a sound as the snore of the Coromantee was rarely heard upon the ocean, – except in the “spouting” of a whale or the “blowing” of a porpoise.
It did not wake the little Lalee. She had become accustomed to the snoring of Snowball, – which, instead of being a disturber, acted rather as a lullaby to her rest.
It was only after both had been asleep for many hours after midnight, – in fact when Lalee was herself sleeping less soundly, and when a snore, more prolonged and prodigious than any that had preceded it, came swelling through the nostrils of the sea-cook, – it was only then that the young girl was awakened.
Becoming aware of what had awakened her, she would have gone to sleep again; but just as she was about re-composing herself upon her sail-cloth couch, a sight came before her eyes that caused her not only to remain awake, but filled her with a feeling of indescribable awe.
On the instant of opening her eyes, the sky, hitherto dark, had become suddenly illumined by lightning, – not in streaks or flashes, but as if a sheet of fire had been spread for an instant over the whole canopy of the heavens.
At the same time the surface of the sea had been equally lighted up with the vivid gleam; and among the many objects drifting around the raft, – the remnants of the wreck, with which the eyes of the little Lalee had now become familiarised, – she saw, or fancied she saw, one altogether new to her.
It was a human face and figure, in the likeness of a beautiful boy, who appeared to be kneeling on the water, or on some slight structure on a level with the surface of the sea!
The lightning had revealed other objects beside him and over him. A pair of slender sticks, standing some feet apart, and in a perpendicular position, with some white strips suspended between them, in the gleam of the lightning shone clear and conspicuous.
It is not to be wondered at that the little Lalee should feel surprise at an apparition, – so unexpected, in such a place, and under such circumstances. It is not to be wondered at that her first impulse should be to rouse her companion out of his snoring slumbers.
She did so upon the instant, and without waiting for another flash of lightning either to confirm her belief in what she had seen, or convince her that it was only an apparition, – which her fancy, disturbed by the dreams in which she had been indulging, had conjured up on the instant of her awaking.
“Wha’s dat you say?” inquired Snowball, abruptly awakened in the middle of a superb snore; “see something! you say dat, ma pickaninny? How you see anyting such night as dis be? Law, ma lilly Lally, you no see de nose before you own face. De ’ky ’bove am dark as de complexyun ob dis ole nigga; you muss be mistake, lilly gal! – dat you muss!”
“No, indeed, Snowball!” replied Lalee, speaking in gumbo Portuguese, “I am not mistaken. It wasn’t dark when I saw it. There was lightning; and it was as clear as in daylight for a little while. I’m sure I saw some one!”
“What was de some one like?” interrogated Snowball, in an accent that proclaimed incredulity. “Was ’um a man or a woman?”
“Neither.”
“Neider! Den it muss ha’ been, – ha! maybe it war a mermaid!”
“What I saw looked like a boy, Snowball. O, now I think of it, like that boy.”
“What boy you ’peak ’bout?”
“He who was aboard the ship, – the English boy who was one of the sailors.”
“Ah! you mean de little Will’m, I ’pose. I reck’n dat ’ere lad hab gone to de bott’m ob de sea long afore dis, or else he get off on de big raff. I know he no go ’long wi’ de cappen, ’case I see de little chap close by de caboose after de gig row ’way. If he hab go by de raff dem ruffins sure eat him up, – dat be if dey get hungry. Dey sure do dat! Hark! what’s dat I heer? Sure’s my name be Snowball, I hear some ’un ’peak out dere to win’ard. D’you hear anything, lilly Lally?”
“Yes, Snowball: I think I did.”
“What you tink you?”
“A voice.”
“What sort o’ voice?”
“Like a boy’s voice, – just like his.”
“Who you mean?”
“The boy-sailor aboard the ship. O, listen! There it is again; and surely I hear another?”
“Gorramity! little gal, you ’peak de troof. Sure ’nuff dere am a voice, – two ob dat same. One am like de boy we ’peak ’bout, – odder more like a man o’ full groaf. I wonder who dey can be. Hope ’t an’t de ghoses of some o’ de Pandoras dat ha’ been drowned or eat up by de sharks. Lissen ’gain, Lally, an’ try make dem out.”
Having imparted this injunction, the negro raised himself into a half-erect attitude; and facing to windward with his arms resting upon one of the empty casks, – which, as already stated, formed a sort of circular parapet around his raft, – he remained silent and listening.
The little Lalee had also assumed a half-erect attitude; and, by the side of her sable companion, kept peering out into the darkness, – in the hope that another flash of lightning might again reveal to her eyes the features of that beautiful boy, who, alone of all upon that fated ship, had made upon her mind an impression worthy of being remembered.
Chapter Twenty One.
To the Oars
“We’ve got to die!”
As the sailor gave utterance to these words of fearful import, he started from his recumbent position, and, half-erect upon the raft, remained listening, – at the same time endeavouring with his glance to pierce the darkness that shrouded the surface of the deep.
Little William, terrified by the speech of his protector, made no rejoinder, but with like silence continued to look and listen.
There was nothing visible save sea and sky; and these, in the dim obscurity, were not to be distinguished from each other. A raft or boat, – even a large ship, – could not have been seen at two cables’ distance from that on which they were drifting along; and the only sounds now heard were the sighing of the night breeze, and the “swish” of the water as it swept along the sides of their slight embarkation.
For five minutes or more there was nothing to interrupt this duetto of winds and waves, and Ben was beginning to believe he had been mistaken. It might not have been the voice of a man, nor a voice at all. He was but half awake when he fancied hearing it. Was it only a fancy, – an illusion? It was at the best very indistinct, – as of some one speaking in a muttered tone. It might be the “blowing” of a porpoise, or the utterance of some unknown monster of the sea: for the sailor’s experience had taught him that there are many kinds of creatures inhabiting the ocean that are only seen at rare intervals even by one who is constantly traversing it, and many others one may never see at all. Could the sounds have proceeded from the throat of some of these human-like denizens of the deep, known as dugongs, lamantins, manatees, and the like?
It was strangest of all that William had heard the voice of a girl: for the lad still adhered to the belief that he had done so. That might have been the cry of a bird, or a mermaid; and Ben would have been ready enough to accept the latter explanation. But the voice of a young girl, coupled with that of
