NIGHT.
“Mirk and rainy is the nicht,
No’ a star in a’ the carie;
Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
And winds drive wi’ winter’s fury.”
—_Tannah._
Darkness began to set in, and I soon lost sight of everybody and
everything except the light on Cape Schanck. With the daylight fled
my hope of a life-boat coming to our assistance. I had all along
been under the impression that the sinking of our ship had been seen
by the people in the lighthouse, and that it was only a question of
time when help would come. I began to give way to despondency! While
the daylight lasted I expected assistance, and my attention, when
not struggling under water, was taken up watching my mates and the
shore. Now night had come, and I felt as if I were left alone in the
midst of the raging waters. Was it worth while trying to continue
what seemed to be a hopeless struggle for life? I thought of my poor
wife, who, just then, would be expecting me home! I remembered, too,
that Captain Mathieson—who knew my life was insured—had asked me, on
the way from Melbourne to Port Albert, if I had made my will. When
I told him “No,” he said, “You should have done so, as no one knows
what may occur.” I gave little heed to his words at the time, but
now they seemed to have all the meaning of a presentiment. Under the
circumstances, thoughts like these were anything but cheering, but
nevertheless I made up my mind that, while God gave me strength, I
would battle on to the end. My raft, through being so frequently
turned over, had got reduced to three boards and the crosspiece.
At first I thought this was a misfortune, but I found that, being
smaller, it was more easily managed, and less liable to be capsized.
The wind began to be very cold, and a heavy shower of rain came on.
As I lay on my boards, the raindrops felt to me like spots of ice as
they fell upon my body. Strange as it may seem, I believe I must have
perished with the cold, but the frequent washings off the raft, and
my struggles in swimming to get on again, always kept my blood in
circulation, and made me feel fairly warm. Meanwhile, the tide was
slowly setting me down towards Cape Schanck, I saw the light burning
brightly, and it seemed no great distance off. As I drew nearer and
nearer, the breakers I got amongst were terribly heavy. From the
peculiar thunder-like roar they made in rushing along, I could hear
them coming in time to get ready for them. This I did by turning
myself on the raft with my head and face seaward. These tremendous
waves generally ran in threes, one after the other in succession. The
first would dash me off my boards and bury me in a half-senseless
state under water; then by the time I got to the surface again, and
had a breath or two, the second sea would be on me, repeating the
burying process, so that I used to reckon the third would completely
finish me. After recovering from these dashings my next great trouble
was to find my boards. I was anxious to keep them, as they not only
gave me a rest, but they also seemed to be kind of company for me. In
the dark I could see them always a little distance off; as they shone
on the water with a ring of phosphorus around them. I feel certain
that if I had been unable to get on to my boards during the short
intervals (about fifteen minutes) between these terrible breakers I
would not have had sufficient strength left to resist them. I think
it must have been about midnight when I was off the Schanck, but time
seemed to be getting beyond my comprehension. I fancied that away
back in the dim past I had seen, as in a dream, the _Alert_ sink and
leave us all to struggle each one for himself. Then, as I gradually
remembered the event took place only a few hours before, the thoughts
arose where were my mates and how many of them living. Were they,
like myself, still battling for life, or had they all perished in the
pitiless storm?
The gale seemed now at its height, and my heart sank within me as I
reflected that assistance from the shore had become an impossibility.
No boat could face and live in such a sea as now swept along with a
force at least double that of the time when the ship went down. How
I longed for daylight! But would it ever come for me, or any of my
companions? If to be rescued depended on endurance, then I felt sure
the chief officer, Mr. Hodges, would be almost certain to hold out,
for he was, far more than ordinary, a powerful man, and his action,
up to the period of the vessel leaving us, showed he was clearly and
collectedly helping everyone, and preparing for the worst. Whether
the foregoing thoughts crowding in on me, caused me to be less
watchful, or whether the continued strain on brain and muscle made
me stupid and weak, I cannot say, but in the midst of my reflections
I got caught in a sort of swirl, or whirlpool. I was rapidly turned
round and round, then quickly, raft and all, sucked under water.
Whilst below _this_ time I felt, as my boards were wrenched away
from my instinctive, but nerveless grasp, that all was over. Thanks,
however, to my life-belt, more than my own exertions, I was thrown
to the surface just as I was choking for want of air. Some minutes
after, my boards came up a little distance off, and I managed with
great difficulty to reach them and drag myself on top again. As I
lay on my raft, resting and trying to collect my scattered senses,
I turned my head shoreward, for a bit, to watch the Cape Schanck
light. I had not been able, during the forepart of the night, to see
the light continuously owing to the heavy showers of rain which had
passed over. Now I began to realise that it seemed farther off than
before. I was getting into comparatively smoother water, and this
fact together with the receding light told me plainly that the tide
was carrying me seaward. While nearing the light it helped to revive
my drooping spirits—not that I expected any help from it, for by
this time I had abandoned all idea that the lighthouse people could
assist—but still the sight of it, gleaming out like a “star of hope,”
encouraged me to struggle on.
A new idea seized me. Instead of allowing myself to drift out to
sea again, I would leave the raft and make a last desperate effort
to swim for the shore. A little reflection, however, showed me the
hopelessness of making the attempt. In the dark I could not see the
smoothest place to steer for, and being weak, stiff, and sore, I
felt that I would most likely be dashed to pieces amongst the rocks.
Therefore, I decided to stick to my boards, so long as they stuck
to me. My feet now began to trouble me very much, and their cold
numbness seemed inclined to creep up my legs. I knew I had made a
great mistake in taking off my boots. Had I kept them on they would
not only have helped to keep my feet warm, but they would also have
prevented my feet from being bruised, and battered against the
boards, with the action of the water. Besides, I found by experience
that whether in the water, or on the raft, my feet were too light,
and needed weight to keep them down. My woollen socks—although I was
kept continually pulling them up—were of great service in keeping
some heat in, and, though it might have been fancy, my white cotton
cap kept my head a bit warm. I think I must have drifted about ten
miles past, or south-east of Cape Schanck, and was nearly out of
sight of the light before the current began to set in again. The sea
had by this time moderated a good deal and I was enabled to keep
longer resting on my boards. I tried all ways of reclining on the
raft but I found it the safest plan to lie on my left side, thus I
got a good grip of the crosspiece with my left hand and one of the
boards with my right. In this position I had a chance to watch the
heavy seas when they were going to break. I now began to get very
cold, and every now and then was seized with cramp in both legs. The
working of the life-belt caused my body, and also the inside of my
arms, to get raw and sore. To make matters worse, I felt terribly
thirsty at times, and a sort of drowsiness seemed to steal over me as
if tempting me to go to sleep. I, however, fought against the latter
feeling, for I had an inward conviction that if I once gave way to
sleep I should never wake again. Meanwhile, I kept gradually nearing
the Schanck light once more, but as no signs of daylight were yet
visible, I began to fear it would never come for me. The pain in my
neck through my head hanging over the life-belt, was getting almost
unbearable. Now and then, when I got a chance, I propped my head up
with my left hand while keeping the elbow resting on the boards. This
gave me ease but I dared not do it so often as I wished for fear of
being caught unawares and washed off the raft. All of a sudden I saw
a light flashing away in the direction where I deemed Port Phillip
Heads would be. My first thought was that it must be a search-light
to find out our whereabouts. I kept anxiously watching, but as it
did not again appear I came to the conclusion that it had been a
flash-light from one of the pilot schooners a long way off, and the
hope raised by it died away as quickly as it came. Racked with
thirst and pain, and under the impression that it was impossible for
me to hold out much longer, my thoughts flew back over my past life.
Matters long forgotten rose up swiftly in my memory, and the acts of
my whole career seemed to pass in review before me. After the past
came the questions of the present and the future. Must I go now, and
was I fit to die?
[Illustration: boat near shore]
[Illustration: Decoration]