WRECKED.
On the fifth morning when the ships got up anchor there were no signs of
movement on board the _Chacabuco_, nor was any attention paid to the
admiral’s signals.
“Mr. Embleton, take one of the gigs, row on board, and report what is the
matter there.”
Stephen did so. The approach of the boat was apparently unobserved, and
the companion-ladder was not lowered. He therefore ordered the men to
cease rowing; presently an officer appeared at the side.
“The admiral wishes to know what is the matter, and why you do not obey
his signals,” Stephen said sharply, standing up in the stern-sheets.
“The crew are in a state of mutiny,” the officer said, “and they refuse to
get up the anchor.”
Stephen returned with the message. The admiral at once gave orders for the
frigate to bear down on the _Chacabuco_, and the crew were mustered at
quarters. When she came within a cable’s length of the _Chacabuco_ the
frigate was thrown up into the wind, and the admiral shouted: “Unless the
anchor is a-peak in five minutes we will blow you out of the water.”
There was no mistaking the earnestness of the tone, and many of the men
sprang at once to the capstan bars, and the anchor was soon out of the
water. “Make sail,” Lord Cochrane again ordered, “and keep along close
beside us.”
A few minutes later the fleet were all under sail, and that afternoon
entered the port of Coquimbo. As soon as the anchors were let go the
admiral’s gig was lowered, and he went on board the _Chacabuco_.
“What is all this about?” he asked the captain, who received him at the
gangway.
“The men say that they are overworked, your excellency; that they are kept
hard at it all day making and taking off sail, and that they want to leave
the ship.”
“Muster the crew, sir,” Lord Cochrane said briefly. The crew silently
assembled. The port-holes of the _O’Higgins_ were all opened, and the men
could be seen standing at the guns.
“Now, men,” Lord Cochrane said, “I give you five minutes to pick out the
twelve men who have been the ringleaders in this mutiny. You will iron
them and bring them on board the flag-ship, where they will be tried and
punished for their offence. What! is there a ship’s crew of Chilians so
regardless of their duty, so careless of the honour of their country, that
they are ready to disgrace themselves by turning into a pack of mutineers,
merely because they are required to do extra work to fit them for fighting
the enemies of their country? I am willing to believe that you have
suffered yourselves to be misled, and that you did not understand the
magnitude of the crime that you were committing. There, six bells are
striking. You have five minutes to put your ringleaders into a boat. See
that you do not exceed that time, for as soon as my watch tells me that
five minutes have gone, I give the order to fire. One broadside will be
sufficient to send the _Chacabuco_ to the bottom. Gentlemen,” he said,
turning to the officers, “at the end of the five minutes, if my orders
have not been carried out, you will take to the boats and leave the ship,
and as soon as you have done so we shall open fire.”
He then turned on his heel, went down the ladder, and rowed back to his
ship. As he left he saw there was a great uproar on board the _Chacabuco_
as the sailors disputed among themselves who had been their leaders in the
matter. Two boats were lowered at once, and just before the expiration of
the given time twelve men were put on board them ironed, and were then
rowed to the flag-ship. A signal was made for the first lieutenant of each
of the other ships of the squadron to come on board, and a court-martial
was at once held upon the mutineers. The man who was shown to have been at
the bottom of the whole affair, was sentenced to be hung, and the rest to
terms of imprisonment. The admiral remitted the death sentence and changed
it to ten years in jail, and the culprit and the other prisoners were
taken on shore and handed over to the civil authorities. Having thus given
a wholesome lesson, Lord Cochrane proceeded northward to Callao Bay, where
he intended to attack a considerable naval force gathered there.
They were protected by the batteries of Callao and of San Lorenzo, a
little island in the bay, mounting in all one hundred and sixty guns, in
addition to those on board the Spanish war-ships, which consisted of a few
frigates, two brigs, and eight gun-boats. To attack such a force lying
under the guns of their batteries was too perilous an enterprise for even
Cochrane to undertake. He determined, however, to make an attempt to do
them at least some damage. He knew that two American men-of-war were
expected to arrive in Callao, and he made some slight changes in his
flag-ship and the _Lautaro_, hoisted the American flag, and sailed toward
the harbour. The Carnival was at the time being carried on, and there was
the less chance that a vigilant watch would be kept up by the forts and
ships. Unfortunately a dense fog came on, and for eight days the Chilians
were forced to remain inactive. At the end of that time, hearing a heavy
firing, and believing that one of his ships must have gone into the bay
and had been attacked by the enemy, Cochrane stood in the direction of the
sound. The other ships did the same, when the fog clearing up in a moment,
they discovered each other, and found a small gunboat lying close to them.
This they captured at once, and learned that the firing was a salute in
honour of the viceroy, who had been paying a visit to the batteries, and
was now returning to the town in a brig-of-war which was crowding all
sail. The fog again closed in, and hoping the capture of the gun-boat had
not been noticed, Lord Cochrane determined to risk a partial engagement
rather than withdraw without firing a shot, as a retreat now would raise
the spirits of the Spaniards and depress those of the Chilians.
Accordingly the _O’Higgins_ and the _Lautaro_ stood on, each having a boat
ahead sounding. The wind fell very light, and instead of going in and
engaging the Spanish ships as he intended, Lord Cochrane was forced to
anchor at some distance from them. The moment that the two Chilian vessels
were made out through the fog the ships and batteries opened fire upon
them, showing that the capture of the gun-boat had been observed and the
sailors and garrison called to the guns.
For two hours the ships were exposed to a heavy fire from the batteries
and ships. They replied steadily, their aim being chiefly directed against
the northern angle of one of the principal forts, whose fire especially
annoyed them. As soon as a little breeze sprang up, anchors were weighed,
and the two ships sailed to and fro in front of the batteries returning
their fire, until Captain Guise, who commanded the _Lautaro_, was severely
wounded, and his ship at once retired from action. Neither of the other
Chilian vessels ventured within range from first to last. The flag-ship
being thus left alone exposed to the whole fire of the enemy, Lord
Cochrane was ultimately obliged to relinquish the attack. He retired to an
island three miles distant from the port, and for five weeks blockaded
Callao.
“This is dull work, Mr. Embleton,” the admiral said one day, as he paced
up and down the quarter-deck. “What can one do with four badly-equipped
ships, one of which has lost its commander, who though not friendly to me
was at least an officer of courage, the other two commanded by men who are
afraid to bring their ships within range of the enemy’s guns, and all
badly manned, badly provisioned, and by no means in fighting trim. If the
Spaniards would but sail out to engage us, we might do something, but they
have dismantled their frigates, and nothing will tempt the gun-boats to
move out from the forts. The only consolation is that the spectacle of our
blockading the place successfully cannot but rouse the spirit of the
Chilians, and induce them, I hope, to make an effort to put a force on the
sea capable of completely crippling the Spaniards.”
At the end of five weeks the little fleet proceeded to Huacho, a short
distance north of Callao. The bulk of its inhabitants were secretly in
sympathy with the Chilians, and the Spanish garrison evacuated the place
and fled almost immediately the ships opened fire. The order was given for
boats to be lowered, and Lord Cochrane himself landed to see that there
was no scramble for the property of the government. Of this a large
quantity was found in the stores, together with a considerable amount of
money, which was of even more importance to the Chilians, whose treasury
was empty, and who were crippled in all their operations by want of
specie. During April and May Lord Cochrane cruised up and down the
Peruvian coast. Several landings were effected, and valuable captures made
of money and stores.
The property of the Peruvians was always respected, and the admiral spared
no pains to convince the inhabitants that the Chilians were their friends
and were hostile only to the Spaniards their oppressors. Several ships
laden with stores for the Spanish troops also fell into their hands.
Towards the end of the cruise a sail was observed at some distance in the
offing. As, at the moment, the boats were about to effect a landing to
capture a fort from which the Spaniards had been driven by the fire of the
ships, the admiral turned to Stephen and said:
“Mr. Embleton, please to take command of the second cutter. She is a fast
sailer, and I have no doubt that you can overhaul that brig in a couple of
hours. The boat’s crew are already on board and armed, but I don’t suppose
you will meet with any resistance. When you have boarded her you will take
command of her and navigate her to Valparaiso. I shall be returning there
in the course of two or three days.”
Stephen touched his hat and ran below. He was delighted at the prospect of
his first command, though it was not a very important one. He had brought
the best of his chronometers with him, and snatching up this, his
quadrant, and a pocket compass, he at once descended the ladder to the
boat, which had been hailed by the admiral and ordered to lie there, the
petty officer who commanded being transferred to another boat. The crew
consisted of twelve men. As the breeze was off shore Stephen ordered the
masts to be stepped at once, and the two lug-sails hoisted. The crew were
glad to escape the labour of carrying down stores from the fort and
transporting them to the ship, and sat down contentedly in the bottom of
the boat, while Stephen himself took the tiller. The brig was hull-down
when seen from the boat, and Stephen calculated that she was six or seven
miles out. She was steering south and had evidently less wind than that
which was taking the cutter fast through the water. He made his course to
a point some four miles south of the brig, so as to cut her off, and it
was not long before it was evident to him that he should succeed in doing
so.
They were within two miles of the ship when he saw the sailors talking
earnestly together and looking towards the shore. Glancing round he saw
that the tops of the hills were enveloped in clouds, a sign, as experience
had already taught him, of the approach of a gale. The brig, which had
evidently not noticed the boat, had also observed the threatening aspect
of the clouds, and as Stephen again looked ahead, began to shorten sail.
“Had we not better return?” one of the Chilians asked.
“Certainly not,” Stephen said. “The wind is against us, and the storm will
burst before we could get back, so that we should be much better off in
that brig than we should be in this open boat. Get out oars, men, and help
her along. The wind is freshening already. If it rises much more the brig
will run away from us.”
The wind indeed got up rapidly, and the oars had to be laid in while the
cutter was still a mile off from the brig. She had evidently been
observed, and an attempt was being made to hoist some of the upper sails
that had been lowered; but the boat was now flying through the water, and
in a quarter of an hour ran up on the leeward side of the brig. The sails
were dropped, the bow man caught hold of the chains with his boat-hook,
and Stephen and the rest of the crew at once scrambled on board cutlass in
hand.
There was, however, no resistance. The crew of the brig were as numerous
as the boarders, but the successes of the Chilians had created such an
effect that the captain cried out, as they leaped on board, that they
surrendered. Stephen’s first order was to get the cutter up, and tackles
were soon hooked on to her, and she was raised from the water and laid
bottom upwards on deck. While this was being done the Peruvian crew were
ordered to shorten sail.
It was none too soon, for the brig was heeling far over, and the wind
momentarily increasing in strength. The Chilians gave a cheer as soon as
the boat was safely on board, and in a very short time the sail was
reduced to double-reefed top-sails. Under these and a storm-jib she was
laid head to wind. The sky was now entirely obscured, the land was no
longer visible, and the sea was beginning to rise.
“Is it going to be a heavy gale, do you think?” Stephen asked the Peruvian
captain.
“Very heavy, I think. I have seen it coming on since daybreak, but I hoped
to get to Callao before it burst. We are heavily laden, and in no state
for facing a great gale.”
“What have you on board?”
“Military stores and ammunition.”
“Any money?”
“I believe so, señor. There are twenty boxes sealed up in the lazarette.”
“Now, tell me what you would have done if we had not captured you? You
know your ship better than I do. Would you lie-to or let her run?”
“I should put her before the wind, señor, and at once; it will be
dangerous to do so when the sea gets up.”
“Well, put two of your best men at the helm, captain, and give them the
necessary orders. I know what ought to be done, but I do not know enough
of your language to make sure that I shall not make a mistake. Man the
braces, all hands,” he shouted. “Now, obey the captain’s orders as if they
were mine.”
The manœuvre was safely executed, and the brig brought before the wind.
She felt the relief at once, and sped rapidly before the storm on an even
keel.
“How far will this gale extend beyond the coast?”
“There is no saying, señor. An ordinary gale will seldom be felt above a
hundred or a hundred and fifty miles; but a big one, as this will I think
be, may take us a thousand miles before we can get on our course again.”
“Are there any dangers to be feared?”
“If we go far enough we may get among some islands; but on the course that
we are steering we shall run some hundreds of miles before we reach them.”
“You have got a chart, I suppose?”
“I have a chart of the coast, señor, but nothing beyond. We only do a
coasting trade.”
“Then the look-out is a bad one if the wind holds like this,” Stephen
said. “However, there is nothing to do now.”
The gale continued to increase in violence, and in a couple of hours
Stephen ordered the main topsail to be lowered on to the cap and there
secured. It was a dangerous service, and was undertaken by the Chilians,
who are far more handy sailors than the Peruvians. Stephen felt grateful
when the last of them stepped on to the deck again. Small as was the
amount of sail that was now spread, the brig flew before the wind with
alarming rapidity, the sea seeming to stand up on each side of her. The
foremast bent so much under the pressure that Stephen had to order
preventer-stays to be rove. These were with great difficulty and risk
fastened above the hounds and taken well aft, where they were tightened by
tackles, and the strain on the mast considerably relieved.
“I wish we could get down that upper spar,” he shouted to the captain;
“its pressure helps to keep her head down.”
After watching it for some minutes he ordered the stays and runners to be
cut, at the same time calling all hands aft. Scarcely had the men gathered
there than the vessel plunged her head into the sea. There was a loud
report, and the top-gallant mast fell over her bows with a crash. Two of
the Chilians with axes crawled out along the bowsprit and cut away the
gear that held the spar alongside, and the wreckage at once floated away.
The jib-boom was then got in, and the vessel felt the relief and lifted
her head more buoyantly over the seas. For four days the gale continued,
her bulwarks were carried away, and the waves swept her decks continually.
One tremendous roller carried away the boats, the caboose, and all the
deck fittings, together with four of the Chilians and six of the Peruvian
sailors. The straining had opened her seams, and although the pumps had
been kept going as long as the crew had been able to work at them, the
water had been gaining steadily, and even the Chilians, who had kept on
doggedly long after the Peruvians had thrown themselves down exhausted and
hopeless, now ceased what was evidently a useless labour.
The mainmast had been cut away, and was towed by a long hawser from the
stern, thereby aiding to keep the vessel dead before the wind. Stephen
felt that there was nothing to be done but to wait for the end. There were
no materials for making a raft, and indeed the constant wash of the seas
would have rendered the task an almost impossible one, even had there been
spars at hand; but a raft, could one have been manufactured, would have
prolonged life but for a few hours. They were now, he calculated, fully a
thousand miles from the land, and there was no chance whatever of any
vessel coming across them in these unfrequented seas. From the time the
gale burst upon them he had but twice thrown himself down for a short
sleep, and had eaten no food save a dry biscuit or two. The Peruvian
captain agreed with him that the vessel would float but a few hours
longer. She rose but sluggishly upon the seas, and several times she had
plunged her head so deeply into them that Stephen thought that she was
going to dive bodily down.
Night fell. He and the captain lay down on two of the sofas aft, while the
crew were all in the forecastle. None expected to see the morning light;
but Stephen left the door open, saying to the captain:
“It will make no difference; but I should rather make a struggle for my
life before I die, than be drowned like a rat in a hole.”
The Peruvian, who had shown much cool courage during the storm, shrugged
his shoulders.
“It makes no difference,” he said, as he rolled a cigarette and lighted
it; “we have done all that we could. As for me, I would as lief be drowned
here as outside. But I don’t think that there will be much choice; we
shall have no warning when she goes; she will plunge down head-foremost.”
Stephen was too worn-out to reply, but he felt that what the captain said
was true. But even the thought that when he woke it would be but for a
short struggle for life was insufficient to keep him awake, and in a
minute or two he dropped off to sleep. How long he slept he could not
tell; he was awakened suddenly by a tremendous crash that threw him on to
the floor. He struggled to his feet and rushed out almost instinctively,
in obedience to his train of thought before sleeping. As he issued out of
the poop a wave poured down from above, and for a moment he shrunk back.
He was conscious that the ship was fast. There was no longer any movement;
but the sea struck against the stern with a force that made the vessel
quiver. As to going forward it was out of the question, for each wave
swept right over her. The Peruvian had joined him at the door.
“Our voyage has ended, señor.”
“Yes, as far as the ship is concerned; but if she holds together until
morning there will be a chance of getting ashore.”
As he spoke a great wave struck the vessel. She rose on it, moved a few
yards further forward, and then fell again with a crash that threw them
both off their feet.
[Illustration: “THE SHIP FELL WITH A CRASH THAT THREW STEVE AND THE
CAPTAIN OFF THEIR FEET.”]
“There is not much chance of that,” the Peruvian said as he rose again,
taking up the conversation at the point at which it had been broken; “an
hour or two will see the end of her, perhaps even less.”
“It felt to me as if she struck all over,” Stephen said, “and I should
think she is on a flat ledge of rock. I don’t think that the wind is
blowing as hard as it was when we lay down. There are some stars shining.
At any rate we may as well go in again and wait. We should only be swept
overboard if we tried to go forward.”
He turned to re-enter the cabin, but was nearly carried off his feet by a
torrent of water that swept along the passage.
“That last wave has smashed her stern in,” he said to the Peruvian; “we
must stand outside.”
They seated themselves on the deck, with their backs to the poop. The
cataract of water which from time to time swept over them from above, fell
beyond them and rushed forward.
“Her head is lower than her stern,” the Peruvian remarked. “I begin to
think she may hold together until morning; she has not lifted again.”
It seemed, indeed, as if the storm had made its last effort in the great
surge that had shifted the vessel forward. For although the waves still
struck her with tremendous force, and they could hear an occasional
rending and splintering of the timbers astern, she no longer moved,
although she quivered from end to end under each blow, and worked as if at
any moment she would break into fragments.
“The foremast has gone,” Stephen said presently. “I suppose it went over
her bows when she struck. I am afraid none of the men have escaped. I
can’t make out the head of the vessel at all.”
“They may have been washed ashore; but it is probable that the fall of the
mast imprisoned them,” the captain said; “and as the stern is raised a
good many feet, they must have been drowned at once. Poor fellows, there
were some good men among them.”
“I wish we had had them all aft,” Steve exclaimed in a tone of deep
regret. “Of course, we never thought of this; and indeed there was but
small room for them in your little cabin. It seemed that death would come
to us all together, and that their chances in the fo’c’s’le were as
hopeless as ours in the stern cabin.”
“It is the will of God,” the Peruvian said philosophically; “and it is
probable their turn has come only a few hours before ours.”
They sat silently for a long time. At last Stephen said: “The sea is
certainly going down, and I can make out the outlines of the land. I think
day will soon be breaking. We must have slept a good many hours before she
struck.”
He took out his watch, but it was too dark to see the face. He opened the
case and felt the position of the hands: “It is half-past three,” he said.
“In another half-hour we shall have light enough to see where we are.”
Gradually the dawn spread over the sky, and they could make out that the
shore was some three hundred yards away, and that trees came down almost
to the water’s edge. They lay at the mouth of a small bay. As the captain
had supposed, the ship’s bows were under water, and only a few inches of
the top-gallant fo’c’s’le were to be seen. Another half-hour and the sun
was up. Long before this Stephen had explored the wreck astern. Several
feet had been torn off, and the water flowed freely in and out of the
cabin. It was evident that the ship had been carried on the crest of the
great wave beyond the highest point of the reef across the mouth of the
bay, and to this fact she in some degree owed her preservation, as the
waves broke some twenty yards astern of her, and so spent a considerable
portion of their force before they struck her. Looking astern, the sea was
still extremely heavy, but it no longer presented the angry appearance it
had done on the previous day. The wind had almost dropped, the waves were
no longer crested with white foam.
“In an hour or two we shall be able to get ashore,” Stephen said. “We have
been saved well-nigh by a miracle, captain.”
“Saved so far,” the captain said; “but we cannot say yet what is in store,
for us. These islands are, for the most part, inhabited by savage natives,
who will make short work of us if we fall into their hands.”
“Well, we must hope for the best,” Stephen said. “We have been preserved
so far, and we may trust we shall be preserved through other dangers. As
soon as the sea goes down we must haul the foremast alongside, cut away
the ropes, and drift ashore on it. It would be no great distance to swim
now, but there is no hurry, and we had best find out whether we cannot get
hold of some provisions. I see there are some boxes and casks on the
shore, I suppose they have been washed out of the stern. One of the first
things will be to get some arms.”
“There are several cases of muskets down in the hold,” the captain said,
“and a large quantity of ammunition, but it will be a difficult business
to get at it.”
“We shall have plenty of time,” Stephen said, “that is, if the natives do
not interfere with us. However, the first thing is to find something to
eat, for I am half famished.”
“I have no doubt we shall find something in the steward’s cabin,” the
captain said. “Fortunately it is the first inside the door, and has not
shared the fate of the stern cabin. If Jacopo had slept there last night,
instead of going forward with the crew, he would have been saved also.”
They opened the door of the cabin, and uttered an exclamation of surprise
as they saw the steward quietly asleep in his bunk.
“Why, Jacopo, you lazy rascal,” the captain shouted, “I have just been
mourning for you, and here you are, sleeping as quietly as if you were
safe in port.”
The man sat up with an air of bewilderment. “Why, what has happened,
captain?” he asked. “The sun is shining, and there is no motion. I did not
think to see the morning.”
“Oh, you rascal!” the captain said, pointing to an empty bottle lying in
the bunk, “you thought that it was all over, and so you emptied one of my
bottles of aguardiente, and have slept like a hog all night.”
“Pardon me, captain,” the man said, with a shamefaced expression;
“everyone said that the ship could not live until morning, so I thought I
would take a good drink so as to know nothing about it.”
“And you did not feel even the crash when we were wrecked?”
“Wrecked!” the man repeated, as he ran to the door; “are we wrecked after
all?” He uttered a cry of horror as he looked round.
“It might have been worse,” the captain said; “at least we three have been
saved, though, in your case, you are far from deserving it. Now, look
about and do your duty. We want breakfast; see you get it, and quickly,
and I will say nothing more about that bottle of spirits you stole. Now,
what have you got here?”
“Two fine hams, captain, and some bunches of onions, and half a barrel of
flour, and some salt beef and a skin of wine.”
“Not so bad,” the captain said. “Well, make a fire and do us some slices
of ham; are there any biscuits left?”
“Yes, captain, there is half a barrel.”
“Then we will make shift with a biscuit and the ham; but see that you are
quick about it, for this English officer and I are both famished.”
“Where am I to make a fire, captain? the caboose is gone.”
“Never mind about that; the iron plate is still fixed to the deck, make up
your fire on that. Look about in the other cabins and break up anything
that will supply you with wood. Now, señor, we will get off the after
hatch while this rascal is cooking breakfast, and have a look at the state
of things below.”
“I am afraid we shall find most of the cargo cleared out,” Stephen said.
“No, I do not think so. There is a strong bulkhead just below where we are
standing. The things you see on shore were in the small hold under the
cabin that was used for the ship’s stores, while the main contains the
cargo. We got at the lazarette from a hatch under the table of the cabin.
It was not convenient, but it was an advantage having a separate place
when we were loaded up with hides, and there was no fear of the sailors
getting at the things. We did not carry a great store—five or six barrels
of flour, a few sacks of potatoes and onions, a barrel or two of biscuits,
and a couple of casks of salted meat, a barrel of coffee and one of
sugar.”
“Well, then, in that case the sea has saved us the trouble of getting them
on shore, captain, for there are at least a dozen casks of one kind or
another on the beach. Now, really the principal things are the arms. If we
get up a case of a dozen muskets and a barrel of ammunition we shall do.
Of course, they will be at the bottom.”
“Yes, above them are bales of soldiers’ clothes. They will be too heavy
for us to lift out. They were heavy enough when they were dry, and the
three of us could not lift them out, sodden as they must be with water.”
“Then we must get up a sort of derrick. There are plenty of blocks and
ropes on that foremast. The difficulty will be about light spars. We shall
have to go ashore and cut down two or three young trees to make our tripod
with.
“I think, captain, we had better make up our minds to live on board until
we have got this job done. There is less fear of our being attacked by
natives, and we could do nothing in the way of searching for game until we
get something to shoot it with. We must make a raft of some sort for
coming backwards and forwards with. There are plenty of bits of timber on
the beach that will do for that.”
Breakfast was greatly enjoyed, and it was not until an hour afterwards
that the sea was sufficiently smooth for them to begin their preparations
for landing. The foremast was dragged alongside, the shrouds cut away, and
the running rigging unrove and coiled on deck ready for future use. A
couple of coils were fastened to the mast, and late in the afternoon the
captain and Stephen swam ashore, taking with them the end of one of the
coils, while Jacopo remained on board to pay out the other, so that until
the main raft was made the mast could be towed backwards and forwards. As
soon as they were on shore they hauled at their rope and brought the mast
to the beach. Then they set to work examining the casks. As the captain
had predicted, most of the contents of the lazarette had been cast up, and
they found that they had an ample supply of food to last them for some
months. The mast had towed so easily that they agreed that it would be the
best way to use it as the main portion of their raft. They dragged pieces
of timber close to the mast and lashed them side by side there, so as to
form a platform some three feet wide on each side of it, the length
varying from four to twelve feet, according to that of the pieces of
timber.
Having accomplished this, after two or three hours’ hard work, they took
their places on it, and shouted to Jacopo, who hauled them back to the
side of the wreck. They had fastened one end of the other rope to a tree,
and at daylight next morning they again landed, and proceeded with their
knives to cut down three young trees of some four inches in diameter. This
took them the best part of the day. The heads were then cut off leaving
three stout poles of some fourteen feet in length, and with these they
returned to the ship, taking with them a bag of coffee-berries and a
supply of sugar. They had found on breaking open the cask that the sugar
was somewhat damaged by the sea-water, but this had not penetrated far,
and by drying and repounding that touched by the water, no great harm
would have been done. The next morning the shears were erected, and they
set to work. It took them two days’ labour before they could clear enough
of the cargo out to get at the cases. They were not troubled much by
water, for at the stern-post there was but a depth of four feet on the
reef, while at her bows there was nearly twenty. Working as they did at
the after hatchway, there were but five feet of water below, and the
uppermost tier of cases was consequently above the water-level. The
barrels of cartridges were still further on, and it was the fourth day
before they were reached.
Three of these barrels were got up, and when two cases of muskets had been
opened, the weapons cleaned, and made ready for service, they felt a sense
of security to which they had been strangers since they arrived at the
island. There was now an urgent matter to be attended to. Hitherto they
had drunk wine at their meals, but the contents of the skins were getting
very low, and it had become absolutely necessary that they should without
delay search for water. As there were hills of some size in the interior,
they felt confident that there must be plenty to be found. The great point
was whether it would be in the neighbourhood, or at a distance from the
ship. This was a vital question, for useful as their raft was for coming
and going between the wreck and the shore, it was far too heavy and clumsy
for transporting their valuables any distance; and without hatchets or
carpenters’ tools they could not construct a raft by breaking up the deck,
and the cutting down of trees with their pocket-knives was not to be
thought of.
Accordingly the three set out on foot one morning, each carrying a musket
and a store of ammunition, a portion of cooked ham, and some biscuits,
together with a bottle containing the last of their stock of wine. When
they rounded the point of the little bay they gave a shout of
satisfaction, for but fifty yards away a small stream flowed from the
forest across the sand into the sea.
“What a pity we did not search for this before,” Stephen said, as throwing
themselves down each scooped a hole in the sand, and took a long drink of
the fresh water. “We could have saved our wine for some special occasion.”
They agreed at once to follow the stream up, as by this means they would
leave no trace of footmarks, and might be able to find some suitable spot
for an encampment.