Read Ebook: Fire Island Being the Adventures of Uncertain Naturalists in an Unknown Track by Fenn George Manville

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Ebook has 3894 lines and 118424 words, and 78 pages

Fire Island, by George Manville Fenn.

This is good vintage Fenn, with dreadful situation following dreadful situation, and the heroes managing to get out of it somehow. Right up to the last chapter the reader never knows how the problems that throw themselves upon a little group of naturalists and the sailors that brought them to the island on which all these frightening events occur, will be solved. NH

FIRE ISLAND, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.

WILD TIMES.

"Do I think it would be wise to put on a life-belt, Mr Lane?"

"Yes."

Just then a dimly seen figure sidled up to the two speakers, held on tightly, and shouted--

"I say, Mr Rimmer, isn't that man steering very wildly?"

"Who's to steer tamely, sir, in a sea like this? Man has enough to do to keep from being washed overboard."

The newcomer nodded and took a fresh grip of the top of the bulwark as a sea came over the bows again, and swept along the deck, leaving them breathless and panting, with the water streaming from oilskin and mackintosh.

"Don't you want to put on a life-belt, too?" shouted the first speaker, as in the darkness of that terrible night his words seemed to be snatched away as soon as uttered.

"Yes; it would be safer; where are they?"

"Bah! Nonsense! Look down there. Suppose you had on a life-belt, what could you do in such a sea? You'd both be knocked to pieces or have the breath choked out of you in five minutes. Stick to the ship while you can. That's good advice."

"Is there any danger?" shouted the young man who was nearest the last speaker.

"Of course there is. No one could be in such a tornado without being in danger."

"But shall we be wrecked?" asked the fresh-comer.

"Heaven only knows, sir. We're all amongst the islands and reefs, and if one of them is in our way nothing can save us."

Everything possible in the way of navigation had been done when the frightful storm came on, after scant warning in the way of a falling barometer. Then nothing was left for the unfortunates on board but to hold on and wait for the end of the hurricane as they were swept along swiftly in its course.

Three days before, they had been sailing gently within sight of the towering volcanoes of Java. Now, as Mr Rimmer, the chief mate, said, they were "anywhere," the wind having veered round as if blowing in a vast circle, and all government of the brig being pretty well at an end.

Matters had been bad enough while it was daylight. When darkness came on the little hope which had remained was pretty well quenched; and Oliver Lane began to think of the home in England that he might never see again, and of how different the reality of the expedition was from all that he had pictured in his rather vivid imagination.

When the trip was planned, and he obtained permission to join it through the influence of his father, a famous naturalist, he saw himself sailing amid glorious islands, with gorgeous tropical foliage hanging over seas of intense blue, glittering like precious stones in the burning sunshine; coral reefs seen through transparent water with their groves of wondrous seaweeds, and fish of brilliant tints flashing their scale armour as they swam here and there. Then, too, his thoughts had run riot over the shore trips among lands where the birds were dazzling in colour, and the insects painted by nature's hand with hues impossible to describe; but, instead of these delights to one of eager temperament, they had encountered this fearful storm. The captain and man after man had been disabled, and for the rest as they tore onward through the spray, mist and darkness, grim death seemed to be just ahead, for a touch upon one of the many reefs which studded those seas meant instant destruction, since no boat could have been lowered to live.

"Never say die," shouted Ezra Rimmer, the mate, in his ear. "We may ride it out."

Oliver Lane made no reply. He was half stunned by the deafening roar, and his mind after the many hours of suffering had grown confused; but as the last comer twisted a line about his waist and secured it to the belaying-pins close at hand, the mate went on shouting a few words from time to time as he tried to make out their unfortunate companions.

"These storms end suddenly," he shouted. "Don't understand 'em-- electricity or something to do with the volcanoes. Keep a stout heart, sir. If we do have to die, I don't think it will be very bad. Hold tight whatever you do. As aforesaid, `Never say die.'"

Oliver Lane turned his head to him and tried to make out the expression on the face of a man who could speak so coolly about death. But it was too dark, and turning back to the companion who had joined them, he reached his arm farther round the shroud he was clinging to and touched him.

The young man raised his drooping head.

"Where's Drew?" shouted Oliver Lane; but the wind bore away his words, and he yelled out his question again.

"Cabin!" came back in a temporary cessation of the turmoil of roaring wind, hissing spray, and creaking and groaning of the vessel's timbers.

Oliver Lane tried to ask another question, but the wind caught him full in the face with such force that for a few moments he could only gasp and try to recover his breath, while directly after the vessel gave so tremendous a pitch and roll, he was jerked from his footing and hung by his hands with the sensation of having his arms jerked from their sockets.

But the young Englishman had been engaged in similar struggles for hours, and recovering himself he shouted, "Panton?"

"Hullo!"

"Is Drew hurt?"

"So we are all, Mr Panton," yelled the mate. "If we get through this we shall all be covered with bruises, let alone broken ribs and other bones--Yah!--Hold on."

The advice was not needed, for the two young men with him had suddenly seen something grey loom up in front, and taught by experience that it was a mass of foaming water, they clung for dear life, sheltering themselves as well as they could beneath the bulwark as the wave curled over and thundered along the deck with a hideous crashing din that literally stunned them. When it had passed over Oliver Lane shook his head and tried with his smarting eyes to get rid of the water and make out whether his companions were safe.

To his horror Arthur Panton was hanging from the belaying pin to which he had lashed himself, with his head down and his hands close to his feet, apparently lifeless, while the mate was gone.

It is good medicine for the mind to see others in peril, for it rouses to action the best feelings in our nature and subdues the love of self.

In an instant Oliver had forgotten his own sufferings, and, holding on by one hand, he tried to raise his companion to his old position, but for a few moments in vain. Then the reaction came, and the young man made a brave effort to assist, and soon after he was upright and clinging with his arms over the bulwark, gasping heavily to recover his breath.

Oliver Lane's next movement was to help the mate, whom he could dimly see lying across the deck half buried and wedged in amongst ropes, gratings, and the smashed-up wreck of one of the boats, which had been torn from the davits by the weight of the water.

He had to crawl to him, and then dragged away a great tangle of rope and several pieces of broken woodwork before the mate moved. Then he began to struggle, dragged himself out by the help of Oliver Lane's hands, and crawled back with him to the side, where he crouched down under the bulwark.

"Nice lark this, sir," he groaned.

"Much hurt?" shouted Oliver Lane.

These words were uttered during a temporary lull. Then the wind came along with a fiercer rush than ever, bearing with it a perfect deluge of spray in great stinging, blinding drops torn from the surface of the waves, and forcing all on board to shelter their faces from its violence.

There was no more possibility of making one another heard for the furious blast. Every nerve and muscle had to be devoted to the task of holding on, and in this way hour after hour of that awful night slowly passed away till one and all of the crew strained their eyes, though vainly, for the coming of the day.

"At last!" shouted the mate.

Oliver Lane looked up in his direction, so thoroughly exhausted and weak that he could not comprehend the meaning of his companion's words. Then by slow degrees he began to realise that the wind was falling fast, though the vessel was labouring as much as ever.

Then he managed to grasp the fact that it was some time since the deck had been flooded by a wave, and with a faint gleam of hope crossing the darkness which had enshrouded them, he said with an effort--

"Lulling a little?"

"Lulling?" cried the mate. "You couldn't have talked to me like that a couple of hours ago."

"Then we have escaped?"

"I don't know yet. All that I know is that we are getting through the storm, and the sooner it is daylight the better I shall be pleased."

Some hours passed. The wind had died out and the sea was rapidly going down, but a strange feeling of uneasiness had come upon the occupants of the little vessel. Visit after visit had been paid to the cabins, and the watches which had been consulted and doubted were now acknowledged to be trusty and truth-telling, for the chronometers supported their evidence and announced that it was well on toward noon of the next day. Though to all appearance it was midnight of the blackest, dense clouds shutting out the sky, while the long-continued darkness had a singularly depressing effect upon men worn out by their struggle with the storm.

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