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<h3>Chapter Ninety.</h3> <h4>A Madman in mid-Ocean.</h4> In the minds of the Catamaran’s crew there was no longer any cause for conjecture. The boat-shaped object on the water, and the human form standing up within it, were mysteries no more; nor was there any when that boat and that human being were identified. If in the spectacle there was aught still to puzzle them, it was the seeing only one man in the boat instead of six. There should have been six; since that was the number that the gig had originally carried away from the burning bark,—five others besides the one now seen,—and who, notwithstanding a great change in his appearance, was still recognisable as the slaver’s captain. Where were the missing men,—the mates, the carpenter and two common sailors, who had escaped along with him? Were they in the boat, lying down, and so concealed from the view of those upon the Catamaran? Or had they succumbed to some fearful fate, leaving only that solitary survivor? The gig sat high in the water. Those upon the Catamaran could not see over its gunwale unless by approaching nearer, and this they hesitated to do. Indeed, on identifying the boat and the individual standing in it, they had suddenly hauled down the sail and were lying to, using their oar to keep them from drifting any nearer. They had done so from an instinctive apprehension. They knew that the men who had gone off in the gig were not a whit better than those upon the big raft; for the officers of the slaver, in point of ruffianism, were upon a par with their crew. With this knowledge, it was a question for consideration whether the Catamarans would be safe in approaching the boat. If the six were still in it, and out of food and water, like those on the large raft, they would undoubtedly despoil the Catamaran, just as the others had designed doing. From such as they no mercy need be expected; and as it was not likely any succour could be obtained from them, it would, perhaps, be better, in every way, to “give them a wide berth.” Such were the thoughts that passed hastily through the mind of Ben Brace, and were communicated to his companions. Were the five missing men still aboard the boat? They might be lying down along the bottom,—though it was not likely they could be asleep? That appeared almost impossible, considering the shouts and screams which the captain at intervals still continued to send forth. “By de great gorramity!” muttered Snowball, “a doan’t b’lieb one ob dem’s leff ’board dat boat, ’ceptin de ole ’kipper himseff; an ob him dar am nuffin leff cep’n de body. Dat man’s intlek am clar gone. He am ravin’ mad!” “You’re right, Snowy,” assented the sailor; “there be ne’er a one there but himself. At all events they ain’t all there. I can tell by the way the gig sits up out o’ the water. No boat o’ her size, wi’ six men aboard, could have her gunnel as high as that ere. No! If there be any besides the captain, there’s only one or two. We needn’t fear to go as nigh as we like. Let’s put about, an’ board the craft, anyhow. What say ye?” “Haben’t de leas’ objecshun, Massa Brace, so long you link dar no fear. Dis chile ready take de chance. If dar be any odder cep’n de ’kipper, it no like dey am ’trong ’nuff to bully we nohow. De two ob us be equal match fo’ any four ob dem,—say nuffin ob lilly Will’m.” “I feel a’most sartin,” rejoined the sailor, still undecided, “there be only him. If that’s the case, our best way is to close up, and take possession o’ the boat. We may have some trouble wi’ him if be’s gone mad; an’ from the way he be runnin’ on, it do look like it. Never mind! I dare say we’ll be able to manage him. Port about, an’ let a see the thing through.” Snowball was at the steering-oar, and, thus commanded by her captain, he once more headed the Catamaran in the direction of the drifting boat,—while the sailor and William betook them to the oars. Whether the occupant of the gig had yet perceived the raft was not certain. It is likely he had not, since the yells and incoherent speeches to which he had been giving utterance appeared to be addressed to no one, but were more like—what they believed them to be—the wild ravings of a lunatic. It was still only the grey twilight of morning, with a slight fog upon the water; and although through this the Catamarans had recognised the gig and captain of the Pandora they had done so with certain souvenirs to guide them. Both the boat and its occupant had been seen only indistinctly: and it was possible that the latter had not seen them, and was still unsuspicious of their presence. As they drew nearer, the light at each moment increasing in brightness, there was no longer any uncertainty as to their being seen; for, along with the yells uttered by the occupant of the gig, could be heard the significant speeches of, “Sail ho! Ship ahoy! What ship’s that? Heave to, and be— Heave to, you infernal lubbers! if you don’t I’ll sink you!” The manner in which these varied phrases were jumbled together, intermingled with screeching exclamations, as well as the excited and grotesque gestures that accompanied them, might have been ludicrous, but for the painful impression it produced. There was no longer any doubt in the minds of those who witnessed his behaviour, that the ex-skipper of the Pandora was mad. None but a madman would have spoken, or acted, as he was doing. In the state he was in, it would be dangerous to go near him. This was evident to the occupants of the raft; and when they had arrived within a half-cable’s length of the boat, they suspended the stroke of the oars,—with the intention of entering upon a parley, and seeing how far their words might tranquillise him. “Captain!” cried the sailor, hailing his former commander in a friendly tone of voice: “it’s me! Don’t you know me? It’s Ben Brace, one o’ the old Pandora. We’ve been on this bit o’ raft ever since the burnin’ o’ the bark. Myself and Snowball—” At this moment the sailor’s epitomised narrative was interrupted by a fiendish yell, proceeding from the throat of the maniac. They were now near enough to have a clear view of his face, and could note the expression of his features. The play of these, and the wild rolling of his eyes, confirmed them in their belief as to his insanity. There could be no doubt about it; but if there had, what soon after succeeded was proof sufficient to satisfy them. During the continuance of the discourse addressed to him by the sailor, he had kept silent, until the word “Snowball” fell upon his ears. Then all at once he became terribly excited,—as was testified by a terrible shriek, a twitching contortion of his features, and a glaring in his eyes that was awful to behold. “Snowball!” screamed he; “Snowball, you say, do you? Snowball, the infernal dog! Show him to me! Ach! Blood and furies! it was he that fired my ship. Where is he? Let me at him! Let me lay my hands upon his black throat! I’ll teach the sneaking nigger how to carry a candle that’ll light him into the next world. Snowball! Where,—where is he?” At this moment his rolling orbs became suddenly steadied; and all could see that his gaze was fixed upon the Coromantee with a sort of desperate identification. Snowball might have quailed under that glance, had there been time for him to take heed of it. But there was not: for upon the instant it was given the madman uttered another wild screech, and, rising into the air, sprang several feet over the gunwale of the gig. For a second or two he was lost to sight under the water. Then, rising to the surface, he was seen swimming with vigorous sweep towards the Catamaran. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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