Mark Twain - The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg and Other Stories

On the 19th the captain called up the quarter-boats and said one would have to go off on its own hook. The long-boat could no longer tow both of them. The second mate refused to go, but the chief mate was ready; in fact, he was always ready when there was a man's work to the fore. He took the second mate's boat; six of its crew elected to remain, and two of his own crew came with him (nine in the boat, now, including himself). He sailed away, and toward sunset passed out of sight. The diarist was sorry to see him go. It was natural; one could have better spared the 'Portyghee.' After thirty-two years I find my prejudice against this 'Portyghee' reviving. His very looks have long passed out of my memory; but no matter, I am coming to hate him as religiously as ever. 'Water will now be a scarce article, for as we get out of the doldrums we shall get showers only now and then in the trades. This life is telling severely on my strength. Henry holds out first-rate.' Henry did not start well, but under hardships he improved straight along.

Latitude, Sunday, May 20, 12 degrees 0 minutes 9 seconds. They ought to be well out of the doldrums now, but they are not. No breeze—the longed-for trades still missing. They are still anxiously watching for a sail, but they have only 'visions of ships that come to naught—the shadow without the substance.' The second mate catches a booby this afternoon, a bird which consists mainly of feathers; 'but as they have no other meat, it will go well.'

May 21, they strike the trades at last! The second mate catches three more boobies, and gives the long-boat one. Dinner 'half a can of mincemeat divided up and served around, which strengthened us somewhat.' They have to keep a man bailing all the time; the hole knocked in the boat when she was launched from the burning ship was never efficiently mended. 'Heading about north-west now.' They hope they have easting enough to make some of these indefinite isles. Failing that, they think they will be in a better position to be picked up. It was an infinitely slender chance, but the captain probably refrained from mentioning that.

The next day is to be an eventful one.

(Diary entry) May 22. Last night wind headed us off, so that part

of the time we had to steer east-south-east and then

west-north-west, and so on. This morning we were all startled by a

cry of 'SAIL HO!' Sure enough, we could see it! And for a time we

cut adrift from the second mate's boat, and steered so as to

attract its attention. This was about half-past five A.M. After

sailing in a state of high excitement for almost twenty minutes we

made it out to be the chief mate's boat. Of course we were glad to

see them and have them report all well; but still it was a bitter

disappointment to us all. Now that we are in the trades it seems

impossible to make northing enough to strike the isles. We have

determined to do the best we can, and get in the route of vessels.

Such being the determination, it became necessary to cast off the

other boat, which, after a good deal of unpleasantness, was done,

we again dividing water and stores, and taking Cox into our boat.

This makes our number fifteen. The second mate's crew wanted to

all get in with us, and cast the other boat adrift. It was a very

painful separation.

So these isles that they have struggled for so long and so hopefully have to be given up. What with lying birds that come to mock, and isles that are but a dream, and 'visions of ships that come to naught,' it is a pathetic time they are having, with much heartbreak in it. It was odd that the vanished boat, three days lost to sight in that vast solitude, should appear again. But it brought Cox—we can't be certain why. But if it hadn't, the diarist would never have seen the land again.

(Diary entry) Our chances as we go west increase in regard to being

picked up, but each day our scanty fare is so much reduced. Without

the fish, turtle, and birds sent us, I do not know how we should

have got along. The other day I offered to read prayers morning and

evening for the captain, and last night commenced. The men,

although of various nationalities and religions, are very attentive,

and always uncovered. May God grant my weak endeavour its issue!

Latitude, May 24, 14 degrees 18 minutes N. Five oysters apiece for

dinner and three spoonfuls of juice, a gill of water, and a piece of

biscuit the size of a silver dollar. 'We are plainly getting

weaker—God have mercy upon us all!' That night heavy seas break

over the weather side and make everybody wet and uncomfortable

besides requiring constant baling.

Next day 'nothing particular happened.' Perhaps some of us would have regarded it differently. 'Passed a spar, but not near enough to see what it was.' They saw some whales blow; there were flying-fish skimming the seas, but none came aboard. Misty weather, with fine rain, very penetrating.

Latitude, May 26, 15 degrees 50 minutes. They caught a flying-fish and a booby, but had to eat them raw. 'The men grow weaker, and, I think, despondent; they say very little, though.' And so, to all the other imaginable and unimaginable horrors, silence is added—the muteness and brooding of coming despair. 'It seems our best chance to get in the track of ships with the hope that some one will run near enough to our speck to see it.' He hopes the other boards stood west and have been picked up. (They will never be heard of again in this world.)

(Diary entry) Sunday, May 27, Latitude 16 degrees 0 minutes 5

seconds; longitude, by chronometer, 117 degrees 22 minutes. Our

fourth Sunday! When we left the ship we reckoned on having about

ten days' supplies, and now we hope to be able, by rigid economy, to

make them last another week if possible.(1) Last night the sea was

comparatively quiet, but the wind headed us off to about

west-north-west, which has been about our course all day to-day.

Another flying-fish came aboard last night, and one more to-day

—both small ones. No birds. A booby is a great catch, and a good

large one makes a small dinner for the fifteen of us—that is, of

course, as dinners go in the 'Hornet's' long-boat. Tried this

morning to read the full service to myself, with the Communion, but

found it too much; am too weak, and get sleepy, and cannot give

strict attention; so I put off half till this afternoon. I trust

God will hear the prayers gone up for us at home to-day, and

graciously answer them by sending us succour and help in this our

season of deep distress.

The next day was 'a good day for seeing a ship.' But none was seen. The diarist 'still feels pretty well,' though very weak; his brother Henry 'bears up and keeps his strength the best of any on board.' 'I do not feel despondent at all, for I fully trust that the Almighty will hear our and the home prayers, and He who suffers not a sparrow to fall sees and cares for us, His creatures.'

Considering the situation and circumstances, the record for next day, May 29, is one which has a surprise in it for those dull people who think that nothing but medicines and doctors can cure the sick. A little starvation can really do more for the average sick man than can the best medicines and the best doctors. I do not mean a restricted diet; I mean total abstention from food for one or two days. I speak from experience; starvation has been my cold and fever doctor for fifteen years, and has accomplished a cure in all instances. The third mate told me in Honolulu that the 'Portyghee' had lain in his hammock for months, raising his family of abscesses and feeding like a cannibal. We have seen that in spite of dreadful weather, deprivation of sleep, scorching, drenching, and all manner of miseries, thirteen days of starvation 'wonderfully recovered' him. There were four sailors down sick when the ship was burned. Twenty-five days of pitiless starvation have followed, and now we have this curious record: 'All the men are hearty and strong; even the ones that were down sick are well, except poor Peter.' When I wrote an article some months ago urging temporary abstention from food as a remedy for an inactive appetite and for disease, I was accused of jesting, but I was in earnest. 'We are all wonderfully well and strong, comparatively speaking.' On this day the starvation regime drew its belt a couple of buckle-holes tighter: the bread ration was reduced from the usual piece of cracker the size of a silver dollar to the half of that, and one meal was abolished from the daily three. This will weaken the men physically, but if there are any diseases of an ordinary sort left in them they will disappear.