For the remainder of the night we kept anxiously looking over the
taffrail, lest our enemy should have again made sail in chase. More
than once I thought I saw the rover's shadowy form stealing up towards
us through the darkness; but just as I expected to make it out clearly,
to my great relief it dissipated into mist. Voices, also, I thought,
seemed to be shouting after us from out of the gloom; but neither did
they ever assume any distinctness, and fancy, I found, had caused the
creation of them both. Slowly the night passed away, and as soon as the
first bright streaks of dawn appeared in the grey sky, the captain went
himself aloft to take a survey of the horizon.
"There is not a sail in sight in any quarter," he exclaimed to Peter, as
he returned on deck. "To your clever suggestion we owe our own lives
and the safety of the ship; but clever as it was, I would not advise
others to try a similar one. They might not meet with enemies so easily
deceived."
"No, sir," answered Peter, "certainly not; and, for my part, I would
much rather have beat off the scoundrels in a fair stand-up fight than
with such a play-acting trick as that; but then, you see, air, it was
Hobson's choice--neck or nothing with us!"
Peter's curious contrivances were kept, that they might be shown as an
evidence of the way in which we had escaped from the rover. The
appearance of Walter Stenning on board the rover was a subject of
constant conversation among us. There could be no doubt, then, that he
had been carried on board the rover, and that his life had been
preserved. This would be a satisfaction to his friends, though a
melancholy one, as his ultimate fate must still be uncertain.
We had still a long passage before us to Halifax, and might meet with
many adventures. At all events, we could scarcely expect to escape some
bad weather, though it was not likely we should encounter the rover, or
any of her consorts, as gentry of that class were not fond of venturing
into northern latitudes. For more than a couple of weeks the fine
weather continued, and we met with no event worthy of note. We had,
however, to learn somewhat more of the sufferings which people meet with
on the wide ocean.
One morning the sky became overcast; the water was of that dull leaden
hue, striped with white foam, which gives so gloomy an aspect to the
ocean; and heavy squalls compelled us to shorten sail as fast as all
hands could get through the task. For the greater part of the day the
squalls continued; but in the afternoon, though it was hazy, the weather
again improved.
I was looking out, when I saw through the mist what I took to be a sail.
There was something strange about her rig--I could not make it out.
Accordingly, I reported it to the captain, who came on deck. He called
Peter to him.
"She looks to me like a vessel in distress, with most of her spars and
upper-rigging carried away," he observed. She was about six miles off,
on the lee-bow. Accordingly, the brig was kept away towards her.
Heavy squalls of rain occasionally blew over us, and for a time
completely hid the wreck from view. When it cleared for an instant, we
made out that she had an English ensign reversed secured to the
main-rigging. Her mainmast alone was standing entire, her foremast had
gone by the board, her mizzen-mast was carried away at the top, and part
only of her bowsprit remained. Her maintop-mast-yard was still crossed;
but the sail, torn to ribbons, now fluttered in the wind, and not
another inch of canvas had she set.
"She looks dreadfully knocked about," observed the captain. "And from
the way she rolls in the trough of the sea, there can be no doubt that
she is water-logged. If it were not for the signal flying, I should
scarcely expect to find anyone on board."
We had as much sail set as we could venture to carry, so that we could
not make greater speed towards her; but the squalls increased in number,
and night was coming on, so that we began to fear that we should be
unable to get up to her before darkness hid her from our sight. Even
when we had got up to her, unless she had her own boats, short-handed as
we were, with a heavy sea running, we could scarcely hope to render her
much assistance. Still Captain Gale was not the man to neglect making
the attempt. Some, I am sorry to say, would have sailed on their way,
and allowed any poor wretches who might have been on the wreck to perish
miserably. As we approached the wreck, we could just distinguish
through the driving mists and thickening gloom of night, several human
beings leaning against the stumps of her masts, or sitting on her deck
eagerly waving to us. The captain on seeing them exclaimed--
"Peter, we must do something to save those poor fellows."
"I should think: so, sir," was the answer. "If you let me have a boat,
with Jack there, and one hand besides, I'll undertake to get on board
and bring them off. I know that it would leave you terribly
short-handed if we were lost; but I don't think that there's any chance
of that, and I'm sure that we shall be protected in doing what's right."
"You shall have your way, Peter; I cannot refuse you," exclaimed the
captain, warmly. "We'll heave the brig to to leeward of the wreck, so
that if you can manage to get the poor fellows into the boat, you can
with less difficulty drop aboard of us again."
According to this plan, we ran under the stern of the ship and rounded
to. I never saw a more complete wreck yet floating on the surface. Her
entire bulwarks, her boats, caboose, booms--indeed everything on deck--
had been completely carried away, and the sea even now occasionally
washed entirely over her. It was not an easy matter to lower our boat,
but it was done without an accident; and Peter, Andrew Blair, a fine
young fellow, and I, pulled away in her for the wreck. The unfortunate
wretches on board waved us on. Several more made their appearance, as
we approached, from behind a sail which had been triced up round the
mainmast, which appeared to be the only shelter they had from the
inclemency of the weather. They were all holding on to ropes secured to
the masts or rigging, for without them they would certainly at once have
been washed off the deck into the sea.
On getting nearer, we saw one or two heads looking at us from above the
companion-hatch, which had escaped, and seemed to have afforded some
shelter to others. We pulled as close to her as we could venture to go.
"Remember if we come alongside only four of you at a time must get into
the boat, or we shall all lose our lives together!" shouted Peter. "Do
you hear me there?"
They signified that they did hear; but Peter's caution was very
unnecessary, for few of them could do more than crawl, and none of them,
without assistance, could have got into the boat.
"I see what must be done," said Peter to us. "You two remain in the
boat. There's a rope towing overboard from the main-rigging; I'll get
hold of it, and haul myself on her deck, and then, as best I can, I'll
drop the poor fellows into the boat!"
To propose was with him to act. As the boat with the send of the sea
approached the wreck, while we fended her off he seized the rope, which
he found secure, and though the water, as it came pouring down to
leeward, washed over him, he hauled himself up in a moment on her deck,
and stood among the miserable wretches who peopled it. They crawled
round him, and grasped his legs, to show their gratitude to him as their
deliverer. I saw by his action that he was telling them that there was
not a moment to be lost. Beckoning to us to approach, he seized one of
them up in his arms as if he had been an infant, and grasping the rope
with one hand, swung himself off from the side of the ship, and
deposited his burden in the boat, or rather in our arms, as we stood
ready to receive him. In a moment he was on the deck, and lifting up
another human being, sprung as before into the boat.
"How many of you are there?" he asked of one who seemed to be the
strongest of the crew, and looked by his dress like an officer. Once he
had evidently been a stout, broad-shouldered, muscular young man, now he
was a mere skeleton like the rest.
"Twelve or fourteen there were this morning, but I know not how many may
since have died," was the answer, given in a hollow tone scarcely
audible.
"Then we'll take four at a time to the brig, and we shall have to make
three trips," answered Peter. "We must not venture with more, though as
to weight the boat would carry the whole of you. Now, my lad," he
continued, addressing the mate, for so the man who had spoken proved to
be, "just do you come with us this trip. I'll lend you a hand into the
boat."
"No, no!" answered the fine fellow; "take some of the others who are
worse off than I am. There were a couple of women. They will be found
aft under the companion-hatch."
As no persuasion would make the mate alter his determination, Peter
hurried aft, and diving under the hatch, returned with what looked like
a long bundle of clothes in his arms. "Gently, now," he sung out; "she
has life in her, but very little of it."
The clothes enveloped a female form, but so emaciated that she seemed to
be of no weight whatever. Before placing her in the boat, Peter poured
a few drops of liquid down her throat from a flask the captain had given
him.
"There's no use to bring the other poor thing; her sufferings are over,"
he observed, as he lifted in another man. "And now, my lads, we'll put
these on board."
We soon dropped down to the brig, and with less difficulty got the poor
wretches up the side. The captain proposed sending the two other hands
instead of Blair and me, but we begged that we might be allowed to
return to the wreck.
Once more we pulled away from the brig, the boat, it must be remembered,
tumbling and tossing about, now sunk in the trough of the sea, now
rising to the top of a foam-crested wave; the sky overhead threatening
and cloudy; a dense mist driving in our faces; and darkness rapidly
coming on. We had the lives of fellow-creatures to save, and we
persevered. Again the undaunted Peter sprung on board the wreck.
"Take care of that man!" exclaimed the mate, as an extraordinary-looking
figure, in a long dressing-gown, with strips of canvas fastened about
his head, ran up from behind the woman; "he is not altogether right in
his mind, I fear."
"Avaunt, ye pirates! ye plunderers! ye marauders!" shrieked out the
person spoken of. "How dare ye venture on board my noble ship? Away
with ye! away! away!" and flourishing a piece of timber which he had
wrenched, it seemed, from the side of the ship, he advanced towards
Peter.
My shipmate would have been struck down by the maniac's blow, had he not
sprung nimbly aside, and then, rushing in, he closed with the wretched
being, and wrenched the weapon out of his grasp. The madman's strength
was exhausted.
"I yield! I yield me!" he cried; and though he was a tall man, Peter
lifted him up as he had done the others, and handed him to us. He lay
quiet enough in the bottom of the boat, regarding the wreck he was
leaving with a stare of wonder.
Three other men were lifted in, but still the mate refused to leave
while any remained alive on board. As we were leaving the wreck a
second time, a man lifted himself up from the deck, and stood for a
moment gazing at us.
"What! again deserted!" he exclaimed, shrieking frantically. "Oh, take
me! take me!" and staggering forward, before the mate could prevent him
he cast himself headlong into the sea. We endeavoured to put back, but
he floated scarcely a moment, and then the foaming waters closed over
his head. It was another of the numberless instances I have witnessed
of the crime and folly of not waiting with calmness and resignation for
what the Almighty has in his providence prepared for us. I trust that
the poor man's mind had given way in this instance; but even that result
is often produced by a want of reliance on God's mercy.
We put our hapless freight on board the brig, and a third time returned
to the wreck. Besides the brave mate, Peter found only two more people
alive on board. Several were dead. At the earnest solicitation of the
mate, Peter helped him to commit them to the deep. It was a melancholy
and loathsome task, for some had been long dead.
The delay also was of serious consequence. More than once I summoned
Peter, for another thick squall of rain had come on, and when I glanced
round for an instant to look for the brig, she was nowhere to be seen!
A pang of dread ran through my heart, and all sorts of horrid ideas
rushed into my head. I thought that the squall might have struck her,
and that she might have capsized, or that she might have drifted so far
to leeward that we might not be able to find her. I said nothing,
however, but helped Peter to take the mate and the other two survivors
off the wreck. Then, indeed, the question pressed on us, What has
become of the brig?
"Cheer up, my lads!" cried Peter; "hold on yet a while; we'll see her
presently."
We waited with intense anxiety, and the darkness seemed every instant
increasing. It was, however, only the result of the tail of the squall
passing by. Suddenly a bright light burst forth, which we knew must
proceed from the deck of the brig.
"The captain has not forgotten the trick we played the pirates!"
exclaimed Peter. "Shove off, my lads!"
With lightened hearts we pulled away to leeward, and were soon once more
on the deck of the brig, with our boat hoisted up and secured. Every
care and attention which we could possibly bestow was paid to the poor
starving wretches. Captain Gale was enlightened as well as brave and
generous, so that he knew well how to treat them. First he gave them
only a little liquid--tea and cocoa; and then after a time a little
simple arrowroot; afterwards he gave them some with broth; and, lastly,
he mixed a few drops of wine with the arrowroot.
Scarcely, however, had we got them down below, than the gale which had
been threatening came on; and while the captain went to the helm, all
hands had to spring aloft to shorten sail. Happily the gale was in our
favour, so that we were able to run before it, and keep our course.
There can be little doubt that had we not providentially appeared that
very night, everybody on board the wreck would have perished. We had
hard work enough to do the duty of the ship and to attend to our
passengers, who could for some days do nothing to help themselves. They
were all too weak to speak without fatigue, so we forbore to question
them as to the particulars of the events which had brought them into the
condition in which we had found them.
For some days all we knew was, that the ship was the _Eagle_, from
Quebec, laden with timber, and that she had been six weeks very nearly
in the condition we found her--water-logged, with spars and sails
carried away. The captain had died, and the lady we had rescued was his
wife. Poor thing! at first she was almost insensible to everything; but
when she recovered her health and strength, it was pitiable to see her
grief.
The tall, gaunt man, whom we found deranged, had been a merchant's
clerk, and had gone out to Canada in the vain hope of finding
employment. Disappointed in his expectations, he was returning home.
At first he appeared to recover strength, but a relapse took place, and
he rapidly seemed to grow weaker and weaker. I was sent to watch him.
Suddenly he sat up in his berth, and glared wildly around.
"Where am I?--where am I going?--what has occurred?" he exclaimed.
"Tell me, young man. I have had a horrid dream. For worlds I would not
dream it again!" Then his voice lowered, and, rubbing his hand across
his brow, he added, in a low, calm tone--
"I know all about it. I am going to a land where I have only one
account to render; but my Judge will be great and just; and there is One
in whom I trust who has taken all my sins on Himself. Young man, thank
all those who have been kind to me. I am grateful. Good-night!" He
fell back on his pillow, and was dead.
Among those saved was one other passenger. The rest consisted of the
first mate, and the crew of the ship. With one of the crew, a young
Canadian, who was making his second trip to sea, I formed a strong
friendship; Adam De Lisle was his name. From him I learned the
particulars of the disaster.
"You must know," he observed, "that the timber which is sent from Canada
to England is cut down from forests many hundreds of miles up the
country. Numerous large and rapid rivers run into the great river Saint
Lawrence. At the fall of the year gangs of woodcutters, under regular
leaders, proceed up these rivers in canoes, with a supply of food, and
every requisite, to enable them to spend the winter far from the haunts,
of civilisation. Arrived at the forest they have selected for their
operations, they build their habitations, and then set to work to cut
down the trees they require. These, when shaped into square logs, as
soon as snow has fallen, and ice covers the water, are dragged to the
nearest stream. When spring returns, they are bound together in small
rafts, and floated down towards the main river. Sometimes, when rapids
occur, they are separated, and a few trees are allowed to glide down
together. Slides have, of late years, been formed by the sides of the
rapids, through which the timber descends without injury. At the foot
of the rapids the rafts are re-formed, and ultimately, when they reach
the Saint Lawrence, they are made so large that huts are built on them,
in which their conductors live till they reach Quebec. This they
frequently do not do till the end of the summer, when all the ships have
sailed. The timber, therefore, remains in shallow docks at the mouth of
the Charles River, which runs into the Saint Lawrence on one side of
Quebec, till the following spring. The timber is often shipped through
a large port in the bow of a ship, but a quantity is also piled upon
deck, and lashed there to ring-bolts, making a ship with so great a
weight above board very uneasy in a sea. Thus, I think, more accidents
happen to the spars and rigging of timber-ships than to any other,
though they have an advantage in floating longer than other craft.
"The _Eagle_ was one of the first ships which left Quebec this year,
with a crew of eighteen, all told fore-and-aft, with the captain's wife
and several passengers. Scarcely had we got clear of the Gulf when we
fell in with bad weather; and about ten days afterwards, a heavy gale
sprung up from the westward. It was night. The sea soon ran very high,
and the ship being deep, and steering ill, before she could be got
before the wind, it made a clear breach over her. There she lay
helplessly in the trough of the sea, most of her bulwarks carried away,
and the water pouring down her companion-hatch, and deluging the cabin.
It soon found its way forward, and every instant we thought she would
capsize. The captain ordered the main and mizzen topsail-sheets to be
cut away, for there was no time to let them go, or clew-up the sails;
but still the ship lay helpless and unable to answer her helm. Two men
went to the helm, while others rigged relieving-tackles, and at length
all the after-sail being taken off her, the headsail filled, and once
more she ran before the wind. This was a great relief, but still the
water was gaining on us. The seas continued rolling up after us high
above the poop, and at length one broke on board, carrying the taffrail
clean away, and sweeping the after-part of the deck. Had we not had
safety-lines passed across the deck, the greater number of us would at
once have been washed overboard. Our sufferings had now become intense,
both from cold and hunger. All the provisions we could get at were
spoiled with salt water, and the few clothes we had on were drenched
also with water, and the wind pierced through them to our very bones.
We still managed to keep a close-reefed foretop-sail on the ship, with a
mainstay-sail and trysail, or we could not have avoided being constantly
pooped. The gale, in a short time, increased in fury as the sea did in
height. Again it made a clean breach over the ship. All the bulwarks
were carried away; and the ring-bolts being torn from the decks, the
deck timber, which consisted of large logs, was washed overboard, as
were all our boats. At the same moment the foresail blew clean out of
the bolt-ropes; and all those we could muster fit for duty had not
strength sufficient to go aloft to set another. We knew well that our
safety much depended on our being able to keep sail on the ship; but
each man felt that his death would be the consequence if he attempted to
go aloft, with that raging sea tumbling the ship about in every
direction, the wind howling round him, and the torn sail flapping
fiercely in his face. Still we managed to keep the ship before the
wind, and thus, by easing the strain on her, she was prevented from
going to pieces, which she would otherwise inevitably have done.
"Our first mate, James Carr, was a fine fellow. To look at him, you
would not have supposed that he had so much endurance in his body. His
spirit kept him up. When very few besides he and I could bear up, he
went about the decks as if nothing unusual had occurred. He was a
slight, fair man, and far from strongly-built; but he was a thoughtful,
reading, and more than that, a religious man. Those who had led the
wildest and most careless lives, and had no faith or hope to sustain
them, were the first to succumb. I held out--first, because I believed
that God would sustain me; and because I had a good constitution, which
I had never injured by vice and debauchery, as too many of the rest had
done. The captain was a good, kind man, and he did his best for us as
long as his strength lasted. The little food we could get at was
carefully husbanded, and all hands were put on short allowance. Many
days thus passed away, the ship running before the wind, and still
keeping together. At length the wind lulled, and we began to look
forward with hope to the future. The caboose had hitherto stood, and
the cook managed to light a fire in it, and to dress several meals,
which we ate with comparative comfort. As long as there was a moderate
breeze the ship ran steadily before it, but what many people would have
thought an advantage, proved our greatest bane. Too much wind had
injured us--too little almost destroyed us. It fell a dead calm; and
this, far from bettering our condition, made the ship roll still more
than ever, and soon reduced us to the condition in which you found us.
The greater part of the bowsprit had already gone, the foremast was next
rolled out of her, and then the mizzen-mast went--the mainmast must have
been an unusually good stick, or that would have gone likewise. We had
scarcely strength left to cut away the wreck. Hitherto, though all
hands were growing daily weaker, no deaths had occurred, nor had anyone
any particular sickness. However, anxiety of mind now helped to make
our poor captain ill, and he took to his cot. The daily provision for
each of us consisted also of but three ounces of bread, and half a pint
of water. We agreed to this, because we felt that it was enough to
sustain life for some time, and that it was better to have a little each
day than have to go many days without any food at all. The officers
proposed, however, before long, to diminish even this small allowance--
though, by mixing a little spirits with the water, our food sustained us
more than it would otherwise have done. Starvation, after a time, began
to tell sadly on our tempers; and we, who had generally lived in
good-fellowship with each other, spent the day in wrangling and
peevishness. A breeze, however, had again sprung up, which seemed to
steady the ship, though we could not keep her on her proper course.
Such was the state of things, when one morning Mr Carr going on deck,
as was his custom, to take a look-out, and to hoist our signal of
distress, he shouted out, `Sail, ho!'
"How did our hearts leap with joy as we heard those words! We all
crawled up as best we could to take a look at the stranger, which we
hoped would save us. She saw us, and drew nearer. The captain got the
mate and me to help him up on deck, and then, as he saw the approaching
vessel, his heart bursting forth with gratitude, he called on us all to
return thanks to God for the deliverance he hoped was at hand. His poor
wife, who had held out bravely, and scarcely ever left his side, wept
with joy at the thought that his life might yet be spared.
"`Now, my lads, let's see if we cannot get the ship somewhat clear of
water,' exclaimed Mr Carr, going to the pumps; `It will never do to
have it said that we did nothing to help ourselves.'
"I believe he did this to employ the men's minds till assistance could
reach us. He set the example, which we all followed; and, weak as we
were, we pumped away with such good-will that she rose perceptibly in
the water, showing us that there was no leak to injure her.
"At last the stranger, a large brig, reached us, and heaving-to just to
leeward, Mr Carr gave him an account of all that had happened to us.
"The master of the brig said that he was himself somewhat short of
provisions, but would send us what he could venture to give in his own
boat. We thanked him with grateful hearts. Still the boat did not
come. There was some consultation on board; we could not tell what. A
breeze from the westward again sprung up. It was a fair wind for the
stranger.
"`What's he about now?' exclaimed several voices, trembling with
agitation.
"He put up his helm and filled his headsails.
"`He'll go about directly, and heave-to on the other tack,' said Mr
Carr.
"Still the stranger stood on.
"`Where can he be going to?' again exclaimed several of us.
"On, on he stood, steadily, with all sail set! Oh, how bitter were the
words which followed him! Could that heartless stranger have heard
them, would he have ventured to brave the fate to which he had left so
many of his fellow-creatures? How completely had he forgotten that
golden rule, `Do unto others as you would wish others to do unto you!'
What will be his thoughts some day when he is suffering from all the
miseries to which we were exposed, when he remembers the wreck he
deserted on the wild ocean! Hour after hour we watched him anxiously,
scarcely believing, till his topsails dipped beneath the horizon, that
so heartless a wretch existed in the creation."
"Ay, it's another proof of the depth of man's vileness, and wickedness,
and contempt of the laws of a God of mercy," observed Peter Poplar. "I
have known many such instances almost as bad; so I am not surprised."
"When we found that we really were deserted, the spirits of all of us
and the minds of some gave way. Several of the crew broke into the
spirit-room, which they could now reach, and, broaching a cask of
liquor, endeavoured to forget their miseries by getting drunk. The mate
and I, and most of the passengers, abstained from the temptation. Those
who indulged in it were the first to pay the penalty by a miserable
death.
"Still discipline had been maintained. Mr Carr called on me to
accompany him round the ship in search of anything which might serve as
food to stay the cravings of hunger. We discovered a few pounds of
candles, some bits of old leather, leather shoes, a rug, a couple of
hides; but our greatest prize was about a gallon of lamp-oil, and some
oil intended to mix with paint. These we brought into the cabin, to be
kept in safety. While we were there, Mr Carr's eyes fell on old
Trojan, the captain's favourite Newfoundland dog, as he lay almost dying
under his master's cot. The captain very naturally had not brought
himself to order its death.
"`I am sorry, sir,' said Mr Carr, `to propose what I do; but that dog
may be the means of preserving the lives of all of us. We must kill
him.'
"`You'll be proposing to kill and eat each other before long,' exclaimed
the poor master, in a querulous tone.
"`Heaven forbid!' answered the mate. `But to take the life of a brute
beast is a different matter. I don't see how we can spare him. Even if
we do, he will not live long, and now his blood alone will be of great
importance.'
"At last the captain consented to the death of his favourite, and poor
Trojan was led up on deck to be put to death. Before he was killed, we
all of us took an anxious look round the horizon, to ascertain that no
sail was near. We would gladly, even then, have saved the poor dog's
life. The cravings of hunger soon, however, drove all feelings of
remorse from our bosoms. The faithful brute looked up into our faces,
and his eyes said as clearly as if he had spoken the words, `I know that
it is necessary--be quick about it.' How carefully we husbanded every
drop of the blood! The mate got a teaspoon, and served it out with that
measure full to each of us at a time, while the flesh was reserved for
another day.
"I cannot describe how those wretched days passed away. Except the mate
and three others of us, no one could even stand. The captain lay in his
cot growing worse and worse. I was on deck one afternoon with Mr Carr,
steering and keeping the ship's head to the eastward, when we were
startled by a faint shriek from the cabin. Presently afterwards the
captain rushed on deck.
"`Mutiny! mutiny!' he exclaimed, frantically flourishing his arms about.
`But I'll take care that no one takes the ship from me. I'll shoot the
first man who approaches me, be he whom he may. See here here!'
"He drew a brace of pistols from his bosom, and presented them at us.
Happily, one missed fire; the ball from the other passed close to Mr
Carr's head.
"`That's right, sir,' said Mr Carr, quite coolly. `Now you've quelled
the mutiny, let's go below.'
"He signed to one of the other men, who crawled aft to help me to steer,
while he took the captain below. This outbreak was the last flaring up
of the poor man's almost exhausted strength. His wife watched him as
the flame of life sank lower and lower in the socket; and two days after
that, when I went into the cabin, I found her fainting beside him, and
he was dead. She entreated that the body might be allowed to remain in
the cabin another day; but the next she allowed the mate and me to
remove it, and to commit it to the sea.
"Oh, how sad and melancholy were those long, dreary nights, as we stood
at the helm, the gale howling over our heads, the ship groaning and
creaking, and the seas roaring up astern and threatening every moment to
wash us from our uncertain support--darkness above us, darkness on every
side!
"At last not a particle of food remained. Mr Carr made another search
into every cranny of the ship. Some grease was found; it served to keep
life in us another day. Then the dreadful information spread among us
that there was nothing else. Relief must come, or we must die.
"`Others have lived under like circumstances,' said one, looking up
under his scowling brow.
"`Ay, if it's necessary, it must be done,' hissed another.
"`There is no need why we should all die,' growled a third.
"They clearly understood what each other meant. I was listening, but
could: not believe the horrid truth. Those who were but able to move
crawled aft to Mr Carr, to tell him of their determination. For long
he would not listen to them, but drove them forward, calling them
cannibals, and telling them to wait God's providence. For my own part,
I felt that I would rather have died than have agreed to their
proposals. What they wanted was that lots should be drawn, and that he
who drew the shortest should be put to death, and the one next should be
the executioner. The captain's wife was to be free. At last their
importunity became so great that Mr Carr agreed that, should no sail
appear at the end of another twenty-four hours, he would no longer
oppose their wishes. Before that time, two of those who were most eager
for the dreadful mode of sustaining life, or most fearful of death, were
summoned away. The crime was prevented; no one had to become a
murderer. I will not describe how my wretched shipmates sustained life.
Mr Carr abstained from the dreadful repast. So did I and one or two
others; and though we lost in strength, our sufferings were much less
acute, and our minds more tranquil, and our judgment far clearer than
was the case with those who thus indulged their appetites. What we
might have done I know not, had not God in his mercy sent your brig to
our aid, with men on board with hearts to feel for us, and courage, in
spite of all dangers, to rescue us. Some time before this the ship had
become completely water-logged; and we, being driven from all shelter
below, were reduced to the state in which you found us."
The account De Lisle gave of Mr Carr raised him very much in my
opinion, and I thought at the time that he was just the man I should
like to sail with. We more than once spoke on the subject of the
condition to which the crew of the _Eagle_ had been reduced.
"To my mind," observed De Lisle, "I cannot believe that people are
justified in taking away the life of a fellow-creature even to preserve
their own. I thought so at the time, and I think so now, that our duty
is to resign ourselves implicitly to God's will--to do our very utmost
to preserve our lives, and to leave the rest in his hands."
Peter agreed with him. He told him that he wondered Mr Carr did not
mix up the grease on which they had fed with very fine saw-dust, as it
would have made it go much further. De Lisle replied, that had they
even supposed such a thing would have been beneficial, they had no means
of making fine saw-dust, as they could get at no saw, and every particle
of wood, as well as everything else, was soaked with wet.
After all the dangers and adventures we had gone through, it was with no
little satisfaction that, as I was stationed on the look-out aloft, I
espied land on the starboard-bow, which Captain Gale pronounced to be
that of Nova Scotia, a little to the westward of Cape Spry. We were in
sight of Sambro Head just at nightfall, but had to lay off till the
morning before we could run in among the numerous islets which exist
between that point and Devil's Island.
Thus another night had to be passed on board by our weary shipwrecked
visitors. Dark and dreary it proved. The wind came off cold and
cheerless, in fitful gusts, from the shore, and moaned and howled
through the rigging; the rain beat on our decks; and broken cross-seas
tumbled and danced round us like imps of evil, eager to prevent our
escaping from their malign influence. Thus wore on the night.