Chapter 59 - Ran Away to Sea by Mayne Reid
An awful alternative it was, and for a long while the ill-starred victims seemed to linger in their choice. Hard choice between two horrid forms of death! Little did it matter which, and the knowledge of this rendered them indifferent whether to spring forth or stand still. Death was before them as well as behind—turn which way they might, death stared them in the face—soon and certain—and on every side they saw its threatening arm—before, behind, above, and around them. The utter hopelessness of escape had numbed their energies—they were paralysed by despair.
But even in the hour of the most hopeless despair there arrives a crisis when men will still struggle for life—it is the last struggle—the final conflict as it were, with death itself. No one yields up life without this effort, though it be ever so idle. The drowning man does not voluntarily permit himself to sink below the surface. He still strives to keep afloat, though he may not have the slightest hope of being rescued. The effort is partly involuntary—it is the body that still continues to battle for life, after the mind has resigned all hope—the last stand that existence makes against annihilation. It may be a purely mechanical effort—perhaps it is so—but who ever saw a strong man compelled to part suddenly with life, that did not make such a struggle? Even the condemned criminal upon the gallows continues to strive till the breath has parted from his body. Something like this last despairing effort aroused the energies of that hesitating crowd that clustered upon the burning barque. The crisis at length came.
The flames were fast rushing forward, and spreading over all the deck. Their red jets, spurting out beyond the selvage of smoke, began to touch the bodies of their victims, and pain them with the fierce sting of fire. It produced no augmentation in their cries of agony. These had long since reached the climax, and the voices of those who uttered them had been already raised to their highest pitch. But the close proximity of the flames, and the absolute certainty of being now destroyed by them, caused a general movement throughout the living mass; and, as if actuated by an universal impulse, or guided by one common instinct, all were seen making a sudden descent upon the water.
Those who had been hitherto standing along the side were not the first to leap. It was they who were farther back, and of course nearer to the flames, who first took to the water; and these, rushing over the bulwarks—and even stepping upon the shoulders of those who were clustered there—without further hesitation flung themselves headlong into the sea. But the impulse seemed to communicate itself to the others, and almost instantaneously—as if some one had proclaimed a way to safety and was leading them on to it—the whole crowd followed the foremost and went plunging into the water. In a few seconds not an individual could be seen—of all that dark swarm that had so lately crowded the fore-part of the vessel, not one was now visible on board. Simultaneously had they deserted the burning wreck!
A wild scene was now presented in the water. The whole surface was thick with human forms, plunging and struggling together. Some were evidently unable to swim, and, with their bodies half erect, were tossing their arms about in vain efforts to keep above the surface. Here and there several clung together, until two or three—or in some instances larger groups—dragged one another below, and sank to the bottom together. Strong swimmers were observed separating from the rest, and forging out into the open water. Of these the heads only could be seen, and rapidly closing upon them the dark vertical fin that told the presence of the pursuing shark.
Then could be heard the wild, despairing cry—then could be seen the quick rush of the monster upon his prey—the water lashed by his tail—the foam thrown up, already tinged with the blood of the victim—and, after that, the surface returning to its level—the eddies and red frothing bubbles alone marking for a few moments the scene of each tragical crisis.
Oh! it was an awful spectacle to look upon—this wholesale ravening of sharks—and even those who were upon the raft, with all their inhumanity and heartless cruelty of disposition could not behold it without emotion.
It was scarce an emotion of pity, however. Perhaps of all, Brace and I were the only ones who felt pity. Some were indifferent, but the majority of them—although a little awed by the tragical scene—were actually glad at beholding it! It may be wrong of me to say they were glad—what I mean is, that they felt a secret satisfaction at what was going on—springing not from pure wanton cruelty of heart, but rather from an instinct of self-preservation. Hitherto, these men had been in great dread of the blacks overtaking the raft—they were not yet free from the fear—and, of course, with this in their minds, they regarded with satisfaction the wholesale ravage that the sharks were committing. By this their own danger was every moment diminished—hence it is that they were gratified at the hideous spectacle.
But numerous as were the sharks, there were not enough of them to make total destruction of that vast crowd of human beings. After the first general attack the ravenous brutes appeared to become scarcer and scarcer, until but one here and one there, could be seen rushing upon their prey. The greater number, having already secured a victim, were satisfied and perhaps had gone down to their haunts in the darker deep—while hundreds of human heads were still observable above the surface of the water.
The flames, still flaring brilliantly, illumined the sea as if the day was shining upon it; and it could be observed that the faces of the survivors were all turned in the direction of the raft, towards which they were swimming with all their strength.
Once more the sailors became inspired with apprehension—once more they dreaded that their last hour was come, and that they themselves might soon be struggling among the sharks.