But their difficulties were not surmounted--the fire now had
communicated to the main-deck and burst out of the port-holes
amid-ships--and the raft which had been forming alongside was obliged to
be drifted astern where it was more exposed to the swell. This retarded
their labour, and, in the mean time the fire was making rapid progress;
the main-mast which had long been burning, fell over the side with the
lurching of the vessel, and the flames out of the main-deck ports soon
showed their points above the bulwarks, while volumes of smoke were
poured in upon the upper-deck almost suffocating the numbers which were
crowded there; for all communication with the fore-part of the ship had
been for some time cut off by the flames, and every one had retreated
aft. The women and children were now carried on to the poop; not only
to remove them farther from the suffocating smoke, but that they might
be lowered down to the raft from the stern.
It was about four o'clock in the morning when all was ready, and by the
exertions of Philip and the seamen, notwithstanding the swell, the women
and children were safely placed on the raft where it was considered that
they would be less in the way, as the men could relieve each other in
pulling when they were tired.
After the women and children had been lowered down, the troops were next
ordered to descend by the ladders; some few were lost in the attempt,
falling under the boat's bottom and not re-appearing; but two-thirds of
them were safely put on the berths they were ordered to take by Krantz,
who had gone down to superintend this important arrangement. Such had
been the vigilance of Philip, who had requested Captain Barentz to stand
over the spirit-room hatch, with pistols, until the smoke on the
main-deck rendered the precaution unnecessary, that not a single person
was intoxicated, and to this might be ascribed the order and regularity
which had prevailed during this trying scene. But before one-third of
the soldiers had descended by the stern ladder, the fire burst out of
the stern windows with a violence that nothing could withstand; spouts
of vivid flame extended several feet from the vessel, roaring with the
force of a blowpipe; at the same time the flames burst through all the
after-ports of the main-deck, and those remaining on board found
themselves encircled with fire, and suffocated with smoke and heat. The
stern ladders were consumed in a minute and dropped into the sea the
boats which had been receiving the men were obliged also to back astern
from the intense heat of the flames; even those on the raft shrieked as
they found themselves scorched by the ignited fragments which fell on
them as they were enveloped in an opaque cloud of smoke, which hid from
them those who still remained on the deck of the vessel. Philip
attempted to speak to those on board, but he was not heard. A scene of
confusion took place which ended in great loss of life. The only object
appeared to be who should first escape; though, except by jumping
overboard, there was no escape. Had they waited, and (as Philip would
have pointed out to them) have one by one thrown themselves into the
sea, the men in the boats were fully prepared to pick them up; or had
they climbed out to the end of the latteen mizen-yard which was lowered
down, they might have descended safely by a rope, but the scorching of
the flames which surrounded them, and the suffocation from the smoke was
overpowering, and most of the soldiers sprang over the taffrail at once,
or as nearly so as possible. The consequence was, that there were
thirty or forty in the water at the same time, and the scene was as
heart-rending as it was appalling; the sailors in the boats dragging
them in as fast as they could--the women on the raft, throwing to them
loose garments to haul them in; at one time a wife shrieking as she saw
her husband struggling and sinking into eternity; at another, curses and
execrations from the swimmer who was grappled with by the drowning man,
and dragged with him under the surface. Of eighty men who were left of
the troops on board at the time of the bursting out of the flames from
the stern windows, but twenty-five were saved. There were but few
seamen left on board with Philip, the major part having been employed in
making the raft or manning the three boats; those who were on board
remained by his side, regulating their motions by his. After allowing
full time for the soldiers to be picked up, Philip ordered the men to
climb out to the end of the latteen yard which hung on the taffrail, and
either to lower themselves down on the raft if it was under, or to give
notice to the boats to receive them. The raft had been dropped farther
astern by the seamen, that those on board of it might not suffer from
the smoke and heat; and the sailors one after another lowered themselves
down and were received by the boats. Philip desired Captain Barentz to
go before him, but the captain refused. He was too much choked with
smoke to say why, but no doubt but that it would have been something in
praise of the Vrow Katerina. Philip then climbed out; he was followed
by the captain, and they were both received into one of the boats.
The rope, which had hitherto held the raft to the ship, was now cast
off, and it was taken in by the boats; and in a short time the Vrow
Katerina was borne to leeward of them; and Philip and Krantz now made
arrangements for the better disposal of the people. The sailors were
almost all put into boats that they might relieve one another in
pulling; the remainder were placed on the raft, along with the soldiers,
the women, and the children. Notwithstanding that the boats were all as
much loaded as they could well bear, the numbers on the raft were so
great, that it sunk nearly a foot under water, when the swell of the sea
poured upon it; but stanchions and ropes to support those on board had
been fixed and the men remained at the sides, while the women and
children were crowded together in the middle.
As soon as these arrangements were made, the boats took the raft in tow,
and just as the dawn of day appeared, pulled in the direction of the
land.
The Vrow Katerina was, by this time, one volume of flame: she had
drifted about half a mile to leeward, and Captain Barentz, who was
watching as he sat in the boat with Philip, exclaimed--"Well, there goes
a lovely ship, a ship that could do everything but speak--I'm sure that
not a ship in the fleet would have made such a bonfire as she has--does
she not burn beautifully--nobly? My poor Vrow Katerina! perfect to the
last, we never shall see such a ship as you again! Well, I'm glad my
father did not live to see this sight, for it would have broken his
heart, poor man."
Philip made no reply; he felt a respect even for Captain Barentz's
misplaced regard for the vessel. They made but little way, for the
swell was rather against them, and the raft was deep in the water. The
day dawned, and the appearance of the weather was not favourable; it
promised a return of the gale. Already a breeze ruffled the surface of
the water, and the swell appeared to increase rather than go down. The
sky was overcast and the horizon thick. Philip looked out for the land,
but could not perceive it, for there was a haze on the horizon, so that
he could not see more than five miles. He felt that to gain the shore
before the coming night was necessary for the preservation of so many
individuals of whom more than sixty were women and children, who without
any nourishment, were sitting on a frail raft, immersed in the water.
No land in sight--a gale coming on, and in all probability, a heavy sea
and dark night. The chance was indeed desperate, and Philip was
miserable--most miserable--when he reflected that so many innocent
beings might, before the next morning, be consigned to a watery tomb,--
and why?--yes, there was the feeling--that although Philip could reason
against--he never could conquer; for his own life he cared nothing--even
the idea of his beloved Amine was nothing in the balance at these
moments. The only point which sustained him, was the knowledge that he
had his duty to perform, and, in the full exercise of his duty, he
recovered himself.
"Land ahead!" was now cried out by Krantz, who was in the headmost boat,
and the news was received with a shout of joy from the raft and the
boats. The anticipation and the hope the news gave was like manna in
the wilderness--and the poor women on the raft, drenched sometimes above
the waist by the swell of the sea, clasped the children in their arms
still closer, and cried--"My darling, you shall be saved."
Philip stood upon the stern-sheets to survey the land, and he had the
satisfaction of finding that it was not five miles distant and a ray of
hope warmed his heart. The breeze now had gradually increased, and
rippled the water. The quarter from which the wind came was neither
favourable nor adverse, being on the beam. Had they had sails for the
boats, it would have been otherwise, but they had been stowed away, and
could not be procured. The sight of land naturally rejoiced them all,
and the seamen in the boat cheered, and double-banked the oars, to
increase their way; but the towing of a large raft sunk under water was
no easy task; and they could not, with all their exertions, advance more
than half a mile an hour.
Until noon they continued their exertions not without success; they were
not three miles from the land; but, as the sun passed the meridian a
change took place; the breeze blew strong; the swell of the sea rose
rapidly; and the raft was often so deeply immersed in the waves as to
alarm them for the safety of those upon her. Their way was
proportionably retarded, and by three o'clock they had not gained half a
mile from where they had been at noon. The men not having had
refreshment of any kind during the labour and excitement of so many
hours, began to flag in their exertions. The wish for water was
expressed by all--from the child who appealed to its mother, to the
seaman who strained at the oar. Philip did all he could to encourage
the men but finding themselves so near to the land, and so overcome with
fatigue, and that the raft in tow would not allow them to approach their
haven they murmured, and talked of the necessity of casting loose the
raft and looking out for themselves. A feeling of self prevailed, and
they were mutinous; but Philip expostulated with them, and out of
respect for him, they continued their exertions for another hour, when a
circumstance occurred which decided the question, upon which they had
recommenced a debate.
The increased swell and the fresh breeze had so beat about and tossed
the raft, that it was with difficulty, for some time, that its occupants
could hold themselves on it. A loud shout, mingled with screams,
attracted the attention of those in the boats, and Philip looking back,
perceived that the lashings of the raft had yielded to the force of the
waves, and that it had separated amidship. The scene was agonising;
husbands were separated from their wives and children--each floating
away from each other--for the part of the raft which was still towed by
the boats had already left the other far astern. The women rose up and
screamed, and held up their children; some, more frantic, dashed into
the water between them, and attempted to gain the floating wreck upon
which their husbands stood, and sank before they could be assisted. But
the horror increased--one lashing having given way, all the rest soon
followed; and, before the boats could turn and give assistance, the sea
was strewed with the spars which composed the raft, with men, women, and
children clinging to them. Loud were the yells of despair, and the
shrieks of the women, as they embraced their offspring, and in
attempting to save them were lost themselves. The spars of the raft
still close together, were hurled one upon the other by the swell, and
many found death by being jammed between them. Although all the boats
hastened to their assistance, there was so much difficulty and danger in
forcing them between the spars, that but few were saved, and even those
few were more than the boats could well take in. The seamen and a few
soldiers were picked up, but all the females and the children had sunk
beneath the waves.
The effect of this catastrophe may be imagined, but hardly described.
The seamen who had debated as to casting them adrift to perish, wept as
they pulled towards the shore. Philip was overcome, he covered his
face, and remained for some time without giving directions, and heedless
of what passed.
It was now five o'clock in the evening; the boats had cast off the
tow-lines and vied with each other in their exertions. Before the sun
had set, they all had arrived at the beach, and were safely landed in
the little sand bay into which they had steered; for the wind was off
the shore and there was no surf. The boats were hauled up, and the
exhausted men lay down on the sands, till warm with the heat of the sun,
and forgetting that they had neither eaten nor drunk for so long a time,
they were soon fast asleep. Captain Barentz, Philip, and Krantz; as
soon as they had seen the boats secured, held a short consultation, and
were then glad to follow the example of the seamen; harassed and worn
out with the fatigue of the last twenty-four hours, their senses were
soon drowned in oblivion.
For many hours they all slept soundly, dreamt of water, and awoke to the
sad reality that they were tormented with thirst, and were on a sandy
heath with the salt waves mocking them; but they reflected how many of
their late companions had been swallowed up, and felt thankful that they
had been spared. It was early dawn when they all rose from the forms
which they had impressed on the yielding sand; and by the directions of
Philip, they separated in every direction, to look for the means of
quenching their agony of thirst. As they proceeded over sand-hills,
they found growing in the sand a low spongy-leaf sort of shrub,
something like what in our greenhouses is termed the ice-plant; the
thick leaves of which were covered with large drops of dew. They sank
down on their knees, and proceeded from one to the other licking off the
moisture which was abundant, and soon felt a temporary relief. They
continued their search till noon without success, and hunger was now
added to their thirst; they then returned to the beach to ascertain if
their companions had been more successful. They had also quenched their
thirst with the dew of heaven but had found no water or means of
subsistence; but some of them had eaten the leaves of the plant which
had contained the dew in the morning, and had found them, although acid,
full of watery sap and grateful to the palate. The plant in question is
the one provided by bounteous Providence for the support of the camel
and other beasts in the arid desert, only to be found there, and
devoured by all ruminating animals with avidity. By the advice of
Philip they collected a quantity of this plant and put it into the
boats, and then launched.
They were not more than fifty miles from Table Bay; and although they
had no sails, the wind was in their favour. Philip pointed out to them
how useless it was to remain, when before morning they would, in all
probability arrive at where they would obtain all they required. The
advice was approved of and acted upon; the boats were shoved off and the
oars resumed. So tired and exhausted were the men, that their oars
dipped mechanically into the water, for there was no strength left to be
applied; it was not until the next morning at daylight, that they had
arrived opposite False Bay, and they had still many miles to pull. The
wind in their favour had done almost all--the men could do little or
nothing.
Encouraged, however, by the sight of land which they knew, they rallied;
and about noon they pulled, exhausted, to the beach at the bottom of
Table Bay, near to which were the houses, and the fort protecting the
settlers, who had for some few years resided there. They landed close
to where a broad rivulet at that season (but a torrent in the winter)
poured its stream into the bay. At the sight of fresh water, some of
the men dropped their oars, threw themselves into the sea when out of
their depth--others when the water was above their waists--yet they did
not arrive so soon as those who waited till the boat struck the beach
and jumped out upon dry land. And then they threw themselves into the
rivulet, which coursed over the shingle, about five or six inches in
depth allowing the refreshing stream to pour into their mouths till they
could receive no more, immersing their hot hands, and rolling in it with
delight.
Despots and fanatics have exerted their ingenuity to invent torments for
their victims--how useless--the rack, the boot, tire,--all that they
have imagined are not to be compared to the torture of extreme thirst.
In the extremity of agony the sufferers cry for water, and it is not
refused: they might have spared themselves their refined ingenuity of
torment, and the disgusting exhibition of it, had they only confined the
prisoner in his cell, and refused him _water_.
As soon as they satisfied the most pressing of all wants, they rose
dripping from the stream, and walked up to the houses of the factory;
the inhabitants of which, perceiving that boats had landed when there
was no vessel in the bay, naturally concluded that some disaster had
happened, and were walking down to meet them. Their tragical history
was soon told. The thirty-six men that stood before them were all that
were left of nearly three hundred souls embarked, and they had been more
than two days without food. At this intimation no further questions
were asked by the considerate settlers, until the hunger of the
sufferers had been appeased when the narrative of their sufferings was
fully detailed by Philip and Krantz.
"I have an idea that I have seen you before," observed one of the
settlers. "Did you come on shore when the fleet anchored?"
"I did not," replied Philip; "but I have been here."
"I recollect now," replied the man; "you were the only survivor of the
Ter Schilling, which was lost in False Bay."
"Not the only survivor," replied Philip; "I thought so myself; but I
afterwards met the pilot, a one-eyed man, of the name of Schriften, who
was my shipmate: he must have arrived here after me. You saw him, of
course?"
"No, I did not. No one belonging to the Ter Schilling ever came here
after you; for I have been a settler here ever since, and it is not
likely that I should forget such a circumstance."
"He must, then, have returned to Holland by some other means."
"I know not how. Our ships never go near the coast after they leave the
bay; it is too dangerous."
"Nevertheless, I saw him," replied Philip, musing.
"If you saw him, that is sufficient; perhaps some vessel had been blown
down to the eastern side, and picked him up; but the natives in that
part are not likely to have spared the life of a European. The Caffres
are a cruel people."
The information that Schriften had not been seen at the Cape was a
subject of meditation to Philip. He had always had an idea as the
reader knows, that there was something supernatural about the man; and
this opinion was corroborated by the report of the settler.
We must pass over the space of two months during which the wrecked
seamen were treated with kindness by the settlers, and at the expiration
of which a small brig arrived at the bay, and took in refreshments: she
was homeward bound, with a full cargo, and being chartered by the
Company, could not refuse to receive on board the crew of the Vrow
Katerina. Philip, Krantz, and the seamen embarked; but Captain Barentz
remained behind to settle at the Cape.
"Should I go home," said he to Philip, who argued with him, "I have
nothing in the world to return for. I have no wife--no children. I had
but one dear object, my Vrow Katerina, who was my wife, my child, my
everything;--she is gone, and I never shall find another vessel like
her; and if I could, I should not love it as I did her. No, my
affections are buried with her,--are entombed in the deep sea. How
beautifully she burnt!--she went out of the world like a phoenix, as she
was. No! no! I will be faithful to her--I will send for what little
money I have, and live as near to her tomb as I can--I never shall
forget her as long as I live. I shall mourn over her, and `Vrow
Katerina,' when I die, will be found engraven on my heart."
Philip could not help wishing that his affections had been fixed upon a
more deserving object, as then, probably, the tragical loss had not
taken place; but he changed the subject, feeling that, being no sailor,
Captain Barentz was much better on shore than in the command of a
vessel. They shook hands and parted--Philip promising to execute
Barentz's commission, which was to turn his money into articles most
useful to a settler, and have them sent out by the first fleet which
should sail from the Zuyder Zee. But this commission it was not
Philip's good fortune to execute. The brig, named the Wilhelmina sailed
and soon arrived at St. Helena. After watering she proceeded on her
voyage. They had made the Western Isles, and Philip was consoling
himself with the anticipation of soon joining his Amine, when to the
northward of the islands, they met with a furious gale before which they
were obliged to scud for many days, with the vessel's head to the
south-east; and as the wind abated, and they were able to haul to it,
they fell in with a Dutch fleet of five vessels, commanded by an
admiral, which had left Amsterdam more than two months, and had been
buffeted about by contrary gales for the major part of that period.
Cold, fatigue, and bad provisions, had brought on the scurvy; and the
ships were so weakly manned, that they could hardly navigate them. When
the captain of the Wilhelmina reported to the admiral that he had part
of the crew of the Vrow Katerina on board, he was ordered to send them
immediately to assist in navigating his crippled fleet. Remonstrance
was useless. Philip had but time to write to Amine, acquainting her
with his misfortunes and disappointment; and, confiding the letter to
his wife, as well as his narrative of the loss of the Vrow Katerina for
the directors, to the charge of the captain of the Wilhelmina, he
hastened to pack up his effects, and repaired on board of the admiral's
ship with Krantz and the crew. To them were added six of the men
belonging to to Wilhelmina, whom the admiral insisted on retaining; and
the brig, having received the admiral's despatches, was then permitted
to continue her voyage.
Perhaps there is nothing more trying to the seaman's feelings than being
unexpectedly forced to recommence another series of trials, at the very
time when they anticipate repose from their former; yet how often does
this happen! Philip was melancholy. "It is my destiny," thought he,
using the words of Amine, "and why should I not submit?" Krantz was
furious, and the seamen discontented and mutinous; but it was useless.
Might is right on the vast ocean, where there is no appeal--no trial or
injunction to be obtained.
But hard as their case appeared to them, the admiral was fully justified
in his proceeding. His ships were almost unmanageable with the few
hands who could still perform their duty; and this small increase of
physical power might be the means of saving hundreds who lay helpless in
their hammocks. In his own vessel, the Lion which was manned with two
hundred and fifty men when she sailed from Amsterdam, there were not
more than seventy capable of doing duty; and the other ships had
suffered in proportion.
The first captain of the Lion was dead, the second captain in his
hammock, and the admiral had no one to assist him but the mates of the
vessel, some of whom crawled up to their duty more dead than alive. The
ship of the second in command, the Dort, was even in a more deplorable
plight. The commodore was dead; the first captain was still doing his
duty; but he had but one more officer capable of remaining on deck.
The admiral sent for Philip into his cabin, and having heard his
narrative of the loss of the Vrow Katerina, he ordered him to go on
board the commodore's ship as captain, giving the rank of commodore to
the captain at present on board of her; Krantz was retained on board his
own vessel, as second captain; for by Philip's narrative, the admiral
perceived at once that they were both good officers and brave men.