The shock threw the men off their feet as they raised an appealing cry
to Heaven, which was mocked by the howling of the wind and the roar of
the waters. The masts, which were thrown out from their steps, waved
once, twice, and then fell over the sides with a crash, as an enormous
sea broke over the vessel, forcing her further on the rocks, and causing
every timber and knee in her to start from its place. The masts, as
they fell, and the sea, that at the same moment poured over like an
impetuous cataract, swept away thirty or forty of the seamen into the
boiling element under the lee. Another and another shock from the
resistless and furious waves decided the fate of the resolute captain
and master. The frigate parted amidships. The fore part of her, which
was firmly wedged on the rocks, remained. The quarter-deck and
after-part turned over to the deep water, and disappeared. An enormous
surge curled over it as it went down, and, as if disappointed at not
being able to wreak its fury upon that part of the vessel, which, by
sinking, had evaded it, it drove in revenge upon the remainder, forcing
it several yards higher upon the reef.
Two-thirds of the ship's company were now gone--the captain, the master,
and the major part of the officers and men, being on the quarter-deck
when the ship divided. The cry of the drowning was not heard amidst the
roaring of the elements. The behaviour of the captain and the officers
at this dreadful crisis has not been handed down; but, if we may judge
from what has already been narrated, they met their fate like British
seamen.
The fore part of the ship still held together, and, fortunately for the
survivors, heeled towards the land, so as to afford some protection from
the force of the seas, which dashed over it at each succeeding swell of
the billows. Daylight left them, and darkness added to the despair and
horror of nearly one hundred wretches, who felt, at each shock which
threatened to separate the planks and timbers, as if death was loudly
knocking to claim the residue of his destined victims. Not one word was
exchanged; but, secured with ropes to the belaying-pins, and other parts
of the forecastle where they could pass their lashings, they clung and
huddled together, either absorbed in meditation or wailing with despair.
Occasionally, one who had supported himself in a difficult and painful
position, stimulated with the faint hopes of life, to which we all so
fondly and so foolishly cling, would find that his strength was
exhausted, and that he could hold no longer. After vainly imploring
those near him to allow him to better his condition by a slight personal
sacrifice on their part (an appeal that received no answer), he would
gradually loose his hold, and drop into the surge that was commissioned
by death to receive his prey.
There are situations in human life of such powerful excitement, and in
which the mechanism of the human frame becomes so rapid in its motion,
that the friction of a few days will wear it out. The harrowed feelings
of these poor creatures on the wreck, during the short time that they
remained, had a greater effect in undermining the constitution than many
years of laborious occupation on shore.
Fellow-countrymen, if you are at all interested with the scenes I am now
describing, and which, if you have any feeling, you must be (however
imperfect the description), let the author, a sailor himself, take this
favourable opportunity of appealing to you in behalf of a service at
once your protection and your pride. For its sake, as well as your own,
listen not to those who, expatiating upon its expense, and silent upon
its deserts, would put a stop to hardly earned promotion, and blast with
disappointment the energies of the incipient hero. And may those to
whom the people at large have delegated their trust, and in whom they
have reposed their confidence, treat with contempt the calculations, and
miscalculations, of one without head and without heart!
Daylight again, as if unwillingly, appeared, and the wild scud flew past
the dark clouds, that seemed to sink down with their heavy burdens till
they nearly touched the sea. The waves still followed each other
mountains high; the wind blew with the same violence; and as the stormy
petrels flew over the billows, indicating by their presence that the
gale would continue, the unfortunate survivors looked at each other in
silence and despair.
I know not whether all seamen feel as I do; but I have witnessed so many
miraculous escapes, so many sudden reverses, so much, beyond all hope
and conception, achieved by a reliance upon Providence and your own
exertions, that, under the most critical circumstances, I never should
despair. If struggling in the centre of the Atlantic, with no vessel in
sight, no strength remaining, and sinking under the wave that boiled in
my ear, as memory and life were departing,--still, as long as life _did_
remain, as long as recollection held her seat, I never should abandon
Hope,--never believe that it is all over with me,--till I awoke in the
next world, and found it confirmed.
What would these men have valued their lives at in the morning? Yet at
noon a change took place: the weather evidently moderated fast; and
silence, that had reigned for so many hours, lost his empire, and the
chances of being saved began to be calculated. A reef of rocks, many of
them above water, over which the breakers still raged, lay between the
wreck and the shore, and the certainty of being dashed to pieces
precluded all attempts at reaching it, till the weather became more
moderate and the sea less agitated. But when might that be?--and how
long were they to resist the united attacks of hunger and fatigue?
The number of men still surviving was about seventy. Many, exhausted
and wounded, were hanging in a state of insensibility by the ropes with
which they had secured themselves. That our hero was among those who
remained need hardly be observed, or there would have been a close to
this eventful history. He was secured to the weather side of the
foremast-bitts, supported on the one side by the boatswain, and on the
other by Price, the second-lieutenant, next to whom was the captain of
the forecastle, one of the steadiest and best seamen in the ship, who
had been pressed out of a West Indiaman, in which he had served in the
capacity of second mate.
Our hero had often turned round with an intention to speak to Price; but
observing that he sat crouched with his face upon his hands and knees,
he waited until his messmate should raise his head up, imagining that he
was occupied in secret prayer. Finding that he still continued in the
same position, Seymour called to him several times. Not receiving any
answer, he extended his arm and shook Price by the collar, fearing that
he had swooned from cold and fatigue.
Price slowly raised his head, and looking at Seymour, answered not. His
vacant stare and wild eye proclaimed at once that reason had departed.
Still, as it afterwards appeared, his ruling passion remained; and, from
that incomprehensible quality of our structure, which proves that the
mind of man is more fearfully and wonderfully made than the body, the
desertion of one sense was followed by the return of another. His
_memory_ was perfect, now that his _reason_ was gone. Surveying the
scene around him, he began with all the theatrical action which the
ropes that secured him would permit, to quote his favourite author:--
"`Blow winds, and crack your cheeks--rage--blow,
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout--'
"`Poor Tom's a-cold'"--then, shuddering, he covered up his face, and
resumed his former position.
"Is this a time for spouting profane plays, Mr Price?" said the
fanatical boatswain, who was not aware of the poor man's insanity.
"Hold your peace, and call not judgment on our heads, and I prophesy
that we shall be saved. `The waves of the sea are mighty, and rage
horribly; but yet the Lord who dwelleth on high is mightier.'"
Silence ensued, which, after a few minutes, was interrupted by Seymour
lamenting over the fate of Captain M--- and the rest of the crew who had
perished.
"Well, they are in heaven before this, I hope?" observed Robinson, the
captain of the forecastle.
"`Many are called, but few chosen,'" rejoined the boatswain, who
appeared, by the flashing of his eye, to be in a state of strong
excitement. "No more in heaven than you would be, if the Almighty was
pleased to cut you off in his wrath."
"Where then, Mr Hardsett?" inquired Robinson. "Surely not in--"
"I know--I know,"--cried Price, who again lifted up his head, and, with
a vacant laugh, commenced singing--
"Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell!
Hark! now I hear them--ding-dong-bell."
"For shame, Mr Price!" interrupted the boatswain.
"Ding-dong-ding-dong-bell."
"Mr Price, what does the Scripture say? `Judgments are prepared for
scorners,'" continued the boatswain with vehemence.
Price had resumed his former attitude, and made no answer. As soon as
the interruption of the lieutenant had ceased, Robinson resumed his
interrogatory to the boatswain: "Where then?--not in hell, I hope."
"Ay," returned the latter, "in the fire that is never quenched, and for
ever and ever."
"I hope not," replied Robinson; "I may deserve punishment, and I know I
do. I've been overhauling my log-book, while the sea here has been
dashing over my bows, and washing my figure-head; and there are some
things I wish I could forget;--they will rise up in judgment against me;
but surely not for ever?"
"You should have thought of that before, my good fellow. I am sorry for
you,--sorry for all those who have perished, for they were good seamen,
and, in the worldly service, have done well. I was reflecting the other
day whether, out of the whole navy, I should be able to muster one
single ship's company in heaven."
"Well, Mr Hardsett, it's my firm opinion, that when the hands are
turned up for punishment in the next world, we shall be sarved out
according to our desarts. Now, that's my belief; and I shan't change it
for yours, Mr Hardsett, for I thinks mine the more comfortable of the
two."
"It won't do, Robinson, you must have faith."
"So I have, in God's mercy, boatswain."
"That won't do. Yours is not the true faith."
"Mayhap not, but I hope to ride it out with it nevertheless, for I have
it well backed with hope; and if I still drive,"--said Robinson, musing
a short time--"why, I have charity as a sheet-anchor, to bring me up
again. It's long odds but our bodies will soon be knocked to shivers in
those breakers, and we shall then know who's right, and who's wrong. I
see small chance of our saving ourselves, unless indeed we could walk on
the sea, and there was but one that ever did that."
"Had the apostle had faith, he would not have sunk," rejoined the
boatswain.
"Have you then more faith than the apostle?"
"I have, thanks be to Jehovah, the true faith," cried the boatswain,
raising his eyes and hands to heaven.
"Then _walk on shore_," said the captain of the forecastle, looking him
steadfastly in the face.
Stimulated by the request, which appeared to put his courage as a man,
and his faith as a Christian, to the test, and, at the moment, fanatic
even to insanity, the boatswain rose, and casting off the ropes which he
had wound round his body, was about to comply with Robinson's request.
A few moments more, and the raging sea would have received him, had not
our hero, in conjunction with the captain of the forecastle, held him
down with all his power. "We doubt not your faith, Mr Hardsett," said
Seymour, "but the time of miracles is past. It would be self-murder.
He who raised the storm, will, in his own good time, save us, if he
thinks fit."
Price, who had listened to the conversation, and had watched the motions
of the boatswain, who was casting off the lashings which had secured
him, had, unperceived, done the same, and now jumped upon his legs, and
collared the astonished boatswain, roaring out--
"Zounds, show me what thou'lt do!
Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself?"
"Why, he's mad!" exclaimed the terrified boatswain, who was not far off
the point himself.
"Mad!" resumed Price.
"Not a soul
But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd
Some tricks of desperation.
"The king's son, Ferdinand,
With hair upstarting (then like reeds, not hair),
Was the first man that leaped; cried, Hell is empty,
And all the devils are here!"
As the maniac finished the last words, before they could be aware of his
intention, he made a spring from the deck over the bulwark, and
disappeared under the wave. The boatswain, who had been diverted from
his fanatical attempt by the unexpected attack of Price, more than by
the remonstrances of his companions, resumed his position, folding his
arms, and casting his eyes to heaven. The captain of the forecastle was
silent, and so was our hero--the thoughts of the two were upon the same
subject--eternity.
Eternity--the only theme that confuses, humbles, and alarms the proud
intellect of man. What is it? The human mind can grasp any defined
space, any defined time, however vast; but this is beyond time, and too
great for the limited conception of man. It had no beginning and can
have no end. It cannot be multiplied, it cannot be divided, it cannot
be added unto--you may attempt to subtract from it, but it is useless.
Take millions and millions of years from it, take all the time that can
enter into the compass of your imagination, it is still whole and
undiminished as before--all calculation is lost. Think on--the brain
becomes heated, and oppressed with a sensation of weight too powerful
for it to bear; reason totters in her seat, and you rise with the
conviction of the impossibility of the creature attempting to fathom the
Creator--humiliated with the sense of your own nothingness, and
impressed with the tremendous majesty of the Deity.
Time is Man--Eternity is God!