"In the year 1837, I commanded HMS _Pylades_, on the East India station.
We were on our return home, by the way of the Cape of Good Hope, when,
on the 8th of May of that year, we were off Cape L'Agulhus. It was
blowing a heavy gale of wind, with a tremendous sea running, such a sea
as one rarely meets with anywhere but off the Cape, when just at
nightfall, as we were taking another reef in the topsails, a fine young
seaman, a mizen-topman, James Miles by name, fell from the
mizen-topsail-yard, and away he went overboard. In his descent he came
across the chain-span of the weather-quarter davits, and with such force
that he actually broke it. I could scarcely have supposed that he would
have escaped being killed in his fall; but, as the ship flew away from
him, he was seen rising on the crest of a foaming wave, apparently
unhurt. The life-buoy was let go as soon as possible, but by that time
the ship had already got a considerable distance from him; and even
could he reach it, I felt that the prospect of saving him was small
indeed, as I had no hope, should we find him, of being able to pick him
out of that troubled sea; and I had strong fears that a boat would be
unable to swim, to go to his rescue, should I determine to lower one. I
was very doubtful as to what was my duty. I might, by allowing a boat
to be lowered, sacrifice the lives of the officer and crew, who would, I
was very certain, at all events volunteer to man her. It was a moment
of intense anxiety. I instantly, however, wore the ship round; and
while we stood towards the spot, as far as we could guess, where the
poor fellow had fallen, the thoughts I have mentioned passed through my
mind. The sad loss of the gallant Lieutenant Gore and a whole boat's
crew a short time before, about the same locality, was present to my
thoughts. To add to the chances of our not finding the man, it was now
growing rapidly dusk. As we reached the spot, every eye on board was
straining through the gloom to discern the object of our search, but
neither Miles nor the life-buoy were to be seen. Still, I could not
bring myself to leave him to one of the most dreadful of fates. He was
a good swimmer, and those who knew him best asserted that he would swim
to the last. For my part, I almost hoped that the poor fellow had been
stunned, and would thus have sunk at once, and been saved the agony of
despair he must be feeling were he still alive. Of one thing I felt
sure, from the course we had steered, that we were close to the spot
where he had fallen. Anxiously we waited,--minute after minute passed
by,--still no sound was heard; not a speck could be seen to indicate his
position. At least half an hour had passed by. The strongest man alive
could not support himself in such a sea as this for so long, I feared.
Miles must long before this have sunk, unless he could have got hold of
the life-buoy, and of that I had no hope. I looked at my watch by the
light of the binnacle lamp. `It is hopeless,' I thought; `we must give
the poor fellow up.' When I had come to this melancholy resolve, I
issued the orders for wearing ship in a somewhat louder voice than
usual, as under the circumstances was natural, to stifle my own
feelings. Just then I thought I heard a human voice borne down upon the
gale. I listened; it was, I feared, but the effect of imagination; yet
I waited a moment. Again the voice struck my ear, and this time several
of the ship's company heard it. `There he is, sir! There he is away to
windward!' exclaimed several voices; and then in return they uttered a
loud hearty cheer, to keep up the spirits of the poor fellow. Now came
the most trying moment; I must decide whether I would allow a boat to be
lowered. `If I refuse,' I felt, `my crew will say that I am careless of
their lives. It is not their nature to calculate the risk they
themselves must run.' At once Mr Christopher, one of my lieutenants,
nobly volunteered to make the attempt, and numbers of the crew came
forward anxious to accompany him. At last, anxiety to save a drowning
man prevailed over prudence, and I sanctioned the attempt.
"The boat, with Mr Christopher and a picked crew, was lowered, not
without great difficulty, and, sad to say, with the loss of one of the
brave fellows. He was the bowman; and, as he stood up with his
boat-hook in his hand to shove off, the boat give a terrific pitch and
sent him over the bow. He must have struck his head against the side of
the ship, for he went down instantly, and was no more seen. Thus, in
the endeavour to save the life of one man, another was already sent to
his long account. With sad forebodings for the fate of the rest of the
gallant fellows, I saw the boat leave the ship's side. Away she pulled
into the darkness, where she was no longer visible; and a heavy pull I
knew she must have of it in that terrible sea, even if she escaped
destruction. It was one of the most trying times of my life. We waited
in suspense for the return of the boat; the minutes, seeming like hours,
passed slowly by, and she did not appear. I began at length to dread
that my fears would be realised, and that we should not again see her,
when, after half an hour had elapsed since she had left the ship's side
on her mission of mercy, a cheer from her gallant crew announced her
approach with the success of their bold enterprise. My anxiety was not,
however, entirely relieved till the falls were hooked on, and she and
all her crew were hoisted on board, with the rescued man Miles. To my
surprise I found that he was perfectly naked. As he came up the side,
also, he required not the slightest assistance, but dived below at once
to dry himself and to get out of the cold. I instantly ordered him to
his hammock, and, with the doctor's permission, sent him a stiff glass
of grog. I resolved also to relieve him from duty, believing that his
nervous system would have received a shock from which it would take long
to recover. After I had put the ship once more on her course, being
anxious to learn the particulars of his escape, as soon as I heard that
he was safely stowed away between the blankets, I went below to see him.
His voice was as strong as ever; his pulse beat as regularly, and his
nerves seemed as strong as usual. After pointing out to him how
grateful he should feel to our Almighty Father for his preservation from
an early and dreadful death, I begged him to tell me how he had
contrived to keep himself so long afloat. He replied to me in the
following words:--`Why, sir, you see as soon as I came up again, after I
had first struck the water, I looked out for the ship, and, getting
sight of her running away from me, I remembered how it happened I was
there, and knew there would be no use swimming after her or singing out.
Then, sir, I felt very certain you would not let me drown without an
attempt to pick me up, and that there were plenty of fine fellows on
board who would be anxious to man a boat to come to my assistance, if
you thought a boat could swim. Then, thinks I to myself, a man can die
but once, and if it's my turn to-day, why, there's no help for it. Yet
I didn't think all the time that I was likely to lose the number of my
mess, do ye see, sir. The next thought that came to me was, if I am to
drown, it's as well to drown without clothes as with them; and if I get
them off, why, there's a better chance of my keeping afloat till a boat
can be lowered to pick me up; so I kicked off my shoes, and then I got
off my jacket, and then, waiting till I could get hold of the two legs
at once, I drew off my trousers in a moment. My shirt was soon off me,
but I took care to roll up the tails, so as not to get them over my
face. As I rose on the top of the sea, I caught sight of the ship as
you wore her round here, and that gave me courage, for I felt I was not
to be deserted; indeed, I had no fear of that. Then I knew that there
would be no use swimming; so all I did was to throw myself on my back
and float till you came up to me. I thought the time was somewhat long,
I own. When the ship got back, I saw her hove to away down to leeward,
but I did not like to sing out for fear of tiring myself, and thought
you would not hear me; and I fancied also that a boat would at once have
been lowered to come and look for me. Well, sir, I waited, thinking the
time was very long, and hearing no sound, yet still I could see the ship
hove to, and you may be sure I did not take my eyes from off her; when
at last I heard your voice give the order to wear ship again. Then
thinks I to myself, now or never's the time to sing out. And, raising
myself as high as I could out of the water, I sang out at the top of my
voice. There was a silence on board, but no answer, and I did begin to
feel that there was a chance of being lost after all. "Never give in,
though," thinks I; so I sung out again, as loud, you may be sure, as I
could sing. This time the answering cheers of my shipmates gave me
fresh spirits; but still I knew full well that I wasn't safe on board
yet. If I had wanted to swim, there was too much sea on to make any
way; so I kept floating on my back as before, just keeping an eye to
leeward to see if a boat was coming to pick me up. Well, sir, when the
boat did come at last, with Mr Christopher and the rest in her, I felt
strong and hearty, and was well able to help myself on board. I now can
scarcely fancy I was so long in the water.' I was much struck with the
extraordinary coolness of Miles. He afterwards had another escape,
which was owing less to his own self-possession, though he took it as
coolly as the first. On our passage home, the ship was running with a
lightish breeze and almost calm sea across the Bay of Biscay, when Miles
was sent on the fore-topgallant-yard. By some carelessness he fell
completely over the yard, and those aloft expected to see him dashed to
pieces on the forecastle. Instead of that, the foresail at that moment
swelled out with a sudden breeze, and, striking the bulge of the sail,
he was sent forward clear of the bows and hove into the water. A rope
was towing overboard. He caught hold of it, and, hauling himself on
board, was again aloft within a couple of minutes attending to his duty,
which had so suddenly been interrupted. On his arrival in England,
Lieutenant Christopher received the honorary silver medal from the Royal
Humane Society for his gallant conduct on the occasion of saving Miles'
life."