Sailors are never discouraged by danger as long as they have any chance
of relieving themselves by their own exertions. The loss of their
shipmates, so instantaneously summoned away,--the wrecked state of the
vessel,--the wild surges burying them beneath their angry waters,--the
howling of the wind, the dazzling of the lightning, and the pealing of
the thunder, did not prevent them from doing what their necessity
demanded. Mackintosh, the first mate, rallied the men, and contrived to
fix a block and strap to the still smoking stump of the foremast; a rope
was rove through the block, and the main-topgallant sail hoisted, so
that the vessel might run faster before the gale, and answer her helm
better than she did.
The ship was again before the wind, and comparatively safe,
notwithstanding the heavy blows she now received from the pursuing
waves. Night again came on, but there was no repose, and the men were
worn out with exposure and fatigue.
The third day of the gale dawned, but the appearances were as alarming
as ever: the continual breaking of the seas over the stern had washed
away the binnacles, and it was impossible now to be certain of the
course the ship had been steered, or the distance which had been run;
the leaky state of the vessel proved how much she had already suffered
from the violent shocks which she had received, and the certainty was
apparent, that if the weather did not abate, she could not possibly
withstand the force of the waves much longer.
The countenance of Captain Osborn showed great anxiety: he had a heavy
responsibility on his shoulders--he might lose a valuable ship, and
still more valuable cargo, even if they did not all lose their lives;
for they were now approaching where the sea was studded with low coral
islands, upon which they might be thrown by the waves and wind, without
having the slightest power to prevent it in their present disabled
condition.