THE STORM.—A SHIPWRECK AT SEA.—THE HAPLESS FATE OF THE MARINERS.
The morning was ushered in with wind and rain; a tempest was howling
over the main; the seas lashed the shores with a fury that made it
dangerous for even such vessels as were moored; and great fears were
entertained that many wrecks would be seen before the night set in. The
roar of the ocean and the bellowing of the wind was almost deafening;
and the few fishermen and sailors that now and then showed themselves,
as they came towards the shore to ascertain the safety of their little
barques, could scarcely make themselves heard.
The sky was too heavy, and the rain too incessant, to permit them to
see very clearly or very far; they could not see any ships in the
offing.
“Neighbour,” said one, “did you hear the wind in the night?”
“Hear it!” replied the man spoken to; “could I help it? Who is there
that could sleep, while such a tempest was blowing great guns. I never
heard anything like it in all my life. God help those poor fellows who
are at sea such a night as this.”
“So say I, neighbour, so say I; if there be any upon this coast—if any
awake with the morning dawn and find themselves upon a lee shore, they
will never get off again, depend upon it; they are all lost men.”
“So they are; there’s no hope for them on this shore; every vessel
must, indeed, come upon it, and no aid could be rendered to them.”
“You are right, neighbour. I am glad our boats are high and dry;
for, if they were not, they would never be on the sea again, except
as fragments; every timber in them would be broken to pieces, and
scattered about the beach.”
“Ay, ay, ’tis an awful day. I propose, neighbour, we should make an
attempt to get our boats still higher on the beach; see, the sea comes
now within a few boat-lengths of them; a few more waves heaving one
upon the other will at last reach them, and, if so, we are, indeed,
poor men, neighbour.”
“With all my heart; we have no time to lose, neighbour—see, the waves
have got nearer yet—come on, come on.”
The two fishermen hurried down to the beach; and, with the aid of
one or two more, who had hurried onwards with the same object as
themselves, that of putting the boats out of danger from the waves,
they succeeded; and then they returned, leaving their boats, their only
wealth, high above the reach of the most tempestuous sea.
“There, neighbour, I never heard such a sea. I will go and see what can
be done in-doors by the fire-side; this is not a day to be out in; you
are wet through in about ten minutes, and nothing to do but to look on
the black clouds.”
“No, neighbour; though I don’t think in-doors much better, for I expect
our roof to come off, or the chimney to fall over; and must consider
myself very fortunate if I do not have the whole house blown down.”
“Ay, ay; but I expect to hear of a few accidents. I don’t see any
vessel coming in the horizon at all—do you see any?”
“None.”
“Well, I hope there may be none. I’m for the house; too much of this
may be hurtful to a fisherman; so, good day.”
“Good day, for the present. I dare say we shall see each other before
the day’s out, if anything may happen in the shape of wreck.”
“Safe and sure to be out.”
“If you hear a gun, let me know, if I should not be out; for the wind
blows and the sea roars so loudly that I can scarcely hear at all.”
“I’ll be with you; and do you the same for me, if I should happen to
miss it; though I can’t tell how that can be, as the wind blows dead in
shore.”
“It’s a bargain—I’ll do it.”
The two fishermen parted from each other, and entered their own
dwellings to escape the fury of the elements; for there was nothing
to keep them outside, but there was everything to induce them to stay
in-doors—a warm fire and freedom from the wind and rain, though that
howled and roared in the chimneys in a frightful manner.
• • • • •
If the aspect of the affairs was bad on the land, it was much worse
at sea; for there a vessel rode out the fury of the storm gallantly
enough, and resisted the force of the winds and waves for some time;
but she could not resist the impetuosity of the elements, though she
strove hard and resisted long.
She strained, and timber after timber started, masts were gone, and the
rudder became damaged, and at length no hope was left.
The crew was not a large one, and the pumps had become completely
choked and useless; while the vessel was drifted hither and thither
without any means of guidance whatever; she was at the mercy of wind
and waves.
“We are drifting towards the shore,” said the mate to the master; “we
cannot keep her head out to sea at all.”
“I know it,” answered the master, gloomily—“I know it; she has been
making land for some time now, and as we have neither rudder, nor
sails, nor masts, we may as well make our peace, for the worst must
soon come.”
“I expected that some time ago, when I found that the wind was set dead
on shore, and the rudder was gone.”
“Surely, we haven’t much time to lose; let the guns be fired, as a
signal of distress; it may give warning to those on shore.”
“We cannot expect assistance.”
“Not here, I know.”
“Certainly not; no boat would live for a moment in a sea like this.”
“No, I know it would not; but it may put them upon the look out, and
some of our poor fellows may get picked up; for we don’t exactly know
how far we may be driven towards the land, and we may be sent right on
to the beach, for aught we can tell.”
“So we might.”
“I hope we may.”
“Are the guns ready?”
“Yes, sir, they are loaded; but there is only one barrel of powder dry.”
“Let it be cared for; fire the guns.”
The order was promptly obeyed, for the men had left off pumping,
conceiving it useless to continue it any longer; indeed, they could
not, for the pumps were no longer serviceable, and they saw the land
ahead, and each man made up his mind that the struggle for life was
about to commence; while the firing of the guns was a measure of
precaution which might, or might not, be of use; and as every one clung
to hope to the last, the order was obeyed with alacrity.
The guns were fired in minute intervals, and at length every half
minute while the powder lasted, and then they ceased.
There was not more than from fifteen to twenty souls on board; but
there were several passengers among them; one in particular was
remarkable for his height, and the singular pallid hue of his features.
He was reserved, but of gentlemanly deportment; he was well aware of
his danger, but it did not appear to render him incapable of seeing and
understanding what was going on; but he was grave and melancholy.
“How long, captain, do you think it will be,” he said, approaching the
master, “before the vessel will break up; for I see that we shall be
wrecked, that is no secret at all to any of us, and certainly not to
me.”
“I don’t know,” replied the captain; “it is impossible to say.”
“Cannot you form an opinion upon the subject?” inquired the stranger.
“I can; but it is only an opinion. I can give you no information,”
replied the captain, who did not wish to give an opinion upon such a
subject.
“Certainly, I am aware of that. I asked for an opinion; if you have
one, perhaps you may be good enough to favour me with it, if it be
not too great a favour to expect from you, sir. I thought you had
experience enough to enable you to form an opinion, and it was for that
reason I asked you.”
“Well, sir, we strike in five minutes, perhaps in twenty; it depends
upon wind and waves, our course, and how far we may go ashore.”
“I understand you; if we are forced in upon the shore in a direct line,
we may expect the shortest time.”
“We may.”
“And if we should not meet with any obstruction, we may be thrown far
on shore.”
“Yes; if we had but the means of guiding the vessel, I could steer her
within fifty or a hundred yards of the shore, where she would strike,
and a better chance would then be had of some reaching the shore.”
“Which is now rather more than uncertain.”
“It is so,” said the master.
At the moment there was such a shock from the vessel striking upon a
sunken rock, that they were all thrown down on the deck, and the sea
made a clear breach over her, and swept away several of the crew.
The master contrived for a moment or two to secure himself to a spar,
with the hope that he would be able to float off, but this was a vain
hope, for a moment after he was lifted up by a sea, and dashed against
the stump of the mast, and crushed in a horrible manner, his blood
dying the deck for a minute, and then it was washed away, as he himself
was by the same wave, and was not seen again.
The master no doubt had been killed, and there was nearly all of the
crew swept away; but among those who yet survived, was to be seen the
tall stranger, who stood in the storm, and held on by a portion of the
vessel; he still braved the fury of the waves as they broke over the
deck, clearing all before them.
Each breach of the sea made away with some one of the unhappy mariners
who yet clung with hopeless desperation; but yet they feared to quit
their last hold, and to throw themselves into the foam that was boiling
around them.
In the meantime the vessel heeled about, and every now and then,
being in shallow water, a great wave would come and lift her up, and
then leave her higher on the rocks, but giving her each time dreadful
shocks, and breaking her keel up.
The only hope the unfortunate men had, was that some portion of the
wreck upon which they might chance to be, would be floated to the shore
before life was extinct; but this was more and more hopeless, for the
breakers over which they would have to float would probably be their
destruction, for they would be dashed to pieces.
The wind and the waves howled and roared, and drowned all noise—nothing
could be heard, and nothing seen, for the waves broke over them so
furiously, and raged so high above them, that they neither could do
so, nor even see the shore. Nothing but a white sea of foam and spray
met their eyes, whenever they cold raise them, and free them from salt
water.
[Illustration: The ship goes to pieces under the men.]
At length an immense wave came rolling towards them; the men shrieked
as the flood came onwards. In a moment afterwards they were lifted
up, vessel and all, and carried a few yards further onwards and then
left, with a report that seemed like that of a cannon to them; but they
felt the shock, and when the wave left them, the vessel was no more;
a mere mass of boards and other matters floated about; she had been
utterly and entirely destroyed; no vestige of her was left, and nothing
but a confused mass of planks was to be seen, with here and there a
human being clinging to them for life. But, alas! their efforts were
vain—they sank—they could not sustain the battle with the waves and the
breakers; they were dashed to mummies, and every limb broken on the
foaming, raging breakers.