Heart of Oak: A Three-Stranded Yarn, vol. 3

by William Clark Russell

Cliffe stood in earnest talk with Selby. I regarded the man awhile before he saw me. He was dressed in the plain clothes of his calling; doubtless he made good his wants out of Captain Burke's wardrobe; he was rather short and very broad-shouldered; his hair was black, and of a true cast-away man's length, falling and curling in plenty down upon his back as though it had been a woman's; he was of a sallow complexion and newly bearded as though used to shave when all was well.

When I went to him with my hands outstretched, he faced me with a smile, and then it was I saw a wonderful spirit of goodness and kindness in his countenance. I had never before witnessed a man's nature so plainly pictured in his looks. I will not admit that I was prejudiced in his favour by what Marie had told me and found a soul of candour and good humour where perhaps I should otherwise have seen nothing but an average sailorly countenance. No matter what the causes which should have brought this man and me acquainted; let me have met him how, when, where you will, one glance would have persuaded me that he was a heart of oak. You saw a manly simplicity and gentleness in every line. His eyes looked at you full, yet gently, with a charming, winning frankness; his smile was a grace, there was something sweet in it: and yet he was by no means good looking. His face was overcharged by the length of its aquiline nose. His mouth, too, was out of proportion, his eyes were something too deep set and close together to please; nevertheless when he turned, smiling to receive me, I found a beauty in his looks that was far above all gift of flesh.

I held him by both hands, but in what terms I thanked him for his goodness to Miss Otway I'll not set down, because they must needs look cold and insufficient, when in reality the tribute lay in that part that cannot be communicated on paper, I mean in the tone of voice, the expression of countenance, the clinging pressure of the hands.

He said, 'It's been a bad time for her, sir. The beginning was the hardest. That week when she was alone, washing about here, much where we now are, in the winter time when it was nearly all night, and nobody else aboard but the corpse of Mrs. Burke, would have killed a lady of less spirit.'

I broke in by asking him to step below with me. Cliffe said he would remain on deck and watch the brig. I took notice that as in making for the island, so now, a keen look-out was being kept. Hands were stationed in the bows and on the foreyard; the rigging lay ready for instant use. Two men were at the wheel.

Selby stopped and looked at the island astern. The whole soul of the man seemed to rush into his face as he gazed, colouring it with memory and a passion of gratitude and pathetic joy. He breathed deep and said. 'Thank God, I've seen the end of it! Seven months is it, sir? The sufferings of the sea will make a year of a week. It seems as long as a lifetime.'

He sighed again, or rather fetched a breath as of relief and ease of heart, and followed me into the cabin.

Whilst we waited for Marie, he explained how it came about that the hull was shelved forty feet above the wash.

He said when she first took the ice she was beaten a considerable distance by blow upon blow of foamless swell, rolling into the shelter out of the heavy weather beyond; she lay on her bilge. He could not express the misery they suffered from the angle her posture sloped her into; till, early one night, a noise of thunder roared through the cabin as though the whole island was splitting to pieces; shock followed shock. These volcanic throes went on for hours. He expected every moment that the hull would be crushed to powder. Sometimes they felt the fabric under their feet swept upwards. It was pitch dark on deck; nothing was to be seen; but the uproar of splitting ice was at moments deafening. He said he could compare it to nothing but to being in a boat betwixt two line-of-battle ships when they were firing their whole broadside artillery at each other.

It might have been about four o'clock when the hellish commotion ceased as abruptly as it had commenced; at this hour the hull was, as she had been for some time, resting on an almost level keel. At break of day he went on deck, and was amazed to find the sea lying open, but at a considerable distance below; the great ice peninsula whose bay had been the salvation of the hull had broken away and become a majestic island, nodding stately upon a high sea about a quarter of a mile distant. The wreck rested upon a wide ledge with a sheer fall of ice, smooth as though chiselled, to the wash of the surf. How it had befallen he could not tell. Perception had lain entirely in sensation and bearing.