Bad weather dogged us during our homeward voyage. Crossing the Bay of
Biscay we were battened down for three days, and, save on one occasion,
I did not go on deck the whole time the storm raged.
That occasion called for every available hand, for the securing bolts of
two of our deck guns had broken adrift, and the huge ungainly weapons
charged to and fro across the ship, carrying destruction in their
passage. After strenuous efforts the guns were secured, but at a cost
of four men washed overboard and five injured, either by the heavy seas
that came tumbling inboard, or else by the wild career of the derelict
weapons. After the gale came a fog, so thick and continuous that for
two days we could scarce see the end of our jibboom.
Captain Poynings, after deliberating with the master, came to the
conclusion that land was not far off, but the weather did not allow of
the use of either sextant or quadrant. The lead, then, was our only
guide; so a man was stationed in the chains, and minute-guns were fired
in the hope that we might hear an answering and reassuring sound.
With the first cast a depth of thirty fathoms was obtained, and shortly
afterwards the fog cleared, disclosing a bold headland on our larboard
bow.
"Land! land!" was the cry, and amongst the men for'ard there was almost
a wrangle, some affirming that the headland was the Start, others the
Lizard or "The Bill", while a few sanguine men expressed their belief
that it was the coast of the Wight.
"Keep the lead going," shouted the master, as the fog again swept down
upon us like a pall, shutting us out of the sight of the land we so
eagerly desired.
With great regularity the lead gave a gradual shoaling till twenty-four
fathoms were announced.
Suddenly we were startled by the lookout shouting: "Breakers ahead!"
"'Bout ship!" ordered the master, and with a creaking of blocks and a
slatting of sails the _Gannet_ stood off on the other tack.
We could hear the dull roar of rushing water, but how far the sound came
we could not determine..
"Keep her as she is, bos'n's mate," commanded the master. "Faith, as if
I did not know; this is none other than the Race of Portland!"
As night came on, the wind, hitherto steady, increased into a gale, and
before midnight it blew a hurricane such as had not been known for
years; and to sheer off a dangerous coast we had to keep under storm
canvas, though had we had searoom the master would have had the ship to
lay to.
An hour after midnight our mainsail, though treble-reefed, parted with a
report that was heard above the storm, the torn canvas streaming out to
lee'ard like so many whips; and simultaneously our bowsprit carried away
close to the gammonings, with the result that the ship yawed, then shot
up into the wind.
With a shuddering crash the foremast went by the board, and we were
helpless in the midst of the raging sea.
I kept close to Captain Poynings, who gave no sign of the presentiment
that the _Gannet's_ last hour had come.
Rapidly we drifted shorewards, where, in the inky blackness, a line of
phosphorescent light denoted the breaking of the boiling water upon an
ironbound coast.
The master came aft and shouted in the captain's ear. What he said I
could not tell, the noise of the elements deadening all other sound, but
to his question the captain merely shook his head. Again the master
appealed, pointing to the now rapidly nearing cliffs. A deprecatory
shrug was the reply, and Captain Poynings, turning on his heel, walked
to the shelter of the poop.
The master made his way for'ard, and, turning out some of the seamen,
bade them let go the anchor. With a rush and a roar the stout hempen
cable ran through the hawsepipe, the vessel snubbed, swung round, and
the next moment the cable parted as if made of pack thread.
Anticipating the worst, we all gripped the first object that came to our
hands and awaited the shock.
It was not long in coming. There was a crash that shook the ship from
stem to stern; her keel had struck a rock. Again she swung till her
bows pointed inshore. Then came another crash, the main and mizzen
masts went over the side, and after one or two violent motions the
_Gannet_ remained hard and fast, the heavy seas pouring right over her.
By this time the day had dawned, and we could see that the ship's bows
were close inshore, so that had our bowsprit and jibboom remained they
would have been touching the rocks, up which the broken water dashed in
a terrific manner that made any attempt to swim ashore a matter of utter
impossibility.
The after part of the ship was now breaking up fast. Our gallant
captain still remained on the quarterdeck, having buckled on his sword
as if going into action. Grasping his speaking-trumpet he shouted his
last order: "Look to yourselves, men, and God have mercy on us all!"
Then came a huge, tumbling, white-crested wave that swept the doomed
vessel from the stern as far for'ard as the foremast.
When it had passed, not a sign was to be seen of the brave and ill-fated
captain, who, with a score of his men, had been swept against the
pitiless rocks.
Clustered in blank despair on the fo'c'sle were all that remained of the
once smart crew of the _Gannet_. I remember seeing the lieutenant, the
bos'n, Greville Drake, and about a score of the men, but, huddled on the
lee side of the bulwarks, I remained, chilled to the bone and drenched
by the drifting spray, hardly conscious of my peril or the presence of
my shipmates in distress.
Above the slight motion caused by the heavy seas striking the hull there
came a greater shock --the _Gannet_ had parted amidships.
The bos'n's voice was heard faintly above the roar of the elements, and
looking up I saw that, by the breaking of the ship, the forepart of the
_Gannet_ was raised in consequence of the 'midship portion subsiding,
and that her bows were nearly level with a flat, rocky ledge but twenty
feet away.
At the same time several men appeared on shore, looking at us intently,
yet making no offer of assistance. We waved, making signs to them to
throw a rope, but, to our astonishment, our appeals were met with a
callous indifference. "You miserable wretches!" yelled the bos'n,
shaking his fist in the direction of the inhospitable men. "Would I
could get at you, ye cowardly landlubbers!"
Then a seaman close to me cried out: "Never a helping hand will we get
from they, bos'n. I know where we be, for yon's the Tilly Whim Caves,
and nought but smugglers and wreckers bide hereabouts."
Smugglers and wreckers! Instantly my mind harked back to the scene in
the court at Winton, when Master Joseph Hawkes gave testimony against
the two rascally Dorset smugglers.
"Now, men, bestir yourselves," said the bos'n, turning towards us.
"Bear a hand with that spar, and with the help of Providence we'll save
our skins yet."
The prospect of safety lashed the worn-out crew to action. By their
combined efforts a fore-t'gallant spar was dragged to the spot where the
broken bowsprit formed a secure support. With a hoarse "Yo ho!" the spar
was thrust forward, and just as its weight was on the point of
overbalancing the weight of the seamen on the inboard part, the
extremity touched the edge of the rocks. With another effort it was
thrust securely on to the ledge, and the bos'n, with a line round his
waist, crawled carefully ashore.
The rope served as a guideline to the rest, and without further mishap
the twenty-two survivors of the _Gannet_ made the perilous passage,
though after three years' knocking about on the high seas it was a sorry
homecoming.
The inhuman spectators of our plight had vanished, and not a single
being was to be seen. In our wretched and half-starved condition we were
nearly exhausted; in fact, many of the seamen dropped on the ground from
sheer want of strength.
The bos'n, who was the life and soul of the survivors, then picked out
the more active men to explore the locality. The old seaman who had
recognized the coast said that two villages were within easy
distance--Worth Matravers and Swanage--though a lofty barren line of
rugged hills separated us from both of them.
By this time I had recovered sufficiently to look around. We were on a
flat ledge some fifty yards in length and about ten broad, thirty feet
from the water, and close on a hundred from the top of the cliffs that
towered above us. Running back into the cliff were two or three small
caves, but there was nothing in them save a few broken barrels and a
coil of rope. The ledge itself, though level, was encumbered by
numerous massive boulders that had at one time fallen from the beetling
cliffs, while to the left ran a path which undoubtedly led to the top of
the dizzy heights above us.
All the while the spray dashed over us, while swiftly the irresistible
breakers were grinding to pieces the wreck of the ill-fated _Gannet_.
But there was no time for mournful reveries on the untimely end of our
noble craft and her gallant captain, for already the exploring party had
returned with the news that the cliff path had been found, and that a
village was not far distant.
The sorry remnant moved forward, those whose strength failed them
supported by the arms of their stronger companions.
The path was steep and rugged. After having been so long on board, and
being weak in body through the hardships I had undergone, I felt weary
and ill before half the ascent was completed; so, while my shipmates
proceeded, I was obliged to sit down to recover my breath.
In a few moments I felt better; then, starting to my feet, I hurried
after them, half running, half walking up the path.
I had not gone farther than twenty paces when my ankles turned under me,
and I fell sideways, crashing into a thick bush.
Vainly endeavouring to save myself, I clutched at the bush, but the
ground all around seemed to be flying upwards. The daylight gave way to
pitch darkness, and I was falling, falling,...
Then I dimly remember striking on some hard substance, and with that I
lost consciousness.