The First Mate: The Story of a Strange Cruise

by Harry Collingwood

The day had been one of lowering, breathless calm, with an insufferably close atmosphere that rendered hard work exceedingly trying, and the black, working canopy of cloud that overhung us continued to writhe and twist itself into the most extraordinary shapes, while it showed no sign of dispersing. This state of affairs continued until about four o’clock in the afternoon, when a light, puffy, southerly breeze sprang up which gradually freshened until, when at length I ceased work for the day, it was blowing quite gustily, while a sea came rolling in over the reef that soon caused the wreck occasionally to rock lightly upon her coral bed.

I was very tired after my strenuous labours that day; moreover, I had not yet fully recovered the strength that I had lost during my illness; therefore, under ordinary circumstances, I should have gone to my cabin and turned in soon after dinner. But as it was, I felt uneasy. I did not at all like the look of the weather; I felt convinced that we were booked for a blow, possibly a heavy one; and a further reference to the barometer fully confirmed me in that conviction. If my foreboding should prove to be correct, what would be the probable result? Should the wreck but remain where she was, we would no doubt be all right, and nothing worse would befall us than possibly an unpleasant and anxious night. But if she did not, what then? She would gradually bump her way over the few yards of the inner edge of the reef and then reach the lagoon, in which she would probably founder, unless, indeed, she remained afloat long enough to drive across it and fetch up again on the opposite reef.

That was a possibility that I had long since recognised; but now, as I looked out into the night and dimly saw the breakers thundering in upon the outer end of the reef, shattering themselves into a wall of madly-leaping water thirty feet high, and then continuing their course across the reef in the form of foam-flecked waves, the power of which was rapidly dissipated as they swept inward toward the wreck, I began to doubt whether the Stella Maris would ever again shift her berth. It is true that those waves, as they swirled and foamed about her, had power enough to cause the hull to rock a little now and again; but as to lifting her bodily and throwing her into the lagoon—well, I thought it unlikely. I reflected that when, in the first instance, she piled herself up, there was a strong breeze blowing and a heavy sea running, and that she had hit the reef stem-on under a heavy press of sail; yet she had not then been flung right across the reef. The seas had brought her so far, and then their power had failed to move her an inch farther. Why should not that be the case now?

There was something comforting, almost reassuring, about this line of argument; yet at the back of my mind there was another something that seemed to tell me I must not take my data too much for granted—that there was another possibility of which I must not permit myself quite to lose sight. I therefore set myself to answer the question, in the event of that other possibility happening, How were we to meet it? There was but one answer—with the boat; and unfinished and destitute of equipment as she was, we should undoubtedly be obliged to trust ourselves to her if the worst came to the worst.

This point settled, the next question I asked myself was: What should we require to take with us, supposing that it should come to our being obliged to take to the boat in a hurry—that night, in fact? Provisions and water, of course, in such abundance as the boat’s capacity would permit; a pair of oars, a coil of line, a baler, a bucket, a few tools; say, half a dozen rifles, and a good supply of ammunition for same. But why tools? I may be asked. Because if once we were compelled to trust ourselves to a boat without mast or sails, we should be compelled to go practically wherever the wind chose to drive us, and that might be to an uninhabited island, where tools would be worth their weight in gold.

The carpenter’s chest stood on the deck close by the boat—I had been using the tools only a few hours earlier—and the thought came to me that they might as well be in as out of her. I therefore emptied the chest, since it was too heavy for me to lift full, and, having decided upon the most suitable spot for it, I stowed it inside the boat, and then proceeded carefully to replace its contents. This done, I hunted up a pair of twelve-foot oars and put them aboard; found a pair of rowlocks, and then, remembering that I had as yet made no provision for shipping them, proceeded to cut out a good stout pair of cleats, which I firmly secured to the gunwale of the boat. There was plenty of rope lying about the deck, neatly done up in coils—the salvage of the running gear; and from this I selected the mizen topgallant halyard as of suitable size, putting it into the boat, unstopping it, and bending one end to a hole in the stem head which I bored for the purpose.

Having gone so far, I decided that I would complete my preparations, so that in the event of our being driven to the last extremity, we might be ready. I considered a little as to what I would next put into the boat, and fixed upon a case of ammunition, which I would stow alongside the carpenter’s chest, it being desirable, in order to secure stability, that the heaviest articles should be at the bottom. Accordingly I dived below to the magazine. Now, our Remington-rifle cartridges were done up in small tin boxes of one hundred each, sealed up in air-tight tin cases, which were in turn stowed in stout wooden chests each containing one hundred tins; consequently each chest contained ten thousand rounds. This was a large quantity, yet not too large, I decided, considering the uncertainties of our position; I therefore emptied a case—which, apart from its contents, was fairly heavy to drag up on deck—carried it up to the boat, stowed it in position, and then returned for the small tin cases.

The transport and stowage of these occupied some time, involving several journeys up and down between the deck and the magazine, and when I had finished this job I was distinctly tired. Nevertheless I brought up six Remingtons, a cutlass, a brace of automatic pistols, and a box of cartridges for the latter, and stowed them all in the boat before knocking off for a rest. The work had given me an appetite, and since it was now close upon midnight, I went below and routed out a good substantial cold meal, which I consumed while I rested. Then—why attempt to conceal the truth?—overcome, I suppose, by my unusual and protracted exertions, I fell asleep as I sat.

I remember that as I slept I dreamed that we were away back there at the entrance to the Straits of Malacca, where we lost the blades of our propeller. I felt again the shock of our collision with the supposed wreckage to which we attributed the loss, and the start I gave awoke me. I instantly became aware that it was blowing heavily, for the howl and whoop of the gale came distinctly to my ears; also the wreck was rolling heavily from side to side, and for a moment I thought she was afloat, until her harsh grinding upon the coral reached me above the tumultuous crying of the wind. I staggered to my feet, for I realised that matters were becoming serious. At that instant I felt the hull lift as the wreck heeled over, and come down again with a jar that all but jolted me off my feet; also, unless I was greatly mistaken, I caught, among the other sounds, the thud of water falling heavily on deck.

I made a spring for the ladder, and in a couple of seconds was out on deck, to find myself in the midst of a living gale. Coming up out of a lighted room, I found the night intensely dark; yet as I stood there by the open hatchway, clinging to the main fife-rail, I presently became dimly aware of my more immediate surroundings. As it chanced, it was about the time of full moon, and although the planet herself was completely hidden by the dense masses of cloud that drove wildly athwart the firmament, her light filtered through. Presently I was able to see as far as the outer edge of the reef, where the surf, brilliantly phosphorescent, plunged madly down upon it and burst into leaping fountains of spray that came driving over the wreck like heavy rain, though I knew it was not rain by the bitter, salt taste of it on my lips. The surface of the water all round the wreck and on either hand—in fact, over the whole of the weather portion of the reef—was a mass of swirling, phosphorescent foam, which rose and fell as the rollers came sweeping across the reef. It was these rollers that were causing the ship to roll on her bed of coral, while occasionally one heavier than the others would lift her bodily, break furiously over her, and shift her a foot or more toward the inner edge of the reef, as I judged by the feel of her, before it dashed her down again.