Nic Revel Part 47

"A good word for you--for one who has been ready to risk his life again and again to help me? Pete, we have been brothers in our great misfortune, and we must hold together, come what may."

"Then take a good grip of your oar, Master Nic, and let's forget being empty by taking our fill of work. Pull away, my lad, right out, and I dessay the tide'll run us along the sh.o.r.e, as it does at home. When the day comes again we shall zoon zee a zhip. We can't give up now.

Ready?"

"Yes."

"Then pull."

And in their desperate strait, feeling as they did that they would starve sooner than go back to slavery, those two bent to their oars in the darkness that closed them in, and rowed on with the swift tide. The lights on the sh.o.r.e grew fainter, the tide swifter, and the water became rough; but they rowed on, hungry, exhausted: on and on, ignorant of the set of the tides, of the trend of the coast, and without a drop of fresh water to satisfy their thirst. A mad, mad attempt; but it was for liberty--for all that man holds dear. What wonder that when the day dawned both had sunk forward over their oars and were sleeping heavily, to wake at last with the southern sun beating down upon their heads, and that they gazed at each other in a half-delirious, stupefied way, wondering what had happened and where they were.

There was a faint appearance as of a cloud low down on the water far-away, but no cloud overhead, nothing but the burning, blistering sun to send a fierce energy through Nic's veins, which made him keep calling wildly upon Pete to row, row hard, before they were overtaken and dragged back to a white slave's life.

Pete's eyes were staring fiercely, and looked bloodshot, while his throat was hot and dry, his brain felt as if on fire; but at every order from Nic he bent down over his oar and pulled and pulled, till his strokes grew more and more wild, and at last, as he made one more desperate than ever, he did not dip the blade, but fell backward from the thwart. Then, after vainly trying to pull with both oars himself, Nic turned to face his companion in misfortune, wondering in his delirium why he was there.

The sun went down like a ball of fire on his left, and directly after, as it seemed, rose like a ball of fire on his right. It was that, he felt, which caused all his suffering, and in his rage and indignation he turned upon it fiercely, and then bent down to lap up the sparkling water which tempted him and seemed to promise to allay his awful thirst.

He reached down and dipped his hand, but the att.i.tude seemed to send the blood like molten lead running to his brain, and with a weary groan he fell sidewise and rolled over in the bottom of the boat.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

SAFE AT LAST.

"Looks like a s.h.i.+p's longboat, sir; but she's right under the sun, and I can't make her out."

"Any one in her?"

"No, sir; not a soul."

The conversation was between the captain and one of the foremast men of the good s.h.i.+p _Sultan_, bound from a western city with pa.s.sengers and sugar to the port of Bristol. The wind was very light, and men were up aloft, setting the main top-gallant sail, when the boat was sighted only a little way out of the vessel's course.

Then the captain argued, as he took a look at her from the main-top, that a boat like that might be battered, and not worth the trouble of picking up; but, on the other hand, she might; and finally, after taking the first-mate into debate, it was decided to steer a point or two to the west and pick her up.

"For who knows what she may have aboard, or what good s.h.i.+p may have been wrecked?" the skipper said to one of the pa.s.sengers brought on deck by the news of a boat in sight, for such an event broke the monotony of the tedious voyage.

As the news spread through the s.h.i.+p the rest of the pa.s.sengers came on deck, and when the boat was neared, the captain, as he stood inspecting the object through his gla.s.s, began to be satisfied that the find was in good condition, and then the announcement came from aloft that there were two bodies lying in the bottom.

The excitement now became fierce; one of the s.h.i.+p's boats was swung out on the davits ready for lowering, manned, and dropped, and finally the prize was brought alongside, with its freight still alive, but apparently at their last gasp.

Fortunately the captain was a man of old experience in the tropics, and noting that there was neither food nor water on board, he put the right construction upon the poor fellows' condition--that they were dying of hunger and thirst, after escaping from some wrecked or sinking vessel.

Merchant captains have a smattering of knowledge, and a medicine chest on board, and there were willing hands to take charge of "the poor s.h.i.+pwrecked men;" but it was a hard fight with the raging fever and delirium from which both suffered, and again and again they were given over, and were still too weak to answer questions when Bristol port was reached, and they were taken to hospital ash.o.r.e.

It was quite a month before the journey home could be taken in the old stage-coach bound from Bristol to Plymouth.

But Nic bore it well, for Captain Revel was seated by his side, holding his hand as if afraid that after all his son might slip from his grasp and the old suffering recommence.

"It nearly killed me before, my boy," he said piteously, as he urged his son to be careful not to exert himself in the least. "I gave you up for dead, and I was following you fast, Nic, for I don't believe I should have lived another year."

"I'll take care, father; never fear," said the young man cheerily, for, though thin and worn, his eyes were brightening, and there were signs of returning health in his cheeks. "I only need a good, quiet rest in the old place, where I can lie and watch the sea, or go down the shady old combe, to listen to the falls and watch the salmon leap."

"Ugh! don't talk about the fish," cried the Captain, with a shudder; "they were the cause of all this suffering."

"Oh no," said Nic, smiling. "It was all that terrible mistake."

"Well, don't let's talk about the past," said the Captain hurriedly; "or only about one thing, my boy. I did want to consult you about that fellow who's up aloft with William Solly."

"About Pete, father?"

"Yes, the scoundrel! He was as bad as the salmon."

"Poor old Pete!" said Nic, smiling. "He saved my life over and over again, father. I want you to take him into your service."

"What! that poacher who used to defy us all?"

"Poachers make the best keepers, father, when they reform; and Pete has proved himself a good man and true. Will you tell him he is to stay?"

"I'll keep a dozen of such fellows if you'll only get strong and well again, my boy," said the old sailor eagerly. "I'll tell him next time we change horses. But I shall never forgive Lawrence."

"What, father!" cried Nic, smiling. "Why?"

"An old comrade like he has always been, to have such a stupid blunder made by those under his command."

"A terrible mistake, father; but, to be quite fair, it was all my doing, and I was hoist with my own petard."

"No, no, Nic; you're wrong," said the old man, "and William Solly--an impudent rascal!--was right."

"How, father?"

"Well, my boy, it was all my fault for making such a fuss about a few salmon. William Solly had the insolence to tell me I made a trouble about nothing, and wanted a real one to do me good. This has been a real one, Nic, and I've suffered bitterly."

"But there's fair weather ahead, father."

"Please G.o.d, my boy," said the old man piously, and with his voice trembling, "and--and there, Nic, I've got you back again, and you will get well, my boy--you will get well, won't you?"

"Fast, father," replied Nic, pressing the old man's hand.

Nic did mend rapidly in the rest and quiet of his old home, where one day Captain Lawrence, newly returned from a long voyage, came to see his old friend, and heard Nic's adventures to the end.

"A bitter experience, my dear boy," he said; "but let's look to the future now: never mind the past."

But one day, when the convalescents had been for two months drinking in the grand old Devon air, Nic was rambling through the combe with Pete, both pretty well strong again, when the latter said:

"I want to be zet to work now, Master Nic, or to be zent away; for I feel as if I ought to be doing zomething, instead of idling about here."

"You've talked like that before, Pete," said Nic, smiling. "Have a little patience, and then you shall begin."