LOSS OF THE "LEDA."
On the night after our adventure with the whale I had turned in to
bed betimes; but was roused about two in the morning by the noise
made by Hammer, our carpenter, Cuffy Snowball, and others battening
the deadlights of the stern windows. At the same moment I became
sensible of the unusual motion of the vessel, of the tremendous din
that reigned on deck, and of the furious manner in which my cot, the
brass cabin lamp, and the tell-tale compass swung about.
"What is the matter?" I asked, starting up, while the prophecy of
Hans flashed on my memory.
"Matter, sir! faith, if you were on deck you would soon find out!"
was the somewhat impatient response of Tom Hammer, who was drenched
to the skin.
"Is it blowing hard?" said I.
"'Twill nebber blow harder, Massa Tanly, till him blows himself right
out," grinned Cuffy Snowball.
"A regular hurricane! the brig is almost under bare poles, and we
sound the pumps every half-hour," added Hammer, who seemed indignant
at the soundness of my past slumber.
On hearing all this, I leaped out, dressed myself, and hurried on
deck.
A wild gale, in short, a tempest, was roaring through the rigging and
straining the shrouds of the _Leda_; she lurched and pitched heavily,
as she rushed through mountains of seething foam; for amid the black
obscurity on all sides we could see its whiteness, and the snowy
surf, which was torn by the wind from the wave-crests, and swept,
like smoke, along the sea.
The brig was driving right before the wind, under a foresail,
foretopsail, and fore and aft mainsail, all closely reefed.
Everything was done that might render her snug. The deadlights had
barely been shipped before she was struck by a wave which buried her
in the black trough of the sea--tore her stern-boat from the iron
davits, and swept it away like a leaf shred from a twig.
Hans and Paul Reeves were at the wheel. Hartly stood by them pale
and excited, as I could perceive by the glimmering lights of the
binnacle. All hands were on deck, and muffled in their glazed
storm-jackets and dripping sou'-westers, so they seemed as drenched
as if they had come up from the bottom of the sea.
"Take care of yourself, Jack--take care!" cried my friend; "every sea
she ships sweeps something off the deck, and we have already lost one
man from the fore-yardarm."
"Good Heavens--when?"
"About an hour ago--poor Bill Bradley!"
I grasped one of the mainshrouds, for the deck was so slippery, the
gusts of wind so fierce, and the force of the seas, which broke ever
and anon across the brig, so overwhelming, that I could never have
kept afoot for a moment without some support.
On, on careered the _Leda_, through wind and waves--on through
whitening foam and tossing wrack--on through drenching rain,
darkness, and obscurity, with the storm roaring and whistling amid
her straining spars and rigging, while she groaned in every timber,
and seemed to quiver to her backbone, as the ponderous waves pursued
and burst upon her.
Once or twice the gloom around us was varied by sheets of lightning
which gleamed luridly at the far horizon; and then for an instant the
black waves seemed to be washing _against_ the reddened sky.
Elsewhere to the northward, when the black flying scud was torn
asunder in heaven, we saw the long flickering rods of the "merry
dancers" playing athwart the sky. Then the crape-like rent would
close, and all again became pitchy darkness. The sea which tore away
our quarter-boat had started the sternpost. Tom Hammer and his mates
rushed to sound the pumps, and reported that "the water in the well
had risen _four feet_!"
Hoarse orders were bellowed by Hartly through his trumpet, and the
clank of the pumps rang incessantly, for it was evident she had
sprung a leak somewhere aft, the _clear_ water having replaced the
bilge; so a fresh gang was required every quarter of an hour. Here
was a place in which I could make myself useful, and take my "spell"
with the rest; and where, though the dread of perishing was strong in
my heart, I worked hard but mechanically, like one in a terrible
dream.
Hammer, with all the hands that could be spared from the deck,
hurried below, but soon reappeared, to announce--why I know not--that
to get at the leak was impossible!
"Do we gain upon her?" was the constant question of those who toiled
at the pumps; but Hammer was too full of hopelessness to reply; so
for hours the monotonous clanking went on, till the chains and
leathers of the pumps became almost useless, and then the water rose
rapidly in both the fore and after hold!
We threw our large anchors and carronades overboard to lighten her by
the head; but without much avail. Pale and composed--resolute yet
anxious--poor Hartly had stood by the pumps, encouraging us by his
voice and example. He was, however, sad and gloomy. That the loss
of his _ring_ affected him was evident. How strong and yet how weak
is the mind of man!
The water continued to rise rapidly, though we toiled till our knees
and arms ached; grey dawn began to brighten in the east, but there
was no symptom of the storm abating.
"If she ships one sea more, such as that which struck our quarter,"
said Hartly, "she will founder!"
The words were scarcely uttered, when a mighty mountain of black
water reared up like an arching cliff, fringed by foam, came hissing
and roaring towards us, and burst in thundering volume on our decks,
sweeping poor Tom Hammer the carpenter, another seaman, and all the
spare booms, spars, buckets, and everything that previous waves had
left, overboard--starting the longboat from its lashings, and dashing
it with such violence against the larboard bulwarks, that a vast
breach was made in them. The gang at the pumps were all tumbled in a
heap into the starboard scuppers, and returned to their work with
difficulty. The iron sling of the mainyard gave way at the same
moment, and the spar with the handed sail fell heavily with all their
gear into the sea.
Under this shock the Leda literally _stood still_, as if paralysed in
her forward progress.
Another fatal volume burst upon her quarter, and _then_, alas! she
began to settle down into the trough of the sea. She had lost all
her buoyancy and was sinking! Her rudder was torn away--the stern
frame shattered, and so she filled with perilous rapidity.
"Clear away the longboat, Reeves--unship the compass in the
binnacle," ordered Hartly; "Hans, get up a beaker of water, a bag of
bread--in oars and blankets--we must quit instantly and shove off!"
"In such a sea as this?" asked Reeves, with wildness in his eye, as
he clung to a belaying pin. "No boat can live----"
"Ay, Paul, even in such a sea as this; we must quit the ship, or sink
with her. Stand by, my lads, and throw her head to the wind."
"The foremast will go like a reed--but see--the wind has already done
what you wish."
The loss of her rudder had rendered the _Leda_ (her chain plates were
now in the water) unmanageable, but, with the promptitude and
decision of brave and desperate hearts, some of our men hurried to
the braces, to strive and keep the vessel's head to windward, while
others got the longboat cleared of all that endless _débris_ and
rubbish which usually accumulate there during a voyage--launched it,
and by fending, with no small exertion of skill and strength,
prevented it from being dashed to pieces against the side of the
foundering _Leda_. A cask of water was thrown in, also the binnacle
compass, which, unfortunately, was broken during the confusion. The
oars were luckily lashed to the thwarts; the mast, yard, sail, and
rudder were also there, and we prepared at once to leave.
Wild though the wind, the atmosphere was dense and full of vapour and
obscurity; the mingled rain and surf were so blinding, that one could
scarcely see one's hand outstretched at arm's length. To keep our
feet in such a howling tempest was almost impossible; thus in passing
forward or aft, we were obliged to drag ourselves along by clutching
belaying pins, cleats, and ring-bolts, while many of us were severely
injured by pieces of broken wreck that floated about the deck, and
were dashed to and fro by the waves.
Two or three of our men were stunned, and on falling overboard were
seen no more; but in less than three minutes after the longboat was
launched, we had all left the ship--Hartly being the last to do
so--and to the number of fourteen in all (including Paul Reeves, Hans
Peterkin, Cuffy Snowball, and me), committed ourselves to the mercy
of the sea and storm, in that small craft, which was tossed like a
cork upon the billows.
For a time the boat was rasped so furiously against the side of the
brig, that all our united strength was requisite to get under her
shattered stern, and fairly shove off. We worked in silence--the
silence of black desperation!
But on falling astern of the sinking brig, the boat became exposed
still more to the fury of the sea.
"Pull her round," cried Hartly; "keep her bow to the break of the
sea, or we shall be swamped. Pull to windward of the _Leda_!"
As we did so, a single wave nearly filled the boat, and we had
nothing for it but to bear away before the roaring blast.
Through the black drift we could see the brig, from which we were
only a few yards distant, sinking deeper and deeper; at last the
waves rolled in fierce tumult over her deck; still not a word escaped
us. Our hearts were too full for utterance; but a pang of sorrow and
dismay thrilled them when the poor little _Leda_, with her masts
still standing, went down into the waste of waters and disappeared
for ever!
Hartly now took off his sou'-wester, and briefly told us "to be of
good heart, for God would be sure to protect us."
All present untied and took off their hats, and listened to him in
silence, though he could scarcely be heard amid the wild fury of the
gale. Then Paul Reeves, who pulled the bow oar, shouted--
"Three cheers, my lads, for our captain!"
And they gave them with all the heartier will that he was now as poor
as themselves, for all that Hartly possessed in the world had gone
down with the _Leda_, as she was not insured. To keep the boat from
being swamped, with incredible difficulty we now stepped her mast,
hoisted a little of the sail, and bore away before the wind; but when
we were in the _trough_ of the sea, it flapped against the mast, and
the next instant, when we rode on the _summit_ of a wave, the wind
almost tore it to shreds. Then the wild water bubbled over her
stern, often immersing the steersman to his ears, and obliging us
incessantly to bale with our hats; but the increasing light of dawn,
and an evidence of some abatement in the tempest, encouraged us to
persevere in our efforts to save our lives; and so we struggled
manfully with the warring elements.