Those who, standing on the pier, had witnessed the proud bearing of the
_Circassian_ as she gave her canvas to the winds, little contemplated
her fate: still less did those on board; for confidence is the
characteristic of seamen, and they have the happy talent of imparting
their confidence to whomsoever may be in their company. We shall pass
over the voyage, confining ourselves to a description of the
catastrophe.
It was during a gale from the north-west, which had continued for three
days, and by which the _Circassian_ had been driven into the Bay of
Biscay, that at about twelve o'clock at night, a slight lull was
perceptible. The captain, who had remained on deck, sent down for the
chief mate. "Oswald," said Captain Ingram, "the gale is breaking, and I
think before morning we shall have had the worst of it. I shall lie
down for an hour or two; call me if there be any change."
Oswald Bareth, a tall, sinewy-built, and handsome specimen of
transatlantic growth, examined the whole circumference of the horizon
before he replied. At last his eyes were steadily fixed to leeward:
"I've a notion not, sir," said he; "I see no signs of clearing off to
leeward: only a lull for relief, and a fresh hand at the bellows, depend
upon it."
"We have now had it three days," replied Captain Ingram, "and that's the
life of a summer gale."
"Yes," rejoined the mate; "but always provided that it don't blow back
again. I don't like the look of it, sir; and have it back we shall, as
sure as there's snakes in Virginny."
"Well, so be if so be," was the safe reply of the captain. "You must
keep a sharp look out, Bareth, and don't leave the deck to call me; send
a hand down."
The captain descended to his cabin. Oswald looked at the compass in the
binnacle--spoke a few words to the man at the helm--gave one or two
terrible kicks in the ribs to some of the men who were caulking--sounded
the pump-well--put a fresh quid of tobacco into his cheek, and then
proceeded to examine the heavens above. A cloud, much darker and more
descending than the others, which obscured the firmament, spread over
the zenith, and based itself upon the horizon to leeward. Oswald's eye
had been fixed upon it but a few seconds, when he beheld a small lambent
gleam of lightning pierce through the most opaque part; then another,
and more vivid. Of a sudden the wind lulled, and the _Circassian_
righted from her careen. Again the wind howled, and again the vessel
was pressed down to her bearings by its force: again another flash of
lightning, which was followed by a distant peal of thunder.
"Had the worst of it, did you say, captain? I've a notion that the
worst is yet to come," muttered Oswald, still watching the heavens.
"How does she carry her helm, Matthew?" inquired Oswald, walking aft.
"Spoke a-weather."
"I'll have the trysail off her, at any rate," continued the mate. "Aft,
there my lads! and lower down the trysail. Keep the sheet fast till
it's down, or the flogging will frighten the lady-passenger out of her
wits. Well, if ever I own a craft, I'll have no women on board.
Dollars shan't tempt me."
The lightning now played in rapid forks; and the loud thunder, which
instantaneously followed each flash, proved its near approach. A deluge
of slanting rain descended--the wind lulled--roared again--then lulled--
shifted a point or two, and the drenched and heavy sails flapped.
"Up with the helm, Mat!" cried Oswald, as a near flash of lightning for
a moment blinded, and the accompanying peal of thunder deafened, those
on deck. Again the wind blew strong--it ceased, and it was a dead calm.
The sails hung down from the yards, and the rain descended in
perpendicular torrents, while the ship rocked to and fro in the trough
of the sea, and the darkness became suddenly intense.
"Down there, one of you! and call the captain," said Oswald. "By the
Lord! we shall have it. Main braces there, men, and square the yards.
Be smart! That topsail should have been in," muttered the mate; "but
I'm not captain. Square away the yards, my lads!" continued he; "quick,
quick!--there's no child's play here!"
Owing to the difficulty of finding and passing the ropes to each other,
from the intensity of the darkness, and the deluge of rain which blinded
them, the men were not able to execute the order of the mate so soon as
it was necessary; and before they could accomplish their task, or
Captain Ingram could gain the deck, the wind suddenly burst upon the
devoted vessel from the quarter directly opposite to that from which the
gale had blown, taking her all a-back, and throwing her on her
beam-ends. The man at the helm was hurled over the wheel; while the
rest, who were with Oswald at the main-bits, with the coils of ropes,
and every other article on deck not secured, were rolled into the
scuppers, struggling to extricate themselves from the mass of confusion
and the water in which they floundered. The sudden revulsion awoke all
the men below, who imagined that the ship was foundering; and, from the
only hatchway not secured, they poured up in their shirts with their
other garments in their hands, to put them on--if fate permitted.
Oswald Bareth was the first who clambered up from to leeward. He gained
the helm, which he put hard up. Captain Ingram and some of the seamen
also gained the helm. It is the rendezvous of all good seamen in
emergencies of this description: but the howling of the gale--the
blinding of the rain and salt spray--the seas checked in their running
by the shift of wind, and breaking over the ship in vast masses of
water--the tremendous peals of thunder--and the intense darkness which
accompanied these horrors, added to the inclined position of the vessel,
which obliged them to climb from one part of the deck to another, for
some time checked all profitable communication. Their only friend, in
this conflict of the elements, was the lightning (unhappy, indeed, the
situation in which lightning can be welcomed as a friend); but its vivid
and forked flames, darting down upon every quarter of the horizon,
enabled them to perceive their situation; and, awful as it was, when
momentarily presented to their sight, it was not so awful as darkness
and uncertainty. To those who have been accustomed to the difficulties
and dangers of a sea-faring life, there are no lines which speak more
forcibly to the imagination, or prove the beauty and power of the Greek
poet, than those in the noble prayer of Ajax:
"Lord of earth and air,
O king! O father! hear my humble prayer.
Dispel this cloud, that light of heaven restore;
Give me to see--and Ajax asks no more,
If Greece must perish--we Thy will obey;
But _let us perish in the face of day_!"
Oswald gave the helm to two of the seamen, and with his knife cut adrift
the axes, which were lashed round the mizen-mast in painted canvas
covers. One he retained for himself,--the others he put into the hands
of the boatswain and the second mate. To speak so as to be heard was
almost impossible, from the tremendous roaring of the wind; but the lamp
still burned in the binnacle, and by its feeble light Captain Ingram
could distinguish the signs made by the mate, and could give his
consent. It was necessary that the ship should be put before the wind;
and the helm had no power over her. In a short time the lanyards of the
mizen rigging were severed, and the mizen-mast went over the side,
almost unperceived by the crew on the other parts of the deck, or even
those near, had it not been from blows received by those who were too
close to it, from the falling of the topsail-sheets and the rigging
about the mast.
Oswald, with his companions, regained the binnacle, and for a little
while watched the compass. The ship did not pay off, and appeared to
settle down more into the water. Again Oswald made his signs, and again
the captain gave his assent. Forward sprang the undaunted mate,
clinging to the bulwark and belaying-pins, and followed by his hardy
companions, until they had all three gained the main channels. Here,
their exposure to the force of the breaking waves, and the stoutness of
the ropes yielding but slowly to the blows of the axes, which were used
almost under water, rendered the service one of extreme difficulty and
danger. The boatswain was washed over the bulwark and dashed to
leeward, where the lee-rigging only saved him from a watery grave.
Unsubdued, he again climbed up to windward, rejoined and assisted his
companions. The last blow was given by Oswald--the lanyards flew
through the dead-eyes--and the tall mast disappeared in the foaming
seas. Oswald and his companions hastened from their dangerous position,
and rejoined the captain, who, with many of the crew, still remained
near the wheel. The ship now slowly paid off and righted. In a few
minutes she was flying before the gale, rolling heavily, and
occasionally striking upon the wrecks of the masts, which she towed with
her by the lee-rigging.
Although the wind blew with as much violence as before, still it was not
with the same noise, now that the ship was before the wind with her
after-masts gone. The next service was to clear the ship of the wrecks
of the masts; but, although all now assisted, but little could be
effected until the day had dawned, and even then it was a service of
danger, as the ship rolled gunwale under. Those who performed the duty
were slung in ropes, that they might not be washed away; and hardly was
it completed, when a heavy roll, assisted by a jerking heave from a sea
which struck her on the chess-tree, sent the foremast over the starboard
cathead. Thus was the _Circassian_ dismasted in the gale.