The Flag of Distress: A Story of the South Sea. Reid Mayne

still observable on his brow.

      While thus occupied, he is accosted by another officer, one yet younger than himself – the midshipman already mentioned.

      “Can I go with you?” the latter asks, as if addressing an equal.

      “Certainly, my dear fellow,” responds the lieutenant, in like familiar tone. “I shall be only too pleased to have you. But you must get the captain’s consent.”

      The young reefer glides aft, sees the frigate’s commander upon the quarterdeck, and saluting, says:

      “Captain, may I go with the cutter?”

      “Well, yes,” responds the chief; “I have no objection.” Then, after taking a survey of the youngster, he adds, “Why do you wish it?”

      The youth blushes, without replying. There is a cast upon his countenance that strikes the questioner, somewhat puzzling him. But there is no time either for further inquiry or reflection. The cutter has been lowered, and rests upon the water. Her crew is crowding into her; and she will soon be moving off from the ship.

      “You can go, lad,” assents the captain. “Report yourself to the third lieutenant, and tell him I have given you leave. You’re young, and, like all youngsters, ambitious of gaining glory. Well; in this affair you won’t have much chance. I take it. It’s simply boarding a ship in distress, where you’re more likely to be a spectator to scenes of suffering. However, that will be a lesson for you; therefore you can go.”

      Thus authorised, the mid hurries away from the quarterdeck, drops down into the boat, and takes seat alongside the lieutenant, already there.

      “Shove off!” commands the latter; and with a push of boat-hook, and plashing of oars, the cutter parts from the ship’s side, cleaving the water like a knife.

      The two vessels still lie becalmed, in the same relative position to one another, having changed from it scarce a cable’s length. And stem to stern, just as the last breath of the breeze, blowing gently against their sails, forsook them.

      On both, the canvas is still spread, though not bellied. It hangs limp and loose, giving an occasional flap, so feeble as to show that this proceeds not from any stir in the air, but the mere balancing motion of the vessels. For there is now not enough breeze blowing to flout the long feathers in the tail of the Tropic bird, seen soaring aloft.

      Both are motionless; their forms reflected in the water, as if each had its counterpart underneath, keel to keel.

      Between them, the sea is smooth as a mirror – that tranquil calm which has given to the Pacific its distinctive appellation. It is now only disturbed, where furrowed by the keel of the cutter, with her stroke of ten oars, five on each side. Parting from the frigate’s beam, she is steering straight for the becalmed barque.

      On board the man-of-war all stand watching her – their eyes at intervals directed towards the strange vessel. From the frigate’s forward-deck, the men have an unobstructed view, especially those clustering around the head. Still there is nearly a league between, and with the naked eye this hinders minute observation. They can but see the white-spread sails, and the black hull underneath them. With a glass the flag, now fallen, is just distinguishable from the mast along which it clings closely. They can perceive that its colour is crimson above, with blue and white underneath – the reversed order of the Chilian ensign. Its single star is no longer visible, nor aught of that heraldry, which spoke so appealingly. But if what they see fails to furnish them with details, these are amply supplied by their excited imaginations. Some of them can make out men aboard the barque – scores, hundreds! After all, she may be a pirate, and the upside-down ensign a decoy. On a tack, she might be a swifter sailer than she has shown herself before wind; and, knowing this, has been but “playing possum” with the frigate. If so, God help the cutter’s crew?

      Besides these conjectures of the common kind, there are those on the frigate’s fore-deck who, in very truth, fancy the polacca to be a spectre. As they continue gazing, now at the boat, now at the barque, they expect every moment to see the one sink beneath the sea; and the other sail off, or melt into invisible air! On the quarter, speculation is equally rife, though running in a different channel. There the captain still stands surrounded by his officers, each with glass to his eye, levelled upon the strange craft. But they can perceive nought to give them a clue to her character; only the loose flapping sails, and the furled flag of distress.

      They continue gazing till the cutter is close to the barque’s beam. For then do they observe any head above the bulwarks, or face peering through the shrouds!

      The fancy of the forecastle seems to have crept aft among the officers. They, too, begin to feel something of superstitious fear – an awe of the uncanny!

      Chapter Four.

      The Cutter’s Crew

      Manned by ten stout tars, and as many oars propelling her, the cutter continues her course with celerity. The lieutenant, seated in the stern-sheets, with the midshipman by his side, directs the movements of the boat; while the glances of both are kept constantly upon the barque. In their eyes is an earnest expression – quite different from that of ordinary interrogation.

      The men may not observe it; if they do, it is without comprehension of its meaning. They can but think of it as resembling their own, and proceeding from a like cause. For although with backs turned towards the barque, they cast occasional glances over their shoulders, in which curiosity is less observable than apprehension.

      Despite their natural courage, strengthened by the late appeal to their humanity, the awe is strong upon them. Insidiously returning as they took their seats in the boat, it increases as they draw farther from the frigate and nearer to the barque. Less than half-an-hour has elapsed, and they are now within a cable’s length of the strange vessel.

      “Hold!” commands the lieutenant.

      The oar-stroke is instantly suspended, and the blades held aloft. The boat gradually loses way, and at length rests stationary on the tranquil water.

      All eyes are bent upon the barque; glances go searchingly along her bulwarks, from poop to prow.

      No preparations to receive them! No one appears on deck – not a head raised over the rail!

      “Barque ahoy!” hails the lieutenant.

      “Barque ahoy!” is heard in fainter tone; but not in answer. Only the echo of the officer’s voice, coming back from the hollow timbers of the becalmed vessel! There is again silence, more profound then ever. For the sailors in the boat have ceased talking; their awe, now intense, holding them speechless and as if spellbound!

      “Barque ahoy!” again shouted the lieutenant, louder than before, but with like result. As before, he is only answered by echo. There is either nobody on board, or no one who thinks it worth while to make rejoinder.

      The first supposition seems absurd, looking at the sails; the second equally so, regarding the flag at the main-royal masthead, and taking into account its character.

      A third hail from the officer, this time vociferated in loudest voice, with the interrogatory added:

      “Any one aboard there?”

      To the question no reply, any more than to the hail.

      Silence continues – stillness profound, awe-inspiring. They in the boat begin to doubt the evidence of their senses. Is there a barque before their eyes? Or is it all an illusion? How can a vessel be under sail – full sail – without sailors? And if any, why do they not show at her side? Why have they not answered the hail thrice given; the last time loud enough to be heard within the depths of her hold? It should have awakened her crew, even though all were asleep in the forecastle!

      “Give way again!” cries the lieutenant. “Bring up on the starboard side, coxswain! Under the forechains.”

      The oars are dipped, and the cutter moves on. But scarce is she in motion, when once more the officer commands “Hold!”

      With his voice mingle others, coming from the barque. Her people seem at length to have become aroused from their sleep, or stupor. A noise is heard upon her deck,