The _Distant Shore_ made a quick voyage towards Australia, and her
captain felt sure of beating the sailing record by two or three days.
Captain Manton had taken a great liking to Edgar Foster, who spent many
a pleasant hour in his cabin with him. On this voyage Captain Manton
was accompanied by his wife and child, a bright little girl about three
years of age. The child was very fond of Edgar, and he played with the
little one on deck for hours at a stretch.
‘I never remember a more favourable voyage,’ said the captain to Edgar
one morning; ‘we ought to be in Sydney harbour in the course of two or
three days. Looks as though we are going to finish with a squall,’ he
added, pointing to the restless clouds overhead.
‘I am quite anxious to weather a storm before we get to our journey’s
end,’ said Edgar, smiling, ‘or I shall fancy I have not been to sea.’
‘Your wish is likely to be gratified,’ he said; ‘but the _Distant
Shore_ is a good ship, and it will be an uncommon bad storm she cannot
sail through safely.’
‘With a good ship and a clever captain we have not much to fear,’ said
Edgar. ‘Here’s little Eva coming for her morning romp. I should have
been quite lonely on board without her.’
Edgar held out his arms, and the child ran into them. He lifted her
above his head, where she laughed with delight, and looked at her
father with merry eyes.
‘Pass her on to me,’ said Captain Manton; and Edgar tossed her into her
father’s arms.
‘Back again,’ she cried, and she was tossed to Edgar again.
The captain watched them for a few moments as they played on the deck,
and then cast an anxious look at the sky. He knew they were in for a
storm, probably a bad one.
During the night Edgar heard the vessel creak and groan, and her
timbers strain in a most unusual manner. The sailors were hard at work
on deck, and he knew the storm must have burst upon them. He turned
over in his berth, and felt thankful the _Distant Shore_ was such a
safe vessel, and her captain a trustworthy seaman.
Edgar had some difficulty in reaching the deck next morning. Not a
single passenger was in the saloon as he staggered through, holding on
first to one thing, and then another.
‘You had better keep below, sir,’ said one of the stewards; ‘you’ll
stand a good chance of being blown overboard if you venture on deck. We
are finishing up with a real bad storm.’
‘That’s just what I want to see,’ said Edgar.
‘You can’t get out that way,’ said the man; ‘the hatches are down. Come
this way, and I will show you how to get on deck.’
Edgar followed the man to the fore-part of the ship, and was well
knocked about during the journey.
‘Go up there, and you’ll be able to see what it’s like before you go on
deck,’ said the steward.
‘Just as well to look before I leap, I suppose,’ said Edgar.
‘I don’t think you’ll want to leap on deck when you have had a look
out,’ was the reply.
Edgar climbed up the steep steps, holding on with all his might. When
he reached the top he saw there was a thick glass with bars across it.
He could see well enough through the glass, and the sight almost took
away his breath.
A huge wave towered high above the ship, and Edgar thought if it came
over the deck the vessel must surely go down. The _Distant Shore_ gave
a mad plunge, and he nearly lost his foothold. The ship seemed to dive
down into the depths of the sea, and then, coming up again, shook
herself all over. On second thoughts Edgar decided to remain where he
was, or rather down below in the saloon. Captain Manton entered a few
minutes after Edgar succeeded in finding his way back.
‘Well, my lad, you’ve got a storm at last,’ said the captain; ‘I hope
you are satisfied. My wife and Eva are in their cabin, and I don’t
think they are quite so pleased as you are about the weather. It will
get worse before it mends.’
‘Worse?’ said Edgar. ‘Why, it’s blowing a regular hurricane, and the
sea is running as high as the ship.’
‘How did you find that out?’ said Captain Manton. ‘I gave orders no one
was to be allowed on deck.’
Edgar explained, and the captain was satisfied.
‘So you did not like the look of things?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Edgar. ‘I think I am safer here, although I confess I feel a
little queer.’
Captain Manton smiled as he replied:
‘Sea-sickness will soon cure you of a longing for storms. I’d advise
you to turn in before you have to be carried to your berth.’
‘Oh, it’s not so bad as that,’ said Edgar. ‘It will pass off.’
‘No doubt,’ said the captain with a meaning smile.
All that day the storm raged, and the _Distant Shore_ battled with
it. As night came on, Captain Manton became anxious. He knew they
were nearing the coast of New South Wales, and the wind was driving
them straight in that direction. He tried in vain to alter the ship’s
course, but he could not keep out to sea; some uncontrollable current
appeared to drive the vessel along. As the night wore on there were no
signs of the storm abating; in fact, the gale was worse than ever.
A terrible crash made everyone on board quake. A huge sea dashed over
the ship, sweeping her deck well-nigh clear. The boats were smashed to
atoms; two sailors were washed overboard, and Captain Manton was dashed
against his cabin and almost stunned. Before the _Distant Shore_ could
right herself another merciless sea swept over her, and at the same
moment the rudder chain snapped, and the vessel swung helplessly round.
Captain Manton at once realized the danger they were in. By the fitful
light of the moon he saw the terrible havoc the waves had made on deck.
Then he saw something that made his heart quail; it was the flashing of
the light from South Head lighthouse. Well might a brave man tremble at
the thought of being dashed to pieces on those great rocks. His ship
was no longer under control, and he could do nothing to save her from
being driven to destruction. Had the steering gear held firm he might
have tried to dash through the Heads into the harbour. That would have
been a mere chance; but even this, small as it was, had gone. Despair
seized upon him, and held him in chains; but he burst the bonds at the
thought of the lives of those on board. They were still some distance
from the Heads; the light flashed out many miles to sea. He must
prepare them as quietly as possible to await their fate.
Leaving the mate in charge of the vessel, he went below. He made for
Edgar’s cabin and entered without knocking.
Edgar was wide awake and dressed, and he knew there must be something
wrong when he saw the captain.
‘What is it?’ said Edgar. ‘Any danger?’ and he tumbled out of his berth.
‘You are a brave lad,’ said Captain Manton, ‘and I have come to you
first. There is no time to lose. We are in deadly peril. I have no
control over the ship, and we are being blown straight for the rocks.’
‘What can I do?’ said Edgar.
He was pale, but perfectly calm.
‘Very little,’ said Captain Manton; ‘but you can set a good example. A
panic will only make matters worse. If the passengers are kept under
control, it may be possible to save some of them. Will you call them up
in the saloon cabin? Tell them to dress, and try and calm them. I will
tell my wife and take her and Eva up with me. You will find them in my
cabin. If it comes to the worst, do what you can for them. I must stick
to the ship. I’ll save her if I can, but I see no chance at present.
Good-bye!’
He held out his hand and Edgar gripped it hard. They looked firmly into
each other’s eyes. They were not afraid of facing death. Edgar seemed
to have grown older, and Captain Manton saw the look of determination
on his face and thought to himself:
‘This lad will not fail me. He will give his life to save those I love.’
‘Good-bye,’ said Edgar, and without another word he went to rouse his
fellow-passengers.
So well did he accomplish his difficult task that, although the peril
they were in was understood, there was no panic. Happily there were
very few women and children on board, and the men behaved well.
It was an awful sight, Edgar thought: the saloon filled with people
hastening to their death, awaiting the summons from the captain, ‘All
hands on deck,’ which meant they were to sell their lives as dearly as
possible. The very suddenness of the danger appeared to have taken all
sense of fear away. Not a word was spoken; the sobbing of children,
and the half-smothered, heart-rending groan of some poor mother, could
alone be heard.
A great rush of wind, followed by a loud shout, aroused them:
‘All hands on deck!’
Edgar led the way, and then stood by while the women and children were
helped up the stairs. The men followed. Edgar was the last to leave the
saloon. Once on deck he saw what their danger was, and from whence it
came. The lighthouse stood high up on the rocks, flashing across the
sea, and they were so near now that the rays lighted up the faces of
those in deadly peril on the doomed ship. Edgar forced his way towards
the captain’s cabin, and found Mrs. Manton and Eva crouching down,
overcome with fear. He spoke a few words of encouragement, and little
Eva looked up into his face with wistful eyes.
Then Edgar looked round the ship as the light flashed on it again. He
saw pale, blanched faces all round him, men clinging in desperation to
ropes and bars, and women holding their children fast, themselves held
by strong men’s disengaged arms. It was an awful sight, but Edgar felt
no fear for himself as he looked at it. He thought of the grand voyage
they had gone through, and how near they were to their destination.
The good ship was struggling on, and after going these thousands of
miles was to be dashed to pieces at the very entrance to the harbour
of safety. His mind wandered to those at home, and he seemed to see his
father and sister sitting in the dear old room at Elm Lodge, as on that
last night in the home he loved so well. Their voices seemed to ring in
his ears, giving him hope and encouragement. He smiled faintly as he
imagined he could hear his father say:
‘You’re in a tight fix, my lad, but never despair; be brave and fight
to the end.’
A loud cry of despair echoed through the night. It was wafted to the
watchers on the rocks, who stood there helpless, unable to lend a hand
to save the men and women going to sure destruction. Again it rose
above the roar of the sea, and Edgar shuddered as he heard it.
Well might the doomed ones cry aloud. To the right of them, not many
yards away, yawned a large opening between the gigantic rocky Heads.
Through that opening lay safety and rest, and yet no power on earth
could drive the _Distant Shore_ through it. Facing them was another
gap, but there was no opening there; the solid rock rose straight out
of the sea. On came the _Distant Shore_ through the boiling, seething
mass of waters.
Captain Manton stood at his post. Once he cast his eyes in the
direction of his cabin, and a satisfied smile played over his face as
he saw Edgar there.
‘My life for theirs, O God!’ he cried.
He was not a man given to many prayers, but he believed his cry would
be heard.
Edgar looked ahead. He saw the vessel heaved high upon the waves; he
saw the merciless rock in front. There was not a moment to spare. He
rushed into the cabin.
‘Give me Eva,’ he said. ‘You will have a better chance alone.’
The mother pressed her child to her heart and smothered her with kisses.
Edgar snatched the child away and sprang out of the cabin. At the same
moment there was a terrific crash, a rending and splitting of timbers,
cries and groans, shrieks for help, and strange, unearthly sounds.
Edgar, with the child firmly clasped in his arms, was hurled against
the side of the vessel. He felt it give way, and as he glanced round he
saw the ship shattered into a thousand pieces, and great timbers hurled
high into the air. Then he felt the water rush over him, he was lifted
off his feet and flung into the furious waves, with little Eva still
clasped firm in his arms.