AN AWFUL NIGHT
It was five o'clock in the afternoon when the rowboat went through the
passage, and as Captain Anthony saw the menacing reef upon which the
water was foaming and breaking, it seemed impossible that he had gone
over it the night before.
Now the little boat was riding on lengthened seas which were rolling
in from the ocean with increasing violence. The wind was blasty, but
hauled a little in the boat's favor, so that Captain Anthony ordered
the little sail set and told his companions if he could head in the way
he was now going, the ship should be raised in an hour.
The fury of the wind and sea now poured upon the boat, and darkness was
coming on, when the Catalpa was raised ahead. Captain Anthony knew that
the little boat would not be visible to the ship and that the latter
would stand off shore as soon as it became thick.
The sky grew blacker and the sea grew steadily heavier. The boat
began to jump and jar until it seemed that she might lose her spar or
mast step. The seas commenced to comb and break across the stern, or,
running the length of the boat, would tumble in, soaking the men and
threatening to swamp the little craft. Captain Anthony felt that his
salvation lay in reaching the ship that night.
The sixteen men were directed to take a place on the weather gunwale,
and the man in charge of the sheet was ordered to take a turn about the
thwart and not to slacken an inch. A crisis had arrived, and any risk
was preferable to a night on the ocean in such a storm as was imminent.
The boat leaped forward at a spanking rate, and the spray flew like
feathers; and the water rose in mimic mountains, crowned with white
foam which the wind blew in mist from summit to summit. Miles away the
Catalpa was seen, barely discernible at moments when she rose on the
crest of a larger wave than common, thrusting her bows into the air,
surrounded by foam, and apparently ready to take flight from the sea.
Then, with a crash, the mast went over the side, breaking close to the
thwart. The boat nearly capsized to windward, but the captain threw
her head to the wind and the magnificent efforts of the crew kept her
afloat. Monstrous seas now rolled into her, threatening to overwhelm
the craft. She was almost water-logged, and shipped water over bow and
stern alternately, as she rose and fell. The crew bailed vehemently and
desperately. The rescued men were very sick, and lay in the bottom of
the boat, a wretched heap of miserable humanity.
The boat was relieved of some of the water, and the wreck hauled in.
Oars were shipped, but rowing accomplished nothing more than holding
the boat on her course, and almost in despair the men saw the Catalpa
tack offshore.
The gale increased in violence as night wore on, and the men were
completely worn out. The seas dashed over them, and their strength was
taxed to exhaustion in bailing quickly lest the next sea might tumble
in and wreck the boat. After the mast went, Captain Anthony took the
midship oar, lashed on the jib, and stuck it up. The sheet was hauled
aft, and the centreboard lowered, which steadied the boat and kept
steerageway on her. The phosphorescence afforded a spectacle which
Captain Anthony had never witnessed in equal degree, but it only made
the wild scene more terrifying and awful.
For hours the seas continued to hurl themselves across the boat, while
the men cast out the sea with bailers improvised from water kegs, the
heads of which were knocked out.
Little was said, but occasionally one of the rescued men would ask
"Captain, do you think we will float through the night?" The captain
would cheerily reply, "Oh, yes, I've been out on many a worse night;"
but he has since confessed that he would not have given a cent for the
lives of the entire company. Under other circumstances the danger would
have been much less. But the boat was overloaded, the gunwales being
within two inches of the water, and she was nearly unmanageable. To run
back to Garden Island meant capture.
The crew had eaten nothing but a little dry hard-bread since the noon
of the day previous, and were painfully athirst. The provisions and
water in the boat had been washed overboard. Captain Anthony was on his
knees on top of the stern sheets steering, and often the seas rose to
his armpits. The men were groaning, and it was so dark that the captain
could not see his crew. No word was spoken excepting repeated orders to
bail.
Late in the night, when the captain had decided that the boat must
swamp before long, the gale subsided somewhat. Daylight was welcome
after the awful night. The sea had now gone down, and there was
prospect of a fair day. The seas came aboard less frequently, and
courage and hope returned.
At sunrise every one was overjoyed to see the ship standing in toward
the land. Oars were once more shipped, and with the sail drawing good
progress was made.