Received orders this day to proceed to London with the ship; and, as the
easterly gale abated, and the wind hauled round southward and westward,
we got under way, stood out of Falmouth harbor, and proceeded up the
British Channel. At sunset, it commenced to rain, and the weather was
thick and cloudy. The different lights were seen as far as the Bill of
Portland. At midnight, lost sight of the land, and it blew a gale from
off the French coast: close reefed the topsails, and steered a course so
as to keep in mid-channel. At daybreak, the ship was judged to be off
Beachy Head; the weather being so thick, the land could not be seen. The
fore and mizzen-topsails were now furled, and the ship hove to. The rain
began now to fall in torrents, and the heavy, dense, black clouds rose,
with fearful rapidity, from the northward, over the English coast, when
suddenly the wind shifted from the south-west to the north, and blew a
hurricane. The mist and fog cleared away, and, to our utter
astonishment, we found ourselves on a lee shore, on the coast of
France, off Boulogne heights. The gale was so violent, that no more sail
could be made. The ship was so exceedingly crank, that when she luffed
up on a wind, her bulwarks were under water. As she would not stay, the
only alternative was, to wear; of course, with this evolution, we lost
ground, and, consequently, were driven nearer, every moment, toward the
awful strand of rocks. The scene was now terrific; many vessels were in
sight, two of which we saw dashed on the rocks; with the tremendous roar
of the breakers, and the howling of the tempest, and the heavy sea,
which broke as high as the fore-yard, death appeared inevitable. There
was only one hope left, and that was, that, should the tide change and
take us under our lee-beam, it might possibly set us off on the
Nine-fathom bank, which is situated at a distance of twelve miles
north-northwest, off Boulogne harbor. On the event of reaching this
bank, the safety of the ship and lives of the crew depended,--as it was
determined there to try the anchors, for there was no possibility of
keeping off shore more than two hours, if the gale continued.
We were now on the larboard tack, and, for the last half hour, it was
perceived that the tide had turned, and was setting to the northward;
this was our last and only chance, for the rocks were not more than
half a mile under our lee, and as it was necessary to get the ship's
head round on the starboard tack, which could only be done by wearing,
it was certain that much ground would be lost by that evolution. The
anchors were got ready, long ranges of cables were hauled on deck, and
the ends were clinched to the mainmast below; this being done, the axes
were at hand to cut away the masts.
[Illustration: BEFORE THE GALE.]
Captain G. was an old, experienced seaman; and I never saw, before
or since, more coolness, judgment, and seamanship, than were displayed
by him on this trying occasion. In this perilous trial, the most intense
anxiety was manifested by the crew, and then was heard the deep-toned
voice of Captain G., rising above the bellowing storm, commanding
silence. "Take the wheel," said he to me; and then followed the orders,
in quick succession: "Lay aft, and man the braces--see every thing clear
forward, to wear ship--steady--ease her--shiver away the
main-topsail--put your helm up--haul in the weather fore-braces,--gather
in the after-yards." The ship was now running before the wind, for a few
moments, directly for the rocks; the situation and scene were truly
awful, for she was not more than three hundred yards from the breakers.
I turned my head aside--being at the helm--to avoid the terrific sight,
and silently awaited the crisis. I was roused, at this moment, by
Captain G., who shouted, "She luffs, my boys! brace the main-yard sharp
up--haul in the larboard fore-braces--down with the fore-tack, lads, and
haul aft the sheet;--right the helm! steady, so--haul taut the
weather-braces, and belay all." These orders were given and executed in
quick succession. The ship was now on the starboard tack, plunging bows
under at every pitch. Casting a fitful glance over my shoulder, I saw
that we were apparently to leeward of the rocks. Very soon, however, it
was quite perceptible that the tide had taken her on the lee beam, and
was setting her off shore.
The gloom began now to wear away, although it was doubtful whether we
should be able to reach the bank, and, if successful, whether the
anchors would hold on. Orders were given to lay aloft and send down the
top-gallant-yards, masts, &c. The helm was relieved, and I sprung into
the main rigging, the chief mate going up forward. With much difficulty,
I reached the main-topmast cross-trees, and, when there, it was almost
impossible to work, for the ship lay over at an angle of at least
forty-five degrees, and I found myself swinging, not perpendicularly
over the ship's deck, but at least thirty feet from it. It was no time,
however, for gazing. The yard rope was stoppered out on the quarter of
the yard, the sheets, clewlines, and buntlines, cast off, and the shift
slackened, and then simultaneously from both mast-heads the cry was
heard, "Sway, away!" The parrel cut, the yard was quickly topped and
unrigged, and then lowered away on deck. The next duty to be performed,
was sending down the top-gallant masts. After much difficulty and hard
work, this was also accomplished; and, although I felt some pride in the
performance of a dangerous service, yet, on this occasion, I was not a
little pleased when I reached the deck in safety.
By this time, we had gained four miles off shore, and it was evident
that the soundings indicated our approach to the bank. Tackles were rove
and stretched along forward of the windlass, as well as deck-stoppers
hooked on to the ringbolts fore and aft. "Loose the fore-topsail!"
shouted Captain G., "we must reach this bank before the tide turns, or,
by morning, there will not be left a timber head of this ship, nor one
of us, to tell the sad tale of our disaster." The topsail was loosed and
set, and the ship groaned heavily under the immense pressure of canvass;
her lee rail was under water, and every moment it was expected that the
topmast or the canvass would yield. The deep-sea-lead was taken forward
and hove: when the line reached the after-part of the main channels, the
seaman's voice rose high in the air, "By the deep, nine!" It was three
o'clock. "Clew up and furl the fore-topsail!" shouted Captain G. The
topsail furled of itself, for the moment the weather sheet was started,
it blew away from the bolt-rope; the foresail was immediately hauled up
and furled. Relieved from the great pressure of canvass, and having now
nothing on her except the main-topsail and fore-topmast-staysail, she
rode more upright. The main-topsail was clewed up and fortunately saved,
the mizzen-staysail was set. "Stand by, to cut away the stoppers of the
best bower anchor--to let it go, stock and fluke," said Captain G. "Man
the fore-topmast-staysail down-haul; put your helm down! haul down the
staysail." This was done, and the ship came up handsomely, head to wind,
"See the cable tiers all clear--what water is there?" said Captain G.
The leadsman sang out in a clear voice, "And a half-eight!" By this
time, the ship had lost her way. "Are you all clear forward there?" "Ay,
ay, sir!" was the reply. "Stream the buoy, and let go the anchor!"
shouted Captain G. The order was executed as rapidly as it was given;
the anchor was on the bottom, and already had fifty fathoms of cable
run out, making the windlass smoke; and, although the cable was
weather-bitted, and every effort was made with the deck-stoppers and
tackles to check her, all was fruitless. Ninety fathoms of cable had run
out. "Stand by, to let go the larboard anchor," said Captain G.;
"Cheerily, men--let go!" In the same breath he shouted, "Hold on!" for
just then there was a lull, and having run out the best bower-cable,
nearly to the better end, she brought up. No time was now lost in
getting service on the cable, to prevent its chafing. She was now riding
to a single anchor of two thousand weight, with one hundred fathoms of a
seventeen-inch hemp cable. The sea rolled heavily, and broke in upon the
deck fore and aft; the lower yards were got down; the topsail-yards
pointed to the wind; and as the tide had now turned, the ship rode
without any strain on her cable, because it tended broad on the beam.
The next morning presented a dismal scene, for there were more than
fifty sail in-shore of us, some of whom succeeded in reaching the bank,
and anchored with loss of sails, topmasts, &c. Many others were dashed
upon the rocks, and not a soul was left to tell the tale of their
destruction. I shall not forget that, on the second day, a Dutch
galliot was driven in to leeward of us; and although, by carrying on a
tremendous press of canvass, she succeeded in keeping off shore until
five P.M., yet, at sunset she disappeared, and was seen no more. After
our arrival in London, we learned that this unfortunate vessel was
driven on the rocks, and every soul on board perished.
The gale continued four days, at the expiration of which time, it broke.
At midnight, the wind hauled round to the eastward, and the weather
became so excessively cold, that, although we commenced heaving in the
cable at five A.M., yet we did not get the anchor until nine that night.
Close-reefed topsails were set on the ship and we stood over to the
English coast, and anchored to the westward of Dungeness. During the
whole period of this gale, which lasted four days, Captain G. never for
one moment left the deck; and although well advanced in years, yet his
iron constitution enabled him to overcome the calls of nature for rest;
and, notwithstanding the situation of the ship, was, perhaps more
critical than many of those less fortunate vessels which stranded upon
the rocks, yet his coolness, and the seaman-like manner with which the
ship was handled, no doubt were the means of our being saved.