The Island Queen | Page 2

seemed as if the
last ray of hope had vanished from Dominick's breast, on the calm

morning on which our tale opens.
As we have said, the youth glared at something lying in the stern of the
boat. It was a tarpaulin, which covered a human form. Dominick knew
that it was a dead body--that of the cabin-boy, who had died during the
night with his head resting on Dominick's arm. The two men who lay
sleeping in the bow knew nothing of his death, and they were so weak
from exhaustion at the time the boy died that Dominick had thought it
unnecessary to rouse them. The poor boy's emaciated frame could lie
till morning, he thought, and then the sleepers would assist him to put it
gently into the sea.
But when morning came, the pangs of hunger assailed the self-denying
youth with terrible power, and a horrible thought occurred to him. He
opened a large clasp-knife, and, creeping towards the body, removed
the tarpaulin. A faint smile rested on the dead lips--the same smile that
had moved them when Dominick promised to carry the boy's last
loving message to his mother if he should survive.
He dropped the knife with a convulsive shudder, and turned his eyes on
his sleeping sister and brother. Then he thought, as he picked up the
knife again, how small an amount of food would suffice to keep these
two alive for a few days longer, and surely a sail must come in sight at
last; they had waited for it, expectingly, so long!
Suddenly the youth flung the knife away from him with violence, and
endeavoured with all his might to lift the body of the boy. In the days
of his strength he could have raised it with one hand. Now he strove
and energised for many minutes, before he succeeded in raising it to the
gunwale. At last, with a mighty effort, he thrust it overboard, and it fell
into the sea with a heavy plunge.
The noise aroused the two men in the bow, who raised themselves
feebly. It was to them an all too familiar sound. Day by day they had
heard it, as one and another of their comrades had been committed to
the deep. One of the men managed to stand up, but as he swayed about
and gazed at Dominick inquiringly, he lost his balance, and, being too
weak to recover himself, fell over the side. He reappeared for a moment

with outstretched arms and hands clutching towards the boat. Then he
sank, to be seen no more. The other man, who had been his intimate
friend and messmate, made a frantic effort to save him. His failure to
do so seemed to be more than the poor fellow could bear, for he sprang
up with the wild laugh and the sudden strength of a maniac, and leaped
into the sea.
Dominick could do nothing to prevent this. While staring at the little
patch of foam where the two men had gone down, he was startled by
the sound of his sister's voice.
"Are they all gone, brother?" she asked, in a low, horrified tone.
"All--all, sister. Only you, and Otto, and I left. How soundly the poor
boy sleeps!"
"I wish it might please God to let him die thus," said Pauline, with a
weary sigh that told eloquently of hope deferred.
"Your wish may be granted," returned Dominick, "for the dear boy
seems to be sinking. It can scarcely, I think, be natural sleep that
prevented the shout of that poor fellow from arousing him. But lie
down again, Pauline; sleep may do you a little good if you can obtain it,
and I will watch."
"And pray," suggested the poor girl, as she lay down again, languidly.
"Yes, I will pray. Surely a sail must appear soon!"
Dominick Rigonda was strong in youthful hope even in that hour of
sorest trial, but he was not strong in faith. He prayed, however, and
found his faith strengthened in the act, for he looked up immediately
after with a feeling amounting almost to certainty, that the
long-expected and wished-for sail would greet his eyes. But no sail was
visible in all the unbroken circle of his horizon. Still the faith which
had prompted the eager gaze did not quite evaporate. After the first
shock of disappointment at his prayer not being answered according to
its tenor, his assurance that God would yet send relief returned in some

degree, and he was not altogether disappointed, though the answer
came at last in a way that he did not expect.
After sitting in a half-sleeping condition for some time, he aroused
himself, and crept with considerable difficulty to the bow to procure the
blanket which had covered the