The Cruise of the "Esmeralda"

by Harry Collingwood

As I completed my brief address the deep, thunderous boom of the sea upon the reef broke for the first time upon our ears, as though to warn us that the moment of trial was at hand; and, looking anxiously ahead, I saw that the outer extremity of the white water was already dead ahead of us, and that the ship was doomed!

“We shall never weather it, lads,” I shouted; “we cannot possibly do it. Stand by the braces, fore and main, and be ready to square the yards when I give the word to bear up. We shall have to run her in upon the beach, and take our chance of its being softer ground than the reef. As soon as you have squared the yards and caught a turn with the braces, come up on the poop, all of you, and group yourselves well aft; it will be the safest part of the ship when she broaches to, and you will be out of the way of the falling masts. Take a firm grip of the most solid thing you can lay hold of, or the first sea that breaks over us will wash you overboard.”

So saying, I sprang aft and stationed myself close to the little group of cowering women and children who were huddled together under the lee of the skylight, in readiness to afford such protection and help to them as might be possible in the impending desperate and almost hopeless struggle for life.

The final moment had now arrived; the white water was almost under the bows of the ship; another plunge or two would put the poor little craft plump upon the reef; and with a heavy heart I turned to the helmsman to give him the fatal sign. As I did so, a loud flap overhead and the simultaneous righting of the ship caused me to glance aloft in amazement and wonder as to what was happening. Could it be? By Heaven, yes! The wind had dropped, as if by magic, or a miracle, and for the moment there was a breathless calm, leaving us within fifty fathoms of the reef and, with the momentum of our rapid progress through the water, rushing straight at it. Instinctively I bounded with one mad spring to the wheel, and, shouting to the bewildered man who held it, “Hard down, for your life!” I grasped the spokes, throwing the momentary strength of ten men into a frantic effort that sent the wheel whirling over at lightning speed. The noble little ship quickly and gallantly answered to the impulse, and, though pitching so desperately that she completely smothered herself as far aft as the foremast, her bows gradually swept round until they pointed straight out to seaward and away from the boiling surf that actually swirled and seethed about her cutwater, as though the poor little overdriven craft had suddenly realised her awful peril and had swerved from it like a sentient thing.

“Man the braces, fore and main!” I shouted with frenzied eagerness. “Round-in upon the starboard main and topsail braces, for your lives, men; shift over the trysail-sheet like lightning! Hurrah, lads! over with it before the gale strikes us again! Well there with the starboard main-braces; haul taut and make fast to port; swing your head-yards; and get the starboard staysail sheet aft. Here comes the wind again; but, thank God, we are saved!”

No one but a sailor—and probably no sailor but he who has passed through such an unique experience as I have just been endeavouring to describe—can possibly understand the startling suddenness and the astounding rapidity with which such an utterly unhoped-for and unexpected change had been wrought in our situation. The whole thing had happened with the breathless rapidity characteristic of the headlong rush of succeeding events in a dream. At the very moment when I was about to give the order which would have sent the ship flying before wind and sea towards the beach, and insured her destruction, there had occurred one of those sudden and unaccountable “breaks,” or total cessations of wind, that occasionally, though very rarely, occur for a few brief moments in the midst of a raging tempest, and which are sometimes succeeded by a total change in the direction of the wind when it recommences to blow. These “breaks” are very similar in their character and duration to the passage of “the eye” of a cyclone, with which phenomenon, indeed, they are often confounded; and it was during that brief lull that the helm had been put down, and the ship, by God’s mercy—though plunging so wildly in the seas that met her that I fully expected to see her masts go over the bows—had been got round on the other tack, with her head pointing to seaward before the recurrence of the gale.

In the ecstasy of my delight and gratitude at such a sudden and unlooked-for change in our situation I had cried aloud that we were saved; without waiting to see from what point the gale would come when it again struck us. Had it happened to have veered two or three points we should, as a matter of fact, have been just as badly off as before, for in that case the other headland or horn of the bay would soon have brought us up. Fortunately, however, the wind came away a trifle more free for us than it had hitherto been, so that when it again struck us the ship headed fairly well for the open sea. That sudden break, however, proved to be the beginning of the end; for though for perhaps a quarter of an hour it blew as furiously as ever, it then began to moderate rapidly; and the glorious, unclouded sun rose upon us as we were once more mast-heading our topsail-yards after loosing and setting the courses.

The safety of the ship once assured, I went below and entered the chief mate’s cabin, to view the body and assure myself, beyond all possibility of doubt, of the fact of dissolution. A single look sufficed for this; for although only some six hours had elapsed since the poor fellow had been alive and hearty, there was already a distinct discolouration of the skin, to say nothing of other unmistakable signs that death had really taken place. Sailors are not, as a rule, given to much sentimentalism; they are so constantly being brought face to face with death that in a comparatively short time it loses much of that impressiveness with which it affects the landsman; but this man had been a true friend and comrade as well as a faithful servant to me, and I am not ashamed to acknowledge that the tears sprang to my eyes as I knelt by the side of the body and offered up a short prayer ere I looked my last upon him. This done, I returned to the deck and gave the necessary orders to have the body sewn in a hammock, and made ready for burial with all expedition.

I was by this time feeling somewhat fagged, having been on deck for fully twenty-four hours, one-third of which time had been passed in a state of great anxiety; having therefore answered for the present every call upon my attention, and satisfied myself that I could very well be spared for a few hours, I retired to my cabin, giving the steward orders to call me at four bells, at which hour I had arranged for the burial of poor Roberts having long before acquired the sailor’s habit of falling asleep at a moment’s notice, my head no sooner pressed the pillow than I sank into a sound and dreamless slumber.

At the appointed hour the steward awoke me; and on reaching the deck I was much moved and gratified to observe that not only were all hands on deck, “cleaned and shifted” in anticipation of the mournful ceremony that lay before us, but also that Sir Edgar and his whole family intended to pay the last tribute of respect to the dead man, they having mustered upon the poop in the nearest approach to mourning attire that their resources permitted. It is not my intention to here enter into a long and detailed description of the solemn and impressive rite that quickly followed; it has been done more than once or twice by far abler pens than mine, and is to be found in books that are read the wide world over. There is therefore no need for me to attempt to inform my readers upon a subject with which they are doubtless already sufficiently well acquainted; suffice it to say that no form or detail was omitted which could in any wise testify to our respect and esteem for our lost comrade and friend, or add to the decency and solemnity with which we consigned his body to its last resting-place in the depths of the illimitable ocean. This done, I promoted Forbes to the position of chief mate; raised the boatswain to the dignity of “second officer;” and so brought the incident of poor Roberts’s tragic fate to a close.