By the loss of the fore-topmast the ship was greatly eased. In almost
every sea that we had encountered since leaving England, I had observed
the immense leverage exerted over the deep-lying hull by the weight
of her lofty spars; and by the effect which the carrying away of the
fore-topmast had produced, I had no doubt that our position would be
rendered far less critical, while the vessel would rise to the waves
with much greater ease, if we could rid her of a portion of her immense
top-weight.
I waited until the boatswain came aft, and then surrendered the wheel
to Cornish; after which I crouched with the boatswain under the lee of
the companion, where, at least, we could hear each other's voices.
"She pitches easier since that fore-topmast went, bo'sun. There is
still too much top-hamper. The main-royal stay is gone, and the mast
can't stand long, I think, unless we stay it forrard again. But we
mustn't lose the topmast."
"No, we can't do without him. Yet there's a risk of him goin' too, if
you cut away the top-gall'nt backstays. What's to prevent him?" said
he, looking up at the mast.
"Oh, I know how to prevent it," I replied. "I'll go aloft with a
hand-saw and wound the mast. What do you think? Shall we let it carry
away?"
"Yes," he replied promptly. "She'll be another ship with them masts
out of her. If it comes on fine we'll make shift to bend on the new
foresail, and get a jib on her by a stay from the lower mast-head to
the bowsprit end. Then," he continued, calculating on his fingers,
"we shall have the main-topmast stays'l, mizzen-topmast stays'l,
main-topsail, mains'l, mizzen, mizzen-tops'l,--six and two makes
height--height sails on her--a bloomin' show o' canvas!"
He ran his eye aloft, and said emphatically--
"I'm for lettin' of 'em go, most sartinly."
I got up, but he caught hold of my arm.
"I'll go aloft," said he.
"No, no," I replied, "it's my turn. You stand by to cut away the
lanyards to leeward, and then get to windward and wait for me. We must
watch for a heavy lurch, for we don't want the spars to fall amidships
and drive a hole through the deck."
Saying which I got off the poop and made for the cabin lately shared
between the carpenter and the boatswain, where I should find a saw in
the tool chest.
I crept along the main-deck to leeward, but was washed off my feet in
spite of every precaution, and thrown with my head against the bulwark,
but the blow was more bewildering than hurtful. Fortunately, everything
was secure, so there were no pounding casks and huge spars driving
about like battering rams, to dodge.
I found a saw, and also laid hold of the sounding-rod, so that I might
try the well, being always very distrustful of the boatswain's plugs
in the fore hold; but on drawing up the rod out of the sounding-pipe,
I found there were not above five to six inches of water in her, and,
as the pumps sucked at four inches, I had not only the satisfaction of
knowing that the ship was tight in her hull, but that she was draining
in very little water from her decks.
This discovery of the ship's soundness filled me with joy, and,
thrusting the saw down my waistcoat, I sprang into the main-rigging
with a new feeling of life in me.
I could not help thinking as I went ploughing and clinging my way up
the ratlines, that the hurricane was less furious than it had been an
hour ago; but this, I dare say, was more my hope than my conviction,
for, exposed as I now was to the full force of the wind, its power and
outcry were frightful. There were moments when it jammed me so hard
against the shrouds that I could not have stirred an inch--no, not to
save my life.
I remember once reading an account of the wreck of a vessel called the
_Wager_, where it was told that so terrible was the appearance of the
sea that many of the sailors went raving mad with fear at the sight of
it, some throwing themselves overboard in their delirium, and others
falling flat on the deck and rolling to and fro with the motion of the
ship, without making the smallest effort to help themselves.
I believe that much such a sea as drove those poor creatures wild was
spread below me now, and I can only thank Almighty God for giving me
the courage to witness the terrible spectacle without losing my reason.
No words that I am master of could submit the true picture of this
whirling, mountainous, boiling scene to you. The waves, fore-shortened
to my sight by my elevation above them, drew nevertheless a deeper
shadow into their caverns, so that, so lively was this deception of
colouring, each time the vessel's head fell into one of these hollows,
it seemed as though she were plunging into a measureless abysm, as
roaring and awful as a maelström, from which it would be impossible
for her to rise in time to lift to the next great wave that was rushing
upon her.
When, after incredible toil, I succeeded in gaining the cross-trees, I
paused for some moments to recover breath, during which I looked, with
my fingers shading my eyes, carefully all round the horizon, but saw no
ship in sight.
The topmast was pretty steady, but the top-gallant mast rocked
heavily, owing to the main-royal stay being carried away; moreover,
the boatswain had already let go the royal and top-gallant braces, so
that they might run out when the mast fell, and leave it free to go
overboard; and the yards swinging in the wind and to the plunging of
the ship, threatened every moment to bring down the whole structure of
masts, including all or a part of the topmast, so that I was in the
greatest peril.
In order, therefore, to lose no time, I put my knife in my teeth, and
shinned up the top-gallant rigging, where, holding on with one hand, I
cut the top-gallant stay adrift, though the strands were so hard that
I thought I should never accomplish the job. This support being gone,
the mast jumped wildly, insomuch that I commended my soul to God, every
instant believing that I should be shaken off the mast or that it would
go overboard with me.
However, I succeeded in sliding down again into the cross-trees, and
having cut away the top-gallant rigging to leeward, I pulled out my saw
and went to work at the mast with it, sawing the mast just under the
yard, so that it might go clean off at that place.
When I had sawed deep enough, I cut away the weather rigging and got
down into the maintop as fast as ever I could, and sung out to the
boatswain to cut away to leeward.
By the time I reached the deck, all was adrift to leeward, and the mast
was now held in its place by the weather backstays. I dropped into the
chains and there helped the boatswain with my knife, and, watching an
opportunity when the ship rolled heavily to leeward, we cut through the
lanyards of the top-gallant backstay, and the whole structure of spar,
yards, and rigging went flying overboard.
Encouraged by the success of these operations, and well knowing that
a large measure of our safety depended upon our easing the ship of
her top-hamper, I sung out that we would now cut away the mizzen
top-gallant mast, and once more went aloft, though the boatswain begged
hard to take my place this time.
This spar, being much lighter and smaller, did not threaten me so
dangerously as the other had done, and in a tolerably short space
of time we had sent it flying overboard after the main top-gallant
mast; and all this we did without further injury to ourselves than a
temporary deprivation of strength and breath.
The ship had now the appearance of a wreck; and yet in her mutilated
condition was safer than she had been at any moment since the gale
first sprang up. The easing her of all this top-weight seemed to make
her as buoyant as though we had got a hundred tons of cargo out of her.
Indeed, I was now satisfied, providing everything stood, and the wind
did not increase in violence, that she would be able to ride out the
gale.
Cornish (as well as the boatswain and myself) was soaked through and
through; we therefore arranged that the boatswain and I should go
below and shift our clothes, and that the boatswain should then relieve
Cornish.
So down we went, I, for one, terribly exhausted, but cheered all the
same by an honest hope that we should save our lives and the ship after
all.
I stepped into the pantry to swallow a dram so as to get my nerves
together, for I was trembling all over with the weariness in me, and
cold as ice on the skin from the repeated dousings I had received; and
then changed my clothes; and never was anything more comforting and
grateful than the feel of the dry flannel and the warm stockings and
sea-boots which I exchanged for shoes that sopped like brown paper and
came to pieces in my hand when I pulled them off.
The morning was far advanced, a little past eleven. I was anxious to
ask Miss Robertson how she did, and reassure her as to our position
before going on deck to take observations, and therefore went to her
cabin door and listened, meaning to knock and ask her leave to see her
if I heard her voice in conversation with her father.
I strained my ear, but the creaking and groaning of the ship inside,
and the bellowing of the wind outside, were so violent, that had the
girl been singing at the top of her voice I do not believe that I
should have heard her.
I longed to see her, and shook the handle of the door, judging that she
would distinguish this sound amid the other noises which prevailed,
and, sure enough, the door opened, and her sweet face looked out.
She showed herself fully when she saw me, and came into the cuddy,
and was going to address me, but a look of agonized sorrow came into
her face; she dropped on her knees before the bench at the table
and buried her head, and never was there an attitude of grief more
expressive of piteous misery than this.
My belief was that the frightful rolling of the ship had crazed her
brain, and that she fancied I had come to tell her we were sinking.
Not to allow this false impression to affect her an instant longer than
could be helped, I dropped on one knee by her side, and at once told
her that the ship had been eased, and was riding well, and that the
gale, as I believed, was breaking.
She shook her head, still keeping her face buried, as though she would
say that it was not the danger we were in that had given her that
misery.
"Tell me what has happened?" I exclaimed. "Your troubles and trials
have been very, very great--too great for you to bear, brave and
true-hearted as you are. It unmans me and breaks me down to see you in
this attitude. For your own sake, keep up your courage a little longer.
The first ship that passes when this gale abates will take us on board;
and there are three of us still with you who will never yield an inch
to any danger that may come whilst their life holds out and yours
remains to be saved."
She upturned her pale face, streaming with tears, and said the simple
words, but in a tone I shall never forget--"Papa is dead!"
Was it so, indeed?
And was I so purblind as to wrong her beautiful and heroic character by
supposing her capable of being crazed with fears for her own life.
I rose from her side, and stood looking at her in silence. I had
nothing to say.
However dangerous our situation might have been, I should still have
known how to comfort and encourage her.
But--her father was dead!
This was a blow I could not avert--a sorrow no labour could remit. It
struck home hard to me.
I took her hand and raised her, and entered the cabin hand in hand
with her. The moisture of the deck dulled the transparency of the
bull's-eye, but sufficient light was admitted through the port-hole to
enable me to see him. He was as white as a sheet, and his hair frosted
his head, and made him resemble a piece of marble carving. His under
jaw had dropped, and that was the great and prominent signal of the
thing that had come to him.
Poor old man! lying dead under the coarse blanket, with his thin hands
folded, as though he had died in prayer, and a most peaceful holy calm
in his face!
Was it worth while bringing him from the wreck for this?
"God was with him when he died," I said, and I closed his poor eyes as
tenderly as my rough hands would let me.
She looked at him, speechless with grief, and then burst into an
uncontrollable fit of crying.
My love and tenderness, my deep pity of her lonely helplessness, were
all so great an impulse in me that I took her in my arms and held her
whilst she sobbed upon my shoulder. I am sure that she knew my sorrow
was deep and real, and that I held her to my heart that she might not
feel her loneliness.
When her great outburst of grief was passed, I made her sit; and
then she told me that when she had left the deck, she had looked at
her father before lying down, and thought him sleeping very calmly.
He was not dead then. Oh, no! she had noticed by the motion of the
covering on him that he was breathing peacefully. Being very tired she
had fallen asleep quickly, and slept soundly. She awoke, not half an
hour before she heard me trying the handle of the door. The rolling
and straining of the ship frightened her, and she heard one of the
masts go overboard. She got out of bed, meaning to call her father, so
that he might be ready to follow her, if the ship were sinking (as she
believed it was), on to the deck, but could not wake him. She took him
by the arm, and this bringing her close to his face, she saw that he
was dead. She would have called me, but dreaded to leave the cabin lest
she should be separated from her father. Meanwhile she heard the fall
of another mast alongside, and the ship at the moment rolling heavily,
she believed the vessel actually sinking, and flung herself upon
her father's body, praying to God that her death might be mercifully
speedy, and that the waves might not separate them in death.
At this point she broke down and cried again bitterly.
When I came to think over what she had gone through during that half
hour--the dead body of her father before her, of him whose life a few
hours before she had no serious fear of, and the bitterness of death
which she had tasted in the dreadful persuasion that the vessel was
sinking, I was too much affected to speak. I could only hold her hands
and caress them, wondering in my heart that God who loves and blesses
all things that are good and pure, should single out this beautiful,
helpless, heroic girl for suffering so complicated and miserable.
After a while I explained that it was necessary I should leave her, as
I was desirous of observing the position of the sun, and promised, if
no new trouble detained me on deck, to return to her as soon as I had
completed my observations.
So without further words I came away and got my sextant, and went on
deck.
I found Cornish still at the wheel, and the boatswain leaning over
the weather side of the ship about half-way down the poop, watching
the hull of the vessel as she rolled and plunged. I might have saved
myself the trouble of bringing the sextant with me, for there was not
only no sign of the sun now, but no promise of its showing itself
even for a minute. Three impenetrable strata of cloud obscured the
heavens: the first, a universal mist or thickness, tolerably bright as
it lay nearest the sun; beneath this, ranges of heavier clouds, which
had the appearance of being stationary, owing to the speed at which
the ponderous smoke-coloured clouds composing the lowest stratum were
swept past them. Under this whirling gloomy sky the sea was tossing
in mountains, and between sea and cloud the storm was sweeping with a
stupendous voice, and with a power so great that no man on shore who
could have experienced its fury there, would believe that anything
afloat could encounter it and live.
I remained until noon anxiously watching the sky, hoping that the
outline of the sun might swim out, if for a few moments only, and give
me a chance to fix it.
I was particularly wishful to get sights, because, if the wind abated,
we might be able to wear the ship and stand for the Bermudas, which was
the land the nearest to us that I knew of. But I could not be certain
as to the course to be steered unless I knew my latitude and longitude.
The _Grosvenor_, now hove to in this furious gale, was drifting dead
to leeward at from three to four knots an hour. Consequently, if the
weather remained thick and this monstrous sea lasted, I should be out
of my reckoning altogether next day. This was the more to be deplored,
as every mile was of serious consequence to persons in our position,
as it would represent so many hours more of hard work and bitter
expectation.
The boatswain had by this time taken the wheel, to let Cornish go below
to change his clothes, and, as no conversation could be carried on in
that unsheltered part of the deck, I reserved what I had to say to him
for another opportunity, and returned to the cuddy.
I could not bear to think of the poor girl being alone with her dead
father in the darksome cabin, where the grief of death would be
augmented by the dismaying sounds of the groaning timbers and the
furious wash of the water against the ship's side.
I went to her and begged her to come to me to my own cabin, which,
being to windward and having two bull's-eyes in the deck, was lighter
and more cheerful than hers.
"Your staying here," I said, "cannot recall your poor father to life,
and I know, if he were alive, he would wish me to take you away. He
will rest quietly here, Miss Robertson, and we will close the cabin
door and leave him for a while."
I drew her gently from the cabin, and when I had got her into the
cuddy, I closed the door upon the dead old man, and led her by the hand
to my own cabin.
"I intend," I said, "that you shall occupy this berth, and I will
remove into the cabin next to this."
She answered in broken tones that she could not bear the thought of
being separated from her father.
"But you will not be separated from him," I answered, "even though you
should never see him more with your eyes. There is only one separation,
and that is when the heart turns and the memory forgets. He will always
be with you in your thoughts, a dear friend, a dear companion, and
father, as in life; not absent because he is dead, since I think that
death makes those whom we love doubly our own, for they become spirits
to watch over us, to dwell near us, let us journey where we please, and
their affection is not to be chilled by any worldly selfishness. Try
to think thus of the dead. It is not a parting that should pain us.
Your father has set out on his journey before you; death is but a short
leave-taking, and only a man who is doomed to live for ever could look
upon death as an eternal separation."
She wept quietly, and once or twice looked at me as though she would
smile through her tears, to let me know that she was grateful for my
poor attempts to console her; but she could not smile. Rough and idle
as my words were, yet, in the fulness of my sympathy, and my knowledge
of her trials, and my sense of the dangers which, even as I spoke, were
raging round us, my voice faltered, and I turned to hide my face.
It happened then that my eye lighted upon the little Bible I had
carried with me in all my voyages ever since I had gone to sea, and I
felt that now, with the old man lying dead, and his poor child's grief,
and our own hard and miserable position, was the fitting time to invoke
God's mercy, and to pray to Him to watch over us.
I spoke to that effect to Miss Robertson, and said that if she
consented I would call in Cornish and the steward and ask them to join
us; that the boatswain was at the wheel and could not leave his post,
but we might believe that the Almighty would accept the brave man's
faithful discharge of his duty as a prayer, and would not overlook him,
if our prayers were accepted, because he could not kneel in company
with us.
"Let him know that we are praying," she exclaimed, eagerly, "and he
will pray too."
I saw that my suggestion had aroused her, and at once left the cabin
and went on deck, and going close to the boatswain I said--
"Poor Mr. Robertson is dead, and his daughter is in great grief."
"Ah, poor lady!" he replied. "I hope God 'll spare her. She's a brave
young woman, and seen a sight more trouble within the last fortnight
than so pretty a gell desarves."
"Bo'sun, I am going to call in Cornish and the steward, and read
prayers and ask God for His protection. I should have liked you, brave
old messmate, to join; but, as you can't leave the deck, pray with us
in your heart, will you?"
"Ay, ay, that I will, heartily; an' I hope for the lady's sake that God
Almighty 'll hear us, for I'd sooner die myself than she should, poor
gell, for I'm older, and it's my turn afore hers by rights."
I clapped him on the back and went below, where I called to the steward
and Cornish, both of whom came aft on hearing my voice.
During my absence, Miss Robertson had taken the Bible and laid it open
on the table; and when the two men came in I said--
"My lads, we are in the hands of God, who is our Father; and I will
ask you to join this lady and me in thanking Him for the mercy and
protection He has already vouchsafed us, and to pray to Him to lead us
out of present peril and bring us safely to the home we love."
The steward said "Yes, sir," and looked about him for a place to sit or
kneel, but Cornish hung his head and glanced at the door shamefacedly.
"You need not stop unless you wish, Cornish," said I. "But why should
you not join us? The way you have worked, the honest manner in which
you have behaved, amply atone for the past. From no man can more than
hearty repentance be expected, and we all stand in need of each other's
prayers. Join us, mate."
"Won't it be makin' a kind of game o' religion for the likes o' me to
pray?" he answered. "I was for murderin' you an' the lady and all hands
as are left on board this wessel--what 'ud be the use o' _my_ prayers?"
Miss Robertson went over to him and took his hand.
"God," said she, "has told us that there is more joy in heaven over one
sinner that repenteth than over ninety and nine just persons who need
no repentance. But who is good among us, Cornish? Be sure that as you
repent so are you forgiven. My poor father lies dead in his cabin, and
I wish you to pray with me for him, and to pray with us for our own
poor lives. Mr. Royle," she said, "Cornish will stay."
And with an expression on her face of infinite sweetness and pathos,
she drew him to one of the cushioned lockers and seated herself by his
side.
I saw that her charming wonderful grace, her cordial tender voice, and
her condescension, which a man of his condition would feel, had deeply
moved him.
The steward seated himself on the other side of her, and I began to
read from the open book before me, beginning the chapter which she had
chosen for us during my absence on deck. This chapter was the eleventh
of St. John, wherein is related the story of that sickness "which was
not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be
glorified thereby."
I read only to the thirty-sixth verse, for what followed that did not
closely apply to our position; but there were passages preceding it
which stirred me to the centre of my heart, knowing how they went home
to the mourner, more especially those pregnant lines--"Martha saith
unto Him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the
last day. Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: he
that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live," which
made me feel that the words I had formerly addressed to her were not
wholly idle.
I then turned to St. Matthew, and read from the eighth chapter those
few verses wherein it is told that Christ entered a ship with His
disciples, and that there arose a great storm. Only men in a tempest at
sea, their lives in jeopardy, and worn out with anxiety and the fear of
death, know how great is the comfort to be got out of this brief story
of our Lord's power over the elements, and His love of those whom He
died to save; and, taking this as a kind of text, I knelt down, the
others imitating me, and prayed that He who rebuked the sea and the
wind before His doubting disciples, would be with us who believed in
Him in our present danger.
Many things I said (feeling that He whom I addressed was our Father,
and that He alone could save us) which have gone from my mind, and
tears stood in my eyes as I prayed; but I was not ashamed to let the
others see them, even if they had not been as greatly affected as
I, which was not the case. Nor would I conclude my prayer without
entreating God to comfort the heart of the mourner, and to receive in
heaven the soul of him for whom she was weeping.
I then shook Cornish and the steward heartily by the hand, and I am
sure, by the expression in Cornish's face, that he was glad he had
stayed, and that his kneeling in prayer had done him good.
"Now," said I, "you had best get your dinner, and relieve the
boatswain; and you, steward, obtain what food you can, and bring it to
us here, and then you and the bo'sun can dine together."
The two men left the cabin, and I went and seated myself beside Miss
Robertson, and said all that I could to comfort her.
She was very grateful to me for my prayers for herself and her father,
and already, as though she had drawn support from our little service,
spoke with some degree of calmness of his death. It would have made her
happy, she said, could she have kissed him before he died, and have
been awake to attend to any last want.
I told her that I believed he had died in his sleep, without a
struggle; for, so recent as his death was, less placidity would have
appeared in his face had he died awake or conscious. I added that
secretly I had never believed he would live to reach Valparaiso, had
the ship continued her voyage. He was too old a man to suffer and
survive the physical and mental trials he had passed through; and sad
though his death was under the circumstances which surrounded it, yet
she must think that it had only been hastened a little; for he was
already an old man, and his end might have been near, even had all
prospered and he had reached England in his own ship.
By degrees I drew her mind away from the subject by leading her
thoughts to our own critical position. At another time I should have
softened my account of our danger: but I thought it best to speak
plainly, as the sense of the insecurity of our lives would in some
measure distract her thoughts from her father's death.
She asked me if the storm was not abating.
"It is not increasing in violence," I answered, "which is a good sign.
But there is one danger to be feared which must very shortly take me
on deck. The wind may suddenly lull and blow again hard from another
quarter. This would be the worst thing that could happen to us, for we
should then have what is called a cross sea, and the ship is so deeply
loaded that we might have great difficulty in keeping her afloat."
"May I go on deck with you?"
"You would not be able to stand. Feel this!" I exclaimed, as the ship's
stern rose to a sickening height and then came down, down, down, with
the water roaring about her as high as our ears.
"Let me go with you!" she pleaded.
"Very well," I replied, meaning to keep her under the companion,
half-way up the ladder.
I took a big top-coat belonging to the captain and buttoned her up in
it, and also tied his fur cap over her head, so that she would be well
protected from the wind, whilst the coat would keep her dress close
against her.
I then slipped on my oilskins, and taking a strong grip of her hand to
steady her, led her up the companion ladder.
"Do not come any farther," said I.
"Wherever you go I will go," she answered, grasping my arm.
Admiring her courage and stirred by her words, which were as dear to me
as a kiss from her lips would have been, I led her right on to the deck
over to windward, and made her sit on a small coil of rope just under
the rail.
The sea was no heavier than it had been since the early morning, and
yet my short absence below had transformed it into a sublime and
stupendous novelty.
You will remember that not only was the _Grosvenor_ a small ship, but
that she lay deep, with a free board lower by a foot and a half than
she ought to have shown.
The height from the poop rail to the water was not above twelve feet;
and it is therefore no exaggeration to say that the sea, running from
fifteen to twenty feet high, stood like walls on either side of her.
To appreciate the effect of such a sea upon a ship like the
_Grosvenor_, you must have crossed the Atlantic in a hurricane, not in
an immense and powerful ocean steamer, but in a yacht.
But even this experience would not enable you to realise our danger;
for the yacht would not be overloaded with cargo, she would probably be
strong, supple, and light; whereas the _Grosvenor_ was choked to the
height of the hold with seven hundred and fifty tons of dead weight,
and was a Nova Scotia soft wood ship, which means that she might start
a butt at any moment and go to pieces in one of her frightful swoops
downwards.
Having lodged Miss Robertson in a secure and sheltered place, I crawled
along the poop on to the main-deck and sounded the well again. I found
a trifle over six inches of water in her, which satisfied me that she
was still perfectly tight, and that the extra leakage was owing to the
drainings from the decks.
I regained the poop and communicated the good news to the boatswain,
who nodded; but I noticed that there was more anxiety in his face than
I liked to see, and that he watched the ship very closely each time she
pitched with extra heaviness.
Miss Robertson was looking up at the masts with alarmed eyes; but
I pointed to them and smiled, and shook my head to let her know
that their wrecked appearance need not frighten her. I then took
the telescope, and, making it fast over my back, clambered into the
mizzen-top, she watching my ascent with her hands tightly clasped.
The ensign still roared some half-dozen feet below the gaff-end; it was
a brave bit of bunting to hold on as it did. I planted myself firmly
against the rigging, and carefully swept the weather horizon, and
finding nothing there, pointed the glass to leeward; but all that part
of the sea was likewise a waste of foaming waves, with never a sign of
a ship in all the raging seas.
I was greatly disappointed, for though no ship could have helped us in
such a sea, yet the sight of one hove to near us--and no ship afloat,
sailer or steamer, but must have hove to in that gale--would have
comforted us greatly, as a promise of help at hand, and rescue to come
when the wind should have gone down.