At the back of the world

by George Pugh; Jennie Pugh

The upper masts went clear over the side, but the topsail yards came down on to the deck end on, crashed through the deck, through the steerage amongst the passengers and struck a bale of blankets in the lower hold. The upper part then broke off, leaving about twenty feet of the iron yard standing above the deck, ripping away the main deck each time the ship rolled, the water meanwhile pouring in tons through the torn decks into the steerage amongst the already terrified passengers.

“Get that yard out of that as quick as possible!” roared the captain, who was as cool as a cucumber.

A tackle was made fast to the stump of the mainmast, and hooked on to the yard and the fall stretched right aft, and all hands, male passengers too, laid hold of it, and waited for a steady moment. The chief officer called out “Stand by! Haul!” and with a wild frantic pull the broken yard was hauled out of the deck and lowered over the side.

The deck for about thirty feet had been ripped up, and the seas had poured down the gap. The carpenter reported five feet of water in the hold. After some difficulty the donkey pump was started, and all hands were set to work cutting away the wreckage and spars, and nailing boards and sails over the broken deck. What a time we spent, all day and all night we toiled without ceasing. The captain and mate were here, there and everywhere, helping this one, relieving that one, watching the horizon for a sail, watching the water in the well, cheering this one and that one, giving their orders as coolly as though they were in the dock at home, always the same, no trace of anxiety on their faces it was impossible to judge the real state of their feelings.

The water rose in the holds in spite of the pumps, and our plight was very serious. The cabin was packed full of passengers, the children, poor mites, crying from sheer terror, the women praying, many of them beyond tears, the men shouting to be let out; but beyond a dozen of them who had been seamen in their younger days, and who had been helping, it was felt that the rest were best out of the way.

All day and all night the work went on. When daylight came again our case seemed worse than ever, the real state of the damage became more apparent. Old bronzed sailors, who had spent their whole lives at sea battling with the ocean in all her moods, turned fairly white when they looked around, and heard the despairing cry of the women and children huddled together aft. Strong men, and we had some strong men amongst the crew, flung themselves down on the deck, utterly exhausted, rolling about as the ship laboured in the heavy seas, even the ship herself seemed to give up struggling. One of the spars in falling had struck my right foot breaking three of my toes, but there was no time to see to them or to bind them up. Only the captain and mate seemed unchanged. They never flinched, never seemed tired—true British seamen, staunch to the back-bone.

For five days and nights we battled for our lives, and on the sixth day after the disaster the wind and sea began to abate, and the pumps got the water under. The captain then ordered all hands eight hours complete rest, and they needed it. Every man forrard rolled into his berth just as he stood—oilskins and sea-boots too.

The wind and sea were still moderating, and by the following day the sea was fairly smooth, and the wind had died away to a light easterly air, and promised to be a fine clear day. Just after daylight the mate’s voice rang out loud and clear “all hands on deck.” The fourth mate was ordered to take several male passengers with him, and lash some planks across the broken bulwark, to prevent anyone from falling over the side. The carpenter also took several passengers and set about patching the broken decks temporarily. The captain and the other officers then set all the sailors to work clearing up the wreck of the rigging, and securing the remaining spars. Three of the boats had been stove in by the falling spars, and a young man amongst the passengers, who was a joiner, was set to work to repair them.

As the foremast was carried away just below the main deck the first job was to get a jury mast up. We had several large spare spars on deck, and five lighter spars on the forward house. As there was twenty feet of the old foremast left in the hold, it was decided to use this as a step for the jurymast. A spar was cut about eighteen feet long, and dropped inside the stump of the old iron mast, to rest the heel of the jurymast on. Two large spars were with difficulty raised up for shears, and well secured.

The third mate and four of the apprentices were then told off to keep watch at night, and all hands sent below to rest after a hard day’s work. The following day, as soon as the first streaks of daylight appeared, “All hands on deck!” was heard reverberating from one end of the ship to the other. The men turned out fairly lively, and were soon hard at work. There was need to make good use of the fine weather, and to get a jury mast up before the breeze and sea sprang up again. One of the spare spars was then fitted up for a jurymast. After some real hard dangerous work, which brought out the true grit of the British seamen, this large spar was hove up on end and secured. The crossjack yard was hove forward, and used on the jurymast for a foreyard. A sail was bent and set and the ship with difficulty put on her course again. The steerage was repaired temporarily, and the passengers put below once more. Many of them were half dead with fright, but the fine weather lasted for ten days, and by that time we had all things well secured about the deck.