The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

TREASURE OF THE SEAS, by James De Mille (Part 1)

      CHAPTER I.

      The waters of the Atlantic Ocean were reddened far and wide by the rays of the rising sun. The glorious beams had flashed over tract after tract of the watery expanse as they came from the east, until at length they poured in a full blaze upon a certain gay and gallant bark which lay tossing upon the tide somewhere within a hundred miles or so of the shore of the western world.

      Yet though undeniably gay and gallant, the hand of time was visible on that bounding bark. For her buoyant hull was worn, and torn, and aged, and weather-beaten, and in fact decrepit. Aloft, over that battered hull, whose dilapidated sides, covered with bruises and bare of paint, showed gaping seams, from which the oakum protruded, rose the rickety masts and rotten old rigging. The sails, all torn, and worn, and rent, and patched, were spread to catch the breeze, while on high floated a gallant but dingy flag, bearing the blazonry of a now undecipherable emblem, together with letters now half effaced, which looked like “B. O. W. C.”

      Yet though undeniably gay and gallant, the hand of time was visible on that bounding bark. For her buoyant hull was worn, and torn, and aged, and weather-beaten, and in fact decrepit. Aloft, over that battered hull, whose dilapidated sides, covered with bruises and bare of paint, showed gaping seams, from which the oakum protruded, rose the rickety masts and rotten old rigging. The sails, all torn, and worn, and rent, and patched, were spread to catch the breeze, while on high floated a gallant but dingy flag, bearing the blazonry of a now undecipherable emblem, together with letters now half effaced, which looked like “B. O. W. C.”

      Such a disreputable craft, and such preposterous sails, had surely never before met the eye of the astonished sun in these waters, and great must have been the hardihood, or else the ignorance, of those who dared commit themselves and her to the merciless ocean. Whether bold or ignorant, however, there they were, all of them—Captain Corbet, the mate, Solomon, and the boys of the “B. O. W. C.;” and these now all stood on the deck of the Antelope, looking at the reddening dawn.

      At the helm of his gallant bark stood her bold commander, as wise, as vigilant, and as care-worn as ever, shading his venerable brow with his hand, while, with eagle eye, he sought to make out some floating object or some friendly shore. But to that eagle eye the wide waste of waters showed nothing of the kind; and so it came to pass that, at length, the aged Corbet heaved a gentle sigh, and his eyes rested with mournful meaning upon his young companions.

      “Well, captain,” said Bart, who was standing near him, “we don’t seem to have made land yet—do we?”

      The captain shook his head slowly and solemnly.

      “Kine o’ curous, too,” he ejaculated, after a thoughtful pause.

      “I don’t suppose you have any more idea of where we are than you had yesterday.”

      “Wal,” said Captain Corbet, “not to say much of an idea; but I’m kine o’ comin round, an mebbe I’ll get the hang of it yet.”

      “Well, why not head her west? We’ll be sure to come in sight of land then.”

      Again the captain shook his head.

      “Wal, I don’t know,” said he, “about that. Thar’s currents, an thar’s eddies; an thar’s the Gulf Stream to be considered. Now, if we’d kep straight on at fust, when we got out o’ Canso, we’d been all right; or even after we left Louisbourg, ef we’d only kep along the coast, in sight—but thar’s the mischief of it. I let her git out o’ sight o’ land that night, an she got kine o’ slewed round, and ’s kep kine o’ cantin round every which way, until at last she’s in this here onfort’nit position. An now I’m all teetotally aderrift!”

      “O, I shouldn’t think that we can be more than a hundred miles or so south-east of the Nova Scotia coast.”

      “Wal, I don’t know; seems to me we may jest as well be off Bermudy as anywhars else.”

      “Bermuda!” exclaimed Bart, in amazement. “You don’t mean that.”

      “Wal, I don’t see why not. Here we air, after a kerrewsin around a whole fortnight every which way, driven up an down by wind an tide, an canterin along with the Gulf Stream; an whenever we ventured to hail a passin vessel, only gettin the finger o’ scorn a pinted at us for our pains, an the laughter of frivolous an light-minded men. So what’s to hender us from bein anywhars?”

      “Well,” said Bart, “don’t you think it would be better to take some one course, and stick to it?”

      “Ain’t I done it?” said the captain. “Ain’t I done it every day? Every day I took some definite course, and stuck to it; an what’s the result? Young sir, if you seek a answer, look around.”

      “But something must be done,” said Bart, “or else we’ll find the Antelope becoming a second edition of the Flying Dutchman. A fortnight of this sort of thing’s no joke.”

      “Who ever said it was?” said Captain Corbet. “An what’s wuss, every passin vessel will pussist in makin it a joke. They think we’re a fishin schooner, bound to the banks; an if we ask a honest question, they won’t do anything but yell out jokes that ain’t got any pint that ever I can see. Wal, this sarves me right, for ever ventrin outside of old Fundy. Put me in old Fundy an I’m all right; out here I ain’t any good, an hadn’t ought ever to dreamt of comin.”

      From this it will be seen that the ill-fated Antelope was once more in a most unpleasant predicament, and the company on board appeared in danger of encountering adventures of as unpleasant a kind as they had known in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, if not worse. And certainly the prospect was dark indeed, when the captain himself could go so far as to hint at Bermuda as being by any possibility in their neighborhood. So Bart thought; and as he walked away there was a shade of anxiety on his brow.

      As he walked forward he saw Solomon drawing some water for breakfast out of one of the barrels.

      “Solomon,” asked Bart, “how are we off for provisions this time?”

      The sable functionary raised his aged form, and, holding the water-pail in one hand, with the other he slowly scratched his venerable wool.

      “Wal, Masr Bart,” said he, “dis yar time we ain’t got no ’tiklar cause for ’ziety. Dar’s a barl of salt pork, an two barls of biscuit, an dat ar’s ’ficient for de ’quirements of dis yar company. Lucky for us, too, dat Cap’n Fuggeson cars for us. He put this pork an biscuit aboard for extry, an say dat we all boun to come to roonatium some how. An dat ar am de very ’visiums dat we got to lib on now.”

      “But haven’t we got anything better than salt pork and biscuit left?” asked Bart, in a rueful tone.

      “Well, notin ’tiklar. Dar’s a drawin or two ob tea—an a grain or two ob flour—an some red her’n; but, law sakes! child alive—what you mean by frettin and pinin so long’s dar’s lot to eat? Nebber you mind. I’ll cook up dis yar pork so’s you’ll blieve it’s roast turkey. Will so. You don’t know me yet. Tell you what,—wait till you see how I cook up dis yar.”

      “O, I know,” said Bart; “I believe you could feed us on saw-dust soup, if you hadn’t anything else. It wasn’t that.”

      “Saw-dust soup!” cried Solomon. His eyes rolled fearfully. His aged figure bent double. He put the pail of water down, and then seated himself on the deck, where he proceeded to shake his venerable sides; and swing his body backward and forward, while chuckles, and giggles, and choking laughter burst from him. Every little while, as he could get his breath, he would roll up the whites of his eyes with a look of ecstasy, and whisper to himself, “Saw-dust soup!—saw-dust soup!—dat’s so. Tell you what! takes ole Solomon to do it. He’s de boy. Is so! Yah, yah, yah!”

      From this outburst of African sentiment Bart turned mournfully away, and stood apart, looking pensively upon the water. The other boys seemed to feel as he did, for they all had on their faces an expression of anxiety and disappointment. They all knew