“All hands aloft,” roared the mate, “to take in mainsail;” and away went the tars swarming up the rigging, poor little shivering middies and all, and the perilous duty was soon performed, the sail being set to steady her. Towards noon, the wind and sea increased, and the weather wore a still more threatening appearance.
There are few situations which more thoroughly call forth all the noble energies and resources of man’s mind, than the working of a vessel in a tempest, or the ordering of troops in the heat of a battle. A cool head, and nerves as steady as a rock, are essentially necessary in both. McGuffin was quite a Wellington in his way; and on the present occasion, I felt a pride in my countrymen, as I marked him, the officers, and men, calmly preparing, as it were, move by move, for the coming onset of the gale.
“Down royal-masts and top gallant yards,” shouted the iron-tongued Gillans; and down, spite of the flapping of canvas and banging of blocks and ropes, they came in a trice. This precautionary measure was not taken a whit too soon, for the wind rapidly increased to a gale, and the ship rolled heavily, from the violence and irregularity of the sea. At this moment, Grundy, evidently very uneasy, and in violation of all nautical decorum, began to whistle, less, probably, from want of thought, than with a view to drown it. This brought the first mate upon him immediately.
“Halloa, sir,” said he, “haven’t we got wind enough, but you must be whistling for more? Drop that music, if you please.”
Grundy incontinently held his peace. The dismayed passengers now sought shelter in their cabins, with the exception of a few well-muffled storm amateurs, who clung about the cuddy doors, casting furtive glances aloft at the wild-driving scud, and listening to the manly voices of the officers, and seamen as heard above the roaring of the gale. A rough cradle, and a dismal lullaby, indeed, was this, for myself and the other nautical infants on board.
At about 11 o’clock the wind increased; the decks were almost continually submerged, the fore and maintopsails were furled, and soon after the ship was wore, the sea running mountains high, under the fore and maintop-mast stay-sail. The captain, having ordered the foresail to be hauled up, the ship, in nautical language, was hove-to, the gale blowing with uncommon fury. The sky now began to assume a most threatening and lurid aspect. Just such a murky gloom surrounded us as that in which Satan is finely described by Milton; when “aloft incumbent on the dusky air,” he hovered over that “ever-burning” region, which his “unblest feet” were about to tread. The barometer fell rapidly, and our courage, that is, of us landsmen, in a proportionate ratio, whilst the vast and angry billows, like wild and maned steeds above prostrate foes, swept in rapid succession over our quivering bark. With what intense longing to be there did I now think of the snug green parlour and blazing sea-coal fire at home! Ah! thought I, with a sigh, how true it is, “we never know the value of a friend till we lose him!”
An attempt to take in, and house, the top gallant masts, failed, owing to the violent rolling of the ship; but every thing practicable was effected by our indefatigable crew, although reduced by the recent impressment, to secure the masts from the evidently increasing hurricane. The hatches were battened down, and all made snug for the approaching “tug of war.” All was now breathless suspense and a stern gravity sat on the boldest countenance, when a sudden and tremendous blast threw the ship on her beam-ends, and, with a terrific crash, the mainmast went by the board, carrying with it, in its fall, the mizen-yard, poop, sky-lights, hen-coops, larboard quarter gallery, and three of our seamen. Here was “confusion worse confounded”—passengers and servants making their escape from beneath the wreck—sailors shouting, tugging, and hauling—a chaos of disasters enough to daunt, one would suppose, the stoutest heart; but he little understands the stuff of which English seamen are composed, who thinks there was any quailing or relaxation of energy here. Sudden as the disaster were the efforts made to repair it. The voice of the officer was instantly heard above the storm, giving directions, and the active crew immediately at work, with their axes, cutting the shrouds and ropes, for the purpose of detaching the wreck of the mast from the vessel, which, beating furiously against the bottom and sides, seemed to threaten her with instant destruction.
With infinite difficulty, this operation was at last effected, and the short but delusive “pleasures of hope” once more dawned upon us. On getting clear of the wreck, the vessel partially righted, the hurricane raging with awful violence, the sea running right over her, and sweeping, with resistless force, every opposing article from the deck. Our only remaining sail, the foresail, was now, with much difficulty, taken in, and the vessel scudded under bare poles. Throughout the remainder of the day, the hurricane raged with unabated fury: the ship rolled gunwales under, and the water poured in through the aperture caused by the broken mast. Never can I forget the sounds and scenes below—the groaning of the timbers, the labouring and lurching of the ship, like the throes and struggles of a dying man; the moans and cries of the women—stores, cargo, cabin, bulk-heads, baggage, and a cannon or two, all loose and adrift, and dashing with frightful violence from side to side, as if animated by some maddening spirit of destruction.
“Colonel,” said Marpeet rather archly:—who, in or out of season, loved a joke—to the ex-resident, clinging on close to me, his teeth chattering like a pair of castanets; “Colonel, you, I take it, have never seen anything to beat this?”
“Eh! why—no! not exactly,” said the colonel, who, having the fear of Davy’s Locker before his eyes, seemed rather loath to indulge in anything apocryphal.