The Cruise of the "Esmeralda"

by Harry Collingwood

We had taken the sun, and made it eight bells, and I was on the point of leaving the deck again to work out the sights in my own cabin, when, while exchanging some remarks with Forbes, I thought I caught a momentary glimpse of something—what, I knew not—as the ship hung poised for an instant upon the crest of an unusually heavy wave. It was but the barest, most fleeting glimpse; for before I could direct Forbes’s attention to it by so much as a word, we were plunging headlong down the weather slope of the wave, with our horizon on either hand bounded by a hissing crest that was rearing itself as high as our maintop, and the barque taking a weather roll of such portentous extent that both of us instinctively made a dash for the mizzen shrouds and clung to them for dear life in anticipation of the coming—and correspondingly abnormal—lee roll; while the roar of the bow wave and the wind aloft created such a din that I could not have made myself heard even had I been foolish enough to have attempted it. But I was confident that I had seen something; and when the ship reached the bottom of the abyss, where we on deck were becalmed, and the roar of the surge under our bows had died away, I mentioned the matter to the mate; so that when we were swung aloft again both of us were eagerly on the lookout for the object. As almost invariably happens, however, after the passage of an usually heavy wave, the two or three that now succeeded were only of moderate height, and higher crests each time intervened between us and the spot where the object was last seen; it was also probable enough that the object, whatever it might be, would be sunk in the trough of the sea just at the moment when we happened to be hanging on a wave-crest; and it thus happened that several minutes elapsed without my again catching sight of it. To cut the matter short, therefore, I handed Forbes my sextant to hold; and, seizing a favourable opportunity, sprang into the weather main rigging and swarmed aloft as far as the maintop, from which elevation I knew that I should soon sight it if it were still above water.

It was not until I was halfway up the shrouds that I fully realised how heavily it was still blowing, or how violent still was the motion of the ship. With every lee roll that we took I was involuntarily forced to cling with all my strength to the rigging, for it seemed to me that unless I did so I should infallibly be pitched head-foremost into the top; while when the ship rolled to windward the pressure of the air upon my body was so great that I was literally jammed hard and fast against the rigging, unable to move hand or foot. This was even more apparent when I reached the futtock-shrouds and was surmounting the edge of the top, the wind sustaining me so completely that I am confident I might have relaxed my hand-grasp for several seconds without the slightest danger of falling. However, I gained my lofty perch at last, and, lying prone in the top in order that I might see under the foot of the fore-topsail, soon again caught sight of the object.

It was distant about seven miles from the ship, bearing about north-north-east by compass, and floated very low in the water; a circumstance which, from the thick mist still overspreading the surface of the water, rendered it impossible at that distance to determine precisely what it was. It looked as much like a dead whale as anything else, and had I felt quite certain that it was really this, I should of course have troubled no more about it. But there were moments when, probably from some slight change in its position with regard to us, the resemblance I have mentioned ceased, and the conviction forced itself upon me that, whatever it might be, it was not a whale, living or dead; and at length, to set the matter at rest, I determined to fill upon the ship and get a nearer look at it. I accordingly descended to the deck, and, Forbes rousing out Joe and San Domingo, we all went to work, and, with some difficulty, succeeded in setting the fore-topmast staysail without splitting it, after which we filled the fore-topsail and headed the ship for the mysterious object.

We were now close-hauled upon the larboard tack, with the object a bare three points upon the lee bow, and it soon became apparent that, as we were making fully that amount of leeway, it would require some rather fine steering to fetch it without breaking tacks—an operation which I was particularly anxious to avoid, short-handed as we were. Forbes, however, was at the wheel, and as he was a splendid helmsman, it was pretty certain that if the thing could be done he would do it.

When luncheon was announced we had drawn up to within about four miles of the object; but so heavily was the sea still running that, even at that distance, it was only occasionally that we could catch sight of it, presenting now, as looked at through the ship’s telescope, the appearance of a large fragment of floating wreck.

The news which I took to the luncheon table, that a mysterious floating something of considerable size had been sighted ahead, and that we were making for it, had a very stimulating effect upon the occupants of the saloon, who, enveloping themselves in mackintoshes, followed me on deck when I rose from the table, with an eagerness born of the longing for some occurrence to break the monotony of and make them forget for a time the wearisome pitching and rolling of the ship, the monotonous, unceasing clank and jar of the cabin-doors on their hooks, the continuous creaking of the bulkheads, the thump of the wheel-chains on the deck, the never-ending wash of the water, and the howling of the wind in the rigging. And, despite the merciless buffeting of the wind, and the ceaseless drenching showers of spray that flew over us, the change from the saloon to the deck was unanimously voted an improvement; for it involved a transition from a close, oppressive atmosphere to an exhilarating breeze, redolent of the strong salt odour of the brine, and bracing by reason of its very violence; while the brilliant sunshine, sparkling upon the deep, windy blue of the vast mountain surges that surrounded us, and converting every spray-shower, into a gorgeous rainbow, constituted an ever-changing picture of rich and splendid colour and wild, tumultuous movement that was not to be easily forgotten. I thought Miss Merrivale had never looked so lovely as she did then, enveloped in a thin, soft, silky-looking mackintosh, with a dainty little, close-fitting hat upon her head, her beautiful hair all blown adrift and streaming, a long golden web of ringlets, in the fiery breeze, her cheeks flushed to a delicate pink with the rude buffeting of wind and sea, and her eyes fairly blazing with excitement and exhilaration at the wild scene around her.

Our first glances were naturally directed ahead in search of the mysterious object for which we were steering, and it was quickly discovered about two miles distant, and a good point on the lee bow. To the unaided eye its character still remained uncertain, but a single glance through the ship’s telescope now sufficed to satisfy us that it was a wreck, or a portion of one. It had all the appearance of a small craft, capsized; for the telescope enabled one to see a small strip of wet, black side showing above water, with a considerably greater expanse of copper-sheathed planking. But, even now that we had so greatly decreased the distance between us and it, there was still great difficulty in determining its precise character; for it was only when we and it happened to be upon the top of a sea at the same moment that it came within our ken, and those moments were comparatively rare.

As we continued to close, however, our glimpses of it became increasingly frequent; and at length, when we had approached to within half a mile, the heave of the sea having meanwhile flung it round into a more favourable position, it became apparent that it was a small craft of some sort—seemingly a brig—that had capsized, and now lay with her masts prone along the water, for we could now and then catch a glimpse of the spars, with the canvas still set, lifting a foot or two out of the water with the heave of the sea, only to settle back again the next moment, however. What interested us most keenly of all, however, and excited our profoundest astonishment, was the fact that a dark patch in her main rigging—for which I could not at first account—soon afterwards proved to be a group of men! for we presently saw one of them scramble along the shrouds until he reached the vessel’s upturned side, and then—despite the heavy masses of water that were continually breaking over the hull—rise to his feet and wave something that looked like a man’s jacket, by way of a signal, in answer to which I immediately ran our ensign up to the gaff-end.

The excitement of the fairer occupants of our poop was now intense, especially that of Miss Merrivale, who, in the extremity and oblivion of her enthusiasm, not only addressed me as “Jack,” but also volunteered to do all sorts of impossible things by way of assisting in the rescue that she took for granted. But how was such a thing to be achieved? We were only five men on board the Esmeralda, all told, and what could our united efforts accomplish? We certainly could not launch a boat, even had we dared to hope that so small a craft would live in such a wild and fearful sea; for the lightest of our gigs—the only boat it would have been possible to launch, under the circumstances—would need at least four men to do anything with her in such weather, which would leave only one man on board to look after and handle the ship during the process of rescue—which amounted to a physical impossibility.

I was, however, determined to save the men, if it could be done; we therefore steered the barque as close up under the lee of the wreck as we dared, and backed our mainyard, with the brig’s royal-mastheads showing just awash not ten feet to windward of us. It was an extraordinary and appalling picture that we now looked upon. The vessel—a brig of about one hundred and eighty tons—had been thrown over on her starboard side, and now lay submerged to about halfway up her hatchways, with her masts prone along the water, into and out of which they dipped and rose two or three feet with the wash of the sea and the roll of the hull. She was a wooden vessel, apparently American built, and was under whole topsails, foresail, spanker, and jib, which sufficiently accounted for her present predicament if, as seemed probable, she had been caught under that canvas in the outburst of the previous day. She had no quarter davits, and the chocks over the main hatchway—where the long-boat, and sometimes the jolly-boat as well, is usually stowed—were missing; but the gripes were still there, showing that the boat or boats that had been stowed there had evidently been washed away. There was, moreover, the remains of what had once been a gig on her gallows. She appeared to have been generously fitted up; for, as she rose and fell, we caught the flash of brass work about her skylight and companion, and when her stern lifted high enough out of the water a handsome brass binnacle, securely bolted to the deck, became exposed to our view. Lastly, huddled in her weather main rigging, about twelve or fifteen feet from the rail—where they were tolerably clear of the seas that constantly broke over the vessel’s upturned side—was a group of nine men, most of them bareheaded, clad in garments that clung to their bodies with the tenacity of clothing that has been soaked for many consecutive hours in water.