Chapter VIII: Strange Adventures--Secrets of the Sea

Barclay was not much of a doctor, but he spread cushions in the bottom of the boat and laid the body of the poor captain flat thereon, while Teenie knelt down beside it and gave way to floods of anguish.

It was heartrending to witness her grief and her lamentations.

“O ’Tonio, poor dear ’Tonio. He is dead. He is killed and deaded. He will never sing and play again. O ’Tonio, ’Tonio. Hands so cold too, and brow and face. He will never, never open his eyes no more. O ’Tonio, my ’Tonio!”

Barclay could detect no pulse at the wrist, but thought he felt a little flickering at the heart.

The men worked like slaves to get the boat through the tangled weeds, and at length they found themselves alongside the _Zingara_, and their burden, all so quiet and still, was hoisted on board.

A cot was swung on the quarter-deck, and an awning spread above. In this Antonio was laid and covered with rugs.

At Sister Leona’s request there were jars of hot water placed at the feet and both sides of the chest.

In half-an-hour she nodded and smiled to Barclay, and the boy knew there was hope. The pulse had begun to beat once more, though feebly, and the breathing was perceptible, but very feeble.

Even Teenie dried her eyes now.

“Keep the ship as quiet as possible,” whispered Leona. “Everything now depends on sleep.”

“And you do not think he will die?”

“Quite the contrary; though it is a case of brain concussion, it is slight, and I can give you the assurance that all will be well in a week.”

Two hours afterwards Antonio, to the delight of his watchers, opened his eyes and began to speak feebly. He evidently did not know where he was, however, or what had occurred.

He held out a feeble hand to Davie.

“O José, José, my own, my best of brothers,” he said, “to see you once again, dearie! But how white your hair is, and how wan your face. Ah! won’t mother be glad to meet us again. ‘_Carissima_’ we used to call her, José, and ‘_Carissima_’ she still shall be.”

But now Sister Leona laid a finger on his lips.

This recalled him somewhat from his wanderings.

“Drink this and sleep,” she said.

He did as told, and presently went off again into a dreamless sleep, without either twitching or movement of a muscle.

After concussion of the brain there is sometimes fierce reaction.

In Antonio’s case there was none.

After severe concussion, the patient is seldom, if ever, the same man again. But to draw to a conclusion this story of Antonio’s accident, the captain was his old self again in two weeks’ time, and in three weeks his lady doctor, Sister Leona, permitted him once more to play and sing.

* * * * *

The weed patches in this Sea of Sargasso are constantly shifting, except in the very centre, where the gulf-weeds are packed and piled in such masses, that no earthly power could ever force a passage through them.

Here, too, they probably fill the sea to its bottom, and packed thus, will in all probability become in time great coal islands, that may supply fuel for future generations.

Barclay had resumed his explorations far in through the weedy ocean. Sometimes he found a lane of water leading in a tortuous manner through the dark brown meadows. Then if a little breeze was blowing favourable for return as well as advance, a sail would be set, and explorations carried further over the ocean of weeds. But he did not forget that at any moment these canals might close up behind him, and render his passage back to the ship difficult, if not impossible.

He invariably took little Teenie with him on his expeditions.

Indeed, to tell the truth, little Teenie was just a wee bit self-willed, and refused to be left behind.

I could not name to you half the strange things--flotsam and jetsam--that Barclay found during his daring explorations. There were casks innumerable, the remains of boats and derelicts, that soon must sink owing to the load of shell-fish and lime-deposit attached to them; trees uncountable; boxes also, and once a bottle. This was found floating in a lane of water, intact, for its cork was closely sealed, and the top wrapped round with canvas. It was, moreover, encased with several bands of tarry rope, destined, no doubt, to act as buffers against the rocks.

These buffers were covered with no deposit, nor did any shells adhere to them; even bivalves will not cling to a tarry substance.

Barclay could not wait till he got on board, but broke the bottle open. Strange, indeed, was the document enclosed, and it proved that the bottle must have floated about for thirty years and over.

Yes, strange and sad was the missive.

“H.M.S. GUN-BRIG ‘TARTAR,’
“_August 21st, 1810_. Lat. 30° N., long. 43° W.”

“On fire. Nothing can save us. All boats destroyed. Sinking fast. We commend our souls----”

The message broke off abruptly here. There had been no more time. The brave fellows had thrown the bottle into the sea, and now--

“The billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid’s song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave.”

On a heaped-up bank of seaweed one day Barclay found quite a quantity of birds’ nests, those of a large species of gull, plentiful enough in this Sea of Sargasso.

He felt a little compunction in taking them away, but it seemed a necessity, although Barclay was certainly not one of those self-conceited saints who believe that every creature and thing in this world was made for man’s use. Says some poet--Pope, I think, though I cannot be sure, for a man’s memory plays him queer tricks at times, and causes him, in cold blood, to murder the best of quotations--

“‘All things on earth were made for mankind’s use,’
‘And man for mine,’ replied the pampered goose.”

* * * * *

One night, however, Barclay got belated, and finding he could not reach the _Zingara_ that night, determined to lie where he was.

The sun had gone down so suddenly, that though the ship was but five miles off, and they could see her great lantern a-swing at the masthead, they would not dare to fight the weeds at night.

But Barclay’s plan suited romantic wee Teenie very much indeed.

She clapped her hands first with delight, then growing serious all of a sudden, she put her hand on Barclay’s arm, and leaning confidingly towards him--

“Of course,” she asked, “no wobbley-wobbley beasts will come up to kill us?”

“You are perfectly safe, Teenie dear.”

“Well,” she added, “I’ll say my prayers and make sure.”

Off came every cap, and no one spoke till Teenie got up from off her knees and once more seated herself among the cushions.

It was an ideal tropical night. The stars were all out, and shining with ineffable clearness. A gentle breeze blew over the great brown sea in a kind of gentle whisper, and far away on the western horizon great white clouds had banked up, behind which the summer lightning or “fire flaughts” played incessantly.

For a long time Barclay and Teenie sat side by side talking low together about the dear old times, as the child called them, and all their fishing adventures and wild escapades in the woods and on the hills and moors.

But she heaved a deep sigh at last.

“Oh dear me!” she said, “I suppose all these happy days will never return.”

“They may, little pet.”

“Well,” said Teenie, “Sister Leona prays every night, and I’m just going to do the same. She says God is sure to hear us some day. Do you think, Barclay, that God ever comes to this ugly brown sea?”

“Oh yes; all the beautiful birds are His, and we are all His, and He loves us.”

“Ah!” she cried, “of course the birds are His, but not the ugly sharks. They belong to the bad man. Oh, _I_ know nicely they do.”

“And now, Teenie, are you not going to tune your mandoline and sing a little to us?”

“Yes, do, missie,” said one of the men, reloading his pipe.

Simple little songs they were, sweet and clear; many were lullabies, that almost sent the men to sleep.

But bedtime came at last. A sentry was set, and the men lay down.

Barclay tucked Teenie up on the after-seat of the boat, bade her good-night, kissed her by order, then curled up himself at the bottom of the boat.

Nor did he or she awake until the sun glared red across the Sargasso Sea, encrimsoning even the dark brown weedy billows--a scene of such beauty, that it could not be depicted even by the aid of the best of magic-lanterns.

Teenie awoke happy and smiling, and looked down at Barclay.

“Poor boy!” she said, “all alone all the long, long night.”

He drew water for her in a pannikin, and she performed a little salt-water toilet, such as the mermaids do. Barclay followed suit, and both felt refreshed.

Then a fire of wood was made on an iron plate in the bottom of the boat, and fish were fried and coffee made.

Barclay never went away on an ocean picnic of this kind without taking every necessary of camplife with him, so no wonder Teenie delighted to accompany him.

All felt like giants refreshed now, and the battle with the weeds was recommenced.

In less than three hours they were safe alongside the _Zingara_.

But something strange was soon going to happen, though they could not yet tell what it might be.

Anyhow, the glass fell lower than ever it had done since they entered the Sea of Sargasso.

That night the centre of the lake appeared wonderfully agitated, and a dark cloud lay close over it.

The wind--quite a breeze for this great ocean backwater--was blowing from the ship towards the submarine volcano--for it was nothing less--so that those on board the _Zingara_ were but little inconvenienced by sulphureous fumes.

But all night long the lightning played incessantly in the dark cloud that hovered over the ocean-covered crater, and low muttering thunder was heard, while every now and then the ship was shaken fore and aft.

With the single exception perhaps of Teenie herself, no one lay down to sleep till far into the short hours of morning. But tired and weary now, our heroes stretched themselves on deck at last, and were soon forgetful of all around them.

Day was breaking when they awoke and staggered to their feet.

Their first glances were turned towards the submarine volcano.

All was peaceful and still.

The dark cloud was there no longer.

The breeze itself had almost died away, but a heavy swell, greater than any they had yet experienced, was rolling in from the far-off blue sea, which told them plainly that a violent storm or tornado must have been raging in the south.

The ship rose and fell and rolled, and the disagreeable motion altogether reminded them of the doldrums of the equator.

Wonders really never cease on this mysterious sea.

Barclay went to the masthead, nay, he even shinned up to the very truck itself to look around him.

The discoveries he made were interesting.

First and foremost, the lake of open and weedless water had increased to double its size; secondly, the derelict “ship of the dead,” which they had formerly visited, had drifted much nearer to them; thirdly, a broad lane of water stretched from the open sea as far as eye could reach into the ocean of weeds to the west; last and not least, adown this canal, borne along by the light wind, and wheeling round and round in the current, was another derelict.

“Still another secret of the sea,” said Barclay.

“True,” replied Davie Drake; adding, “Do you remember Longfellow’s poem? how

“ ... the Count Arnoldos
With his hawk upon his hand,
Saw a fair and stately galley
Steering onwards to the land;--

How he heard the ancient helmsman
Chant a song so wild and clear,
That the sailing sea-bird slowly
Poised upon the mast to hear,

Till his soul was full of longing,
And he cried, with impulse strong,
‘Helmsman! for the love of Heaven,
Teach me, too, that wondrous song!’

‘Wouldst thou,’ so the helmsman answered,
‘Learn the secret of the sea?
Only those who brave its dangers
Comprehend its mystery.’”