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CHAPTER 6.

OVERBOARD.

Once more we were at sea. Had it not been for the honour of the thing, we should have preferred being on board the frigate, for although I have a great respect for many Africans, I must say that it is not agreeable to have some hundreds of them as shipmates. We had happily very fine weather, and the poor people were able constantly to take the air on deck. They seemed to have forgotten all their sufferings and miseries, and would sing and dance and tell stories, and laugh all day long. I still continued to take Peter Pongo in hand, and began to teach him not only to speak but to read and write English. Snookes used to laugh at me at first, but when he saw the progress Peter made he wanted to teach him likewise. To this I said No, he might try and teach some one else, but he was not to interfere with my pupil. He agreed to this, but either he selected a stupid subject, or his mode of teaching was not good, for he made wonderfully little progress. For a week he was trying to teach his pupil Tommy Toad, as he called him, three letters of the alphabet, and at the end of the time he could not tell B from C. Mr Talbot took care also that we should not be idle, and kept us knotting and splicing and doing all sorts of work aloft. We were approaching our port, and were congratulating ourselves on having made a favourable passage, when two of our men were taken sick, then another and another, till our strength was sadly reduced. One poor fellow died, and there appeared every prospect of our losing more. The negroes were generally ready enough to work, but as they did not know how, they were of little use. Mr Talbot and Sommers worked away most heroically, attending to the sick, pulling and hauling, and often steering the vessel. Dickey and I did our best to help them. While the fine weather lasted our difficulties were not very great; at the same time, we were so short handed that the labour fell heavily on those who remained well. Dickey and I, though not very big or strong, from going constantly aloft, were of no little use, we flattered ourselves. One evening as we were approaching our destination, being closed hauled under all sail and standing on our course–Sommers was at the helm, Mr Talbot was below, and Dickey and I with two men were on deck, all we could muster for the watch–Sommers kept looking anxiously round the horizon, especially to the southward, where I observed some dark clouds banking up. As I watched them, they seemed suddenly to take it into their heads to roll rapidly onward, and down they bore upon us like a flock of sheep scouring over the downs. “All hands shorten sail,” shouted Sommers. “Stafford. Rushforth, aloft lads, and furl the fore-topgallantsail.” Up we sprang into the rigging. As yet the breeze was very light, and there was no difficulty in what we had to do, but a few minutes’ delay might make the task impracticable. Dickey was spirited enough in reality. We lay along on the yard, and had begun to haul the sail, when, as I was stretching over to get a hold of the canvas to gather it up, I lost my balance, and over I went head first. I heard a shriek. It was from Dickey. He thought I should be killed. So should I, if I had had time to think about the matter; but providentially at that moment a sudden puff of wind bulged out the foretopsail to its utmost extent, and I striking it at the moment, away it sent me, as from a catapult, right over the bows, clear of the vessel. Had I struck the deck or bulwarks I should have been killed. I sank, but quickly coming to the surface, looked about me with very little hope of being saved, for there was the schooner flying on before the fast-increasing gale; and as I knew full well, with so few seamen on board, that it would take some time to put about to come to my relief. All this flashed rapidly through my mind. Farther and farther away flew the schooner, still I determined not to give in. I could swim pretty well, and I managed to throw off my jacket and kick off my shoes, and as only a thin pair of trousers and a shirt remained, I had no difficulty in keeping myself above water; but the knowledge that sharks abounded in those seas, and that any moment one of those horrid monsters might catch hold of my leg and haul me down, gave me very unpleasant sensations. I watched the receding vessel–moments seemed hours. There was no sign of her putting about. I at length was about to give way to despair, when my eye fell on an object floating between her and me. It was of some size–a grating I concluded–and I made out a black ball on the other side of it. The grating was moving towards me. I struck out to make it, and then I saw that it was pushed by a negro. “Keep up, Massa Pringle, keep up,” said a voice in a cheery tone, which I recognised as that of Peter Pongo. My spirits returned. I had been a careless, thoughtless fellow, but I prayed then as I never prayed before, that the dreadful sharks might be kept from me, that I might reach the grating, and might by some means or other be saved. I felt a strength and courage I had not felt before. I struck out with all my power, still it seemed very very long before I reached the grating, and in my agitation I almost sank as I was catching hold of it. Peter Pongo had, however, sprang on to it and caught hold of me. I soon recovered. Words enough did not just then come into my head to thank him, but I took his hand, and he understood me. So far I was safe, for the grating was large enough to hold us both, but the sea was rapidly rising, and we might easily again be washed off. We looked about us, the schooner had not yet tacked, and the squall had already caught her. She was heeling over on her beam-ends, and everything seemed in confusion on board–yards swinging about, ropes flying away, and sails shivering to tatters. It was late in the evening, the sky was obscured, and darkness was coming on. The seas, too, began to dance wildly about us; their white tops, curling over and leaving dark cavern-looking hollows underneath, into which it seemed every instant that we must glide and be swallowed up. The prospect altogether was gloomy in the extreme. I felt how much I owed to poor Peter Pongo, who had voluntarily exposed himself to it for my sake, and I felt that had he not done so, I should long before this have been numbered with the dead. I still thought that we should both be saved. There were some bits of rope fastened to the grating, and by these we lashed ourselves to it, or we should inevitably have been washed off. We were constantly under water, but as it was warm that did not signify, as we soon again came to the surface. Our fear was lest some hungry shark should make a dart at us on those occasions and pick us off. Darker and darker it grew, the seas as they dashed wildly about made a loud prolonged roar, and at last, as we cast our eyes forward, not a glimpse of the schooner could we see. As the conviction of our forlorn condition broke upon me–I could not help it–I gave way to tears. I could not wring my hands because they were busy holding on to the grating. I thought of you, mother, and papa, and dear Harry, and our sisters, and that I should never see you any more; or old England, or the Hall, or Uncle Tom, or any of my friends. Peter wasn’t so unhappy, because he had no friends remaining, and his native village was in ruins. The darkness came thicker and thicker down upon us. Nothing could we see but the dark waves rising up on every side against the sky. Not a star was visible. We no longer, indeed, knew in which direction to look for the schooner. It appeared, I remember exactly, as if we were being tossed about inside a black ball. I could not calculate how long a time had passed since I had fallen overboard, when I began to feel very hungry. I had had a bit of biscuit in my pocket, but that had been lost with my jacket, and now I had nothing to eat. I bore it for some time, and then I felt very faint, and thought that I could not possibly hold on any longer. Still I did my best not to let go, and
every now and then Peter spoke to me and encouraged me, “Neber fear, massa,” said he. “Him you tell me of, live up in sky, Him watch over us.” We did not speak much, however; we could not, I do not know why. Oh, that was a dreary, awful night, not likely to be forgotten! Yet here I am alive. I shall never despair after that, and shall always feel, in however terrible a position I am placed, that a merciful God is watching over me, and that He will find means to save me.