THE WRECK.
And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the tramping surf,
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.
She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides,
Like the horns of an angry bull.
--_Wreck of the "Hesperus."_
When Ishmael awoke in the morning he was surprised to find that the
motion of the ship was much lessened. And when he went up on deck he
was pleased to discover that the wind had fallen and the sea was
going down.
There was but one trouble--the thick fog; but that might be expected
on the Banks of Newfoundland.
Old Captain Mountz was pacing up and down the deck with the firm
tread of a man who felt himself on solid ground.
"Good-morning, captain! A pleasant change this," was Ishmael's
greeting.
"Oh, aye, yes! for as long as it will last," was the dampening
reply.
"Why, you don't think the wind will rise again, do you?"
"Don't I? I tell you before many hours we shall have a strong
sou'wester, that will do its best to drive us ashore on these
Banks," was the discouraging answer.
But by this time Ishmael had grown to understand the old sailor, and
to know that he generally talked by the "rules of contrary"; for
whereas he would not permit the late gale to be anything more than a
"capful of wind," he now declared the fine weather to be nothing
less than the forerunner of a hurricane.
So Ishmael did not feel any very serious misgivings, but went
downstairs to breakfast with a good appetite.
Here another pleasant surprise greeted him: Judge Merlin and Mr.
Brudenell, recovered from their seasickness, were both at breakfast;
and notwithstanding the weight of care that oppressed their hearts
they were both, from the mere physical reaction from depressing
illness, in excellent spirits.
They arose to greet their young friend.
"How do you do, how do you do, Ishmael?" began Judge Merlin,
heartily shaking his hand. "I really suppose now that you think I
owe you an apology? But the fact is you owe me one. Didn't you know
better than to intrude on the privacy of a seasick man? Didn't you
know that a victim hates the sight of one who is not a victim? And
that a seasick man or a rabid dog is better let alone, eh?"
"I beg your pardon, sir; I did not know it; but now that you
enlighten me, I will not offend again," laughed Ishmael.
Mr. Brudenell's greeting was quieter, but even more cordial than
that of the judge.
Before breakfast was over they were joined by others of their
fellow-passengers, whom they had not seen since the first day out.
Among the rest was a certain Dr. Kerr, a learned savant, professor
in the University of Glasgow, who had been on a scientific mission
to the United States, and was returning home. He was a tall, thin
old gentleman, in a long, black velvet dressing-gown and a round,
black velvet skullcap. And he entered readily into conversation with
our party on the subject of the late gales, and from that diverged
into the subject of meteorology. There were no ladies present at
breakfast.
The whole party soon adjourned to the deck, and notwithstanding the
fog, enjoyed the pleasure of a promenade and conversation as they
only can who have been deprived of such privileges for many days.
At dinner the long absent ladies reappeared; among the rest, the
wife and daughters of the Scotch professor; and with the freedom of
ocean steamer traveling, all well-dressed and well-behaved first-
cabin passengers soon became acquainted and sociable, if not
intimate.
Mrs. Dr. Kerr had happened to hear of Mr. Worth as one of the most
promising young barristers of the time; and finding him in the
company of Chief Justice Merlin, and approving him on short
acquaintance, and knowing that he was unmarried, and not knowing
that his heart, hand, and honor were irretrievably engaged, she
singled him out as a very desirable match for one of her four
penniless daughters, and paid such court to him as Ishmael, in the
honesty and gratitude of his heart, repaid with every attention.
Mrs. Dr. Kerr, complaining of the tediousness of the voyage, and the
dullness of her own circle, invited Ishmael and his party to spend
the evening and play whist in the ladies' cabin--forbidden ground to
all gentlemen who had no ladies with them, unless indeed they should
happen, as in this case, to be invited.
All the gentlemen of our party availed themselves of this privilege,
and the evening passed more pleasantly than any other evening since
they had been at sea.
The fog lasted for three days, during which, as the wind was fair
and the sea calm, the passengers, well wrapped up, enjoyed the
promenade of the deck during the day, and the social meetings in the
dining saloon, or the whist parties in the ladies' cabin during the
evening.
And lulled by this deceitful calm, they were happy in the thought
that the voyage was nearly half over, and in the anticipation of a
prosperous passage over the remaining distance, and a safe arrival
in port.
On the evening of the third day of the fog, however, a vague and
nameless dread prevailed among the passengers. No one could have
told whence this dread arose, or whither it pointed. Those well
acquainted with the locality knew that the steamer was upon the
Banks of Newfoundland, and that those Banks were considered rather
unsafe in a fog.
Some others, who were in the secret, also knew that the captain had
not left the quarterdeck, either to eat or to sleep, for forty-eight
hours; for they had left him on deck at a late hour at night, and
found him there at an early hour of the morning. And they had seen
strong coffee carried up to him at short intervals. That was all.
For sailors never think of danger until that danger, whatever it
might be, is imminent; and never speak of it until it becomes
necessary to do so, in order to save life.
Thus the passengers on board the "Oceana," on the night of the 20th
of December, were totally ignorant of the real nature of the perils
that beset them, although, as I said, an undefined misgiving and a
sense of insecurity oppressed their hearts.
At ten o'clock that night the weather was thick, foggy, and
intensely cold, with a heavy sea and a high wind.
The captain and first mate were on deck, where a number of the
hardier and more anxious passengers were collected to watch.
In the dining saloon were gathered around the tables those
inveterate gamblers who seem to have no object, either in the voyage
of the ocean or the voyage of life, except the winning or losing of
money.
In the ladies' cabin there were two social whist parties, formed of
the ladies of the Scotch professor's family and the gentlemen of our
set.
They were playing with great enjoyment, notwithstanding that little
undercurrent of vague uneasiness of which I spoke, when the
Scotchman, who had been on the deck all the evening, came down into
the cabin, wearing a long face.
But the whist-players were too much interested in their game to
notice the lugubrious expression of the old man, until he came to
the table, and in a tone of the most alarming gravity exclaimed:
"Don't be frightened!"
Every lady dropped her cards and turned deadly pale with terror.
Every gentleman looked up inquiringly at this judicious speaker.
"What is there to be frightened at, sir?" coldly inquired Ishmael.
"Well, you know our situation--But, ladies, for Heaven's sake, be
composed. Your sex are noted for heroism in the midst of danger--"
Here, to prove his words good, one of the ladies shrieked, fell back
in her chair, and covered her face with her hands.
"These ladies are not aware of any danger, sir, and I think it quite
needless to alarm them," said Ishmael gravely.
"My good young friend, I don't wish to alarm them; I came down here
on purpose to exhort them to coolness and self-possession, so
necessary in the hour of peril. Now, dear ladies, I must beg that
you will not suffer yourselves to be agitated."
"There is really, sir, no present cause for agitation, except, if
you will pardon me for saying it, your own needlessly alarming words
and manner," said Ishmael cheerfully, to reassure the frightened
women, who seemed upon the very verge of hysterics.
"No, no, no, certainly no cause for agitation, ladies--certainly
not. Therefore don't be agitated, I beg of you. But--but--don't
undress and go to bed to-night. Lie down on the outside of your
berths just as you are; for, look you--we may all have to take to
the lifeboats at a minute's warning," said the doctor, his long,
pale face looking longer and paler than ever under his round, black
skullcap.
A half-smothered shriek burst simultaneously from all the women
present.
"I trust, sir, that your fears are entirely groundless. I have heard
no apprehensions expressed in any other quarter," said Ishmael. And
although he never begged the ladies not to be "frightened," yet
every cheerful word he spoke tended to calm their fears.
"What cause have you for such forebodings, doctor?" inquired Mr.
Brudenell.
"Oh, none at all, sir. There is no reason to be alarmed. I hope
nobody will be alarmed, especially the ladies. But you see the
captain has not been able to make an observation for the last three
days on account of the fog; and it is said that no one accurately
knows just where we are; except that we are on the Banks, somewhere,
and may strike before we know it. That is all. Now don't be
terrified. And don't lose your presence of mind. And whatever you
do, don't take off your clothes; for if we strike you mayn't have
time to put them on again, and scanty raiment, in an open boat, on a
wintry night at sea, wouldn't be pleasant. Now mind what I tell you.
I shall not turn in myself. I am going on deck to watch."
And having succeeded in spreading a panic among the women, the old
man took himself and his black skullcap out of the cabin.
Exclamations of surprise, fear, and horror followed his departure.
There was no more card-playing; they did not even finish their game;
they felt it to be sacrilegious to engage in even a "ladies' game"
of whist, on the eve of possible shipwreck, perhaps on the brink of
eternity.
Ishmael gathered up and put away the cards and set himself earnestly
to calm the fears of his trembling fellow-passengers; but they were
not to be soothed. Then he offered to go up on deck and make
inquiries as to the situation, course, and prospects of the ship;
but they would not consent to his leaving them; they earnestly
besought him to stay; and declared that they found assurance and
comfort in his presence.
At length he took the Bible and seated himself at the table, and
read to them such portions as were suited to their condition. He
read for more than an hour, and then, hoping that this had composed
their spirits, he closed the book and counseled them to retire and
take some rest; and promised to station himself outside the cabin
door and be their vigilant sentinel, to warn them of danger the
instant it should become necessary.
But no! they each and all declared sleep to be impossible under the
circumstances. And they continued to sit around the table with their
arms laid on its top and their heads buried In them, waiting for--
what? Who could tell?
Meanwhile the ship was borne swiftly on by wind and wave--whither?
None of these frightened women knew.
Eight bells struck--twelve, midnight; and Ishmael renewed his
entreaties that they would take some repose. But in vain; for they
declared that there could be no repose for their bodies while their
minds were suffering such intense anxiety.
One bell struck, and there they sat; two bells, and there they still
sat; and there was but little conversation after this. Three bells
struck, and they sat on, so motionless that Ishmael hoped they had
fallen asleep on their watch and he refrained from addressing them.
Four bells struck. It was two o'clock in the morning, and dead
silence reigned in the ladies' cabin. Everyone except Ishmael had
gone to sleep.
Suddenly through the stillness a cry rang--a joyous cry. It was the
voice of the man on the lookout, and it shouted forth:
"Land ho!"
"Where away?" called another voice.
"On her lee bow!"
"What do you make of it?"
"Cape Safety lighthouse!"
A shout went up from the passengers on deck. A simultaneous,
involuntary, joyous three times three.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"
A devout thanksgiving ascended from Ishmael's heart:
"Thank God!" he fervently exclaimed.
It was indeed an infinite relief.
Then he turned to wake up his wearied fellow-passengers, who had
fallen asleep in such uneasy attitudes--arms folded, on the top of
the table and heads fallen on the folded arms.
"Ladies! dear ladies! dear Mrs. Kerr! you may retire to rest now. We
have made Cape Safety," he said, going from one to another and
gently rousing them.
They were a little bewildered at first; and while they were still
trying to understand what Ishmael was saying, the Scotch professor
burst into the cabin and enlightened them by a coup-de-main.
"You may all undress and go to bed now, and sleep in peace, without
the least fear of a shipwreck."
"Eh, pa! is it so--are we safe?" cried the elder daughter.
"Safe as St. Paul's. We know where we are now. We have made Cape
Safety Lighthouse. Go to bed and sleep easy. I'm going now. Come
along, Jeanie," said the doctor to his old wife.
"Not until I have shaken hands with this good young gentleman. I
don't know what would have become of us, doctor, after you
frightened us so badly, if it had not been for him. He stayed with
us and kept up our hearts. God bless you, young sir!" said Mrs. Dr.
Kerr, fervently pressing Ishmael's hands.
Ishmael himself was glad to go to rest; so he only stopped long
enough to bid good-night to Judge Merlin and Mr. Brudenell, who had
just awakened to a sense of security, and then he went to his
stateroom and turned in.
Thoroughly wearied in mind and body, he had no sooner touched his
pillow than he fell into a deep sleep--a sleep that annihilated
several hours of time.
He slept until he was aroused by a tremendous shock--a shock that
threw him, strong, heavy, athletic man as he was, from his stateroom
berth to the cabin floor. He was on his feet in a moment, though
stunned, confused, and amazed. The poor ship was shuddering
throughout her whole frame like a living creature in the agony of
death.
Men who had been violently thrown from their berths to the floor
were everywhere picking themselves up and trying to collect their
scattered senses. Crowds were hurrying from the cabins and saloons
to the deck. The voices of the officers were heard in quick,
anxious, peremptory orders; and those of the crew in prompt, eager,
terrified responses.
And through all came shrieks of terror, anguish, and despair.
"The ship has struck!" "We are lost!" "God have mercy!" were the
cries.
Ishmael hurried on his clothes and rushed to the deck. Here all was
panic, confusion, and unutterable distress. The fog had cleared
away; day was dawning; and there was just light enough to show them
the utter hopelessness of their position.
The steamer bad struck a rock, and with such tremendous force that
she was already parting amidships; her bows were already under water
and the sea was breaking over her with fearful force.
How had this happened, with the lighthouse ahead? Was it really a
lighthouse, or was it a false beacon?
No one could tell; no one had time to ask. Everybody was fast
crowding to the stern of the ship, the only part of her that was out
of water. Some crawled up, half drowned; some dripping wet; some
scarcely yet awake, acting upon the blind impulse of self-
preservation.
Two of the lifeboats had been forcibly reft away from the side of
the ship by the violence of the shock and carried off by the sea.
Only two remained, and it was nearly certain that they were not of
sufficient capacity to save the crew and passengers.
But the danger was imminent--a moment's delay might be fatal to all
on board the wreck; not an instant was to be lost.
The order was quickly given:
"Get out the lifeboats!"
And the sailors sprang to obey.
At this moment another fatality threatened the doomed crew--it was
what might have been expected: the steerage passengers, mostly a low
and brutalized order of men, in whom the mere animal instinct of
love of life and fear of death was predominant over every nobler
emotion, came rushing in a body up the deck, and crying with one
voice:
"To the lifeboats! to the lifeboats! Let us seize the lifeboats, and
save ourselves!"
Everyone else was panic-stricken. It is in crises like this that the
true hero is developed. With the bound of a young Achilles Ishmael
seized a heavy iron bar and sprang to the starboard gangway, where
the two remaining boats were still suspended; and standing at bay,
with limbs apart, and eyes threatening, and his fearful weapon
raised in his right hand, he thundered forth:
"Who tries to pass here dies that instant! Stand off!"
Before this young hero the, crowd of senseless, rushing brutes
recoiled as from a fire.
He pursued and secured his victory with a few words:
"Are you men? If so, before all, let helpless childhood, and feeble
womanhood, and venerable age be saved; and then you. I demand of you
no more than I am willing to do myself. I will be the last to leave
the wreck. I will see you all in safety before I attempt to save my
own life."
So great is the power of heroism over all, that even these brutal
men, so selfish, senseless, and impetuous a moment before, were now
subdued; nay, some of them were inspired and raised a hurrah.
Fear of a possible reaction among the steerage passengers, however,
caused old Captain Mountz, Judge Merlin, Mr. Brudenell, Dr. Kerr,
Jem Morris, the Jew, and several others to come to the support of
Ishmael. Among the rest the captain of the steamer came.
"Young man, you have saved all our lives," he said.
Ishmael slowly bowed his head.
"I hope that God has saved you all," he answered.
The sailors were now busy getting down the lifeboats. It was but the
work of a very few minutes.
"Let the ladies and children be brought forward," ordered the
captain. And the women and children, some screaming, some weeping,
and some dumb with terror, were lowered into one of the boats.
"Now the nearest male relatives of these ladies to the same boat,"
was the captain's next order.
And Dr. Kerr and about a dozen other gentlemen presented themselves,
and were lowered into the boat, where they were received with
hysterical cries of mingled joy and fear by the women.
And all this time the sea was dashing fearfully over the wreck, and
at every interval the planks of the deck upon which they clung were
felt to swell and sway as if they were about to part.
"Now the old men!" shouted the captain.
Ishmael took Judge Merlin by the arm, and with gentle coercion
passed them on to the sailors, who lowered him into the boat.
Then Captain Mountz and several other old men, and many who were not
old, but were willing to appear so "for this occasion only,"
followed and were passed down into the boat.
Then Ishmael looked around in concern. The professor was lingering
in the background.
"Come here, Morris! You certainly fall under the head of "'old
men,'" he said, taking the professor by the elbow and gently pushing
him forward.
"No, young Ishmael, no! I cannot go! The boat is as full as it can
be packed now--or at least it won't hold more than one more, and you
ought to go; and I will not crowd you out," urged the old man, with
passionate earnestness.
And all this time the sea was thundering over the wreck and entirely
drenching everybody, and nearly drowning some.
"Morris, I shall not in any case enter that boat. There is no time,
when scores of lives are in imminent danger, to argue the point.
But--as you never disobeyed me in your life before, I now lay my
commands on you to go into that boat," said Ishmael, with the tone
and manner of a monarch.
With a cry of despair the professor let himself drop into the
lifeboat to be saved.
The boat was now really as full as it could possibly be crammed with
safety to its passengers. And it was detained only until a cask of
fresh water and a keg of biscuit could be thrown into it, and then
it gave way for the second lifeboat to come up to the gangway.
This second boat was rapidly filled. But when it was crowded quite
full there remained upon the breaking wreck Ishmael and ten of the
younger steerage passengers.
"Come! come!" shouted the captain of the steamer, who was in the
second boat. "Come, Mr. Worth! There is room for one more! There is
always room, for one more."
"If there is room for one more, take one of these young men, my
companions," replied Ishmael gravely.
"No! no! if we cannot take all, why take one of their number,
instead of taking you, Mr. Worth? Come! come! do not keep us here!
It is dangerous!" urged the captain.
"Pass on! I remain here!" answered Ishmael steadfastly.
"But that is madness. What good will it do? Come, quick! climb up on
the bulwarks and leap down into the boat! You are young and active,
and can do it! quick!"
"Give way! I shall remain here," replied Ishmael, folding his arms
and planting himself firmly on the quaking deck, over which the sea
incessantly thundered.
"Ishmael! Ishmael! My son! my son! for Heaven's sake--for my sake,--
come!" cried Mr. Brudenell, holding out his arms in an agony of
prayer.
"Father," replied the young man, in this supreme moment of fate not
refusing him that paternal title; "father," he repeated, with
impassioned fervor, "father, every one of these men has precedence
of me, in the right to be saved. For when I intervened between them
and the lifeboats they were about to seize I promised them that I
would see every one of them in safety before attempting to save
myself. I promised them that I would be the very last man to leave
the wreck. Father, they confided in me, and I will keep my word with
them."
"But you cannot save their lives!" cried Mr. Brudenell, with a
gesture of desperation.
"I can keep my word by staying with them," was the firm reply.
While Ishmael spoke there was a rapid consultation going on among
his companions on the wreck. Then one of them spoke for the rest:
"Go and save yourself, young gentleman. We give you back your
promise."
Ishmael turned and smiled upon them with benignity, as he replied
sweetly:
"I thank you, my friends. I thank you earnestly. You are brave and
generous men. But from such a pledge as I have given, you have no
power to release me."
"Ishmael! Ishmael, for Bee's sake!" cried Judge Merlin, stretching
his arms imploringly towards the young man. "For Bee's sake,
Ishmael! Think of Bee!"
"Oh, I do! I do think of her!" said the young man, in a voice of
impassioned grief. "God bless her! God forever bless her! But not
even for her dear sake must I shrink from duty. I honor her too much
to live to offer her the dishonored hand of a craven. Tell her this,
and tell her that my last earthly thought was hers. We shall meet in
eternity."
"Ishmael, Ishmael!" simultaneously cried Judge Merlin and Mr.
Brudenell, as they saw a tremendous sea break in thunder over the
wreck, which was instantly whirled violently around as in the vortex
of a maelstrom.
"Give way! give way! quick! for your lives! The wreck is going and
she will draw down the boats!" shouted Ishmael, waving his arm from
the whirling deck.
The sailors on board the lifeboats laid themselves vigorously to
their oars, and rowed them swiftly away from the whirling eddy
around the settling wreck. The passengers on board the boats averted
their heads or veiled their eyes--they could not look upon the death
of Ishmael,
But as the boats bounded away, something leaped from one of them
with the heavy plunge of a large dog into the water, and the next
instant the old gray head of Jim Morris was seen rising from the
foaming waves. He struggled towards the deck, clambered up its sides
and sunk at Ishmael's feet, embracing his knees, weeping and crying:
"Young Ishmael! master! master! Oh, let me die with you!" Speechless
from profound emotion, Ishmael stooped and raised the old man and
clasped him to his bosom with one arm, while with the other he waved
adieu to the rapidly receding lifeboats.