On the troubled breast of the Atlantic, a little to the southward of
that great collection of sea-weed, known by the name of the Sargasso
Sea, lay a large ship.
She was in distress, for her flag was hoisted with the Union Jack down.
The nature of her distress was apparent from a column of thick smoke
that issued from the fore-hatch. The most terrible of all calamities
had befallen her--she was on fire!
That she was an emigrant ship was apparent from the great number of
human beings--men, women, and children--who crowded her decks. Before
the fire broke out she had weathered a severe gale, the effects of which
had not yet passed away, for, although there was little wind, the waves
were still high, and the burning ship rolled and plunged heavily.
How the fire originated no one could tell, but the instant it was
discovered, the captain, who was a brave and able man, took prompt
measures for its extinction. But his utmost efforts failed of success,
because (the old story) there was _no suitable machinery on board for
the extinction of fire_! The owners of this ship, however, were not,
like too many, utterly regardless of human life. On the contrary they
had done a great deal--much more than is done by many ship-owners--for
the comfort and safety of those who had entrusted their lives to them.
There were boats on board sufficient to carry the entire crew and
passengers; and two of these were lifeboats. There was also a large
supply of life-buoys and life-jackets; the latter being made of cork, in
such a form that the wearers might be able to work in them without
inconvenience. But in preparing the ship for sea, fire had not been
sufficiently considered. There was no fire-engine aboard. Buckets
there were, and these were plied with vigour, but, as we have said,
without success.
Finding that the fire continued to gain strength, the captain ordered
the ship to be scuttled; in other words, to be flooded by opening the
lower ports and letting the sea rush in. The ship was one of those old
East Indiamen, which in former days carried guns and marines like our
men-of-war. The ports were soon knocked out, and the sea burst in,
foaming and splashing like a mill-race when the sluice is drawn as it
swept towards the hold, carrying boxes, bulk-heads, loose furniture and
all before it. When it poured in a mighty cataract into the hold, the
terrified multitude that crowded the upper deck entertained the hope for
a few minutes that the fire would certainly be put out. Their hope was
quickly crushed, for the ship soon gave signs of being waterlogged and
threatened to settle down, rendering it necessary to close the ports
before the fire was subdued.
A wail of despair rose, from them when this was done, for now they knew
that the ship was doomed, and that death in two of its most appalling
forms stared them in the face. The scene that followed was
heart-rending. The more timid among the passengers lost self-command.
Some fell on their knees, and with bitter cries implored God to have
mercy on them. Others took passionate farewell of each other, or sat
clinging to each other in the silence of despair. Many became frantic,
rushed about the decks and tore their hair, and a few of the braver
spirits moved calmly and silently about, doing anything that required to
be done, or coolly making preparation for the last struggle.
Among these last were several women, who, sustained by the Christian's
hope, went about comforting their companions and calming the poor
children. In some cases they became the centres of little groups of men
and women, who listened intently while they read the word of God, or
joined with them in prayer. Many cursing lips had become silent now, or
tremblingly attempted to call on our Saviour, for the first time, _in
earnest_.
Meanwhile the officers and crew were not idle. Preparation was made to
lower the boats. The lifebuoys and belts were got ready, and everything
was done to facilitate the abandoning of the vessel before she should be
utterly consumed.
The ordinary ship's boats were converted into lifeboats by the simple
contrivance of fastening small empty casks all round them under the
seats, and a large-sized cask in the stern and bow of each.
As the sea was still running high, the operation of lowering was a
matter of difficulty and danger. The women and children were put into
the first boat while it hung suspended at the davits. Two men stood by
to detach the hooks that held the boat by the bow and stern the instant
she should touch the water. This was the moment of danger; for, if one
man should succeed in this and the other fail, the inevitable
consequence would be that the stern or the bow of the boat would be
jerked into the air, and the people in her hurled into the sea.
Four boats were lowered and cast off in safety. The fifth, which
contained men chiefly, with only two or three women and no children, was
upset. The man in the bow could not detach his hook; it remained fast
while the stern hook was cast off; and when the ship rose it hung
suspended by the bow. Instantly the people in her were struggling in
the waves. The captain, knowing that this might occur, had ordered a
dozen of the strongest of his men to put on cork life-belts, and stand
in the main chains to be in readiness. These at once leaped into the
sea, and supported the people, until another boat was lowered for them.
But a misfortune here befell them. While one of the boats was swinging
it was dashed against the ship's side so violently as to be stove in and
rendered useless. This accident happened also to another boat, so that,
even by overloading those that remained, it would now be impossible to
accommodate every one.
In this dilemma, the captain at once gave orders to heave overboard all
the spare spars and the hencoops, together with enough of cordage for
the construction of a raft. This was promptly done, and the raft was
sufficiently far advanced in the course of an hour to admit of the
emigrants being placed upon it.
It was during the formation of this raft that the great value of the
life-belts became manifest. While the spars were in a loose and
half-fastened state, the men were obliged to work in the water. To have
done this without the support of the belts would have been very
exhausting, almost impossible; but with their floating power the men
could work with both hands, and move about almost as freely in the water
as on land.
The life-buoys were also of the greatest value at this time; for the
burning ship became so hot, before the raft was ready, that the
passengers were obliged to jump overboard and get upon it as they best
could, or float about until there was room for them all. In these
circumstances the buoys were the means of saving the lives of some who
could not swim.
It was late in the evening when the raft was commenced, and night was
far advanced before it was completed. During all this time the boats
remained close to it, after having hauled it a short distance from the
burning ship, which latter was now a mass of flame from the deck to the
mast-heads, rendering the whole scene as bright as day. After the
rigging was consumed, and the masts had fallen over the side, the hull
continued to burn, for a considerable time, with less flame but with a
dull red glow that afforded sufficient light to the workers. It was
fortunate the light lasted so long, for the night was so dark that it
would otherwise have been almost impossible to have worked at the raft--
tossed and rolled about as it was by the heavy sea.
It was a strange weird sight, that busy glowing scene of disaster out
upon the black ocean at midnight; and wonderful--unaccountable--did it
appear in the eyes of the night-watch on board the "Trident," as that
ship came over the sea, ploughing up the water before a steady breeze
which had sprung up soon after the sun went down.
"What can it be?" said Mr Denham to the captain when they first
observed the light on the horizon.
"A steamer, perhaps," replied the captain.
"No steamer ever spouted fire like that," said Bax, who was the only
other passenger on deck, all the others having gone to rest; "the
steamers on the American lakes and rivers do indeed spout sparks and
flames of fire like giant squibs, but then they burn wood. Ocean
steamers never flare up like that. I fear it is a ship on fire."
"Think you so? Steer straight for it, captain," said Mr Denham, whose
heart, under the influence of bad health, and, latterly, of considerable
experience in the matter of human suffering, had become a little softer
than it used to be.
The ship's course was altered, and long before the wreck was reached her
decks swarmed with men and women who had got up in haste at the first
mention of the word "fire"--some of them with a confused notion that
their own vessel was in danger!
It was indeed a novel and terribly interesting sight to most of those on
board the "Trident." At first they saw the burning vessel like a red
meteor rising on the waves and disappearing in the hollows; then the
flames grew fierce, and spread a halo round the doomed ship that shone
out vividly against the surrounding darkness. This latter was rendered
intensely deep by contrast with the light. Then the masts went over the
side, and a bright volume of sparks and scattered tongues of flame shot
up into, the sky, after which the hull shone like a glow-worm until they
drew quite near. The busy workers at the raft were too anxiously intent
on their occupation to observe the approach of the "Trident," whose
black hull was nearly invisible, and whose small lanterns might well
have been overlooked on such an occasion.
"They don't see us," observed Mr Denham.
This was abundantly evident. Within the circle of red light, they could
see the raft and the boats floating close to it; the men in cork-jackets
toiling in the water and on floating spars, with ropes, handspikes, and
axes. It was not until the "Trident" herself came within the circle of
light, and hove-to, with flapping sails, that the people in the boats
became aware of her presence.
Then, indeed, there arose a shout of joy such as could be uttered only
by men and women snatched suddenly and unexpectedly from the very jaws
of death. Again and again it burst forth, and was replied to by the
people in the "Trident," many of whom were so excited by the scene, and
so overjoyed at the thought of having come up in time to save so many
human beings, that they burst into tears; while others went down on
their knees and thanked God fervently.
Seeing that the people were getting excited, and knowing that order must
be preserved, if the work that lay before them was to be done speedily
and without accident, the captain sprang into the rigging, ordered the
women and children to go below, and assured the male passengers that if
any of them showed a disposition to be obstinate or unruly they also
should be ordered below. This had the desired effect. Order was at
once restored, and the captain then called for volunteers from among the
stoutest of those on board to go into the chains, and lift the women and
children out of the boats.
The appeal was responded to by all the strong men in the ship--foremost
and, strongest among whom was our friend Bax. From among these the
captain selected the men that seemed best able for the work they
undertook to do; and this, be it understood, was no child's play.
The state of the sea rendered it extremely difficult and dangerous to
bring the boats alongside, heavily laden as they were with human beings.
To get the men on board would be difficult enough, even although they
would in most cases be able to spring, and lay hold of ropes, and
otherwise help themselves; but to get out the women and children by such
means was not to be thought of. The men of the "Trident" who had the
strongest arms and chests were therefore sent into the chains, where
they leaned forward in slings with outstretched arms, and whenever the
boats sheered up close enough they caught the women or children in their
vice-like grasp and dragged them on board.
Bax, owing to his unusual strength and breadth of shoulders, was
peculiarly fitted for this laborious duty. His long reach of arm
enabled him to stretch far beyond the others, and in several instances
he caught hold of and rescued women after his companions had failed.
Thus a much larger portion of the work fell upon him than on any of the
others.
In this sort of work Tommy Bogey was of no use whatever; and severely
did his youth and want of physical strength press upon his spirits that
night, poor boy! But Tommy's nature would not allow him to sit down and
do nothing. Feeling that he could not do manly work, he set himself
with right good-will to womanly employment. He assisted in carrying the
children below when they were handed over the side, helped to strip
them, and brought dry clothing and blankets, besides doing an immense
amount of what may be termed stewardess' work for the poor ladies.
There were others on board who worked willingly and well, but none who
were so ubiquitous as he; none who knew so thoroughly what to do and how
to do it, and none, certainly, who did everything with such a
superabundance of energy.
Once or twice Tommy stopped in the middle of these occupations to see
how Bax was getting on; for to his rather partial eyes it seemed that
his friend was doing the whole work, and that everybody else was merely
looking on!
On one of these occasions he saw Bax sustaining the weight of an old man
and a young woman.
The girl was the old man's daughter; she had clung to him in the boat
and refused to let him go, having lost self-command through terror.
Ignorant of this, and observing that the old man could not help himself,
Bax grasped him under the arms the first time he came within reach. The
boat was immediately swept away by the passing wave, leaving the old man
and the girl, who still clung with a death-like grasp to him, suspended
in the air. Bax's great strength enabled him to support this double
weight, but he could not draw them up. A comrade stooped to assist him,
but the strain on the sling was so great that it gave way, and Bax, with
his burden, fell into the sea like lead.
Tommy saw this happen. There were plenty of loose ropes about. He
seized the end of one and leaped overboard instantly. He sank for a
second or two, and on coming to the surface looked hastily round. A
hand was raised above the water near him. He knew it to be that of his
friend, and struck out for it, but it disappeared. Again it rose, and
there was a convulsive grasping of the fingers. Tommy made one stroke
and placed the rope in it. The fingers closed like a vice. Next moment
the ship rose and lifted Bax completely out of the water, with the old
man and the girl still clinging to him. Before the ship sank again the
boat sheered up, and they were all pulled into it!
To leap on board the "Trident" again, and resume his position with a new
and stronger sling, was comparatively easy work for Bax. Tommy
clambered up, too, close behind him. Passing a strong rope round his
friend's waist, he said quietly:
"It won't do to risk that again."
"True, Tommy," said Bax; "run below and fetch me a glass o' brandy, lad.
That last plunge almost floored me."
The boy leaped over the side and dived below. He reappeared in a few
seconds with a tin can, with which he clambered over the side into the
chains, and held it to his friend's lips. Bax drained it at a draught,
and Tommy left him without another word.
The whole of this scene was enacted with the utmost speed and energy.
The spectators seemed to be paralysed with amazement at the quiet
self-possession of the man and the boy, both of whom appeared to divine
each other's thoughts, and to work into each other's hands with the
precision and certainty of a machine; they did it all, too, as if they
were entirely alone in the work. Until now they had been watched with
breathless anxiety; but when Tommy gave Bax the can of brandy, and then
gravely went below with a baby that had just been rescued in his arms,
there arose a wild cheer of admiration, not unmingled with laughter,
from those who had witnessed his conduct.
But their attention was soon turned again to the boats, two of which
still remained with their freight on the heaving water. Many incidents
of a thrilling nature were enacted that night. One of the most
interesting, perhaps, occurred soon after that which has just been
related.
In one of the boats was the young wife of an emigrant, who, having been
compelled to separate from his wife and child when they left the burning
ship in the first boat, had come alongside of the "Trident" in another
boat. Being an active man, he had caught a rope and hauled himself on
board some time before his wife was rescued. The poor young mother had
tied her infant tightly to her bosom by means of a shawl, in order to
make sure that she should share its fate, whatever that might be.
When the boat sheered up alongside, her husband was standing in the
chains, anxious to render her assistance. The woman chanced to come
near to Bax, but not sufficiently so to grasp him. She had witnessed
his great power and success in saving others, and a feeling of strong
confidence made her resolve to be caught hold of by him, if possible.
She therefore drew back from the grasp of a stout fellow who held out
his brawny arms to her.
Bax noticed this occur twice, and understood the poor woman's motive.
Feeling proud of the confidence thus placed in him, he watched his
opportunity. The boat surged up, but did not come near enough. It
swept away from the ship, and the poor woman's hands played nervously
about the folds of the shawl, as she tried to adjust them more securely
round her infant. Again the boat rose on a wave; the woman stood ready,
and Bax stooped. It did not come quite near enough, but the
disappointed woman, becoming desperate, suddenly put her foot on the
gunwale, stood up at full length, and stretched out her arms. Bax just
caught her by the hands when the boat was swept from under her.
Similar incidents had occurred so often that little anxiety was felt;
but our hero's strength was now thoroughly exhausted. He could not haul
her up, he could only hold on and shout for assistance. It was promptly
rendered, but before the poor woman could be rescued the infant slipped
from the shawl, which the straightening of the mother's arms and her
suspended position had loosened. A cry burst from the agonised father,
who stooped, and stood in the attitude of one ready to plunge into the
sea. The mother felt the child slipping, and a piercing shriek escaped
from her as she raised her knees and caught it between them. With
muscular power, intensified by a mother's love, she held the infant in
this strange position until both were drawn up and placed in safety on
the deck!
This was the last of Bax's achievements on that eventful night. He was
so thoroughly worn out by the long-continued and tremendous exertions he
had been called on to make, that his strength, great though it was,
broke down. He staggered down into the cabin, flung himself, wet as he
was, on a couch, and almost instantly fell into a sleep so deep that he
could not be roused for more than a moment or two at a time. Seeing
this, Tommy bade the bystanders leave him alone for a few minutes until
he should come back, when, according to his own expression, "he would
screw him up all right and tight!" Every one was by this time so
thoroughly convinced that the boy was quite able to manage his friend
that they stood still awaiting his return with much curiosity.
Tommy soon returned with a tumbler of hot brandy and water, followed by
the steward with a pile of blankets.
"Hold that a minute," said the boy, handing the tumbler to a little old
gentleman who stood swaying to and fro with the motion of the vessel,
and staring at Bax as if he had been a half-drowned sea-monster.
"Now, then," cried Tommy, punching his friend severely in the ribs,
seizing the hair of his head with both hands, and shaking him until his
neck seemed dislocated,--to the surprise of all and the horror of not a
few!
The result was that Bax grumbled angrily, half awoke, and raised himself
on one elbow.
"Drink, you tom-tit!" said the boy, catching the tumbler from the old
gentleman, and applying it to his friend's lips.
Bax smiled, drank, and fell back on the pillow with a deep sigh of
satisfaction. Then Tommy spread blanket after blanket over him, and
"tucked him in" so neatly and with such a business-like air, that two or
three mothers then present expressed their admiration and wonder in
audible whispers.
While Bax was being thus carefully tended by Tommy and a knot of
sympathisers, the passengers and crew vied with each other in making the
rescued people as comfortable as circumstances would permit.
Meanwhile the "Trident" was again laid on her course, and, thus crowded
with human beings, steered before favouring breezes for the shores of
old England.