Chapter Thirty Nine.
I returned on deck followed by the master. “The barometer is rising,” said I aloud, to the first lieutenant; “so I presume the gale will break about twelve o’clock.”
“I am glad to hear of it, sir; for we have quite enough of it,” replied the first-lieutenant.
“Do you see the Dryad?”
“No, sir; it’s quite thick again to leeward: we have not seen her these ten minutes.”
Thank God for that, thought I, for they will never see her again. “What soundings had you last?”
“Fourteen fathoms, sir.”
“I expect we shall cross the tail of the bank in much less,” replied I; “but, when once clear, we shall have sea-room.”
As the captain is an oracle in times of danger, the seamen caught every word which was uttered from my mouth; and what they gathered from what I had said, satisfied them that they were in no immediate danger. Nevertheless, the master walked the deck as if he was stupefied with the impending crisis. No wonder, poor fellow; with a wife and family depending upon him for support, it is not to be expected that a man can look upon immediate dissolution without painful feelings. A sailor should never marry: or if he does, for the benefit of the service, his marriage should prove an unhappy one, and then he would become more reckless than before. As for my own thoughts, they may be given in a few words—they were upon the vanity of human wishes. Whatever I had done with the one object I had in view—whatever might have been my success had I lived—whether I might have been wedded to Minnie some future day, or what may have resulted, good, bad, or indifferent, as to future, all was to be, in a few hours, cut short by the will of Heaven. In the next world there was neither marriage nor giving in marriage—in the next world, name, titles, wealth, everything worldly was as nought—and all I had to do was to die like a man, and do my duty to the last, trusting to a merciful God to forgive me my sins and offences; and with this philosophy I stood prepared for the event.
About noon it again cleared up to leeward, but the Dryad was no longer to be seen: this was reported to me. As it was nearly three hours since we last had a sight of her, I knew her fate too well—she had plenty of time to go on shore, and to be broken up by the heavy seas. I did however point my glass in the direction, and coolly observed, “she has rounded the tail of the bank, I presume, and has bore up. It was the best thing she could do.” I then asked the master if he had wound his chronometers, and went down into the cabin. I had not, however, been examining the chart more than a minute, when the officer of the watch came down, and reported that we had shoaled to twelve fathoms.
“Very good, Mr Hawkins; we shall be in shallower water yet. Let me know if there is any change in the soundings.”
As soon as the cabin door was again shut, I worked up the tide to see when it would change against us; I found that it had changed one hour at least. Then it will be sooner over, thought I, throwing down the pencil.
“Mr Cross, the boatswain, wishes to speak to you, sir,” said the sentry, opening the cabin door.
“Tell him to come in,” replied I. “Well, Cross, what’s the matter?”
“I was speaking to the first lieutenant about getting up a runner, sir—the fore-stay is a good deal chafed; that is, if you think it’s of any use.”
“How do you mean, of any use, Cross?”
“Why, sir, although no one would suppose it from you—but if the face of the master (and he is not a faint-hearted man neither) is to be taken as a barometer, we shall all be in ‘kingdom come’ before long. I’ve cruised in these seas so often, that I pretty well guess where we are, Captain Keene.”
“Well, Cross, it’s no use denying that we are in a mess, and nothing but the wind going down or changing can get us out of it.”
“Just as I thought sir; well, it can’t be helped, so it’s no use fretting about it. I think myself that the gale is breaking, and that we shall have fine weather by to-morrow morning.”
“That will be rather too late, Cross; for I think we shall be done for in three or four hours, if not sooner.”
“Eleven fathoms, sir,” said the officer of the watch, coming in hastily.
“Very well, Mr Hawkins; let her go through the water,” replied I.
As soon as the cabin door was again shut, I said, “You see, Cross, the tide is now against us, and this will not last long.”
“No, sir; we shall strike in five fathoms with this heavy sea.”
“I know we shall; but I do not wish to dishearten the men before it is necessary, and then we must do our best.”
“You won’t be offended, I am sure, by my asking, Captain Keene, what you think of doing?”
“Not at all, Cross; it is my intention to explain it to the ship’s company before I do it. I may as well take your opinion upon it now. As soon as we are in six fathoms, I intend to cut away the masts and anchor.”
“That’s our only chance, sir, and if it is well done, and the gale abates, it may save some of us; but how do you intend to anchor?”
“I shall back the best bower with the sheet, and let go the small bower at the same time that I do the sheet, so as to ride an even strain.”
“You can’t do better, sir; but that will require time for preparation, to be well done. Do you think that we shall have time, if you wait till we are in six fathoms?”
“I don’t know but you are right, Cross, and I think it would be better to commence our preparations at once.”
“Ten fathoms, sir,” reported the officer of the watch.
“Very well, I will be on deck directly.”
“Well, sir, we must now go to our duty; and as we may chance not to talk to one another again, sir,” said Cross, “I can only say God bless you, and I hope that, if we do not meet again in this world, we shall in heaven, or as near to it as possible. Good-bye, sir.”
“Good-bye, Cross,” replied I, shaking him by the hand; “we’ll do our duty, at all events. So now for my last dying speech.”
Cross quitted the cabin, and I followed him. As soon as I was on deck, I desired the first lieutenant to turn the hands up, and send them aft. When they were all assembled, with Cross at their head, I stood on one of the carronades and said: “My lads, I have sent for you, because I consider that, although the gale is evidently breaking, we are shoaling our water so fast, that we are in danger of going on shore before the gale does break. Now, what I intend to do, as our best chance, is to cut away the masts, and anchor as soon as we are in six fathoms water; perhaps we may then ride it out. At all events, we must do our best, and put our trust in Providence. But, my lads, you must be aware, that in times of difficulty it is important that we should be all cool and collected, that you must adhere to your discipline, and obey your officers to the last; if you do not, everything will go wrong instead of right. You have proved yourselves an excellent set of men, and I’m sure you will continue so to do. It is possible we may not have to cut away our masts, or to anchor; still, we must make every preparation in case it is necessary, and I have, therefore, sent for you, to explain my intentions, and to request that you will all assist me to the best of your abilities; and I feel convinced that you will, and will do your duty like British seamen. That’s all I have to say, my lads. Pipe down, Mr Cross.”
The ship’s company went forward in silence. They perceived the full extent of the danger. The first lieutenant and boatswain employed a portion in backing the best bower anchor with the sheet; the others roued up the cables from the tiers, and coiled them on the main-deck, clear for running. All hands were busily employed, and employment made them forget their fears. The work was done silently, but orderly and steadily. In the meantime we had shoaled to eight fathoms, and it was now nearly three o’clock; but as it was summer time, the days were long. Indeed, when the weather was fine, there was little or no night, and the weather was warm, which was all in our favour.
When everything was reported ready, I went round to examine and ascertain if the cables would run clear. Satisfied that all was right, I then picked out the men, and appointed those who were most trustworthy to the stations of importance; and, having so done, I then returned to the quarter-deck, and called up the carpenter and some of the topmen to be ready with the axes to cut away the masts and lashings of the booms and boats. Just as these orders were completed, the gale blew fiercer than ever. We were now in seven fathoms water, and pressed heavy by the gale.
I stood at the break of the gangway, the first lieutenant and master by my side, and Cross a little forward, watching my eye. The men in the chains continued to give the soundings in a clear steady voice, “By the mark seven,” “Quarter less seven,” “And a half six.” At last, the man in the chains next to me, a fine old forecastle man, gave the sounding “By the mark six,” and he gave it with a louder voice than before, with a sort of defiance, as much as to say, “The time is come, let the elements do their worst.”
The time was come. “Silence, fore and aft. Every man down under the half-deck, except those stationed. Cut away the boom lashings, and clear the boats.” This was soon done, and reported. “Now then, my lads, be steady. Cut away the lanyards in the chains.”
One after another the lanyards and backstays were severed; the masts groaned and creaked, and then the fore-mast and main-mast were over the side almost at the same time; the mizen followed, as the frigate broached to and righted, leaving the ship’s deck a mass of wreck and confusion; but no one was hurt, from the precautions which had been taken, the mast having been cut away before we rounded to, to anchor, as otherwise, they would have fallen aft and not gone clear of the ship.
“Stand by the best bower. Stand clear of the cable. Let go the anchor.”
As soon as the best bower cable was nearly out, the sheet anchor and small bower were let go at the same moment, and the result was to be ascertained.