CHAPTER VII. UNCLE THOMAS TELLS ABOUT THE LOSS OF THE WINTERTON EAST INDIAMAN.
Good evening, boys. I am glad to see you so early. I have "a long yarn to spin" to-night, as the sailors say; though fortunately it contains fewer horrors than that of last evening. The strife of the elements is in deed as strong, but the angry passions of man—more dreadful than the fiercest storm—form no part of the tale.
I am glad of it, Uncle Thomas. The shocking conduct of the mutineers on board the raft, after leaving the Medusa, of which you told us last night, makes me shudder when I think of it.
Intoxicating drinks, my boys, often make men mad. The tale which I am going to tell you this evening, is that of the loss of the Winterton, an East Indiaman, which was wrecked on the Island of Madagascar, on her passage to India. The Winterton sailed from England in the spring of 1792, and arrived at the Cape of Good Hope in safety. On leaving the Cape, it was Captain Dundas's intention to have taken what is called the outer passage to India, but, encountering light, variable winds, he was obliged to abandon his original design, and bore away for the Mozambique Channel.
In order to avoid a shoal, which he knew to be somewhat incorrectly laid down in the charts, Captain Dundas steered east. Thinking he had sufficiently accomplished this, he altered his course; but had scarcely sailed in this new direction for three hours, when the ship, which they supposed to be sixty miles distant from land, struck.
The boats were instantly got out, and on sounding they found deep water within fifty yards of the stern of the vessel.
Every exertion was made to get her off, but without avail. Day-light soon disclosed to them the dangers of their situation. The ship had struck on a reef of rocks, about six miles from land.