The vast whirlpool caused by the sinking ship drew them in with irresistible power. For one moment the horrified youths saw a dark green vortex towards which they rushed. Another moment, and they beheld a green funnel whirling round them as they sank into midnight darkness, while an ocean of roaring water filled their ears.

Who shall attempt to describe, the feelings or sensations of that moment! The one absorbing idea of self-preservation was of course dominant, coupled with an intolerable feeling that the upper air could never be regained.

It was reached, however, by all of them. First by Sam Shipton, who shot waist-high above the sea with a loud gasp, and struck out wildly. Then, recovering presence of mind, he swam more gently, and looked eagerly round. He was immediately followed by Robin and Slagg. Last of all by Stumps, who came up legs foremost, and, on turning other end up, saluted them with a roar that would not have shamed a monster of the deep. But the roar was cut short by a gurgle, as, in his frantic struggles, he sank himself again.

Observing this, and seeing that the others were comparatively self-possessed, Sam made towards his drowning comrade. The poor fellow, catching sight of him as he came near, made a clutch at him, but Sam was well aware of the danger of being grasped by a drowning man. He swerved aside, and Stumps sank with a gurgle of despair. Twice again did he rise and sink. Once more he rose. With a rapid stroke Sam swam behind him and caught him under the armpits. Violently did the poor fellow strive to turn round and clasp his preserver, but Sam, treading water, held him easily at arm's-length with his head just above the surface. As long as he struggled nothing more could be done for him; Sam therefore put his mouth as near to his ear as possible and shouted:—

"Stop struggling!—else I'll let you go!"

It was probably as much the tone of Sam's voice as the sense of these words that calmed Stumps. At all events he instantly lay, or rather hung, perfectly limp and still.

"Now," continued Sam, "you are quite safe if you do what I tell you. If you don't you're a dead man! D'you understand?"

"Yes," gasped Stumps.

"Let your hands and arms lie flat on the water! Don't try to raise your head farther than I let you! Keep your feet still! Let yourself hang helpless while I hold you and look round for the raft."

It was obvious that Stumps had regained self-command, for as each of these orders was shouted in his ear, in the tones of a sergeant-major, he obeyed with eager, almost ludicrous, promptitude.

"The raft is here, close at hand," said a voice close to Sam's ear.

It was Robin who had discovered him at that moment.

"Is Slagg safe?" asked Sam.

"Here he is, all right," said the worthy referred to, puffing and choking as he swam up.

"Keep off—don't get in front of him," said Sam, in a warning voice. "He mayn't have recovered self-restraint enough yet to refrain from grasping you. Guide me to the raft, Robin, while I swim on my back, and see that you don't let it hit me on the head when I come close. You and Slagg help each other on, and then help me with Stumps."

Nothing could have calmed Stumps more than the cool, firm way in which these orders were given, so that he allowed himself to lie like a log while his deliverer drew him gently backwards until the back of his head rested on his bosom. Sam then struck out gently with his legs; Robin turned him with a push in the right direction, and thus, swimming on his back, he reached the raft. Slagg and Robin having already helped each other upon it, grasped his hair. At once he freed one hand and caught the rope that bound the raft. Stumps naturally slewed round, so that his mouth and nose went for a moment under water. Fancying that he was forsaken, he caught Sam round the neck, drew himself up, and gave a terrific yell.

"Ha! you may choke me now, if you can," muttered Sam, as he grasped the rope with both hands, "only, the longer you hold on to me the longer you will be of getting out of the water."

The terrified lad still retained sufficient sense to appreciate the force of the remark. Looking up as well as he could through his dishevelled hair, he held out one hand to Slagg, who grasped it firmly. Releasing Sam, with some hesitation he made a convulsive grasp at Robin with the other hand. Robin met him half-way. A loud "heave ho!" and a mighty pull brought him out of the sea, and sent him with a squash on the boards of the raft, where he lay gripping the ropes with his hands as with a vice.

Before his rescuers could turn to aid Sam, he stood panting beside them.

"Thank God," said Sam, "for this deliverance!"

"Amen!" was the earnest and prompt response from the others.

Yet it seemed but a temporary deliverance, for when these castaways looked around them, they saw nothing but a heaving ocean and a darkening sky, with the tiny raft as the only visible solid speck in all the watery waste. Compared, however, with the extremity of danger though which they had just passed, the little platform on which they stood seemed to them an ample refuge—so greatly do circumstances alter our estimate of facts!

But they had not time to think much, as may be easily understood, for a great deal still remained to be done. Their little ark was by no means secure. We have said that only enough of nails had been driven into it to hold the planks to the frame-work, but not to withstand rough treatment. Indeed, during the plunge two of the planks had been torn off, but the binding rope held them to their places, as Sam had foreseen.

Very little daylight now remained, so that not a moment was to be lost.

"No sign of the big raft," said Sam, stooping to unfasten the hammer and packet of nails, after taking one quick, anxious glance round the horizon.

"But it may be not far-off after all," said Slagg, kneeling down to aid his comrade, while Stumps, by that time recovered, assisted Robin to tighten the ropes that held the pork-barrel. "With such poor light it 'ud be hard to make out a flat thing like that a-kickin' in the hollows of the seas."

"But you forget," returned Sam, "that it must be a-kickin' on the top o' the sea as well as in the hollows. Another nail—thanks. However, I don't expect to see it again."

"Well, now, I expects to see it in the mornin' not far-off," said Slagg. "Is the water-cask fast, Robin?"

"All right—and the pork too."

"And the sail. Just give it an extra shove under the ropes, Robin. We'd be badly off if we lost it."

"I don't see what good a sail can do us," said Stumps, who had now quite recovered.

"Not as a sail, Stumpy," replied Slagg, whose spirit soon recovered elasticity, "though even in that way it may help us, but as a blanket we shall appreciate it before long."

Slagg was right. After the planking had been secured and the rope refastened, those unfortunates found themselves in an unenviable position. The gale had indeed abated somewhat, though the heaving of the great waves was little less tremendous, but the night had settled down into a state of pitchy darkness, so that they could barely see each other's faces, while the seas continually washed over them, obliging them to hold on to the ropes for fear of being washed away.

In such circumstances sleep was out of the question, yet they stood sorely in need of rest.

"Now we'll see what's to be done wi' the sail," said Slagg, after they had been seated some time doing nothing. "Sleep I want, an' sleep I'll have, so lend a hand, boys."

He drew out the sail with some trouble, so well had it been stuffed in, and bade the others hold and prevent it from flapping while he fastened the corners down. He did not arrange it like a tent, but spread it as flat as possible, doubling the superfluous edges inward, so that it presented little or no obstruction to the free passage of wind or water over them.

This done, they all crept underneath, and found it to be a much snugger den than they had expected, for the two casks prevented their heads from being pressed down when a few tons of water rolled over them—as occasionally happened.

Still they did not dare to sleep until each had fastened a rope round his waist and bound himself to the flooring. Having done so, each laid himself alongside of a turn of the binding-cable, and, embracing that affectionately with both arms, laid his head on the planks and shut his eyes.

Many and varied are the conditions under which healthy members of the human family seek and find repose, but we venture to think that few conditions have ever been found which were more unfavourable to sleep than that which has just been described.

Nevertheless, they were met promptly by slumber most profound, as they lay wet and weary on the little raft that disastrous night, on the dark and surging breast of the Southern Sea.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

LIFE ON THE RAFT.

To awake "all at sea"—in other words, ignorant of one's locality—is a rather common experience, but to awaken both at and in the sea, in a similar state of oblivion, is not so common.

It was the fortune of Robin Wright to do so on the first morning after the day of the wreck.

At first, when he opened his eyes, he fancied, from the sound of water in his ears, that it must have come on to rain very heavily, but, being regardless of rain, he tried to fall asleep again. Then he felt as if there must be a leak in his berth somewhere, he was so wet; but, being sleepy, he shut his eyes, and tried to shut his senses against moisture. Not succeeding, he resolved to turn on his other side, but experienced a strange resistance to that effort. Waxing testy, he wrenched himself round, and in so doing kicked out somewhat impatiently. This, of course, woke him up to the real state of the case. It also awoke Slagg, who received the kick on his shins. He, delivering a cry of pain straight into Sam Shipton's ear, caused that youth to fling out his fist, which fell on Stumps's nose, and thus in rapid succession were the sleepers roused effectually to a full sense of their condition.

"It's cold," remarked Stumps, with chattering teeth.

"You should be thankful that you're alive to feel the cold, you ungrateful creetur," said Slagg.

"I am thankful, Jim," returned the other humbly, as he sought to undo the rope that held him fast; "but you know a feller can scarcely express thanks or—or—otherwise half asleep, an' his teeth goin' like a pair o' nut-crackers."

"The wind is evidently down," remarked Sam, who had already undone his lashings. "Here, Robin, help me to untie this corner of the sail. I had no idea that sleeping with one's side in a pool of water would make one so cold and stiff."

"If it had bin a pool, Mr Shipton," said Slagg, "it wouldn't have made you cold; 'cause why? you'd have made it warm. But it was the sea washin' out and in fresh that kep' the temperater low—d'ee see?"

"What a cargo o' rheumatiz we've been a-layin' in this night for old age," said Stumps ruefully, as he rubbed his left shoulder.

Throwing off the sail, Sam stood up and looked round, while an exclamation of surprise and pleasure broke from him. The contrast between the night and morning was more than usually striking. Not only had darkness vanished and the wind gone down, but there was a dead calm which had changed the sea into a sheet of undulating glass, and the sun had just risen, flooding the sky with rosy light, and tipping the summit of each swell with gleaming gold. The gentle, noiseless heaving of the long swell, so far from breaking the rest of nature, rather deepened it by suggesting the soft breathings of slumber. There were a few gulls floating each on its own image, as if asleep, and one great albatross soared slowly in the bright sky, as if acting the part of sentinel over the resting sea.

"How glorious!" exclaimed Robin, as, with flashing eyes, he gazed round the scarce perceptible horizon.

"How hard to believe," said Sam, in a low voice, "that we may have been brought here to die."

"But surely you do not think our case so desperate?" said Robin.

"I hope it is not, but it may be so."

"God forbid," responded Robin earnestly.

As he spoke his arm pressed the little bible which he had rescued from the wreck. Thrusting his hand into his bosom he drew it out.

"Darling mother!" he said, "when she gave me this she told me to consult it daily, but especially in times of trouble or danger. I'll look into it now, Sam."

He opened the book, and, selecting the verse that first met his eye, read: "In all their affliction he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them; in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; and he bare them and carried them all the days of old."

"That's a grand word for us, isn't it?—from Isaiah," said Robin.

"Well, what do you make of it?" asked Sam, whose religious education had not been attended to as well as that of his friend.

"That our God is full of love, and pity, and sympathy, so that we have nothing to fear," said Robin.