But their difficulties were not surmounted--the fire now had
communicated to the main-deck, and burst out of the port-holes
amidships--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 meantime, the fire was making rapid
progress; the mainmast, 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 everyone 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 reappearing; but
two-thirds of the men were safely put in 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 blow-pipe;
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 lateen
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 lateen 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 her 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 the 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 boats 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 did 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 proportionally 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 amidships. 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 sank 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 drank 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 beach 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
the 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 at 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, fire,--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 had 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 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 this 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 the _Wilhelmina_, which 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 the 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 of 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.