“Ay! ay! Sir.”
And on through the wild dark night and surging sea the poor London drove; when disaster upon disaster fell upon her with crushing weight. At half-past ten a terrific sea broke over the port-gangway, and what the sailors graphically called a mountain of water descended almost perpendicularly over the hatch of the engine-room. That hatch, as we have already said, was deemed strong enough to keep out any sea that might ever dash over a ship. Altogether it weighed about a ton and a half, and it measured 12 ft. by 9 ft. It was glazed with plate glass half an inch thick, and there were gratings of galvanized iron over the glass, and the bars were three-quarters of an inch thick. Yet, although thus strongly built and brass fastened, that mass of water, which descended almost perpendicularly, dashed through the hatchway, down which it threw violently two men, and, literally smashing every thing in its way, immediately flooded the engine-room with water.
Mr. Jones, the first engineer, ill though he was, immediately ran from his berth, and descended to the engine-room, where he found Mr. Greenhill standing by the engines. The engine-room was flooding, and a body of water was passing down the hatchway. The hatchway had been swept clean away, and there was now nothing to prevent the rushing in of the sea. Of all calamities, this was the one most to be deplored: the ship’s carpenter could do nothing in the way of repairing, and yet down they must all go, and that speedily, unless something was done, for at every sea the vessel shipped, the water in the engine-room was rising higher and higher.
To remedy the evil as far as possible, tarpaulins and canvas were brought, which the men tried to nail down over the aperture. The men also tried to put the flying jibboom over the aperture, but such a hurricane was blowing, that both the canvas and the men who were trying to batten it down were washed away. The pumps were set to work, and passengers and crew worked incessantly, some at the pumps, and some in baling out the water, which, alas! came pouring in, and which, notwithstanding all their efforts, rose higher and higher in the engine-room. Nor could they by any means cover over the opening which the sea had made by sweeping away the hatchway: tarpaulins, blankets, sails, mattresses, whatever they could find, they heaped upon ladders, pieces of wood, and spars, which they had thrown across as supports; but the storm and sea mocked their best endeavours; and, alas! about a quarter past eleven o’clock that night the waters had risen to such a height that the fires were out, and consequently the engines ceased working. There was already about five feet of water in the engine-room, and the ship was labouring heavily in the trough of the sea. Her condition, therefore, was altogether hopeless. In consequence of the engines stopping she could no longer hope to steam through the gale; the engineers could work no longer, and, for the same reason, the large bilge-pumps were rendered useless.
Mr. Greenhill had the painful task of making known to Captain Martin the saddening intelligence that his fires were out; and that no more help was to be looked for from the engines. The Captain received the news with perfect calmness. He said he was not surprised at it; that he had expected it; and immediately ordered the maintopsail to be set, in the hope of keeping his ship before the wind. Vain attempt. The gale tore it to ribbons, and in the trough of the sea the vessel laboured through the night, rolling gunwale under. Well, indeed, might the Captain say that night, “You may say your prayers, boys.” It was a seaman’s way of saying, “You must prepare for the worst: at any moment we may go down.” It was indeed a time for prayer, and we believe that, during that night, of which we shall have a little more to say in another chapter, such prayers were offered as were perhaps never offered in sinking ship before.
CHAPTER VII.
LAST STRUGGLES.
The morning of Thursday, January 11th, at length came to the passengers and crew of the foundering London. There had been, we may be sure, no attempts at seeking rest among the passengers below. On the deck all night the pumps had been going, and every one was doing his utmost to second the good Captain’s efforts to save the ship, if possible. The bravest had little hope of this, but still every man worked as if all depended upon his efforts. The universal testimony is, that passengers and crew did what they could. Some of the crew, it is true, had to seek their berths through sickness or terror; but there was no lack of hands to work the ship.
There was no abatement in the fury of the storm; the wind raved as violently and the waves thundered as fiercely as ever against the ship, and there was no change in her monotonous roll in the trough of the sea. It was the morning of that fearful night, it may be remembered, when more than thirty vessels were driven on shore in Torbay. The names of some of the passengers of the London who strenuously exerted themselves have been made known, although they have not come back to hear of the enthusiasm which their gallantry has inspired in the hearts of thousands. Dr. Woolley worked with the rest at the pumps, and encouraged the passengers to do their best: he, though so delicate, and all unused to manual labour, did his work with the bravest and best of them.
The exertions of Mr. Brooke, if possible, surpassed those of any on board. At times he went into the saloon, where his sister was among the ladies, and where, in frightened groups, the passengers were engaged in prayer, in reading their Bible, or in listening to the instructions and consolations of Mr. Draper. The tragedian would help for a little while in baling out the water, and then he would away again to the deck to work at the pumps, and he continued so doing until even he had to relinquish all hope. Barefooted and bareheaded, attired only in a Crimean shirt and trousers, now in the cabin—now on deck—he forms a picture of dauntless heroism that will long live tenderly in the memory of his friends.