"What are we to do now?" asked Paul, after he had secured his hold in
the main-chains.
"Hold on, Jack, where you are, while I will go and try to help some of
our shipmates," answered Reuben. "There's Mr Devereux, who can't do
much to help himself; and the young Mounseer, I should like to save
him."
Several men had already got to the upper side of the ship, some in the
main, and others in the mizen-chains, while others were in the rigging.
As the ship was light, she still floated high out of the water. Many
might possibly, therefore, be alive below. Reuben had not been gone
long, when he put his head through the port, singing out--
"Here, Paul, lend a hand and help up Mr Devereux."
Devereux had been partially stunned, but had happily clung to a
stanchion, where Reuben had found him. Paul hauled him up, while Reuben
again dived in search of some one else. He was gone for some time, and
Paul began to fear that some accident had happened to him. At length
his voice was again heard.
"Hurrah, Paul, here he is; and what is more, he has his fiddle, too, all
safe and sound."
Sure enough, there was Alphonse and his beloved fiddle in its case,
which he had contrived to get up from below at no little risk of being
drowned himself.
"Ah! I would not part from this," he exclaimed, as he made himself
secure in the chains. "It is my own dear friend; shall I play you a
tune now?"
"No, thank ye, Mounseer, it might chance to get wet, and may be there
are more poor fellows to help up here," answered Reuben.
"Ah! truly, I forgot what had happened," said Alphonse in a dreamy tone,
showing that his mind was wandering, overcome by the sudden catastrophe.
It was no time for laughter, or Paul would have laughed at the oddness
of the young Frenchman's remark. Still, awful as was the scene, he felt
very little sensation of fear. The night was very dark, the wind
howled, the rain fell in torrents, the sea dashed over the wreck, nearly
washing off those who clung to it, while vivid flashes of lightning
darted from the clouds and went hissing along like fiery serpents over
the summits of the waves. The party in the main-chains spoke but
little. It seemed too probable that none of them would ever see another
day. Indeed, even should the ship not go down, Paul feared that
Devereux could scarcely endure the hardships of their situation. He
asked Reuben if nothing could be done.
"If we could get at the axes, we might cut away the masts and the ship
might right," answered Reuben. "But, you see, we want daylight and the
officers to give the order, so that all may act together."
While he was speaking, a voice was heard apparently from the mizen
rigging, shouting, "Cut, I say, all of you; cut, I say, and cut
together."
It was that of Mr Noakes. Directly after, a flash of lightning
revealed him standing in the mizen-top, holding on with one hand, while
he waved the other wildly around. His nervous system had been
completely weakened by drinking, and it was evident that he had lost his
senses. He continued to shout louder and louder, and then to abuse the
crew for not obeying his orders. Flash after flash of lightning
revealed him still waving his arm; his hat had fallen off, and his long
grizzly hair flew wildly about his head. He seemed unaware of the
danger of his position and indifferent to the seas which frequently
dashed over him. He was thus seen standing, when a sea rose high above
the half-submerged hull, and rolling over the after part, struck the
mizen-top. A loud shriek was heard, and by the glare of a flash of
forked lightning, the unhappy officer, the victim of hard drinking, was
seen borne away amid its foaming waters. In vain he stretched out his
arms to catch at floating ropes; in vain he struck out boldly towards
the ship, and shouted to his men to help him. His strength was as
nothing, no aid could be given, and in another instant the waves closed
for ever over his head. O'Grady was the only other officer not
accounted for. He had been below, and it was to be hoped had got to the
upper side and had thus escaped being drowned. While his messmates were
inquiring for him, his voice was heard shouting for help. He had
clambered up through a hatchway, scarcely knowing what had occurred.
Reuben Cole and Paul helped him up to the main-chains. Devereux and
Alphonse bore up wonderfully well. The former especially showed what
spirit and courage ran do under difficulties and hardships.
"I wish that the day were come," said Paul more than once.
"It's what many have wished before, boy, and if has come in good time,"
answered Reuben.
"There's just only one thing for it, and that's patience, as Sandy
McPherson, an old shipmate of mine, used to say whenever he was in
trouble."
The dawn did come at last, but it was very grey and very cold; but the
wind and sea had gone down and the ship was still afloat. Whether she
could be saved was the first question asked by all. Devereux was now
senior officer, but his experience was very limited.
"I wish that I had attended more to this sort of thing," he observed to
O'Grady. "I never thought of the possibility of this happening to
myself."
"Faith, I can't say that I ever thought much about it either," answered
the other midshipman. "But I think that we couldn't do better than to
follow old Noakes's last order, to cut away the masts. If the ship
keeps on her side much longer, she'll go down, that's pretty certain."
"It's very well to give the order, but where are the axes to cut with?"
asked Devereux.
"Well, to be sure, I didn't think about that," answered O'Grady. "But
I'll volunteer to go and search for them, and probably others will come
and help me."
"I will, sir," exclaimed Paul, who overheard the conversation.
"And so will I," said Reuben Cole; "and what is more, even if the ship
does not go down, we shall starve if we don't, for there isn't a scrap
of food among any of us."
Alphonse also expressed his readiness to go on the expedition, but
O'Grady begged that he would remain and take care of Devereux. No time
was to be lost. As soon as there was sufficient light for them to see,
securing themselves by ropes, they slipped through a port and
disappeared. Devereux, who was unfit for any exertion, remained in the
chains. Some minutes passed. He became at last very anxious about his
companions. He shouted to them, but no one replied. It appeared to him
that the ship was turning over more, and settling deeper than before in
the water.
"They have only gone a short time before me," he thought. "It matters
but little, yet how unfit I am to die. But I must not yield without a
struggle. People in our circumstances have formed rafts and escaped;
why should not we? Though without food, or water, or compass, or chart,
we shall be badly off." He proposed his plan to Alphonse and the people
near him. All promised to obey his directions. They were on the point
of climbing along the masts to get at the lighter spars, when Paul poked
his head through a port, flourishing above it an axe.
"We've found them, we've found them," he shouted; "but there's no time
to be lost, for the water is already making its way through the
hatches."
The rest of the party appearing, corroborated this statement. Devereux
roused up his energies and distributed his crew, some at the masts, and
the rest at the shrouds.
"Cut off all, and cut together!" he shouted. In a minute every shroud
and stay and mast was cut through. The effect was instantaneous. The
ship rolled up on an even keel so rapidly, that Devereux and those with
him could with difficulty climb over the bulwarks to regain the deck.
Their condition was but little improved, for so much water had got down
below, that it seemed improbable the ship could swim long, and there she
lay a dismasted wreck in the middle of the wide Atlantic. The young
commander's first wish was to endeavour to clear the ship of water, but
the pumps were choked, and long before the water could be bailed out,
another gale might spring up and the ship go down, even supposing there
was no leak. It was probable, however, that from the quantity of water
in her she had already sprung a serious leak. Every boat on board had
been washed away or destroyed when the ship went over. Blank dismay was
visible on the countenances of even some of the boldest of the crew.
The masts and spars were, however, still hanging by the lee rigging
alongside.
"We could make a stout raft anyhow," observed Reuben.
The idea was taken up by the rest. There was a chance of life.
Devereux gave orders that a raft should be formed.
"But we'll be starving entirely, if we don't get up some provisions,"
observed O'Grady.
"May I go and collect them?" asked Paul. "Stronger people than I can be
working at the raft."
"And I will go too," said Alphonse, when Paul had obtained the
permission asked.
They found, however, that most of the casks and jars in the officers'
cabins had been upset and their contents washed away, while there was
already so much water in the hold, that they could not get up anything
from it. A cheese, some bottles of spirits, and a small cask of wet
biscuit, were all they could collect. While groping about in the hold,
it appeared to them that the water was rising; if so, the ship must have
sprung a serious leak. With the scanty supply of provisions they had
obtained, they hurried on deck to report what they had remarked.
Considerable progress had been made with the raft, but without food and
water it could only tend to prolong their misery. Reuben, with three
other men, were therefore ordered below, to get up any more provisions
which they could find. They very soon returned with the only things
they could reach,--a small cask of pork, another of biscuit, and a keg
of butter. Water was, however, most required, and it was not to be
obtained. It was evident, too, that the ship was settling down more and
more, and that no time must be lost in getting the raft finished. All
hands now worked with the knowledge that their lives depended on their
exertions, rapidly passing the numerous lashings in a way of which
sailors alone are capable. Even before it was completed, the small
amount of provisions which had been collected were placed on it, for all
knew that at any moment it might prove their only ark of safety.
Devereux had no occasion to urge his men to increased exertion. A sail
and spars for a mast, and yards and rudder were got ready. At length
all the preparations were concluded.
"To the raft! to the raft!" was the cry, for the ship had sunk so low
that the water was already running through the scuppers. Gradually she
went down; the raft was slightly agitated by the vortex formed as the
waters closed over her, and then it floated calmly on the wide ocean.
The crew looked at each other for some time without speaking. Devereux
was very young to be placed in so trying a position, still he saw that
he must maintain discipline among those under his command, and prevent
them from sinking into a state of despondency. There was much to be
done; the mast to be rigged, the sail to be fitted, and a rudder formed.
It was necessary also to secure the articles on the raft, and all being
done, he steered a course for the west, hoping to reach one of the West
India Islands.
Paul had often when at home pictured such a scene as that in which he
was now taking a part, but how far short did the scene he had drawn come
of the reality! Scarcely had the ship disappeared than the wind fell
and the sea became like glass, while the sun shone with intense heat on
the unprotected heads of the seamen.
"Reuben, can I ask for a mug of water, do you think? I am dreadfully
thirsty," said Paul.
Reuben looked at him with compassion. "Every drop of water we've got is
worth its weight in gold and many times more," he answered. "It will be
served out to us in thimblefuls, and each officer and man will share
alike. It will be well for us if it even thus lasts till we make the
land or get picked up."
Not a mouthful of food had been eaten since the previous evening.
"It's mighty like starving we are," observed O'Grady; "we had better
begin to eat a little, or we shall grow so ravenous, that it will be no
small allowance will satisfy us."
"You are right, Paddy," said Devereux, rousing himself up. "Ascertain
what quantity we have, and calculate how long it will last."
O'Grady commenced the examination as directed. He soon reported that
there was enough food to support life for eight, or perhaps, ten days.
"And water?" asked Devereux.
"Not for eight," was the answer.
"Heaven preserve us!" ejaculated Devereux. "It will take us double that
time to reach the land!"
The provisions were served out with the greatest care and in equal
portions. The people on the raft suffered more from heat than from any
other cause. The sea remained perfectly calm, the sun sank down, and
darkness reigned over the ocean. It was their first night on the raft.
Who could say how many more they might have to spend on it? Devereux
did his best to keep up the courage of his men, but in spite of all he
could say, the spirits of many sank low. He encouraged them to tell
stories, to narrate their adventures, to sing songs, and he himself took
every opportunity of talking of the future, and spoke confidently of
what he would do when they should reach the shore. Paul felt very
unhappy. He was hungry and thirsty, and that alone lowers the spirits.
The men were grouped round their officers in the centre of the raft.
Paul was sitting near Reuben.
"I don't think that I shall ever live through this," he said, taking his
friend's hand. "You are strong, Reuben, and you may weather it out. If
you do, you'll go and tell my poor mother and sisters how it all
happened and what became of me. Tell them that if I had lived I might,
perhaps, have been placed on the quarter-deck and become a captain or an
admiral; but that dream is all over now."
"As to that being a dream, a dream it is, Paul," said Reuben; "but as to
your living and turning out a good seaman, I've no fear about that, my
boy," he added cheerfully. "You see, there's One above cares for us,
and if we pray to Him He'll send us help."
The night passed on, the stars shone brightly down from the pure sky,
the waters flashed with phosphorescence, the inhabitants of the deep
came up to the surface to breathe, while not a breath of air ruffled the
face of the ocean. Except two appointed to keep watch, all on the raft
soon sank into a deep sleep. They were awoke by the hot sun beating
down on their heads; then they again wished for night. As the rays of
the sun came down with fiercer force their thirst increased, but no one
asked for more than his small share of water. Those only who have
endured thirst know the intensity of the suffering it causes. Devereux
had no more able supporter than Alphonse, who had saved his well-beloved
violin. The moment the young Frenchman saw that the spirits of the
people were sinking, he pulled it from its case, and putting it to his
chin, began scraping away with right good will; now a merry, now a
pathetic air. The excitable state of the nerves of the seamen was shown
by the effect he produced. On hearing the merry tunes they burst into
shouts of laughter; with the pathetic, even the roughest melted into
tears. Alphonse played on till his arm ached, and scarcely was he
rested before they begged him to go on again. Before the day closed,
however, several of the party appeared to be sinking into a state of
apathy, scarcely knowing where they were, or what they were saying.
Some clamoured loudly for food, but Devereux mildly but firmly refused
to allow any one to have more than his allotted share. Paul looked at
him with a respect he had never before felt. He seemed so cool and
collected, so different from the careless, thoughtless midshipman he had
appeared on board the frigate. He had evidently risen to the
difficulties of his position. He well knew, indeed, that the lives of
all the party would depend in a great measure on his firmness and
decision; at the same time, he knew that all he could do might avail
them nothing. He also felt compassion for Paul, who was the youngest
person on the raft. He had brought him away from the frigate, and it
was very probable that he would be one of the first to sink under the
hardships to which they were exposed. Paul was not aware that Devereux,
when serving out the food, gave him a portion of his own scanty share,
in the hopes that his strength might be thus better supported and his
life prolonged. Another night passed by, and when the sun rose, it
shone as before on a glassy sea. There was no sign of a breeze, and
without a breeze no ship could approach the raft, nor could the raft
make progress towards the land. Still Devereux persevered as before in
endeavouring to keep up the spirits of his men. Alphonse and his fiddle
were in constant requisition, and in spite of his own suffering, as long
as he could keep his bow moving, he played on with right good will.
When Alphonse grew weary, Devereux called for a tale; now for a song;
now he told one of his own adventures, or some adventure he had heard.
"Come, O'Grady, you used to be one of the best singers in the berth till
the Frenchman's shot knocked you over; try what you can do now!" he
exclaimed, so that all might hear. "Never mind the tune, only let it be
something comic, for a change," he added in a whisper; "you and I must
not let the rest know what we feel."
"I'll do my best, though, faith, it's heavy work to sing with an empty
stomach," answered O'Grady. "However, here goes:--
"'Twas on November, the second day,
The Admiral he bore away,
Intending for his native shore;
The wind at south-south-west did roar,
There likewise was a terrible sky,
Which made the sea to run mountains high.
"The tide of ebb not being done,
But quickly to the west did run,
Which put us all in dreadful fear,
Because there was not room to wear;
The wind and weather increased sore.
Which drove ten sail of us ashore.
"Ashore went the _Northumberland_,
The _Harwich_ and the _Cumberland_,
The _Cloister_ and the _Lion_, too;
But the _Elizabeth_, she had most to rue,
She ran stem on and her _Lion_ broke,
And sunk the _Cambridge_ at one stroke.
"But the worst is what I have to tell,
The greatest ships had the greatest fall;
The brave `_Crounation_' and all her men,
Was lost and drownded every one,
Except a little midshipman and eighteen more
Who in the long-boat comed ashore.
"And thus they lost their precious lives,
But the greatest loss was unto their wives,
Who, with their children, left ashore,
Their husbands' watery death deplore;
And weep their fate with many of tears,
But grief endureth not for years.
"Now you who've a mind to go to sea,
Pray take a useful hint from me;
Oh! stay at home and be content
With what kind Providence has sent;
For these were punish'd unto their deeds,
For grumbling when they had no needs.
"Now may Heaven bless our worthy King,
Likewise his ministers we sing,
And may they ever steer a course,
To make things better 'stead of worse;
And England's flag triumphant fly,
The dread of every enemy."
O'Grady's song, though often heard before, was received with no less
applause in consequence. Other songs followed, but the effort was
greater than many of the seamen could make. Several attempted to tell
stories or their own adventures, but the former had no ending, and they
very soon lost the thread of their adventures. Then they wandered
strangely; some stopped altogether; others laughed and cried
alternately. Even Devereux could with difficulty keep command of his
own senses. Food and a few drops of precious water were distributed
among the sufferers; without it, few could have survived another night.
That night came, however, and that night passed, though some on the raft
had passed away from life when another sun arose.