The Shipwreck.
A few years ago a company of one of the English regiments of infantry, consisting of eleven officers and two hundred soldiers embarked in a large, strongly built ship, to sail from Quebec to Halifax. Besides the troops, there were forty-eight passengers on board, most of them women and children, and the whole number of persons, including the sailors, amounted to upwards of three hundred.
On the evening of the tenth day, when they were clear of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and a brisk wind had driven them out many leagues to seaward, the pilot who, for the greater security of the troops had been kept on board, directed the course of the vessel to the westward, hoping on the next day to run her into Halifax. From the windward side of the otherwise clear heavens a dark cloud showed itself on the horizon, and in a short time afterwards the ship was enveloped in one of those dense fogs, which make a voyage along these coasts so perilous, during the greater part of the year. They had now come within that space of the ocean in which it was usual to hold a ship’s course in sailing from England to the West Indies; torrents of rain increased the thickness of the fog, and fearful gusts of wind increased the danger, and the officers in charge of the troops, thought it expedient to hold a consultation 151 with the captain, as to what course was best to be pursued in the present circumstances. The result of this conference was a determination to keep on the course deemed expedient by the pilot, but with as little sail set as possible. For their further safety a watch was stationed on the foredeck, with the company’s drums which they beat from to time, and taking besides every other precaution against their coming into collision with another vessel.
Among the officers, was a lieutenant named Stewart, a young man of uncommon steadiness and bravery, and who in his zeal for the comfort of the soldiers and the discipline necessary to be observed for maintaining order in the ship, had during the whole voyage, limited his own hours of rest to the smallest possible number. One night, completely worn out, he was about to betake himself to his hammock, when the colonel requested in view of the danger that every moment threatened, that he would remain all night upon deck. Stewart rallied his remaining strength, and conquering the importunate demands of sleep, he took his station with ten men on the foredeck, whilst the captain, with eight soldiers, kept watch at the stern. The rain poured down in streams, squalls of wind and angry waves caused the good ship to reel and turn like one drunk, and to add to the horrors of their situation, the night was so dark they could not see half the length of the ship before them, and the fog enshrouded them in its oppressive vapor. At ten o’clock, the watch on the bowsprit called out to the lieutenant on the foredeck, and directed his attention to a clear spot which he declared to proceed from a light. Stewart at once proceeded to the 152 stern where he found the pilot seated on the rudder, apparently watching the same appearance, but when he inquired of him what it meant, he received a very short uncourteous reply, together with a command from the captain who was by, to go back to his post. He did so, and not long after the man on the bowsprit once more called out, that notwithstanding the thick fog he saw a light distinctly; Stewart looked in the direction the sailor pointed out, and plainly saw the glimmer of the friendly beacon, and knew it at once as the signal placed to warn ships from approaching too near the cliffs which lined the shore. Notwithstanding his first repulse, he approached the pilot a second time; but he met with a second repulse;––he was answered––“Sir, I have been royal pilot on this coast for twenty-five years, and I ought to know where I am.” The captain too, in a sterner manner then before, commanded Stewart to return to his watch. The lieutenant dared utter no further remonstrance, but with a heart, heavy with sad forebodings, busied himself to keep up the failing spirits of his men who were as apprehensive of the threatened danger as himself. And his sad foreboding was only too soon fulfilled, for whilst the pilot imagined his vessel to be sailing on the open sea, she was already among the rocks that lay but a mile and an half from the coast, but yet were sixty distant from the roadstead by which they were to enter Halifax.
By midnight, Stewart felt himself so fairly exhausted by cold and long watching, that he left the quarter deck, and went below to snatch, if possible, a few minutes sleep. He had been in his cabin only long enough to change his 153 damp clothing for dry, when a fearful crash told him the ship had struck upon the rocks. In a moment he was back on the quarter deck. He found that a surging billow had struck the hinder part of the ship, tore off part of the sheathing, and carried away the watch-house in which two women were sleeping––all efforts to rescue them were in vain. Whilst the storm-tossed ocean raged and foamed around the devoted ship, and night shrouded all objects in her veil of impenetrable darkness, wild shrieks and cries arose from the women and children, increasing the horrors of the moment, and filled the stoutest hearted among the mariners and soldiers with dread and despair. Among the soldiers all discipline was at an end, and in many families this hour of terrors had loosed the bonds of affection and dependence, that until now had subsisted for years. The men forsook their wives in the endeavour to save their own lives; their wives and children were entreating the help from strangers denied them by husbands and fathers, and an officer who had heretofore been considered not only as a most courageous soldier, but had showed himself a kind and affectionate husband, now turned a deaf ear to the prayers of his wife, and intent only on his own deliverance, climbed up into the rigging of the mainmast, left her to her fate below, whatever it might be. In the meantime, the captain had ordered the ship to be examined, he found that she had struck upon a hidden rock, and the waves beating over the quarter deck had already filled all the rooms with water. Several men had been washed overboard as they rushed from their hammocks to the deck at the moment of the ship striking, but the greater number had 154 reached the foredeck where they crowded closely together, awaiting in painful anxiety for what the morning would bring.
At length the dappling clouds in the east proclaimed the hour of dawning––the day struggled into existence, and showed to the great joy of the shipwrecked, a rock about fifty yards distant, which raising its dark head above the foaming sea, promised present safety if it could be reached, although the white waves broke furiously against it. But how were they to reach it? The only hope––and it was a weak one––was if they could succeed in passing a rope from the ship to the rock, and fastening it there so firmly that by its aid all might be able to leave the wreck. But who was the adventurous one to carry it thither? The most experienced officers on board, declared it impossible for any one to brave those angry breakers successfully, and the best and most resolute of the sailors, who, perhaps, would have ventured encountering such a risk, had broken into the spirit room and were now lying drunk, seeking to drown the bitterness of death which they were so certain of meeting, by steeping their senses in oblivion.
In the meantime, Lieutenant Stewart with folded arms and thoughtful mien, stood on the foredeck, measuring with his eyes the distance between the wreck and the rock. After some minutes spent in deep consideration, he threw off his coat, fastened a rope round his body, and plunged into the boiling surf. The soldiers looked on in anxious silence––for the bold swimmer had almost immediately disappeared from their view––a wave had buried him deep in its bosom––but again his head was seen above its foaming 155 crest, and with strong arms he parted the angry waters as he swam boldly forward, like one determined to battle with and conquer fate. His strength would not have sufficed to enable him to accomplish his aim, had not a huge wave borne him onward, and dashing powerfully against the rocky ledge left him behind as it retreated. Stunned by the violence with which he was thrown, he lay for some moments deprived of all consciousness; his senses at length returning, he rose hastily and mustering all his strength, essayed to climb the steep and rugged rock, the difficulty of the assent being increased by the slippery sea-grass with which it was covered. After many toilsome efforts he reached the top, where he succeeded in fastening his rope. But as it was impossible for him to be seen from this height by those on the wreck, on account of the thick fog, he was obliged to descend to the shore, where, as he was nearer the ship, he hoped he might be visible, and thus relieve part of their anxiety. On the side next the ship the breakers dashed so violently that he dreaded making the attempt, and venturing on the other, he fell from the steep and slippery path down into the sea.
Benumbed with cold, and sorely wounded by the sharp edges of the rocks, he was at first scarcely able to move, but still he managed to keep his head above the water, and after an half hour spent in a vigorous struggle with death, a rushing wave once more carried him to the shore, where bruised and bleeding he lay on his back like one dead. He felt like giving up the contest, but he saw the sinking ship and his doomed companions––with great effort, therefore, he raised himself, gave the appointed signal to 156 show that he had succeeded in fastening the rope, and a gleam of joy shot through his heart as he heard the loud cheers with which the news was hailed on board.
In less than a minute, the only boat belonging to the ship was let down, and manned with but one stout sailor. Slipping along by the rope which Stewart had drawn he guided his frail craft to the rock, to which he fastened a stronger one, brought with him for that purpose: this being done, he returned to the wreck in order to bring off the passengers. It was determined to send away the women and children first, and accordingly two grown females or a mother with several children were bound together and sent off, the little boat which was guided by two sailors being too small to hold any more.