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<h3>Chapter Twenty Three.</h3> <h4>The Rafts en Rapport.</h4> Two travellers meeting in the midst of a lone wilderness, even though strangers to each other, would not be likely to pass without speaking. If old acquaintances, then would they be certain to make the longest pause possible, and procrastinate their parting till the last moment allowed by the circumstances. If these circumstances would permit of their reaching their respective destinations by the same route, how sorry would each be to separate, and how happy to enter into a mutual alliance of co-operation and companionship! Just like two such travellers, or two parties of travellers, meeting in the midst of the desert,—a wilderness of land,—so met, in the midst of the ocean,—the wilderness of water,—the two rafts whose history we have hitherto chronicled. Their crews were not strangers to each other, but old acquaintances. If not all friends in the past, the circumstances that now surrounded them were of a kind to make them friends for the future. Under the awe inspired by a common danger, the lion will lie down with the lamb, and the fierce jaguar consorts with the timid capivara no longer trembling at the perilous proximity. But there was no particular antipathy between the crews of the two rafts thus singularly becoming united. It is true that formerly there had been some hostility displayed by the negro towards Little William, and but little friendship between the former and Ben Brace. These, however, were things of the past; and during the last days of their companionship on board the Pandora the sentiments of all three had undergone a change. An identity of interests had produced a certain three-cornered sympathy,—obliterating all past spite, and establishing, if not positive friendship, at least a sort of triangular forgiveness. Of course this affection was of the isosceles kind,—Ben and Little William being the sides, and Snowball the base. It is scarce necessary to say, that, meeting again under the circumstances described, all past spite, had there been any, would have been forgiven and forgotten. Fortunately this had been already done. Between Ben and Snowball, and Snowball and Little William, the hatchet had been long ago buried; and they now met, not as enemies, but as old acquaintances,—almost as friends: nay, we might say, altogether as friends. If not so before, the common danger had made them so now, and amicably did they greet one another. After such an encounter, it is superfluous to say that no thought of again separating entered into the minds of any of the party. The crews of both rafts knew that their destinations were identical. Each was an ocean waif, seeking to escape from the wilderness of waters,—longing for deliverance from a common danger. In company they might have a better chance of obtaining it. Why should they separate to search for it? The question did not occur to either,—in thought or in word. From the moment of their meeting, instinct told them that their destinies were the same,—that their action in future should be united. After the two rafts had collided together, and those involuntary but joyful salutations were exchanged between their crews, the respective skippers became occupied with the more serious business of uniting the frail embarkations into one, and rendering them for the future inseparable. “Snowball!” inquired the sailor, “have you got any spare rope?” “Plenty o’ dat ’ere,” responded the ex-cook of the Pandora. “Yar am a coil o’ strong sinnet. Dat do?” “That’s the stuff,” responded Ben. “Heave it this way, ye son of a sea-cook! Heave!” “Now,” continued he, laying hold of the coil of sennit, and tossing back one end over an empty water-cask. “Make fast there, Snowey! I dare say we can lay alongside safe enough till daylight! After that we’ll splice together in a better sort o’ way.” The ex-cook, obedient to the injunctions of the seaman, seized hold of the end of rope thrown to him, and made it fast to one of the spars which comprised his singular craft; while at the same time Ben busied himself in tying the other end to the piece of handspike erected upon his own. Soon each completed his task; and after some time spent in a mutual detail of the adventures that had befallen them since the hour of separation on the deck of the ill-fated Pandora, it was agreed that all should go to rest for the remainder of the night, and with the earliest light of day take measures to perpetuate the union of the two wandering waifs thus unexpectedly brought into companionship. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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