Darkness, whether physical, mental, or spiritual, is probably the
greatest evil that man has had to contend with since the fall. At all
events, the physical and mental forms of it were the cause of the good
ship _Lapwing_ sailing one night straight to destruction.
It happened thus. A pretty stiff breeze, amounting almost to half a
gale, was blowing on the night in question, and the emigrant ship was
running before it under close-reefed topsails. For some days previously
the weather had been "dirty," and the captain had found it impossible to
obtain an observation, so that he was in the dark as to the exact part
of the ocean, in which he was sailing.
In an open sea this is not of serious moment, but when one is nearing
land, or in the neighbourhood of islands, it becomes cause for much
anxiety. To make matters worse, the ship had been blown considerably
out of her course, and, worst of all, the night was so intensely dark
that it was not possible to see more than a few yards beyond the flying
jibboom.
The captain and mate, with several of the men, stood on the forecastle
peering anxiously out into the darkness.
"I don't like the look o' things at all," muttered the captain to the
chief mate.
"Perhaps it would be well, sir, to lay-to till daylight," suggested the
mate.
Whether the captain agreed with his chief officer or not was never
known, for just then a dull sound was heard which sent a thrill to the
bravest heart on board.
"Breakers ahead!" cried the look-out, as in duty bound, but he was
instantly contradicted by the mate, who shouted that they were on the
starboard beam, while another voice roared that they were on the
port-bow.
The helm was instantly put hard a-port, and immediately after the order
was given "hard a-starboard," for it was discovered that the sound of
breakers came from both sides of the vessel. They were, obviously,
either running in a narrow strait between two islands, or into a bay.
In the first case the danger was imminent, in the second case,
destruction was almost inevitable.
"Clear the anchor, and stand by to let go!" cried the captain, in loud
sharp tones, for he felt that there was no room to turn and retreat.
The order was also given to take in all sail.
But before either order could be obeyed, a cry of terror burst from many
throats, for right in front of them there suddenly loomed out of the
darkness an object like a great black cloud, which rose high above and
seemed about to fall upon them. There was no mistaking its nature,
however, for by that time the roar of the breakers right ahead told but
too plainly that they were rushing straight upon a high perpendicular
cliff. At this moment the vessel struck a rock. It was only a slight
touch at the stern, nevertheless it tore the rudder away, so that the
intention of the captain to put about and take his chance of striking on
the rocks to starboard was frustrated.
"Let go," he shouted, in this extremity.
Quick as lightning the anchor went to the bottom but with such way on
the ship, the sudden strain snapped the chain, and the _Lapwing_ rushed
upon her doom, while cries of terror and despair arose from the
passengers, who had by that time crowded on deck.
To the surprise of the captain, and those who were capable of
intelligent observation, the ship did not immediately strike again, but
sailed straight on as if right against the towering cliffs. Still
onward it went, and as it did so there settled around them a darkness so
profound that no one could see even an inch before his eyes. Then at
last the ill-fated vessel struck, but not with her hull, as might have
been expected. High up above them a terrific crash was heard.
"God help us," exclaimed the captain, "we've sailed straight into a
cave!"
That he was right soon became evident, for immediately after the
crashing of the topmasts against the roof of the cave, a shower of small
stones and several large fragments fell on the deck with a rattle like
that of musketry. Some of the people were struck and injured, though
not seriously so, by the shower.
"Get down below, all of you!" cried the captain, himself taking shelter
under the companion hatchway. But the order was needless, for the
danger was so obvious that every one sought the shelter of the cabins
without delay.
The situation was not only terrible but exceedingly singular, as well as
trying, for as long as stones came thundering down on the deck it would
have been sheer madness to have attempted to do anything aboveboard, and
to sit idle in the cabins with almost certain death staring them in the
face, was a severe test of endurance.
From the motion of the vessel several facts could be deduced. Although
the scraping and crashing of the masts overhead told eloquently of
destruction going on in that direction, the heaving of the ship, and her
striking occasionally on either side, proved that there was deep water
below her. That they were not progressing into an interminable cavern
was made evident by the frequent plunging of the shattered bowsprit
against the inner end of the cave. This action sent the vessel reeling
backwards, as it were, every time she struck, besides shattering the
bowsprit. That the cave, also, was open to the full force of the sea
was only too severely proved by the rush of the billows into it, and the
frequent and severe shocks to which they were in consequence subjected.
These shocks had extinguished the lamps, and it was only by the aid of a
few candles that they were delivered from sitting in absolute darkness.
In these awful circumstances the young Wesleyan proved that, besides the
courage that he had already shown in facing danger on a sudden
emergency, he also possessed that far higher courage which can face the
slow and apparently sure approach of death with equanimity and
self-possession. Moreover, he proved that the Word of God and prayer
are the true resources of man in such extremities.
Calling those who were willing, around him, he led them in prayer, and
then quieted the timid among them, as well as comforted all, not by
reading, but by quoting appropriate passages from Scripture, in which he
was profoundly versed.
"D'ee know when it'll be low water, sir?" asked Joe Slag of the captain,
when the ship gave one of her upward heaves and rasped her timbers again
on the sides of the cave.
"Not for three hours yet, but it's falling. I expect there will be less
sea on in a short time. If the ship holds together we may yet be
saved."
There was a murmured "thank God" at these words. Then Bob Massey
expressed some fear that there might be a danger of striking the rocks
underneath before low water.
"I wish it was the risin' tide," he said, and the words took his mind
back, like a flash of lightning, to the time when he used them in a very
different sense. Then all was peace, hope, sunshine, and his bride was
sitting like a good angel beside him, with a sweet smile on her fair
face. Now, something like darkness visible, showed him his poor wife--
still beside him, thank God--but clinging to his arm with looks of
terror amounting almost to despair. "What a contrast!" he thought, and
for the first time a feeling of rebellion arose in his mind.
"There's no use o' sittin' here to be drowned like rats," he cried,
starting up. "I'll go on deck an' take a cast o' the lead, an' see what
chances we have."
"No, you won't, Bob," cried Nellie, throwing her arms firmly round him.
"There's big stones falling all about the deck yet. Don't you hear
them?"
As if to corroborate her words, a piece of rock nearly half a ton in
weight fell on the sky-light at that moment, crashed completely through
it, through the table below, and even sank into the cabin floor.
Fortunately, no one was hurt, though Slag had a narrow escape, but that
worthy was not easily intimidated. He rose up, and, saying that, "it
was as well to be killed on deck doin' somethin' as in the cabin doin'
nothin'," was about to ascend the ladder when Dr Hayward suddenly
entered, all wet and dishevelled, and with blood trickling down his
face.
"No use going up just now, Joe," he said, as he sat down beside his
wife, and permitted her to tie a kerchief round his head. "Only a
slight wound, Eva, got while taking soundings. I find that there are
sixteen fathoms of water under us, and, although I couldn't see my hand
held up before my face, I managed to make out by the flash of a match,
which burned for a moment before being blown out, that the sides of the
cave are quite perpendicular, not the smallest ledge to stand on. The
tide, however, is ebbing fast, and the water in the cave calming, so
that if no bad leak has been made by all this thumping we may yet be
saved. Our only chance is to stick to the ship."
While he was speaking the vessel again surged violently against one side
of the cave, and another of the huge masses of rock that were brought
down by the swaying masts came crashing on the deck.
"There is no bad leak as yet," said the captain, re-entering the cabin,
which he had quitted for the purpose of sounding the well. "If we can
keep afloat for an hour or two we may be able to use the boats. Just
now it would be useless to attempt launching them."
Although the captain's words were not particularly reassuring, his
confident tone and manner infused hope, and comforted the people
greatly. Some of the male passengers even volunteered to face the
shower of stones, if need be, and lend a hand in launching the boats,
when the time for doing so arrived.
These boats, three in number, were lying bottom up on deck, and to reach
them involved the risk of death to whoever should attempt it. They were
therefore compelled to wait.
It is difficult to form even a slight conception of the horrors of that
night. For several hours they sat in the after-cabin, and the ship
surged and plunged in the wildly-heaving water, striking the sides
continually, while rocks fell at intervals on the deck, thus adding to
the noise of wind and waves as they raged with echoing, deafening noise
in the black cavern. Each moment it seemed as if the ship must have her
planks stove in and be sunk, but she was a new vessel and strong. Of
course she leaked considerably, but when the tide went down the sea
calmed a little, the rocks ceased falling from the roof, and they were
enabled to rig the pumps and work them vigorously. The boats,
meanwhile, were cast loose and got ready to launch at the first glimmer
of daylight! Fortunately, they had received no serious injury from the
falling rocks.
Oh, how they longed and prayed for the day! It came at last, a gleam so
faint that it showed nothing of their surroundings save the outline of
the cavern's great mouth.
"Shall we launch the boats now, sir?" asked the first mate, who was
becoming anxious, because the carpenter had just reported that the water
in the hold was increasing dangerously in spite of the pumps.
"Not yet--not yet," returned the captain, hurriedly. "We must have more
light first. The loss of a boat would be fatal. I'm afraid of the
rising tide."
"Afraid of the rising tide!" Again the words struck strangely on Bob
Massey's ears as he stood wiping the perspiration from his brow after a
long spell at the pumps--and once more carried him back to the sunlit
sands of Old England.
Soon the increase of water in the hold was so great that the getting out
of the boats could no longer be delayed. The first launched was a small
one. It was lowered over the stern by means of the studding-sail boom,
with a block and whip, which kept it from dropping too quickly into the
water. Massey and his friend Slag, being recognised as expert boatmen
in trying circumstances, were sent in it, with two of the crew, to run
out a line and drop an anchor in the sea outside, so that the heavier
boats might be hauled out thereby. Two hundred and fifty fathoms of
rope were given them--more than sufficient for the purpose. On getting
outside, Bob and his friend, according to custom as lifeboat men, kept a
sharp look-out on everything around them, and the feeble daylight
enabled them to see that the black cliff which had, as it were,
swallowed up the _Lapwing_, was full six hundred feet high and a sheer
precipice, in some places overhanging at the top, and without the
symptom of a break as far as the eye could reach in either direction.
"A black look-out, Joe," muttered Massey, as he assisted his comrade to
heave the anchor over the side.
"Ay, Bob, an' the worst of it is that the tide's risin'. A boat can
live here as long as that ridge o' rocks keeps off the seas, but in an
hour or so it'll be rollin' in as bad as ever."
"I knows it, Joe, an' the more need to look sharp."
Returning to the ship, our coxswain made his report, and recommended
urgent haste. But the captain required no urging, for by that time the
ship's main deck was level with the water, and the seas were making a
clean breach over the stern. The passengers and crew crowded towards
the port gangway where the large boat was being brought round to receive
the women and children first. This was such a familiar scene to the two
lifeboat men that they kept cool and self-possessed from the mere force
of habit. Seeing this, the captain ordered Mitford to get into the boat
first, and help to stow the others, for it would be a tight pack, he
said, to stow them all. Dr Hayward was ordered to assist. Ned Jarring
volunteered to help to fend the boat off during the operation, and,
without waiting for permission, jumped into her.
Mitford had consigned his wife to the care of his friend Massey, who at
once undertook the duty by tying a kerchief round Peggy's head to keep
her hair out of her eyes, after which he did the same for Nellie. Both
women were perfectly quiet and submissive--the first owing to fear and
exhaustion, the last from native courage, which enabled her to rise to
the occasion. Massey then stripped off all his own clothes, except
shirt and trousers, so as to be ready for swimming, and, catching up a
rope, advanced towards his wife, intending to fasten it round her waist.
"Peggy first, Bob; I'll wait for _you_," said his wife.
"Look sharp!" cried the captain.
Bob turned at once to Peggy, and in a few seconds she was lowered into
the boat. Mrs Hayward followed. Then Massey insisted on his wife
going, and the obedient Nellie submitted, but, owing to a lurch of the
ship at the moment, she missed the boat, and dropped into the water.
One of the men attempted to pull her in, but could not, and, as all the
others were engaged at the moment in trying to fend off the rocks,
Massey at once jumped into the sea, and helped to get his wife into the
boat.
At that moment there arose a cry that the ship was sinking, and a wild
rush was made for the long-boat, which had also been successfully
launched. Of course it was instantly overcrowded, for all discipline
was now at an end. Before anything else could be done the _Lapwing_
sank in sixteen fathoms of water, carrying the long-boat and all the
people in her along with it, but those in the other boat had shoved off
at the first wild cry, and hauling on the anchored cable, just escaped
being sucked down by the sinking ship.
Bob Massey clung to the boat's gunwale, and thus escaped. Rowing back
instantly, however, to the spot where the ship had gone down, they
sought eagerly for swimmers. Only three were discovered and rescued,
but the others--seventy souls in all--found a watery grave in the dark
cavern of that unknown land.