Round the Galley Fire

by William Clark Russell

The third extract was of a similar character, signed by three survivors of a crew of fourteen souls.

“Well, sir,” said the shipmaster, as I handed him back the third and last cutting, “what do you think of these documents?”

I replied that they were expressions of gratitude honourable to the saved and to the savers, and that it was a pity such illustrations of the humanity and gratitude of seamen did not obtain more publicity than was generally given them, as not only was there nothing nobler in the world than the marine stories which the letters he had given me to read touchingly testified to, but that the interest of the sailor could never be better served than by landsmen again and again dwelling upon the bitter perils of his vocation, and upon the scores of illustrations of the magnanimity and generosity of his simple heart.

My friend the shipmaster listened to me very attentively, as though I had given him a new view of the subject; but, shaking his head suddenly, as if to clear his mind of all matter that was not in it before, he said, “Ay, it may be as you observe, and I’m not the man to tell you that sailors are likely to get more than what they ought to want. The point’s this: If it’s a beautiful thing to read such pieces of gratitude as these documents contain, how much more beautiful would the reading of them be if it was to be known what impediments, that have grown up like mangrove bushes from the lack of a proper Christian civilization to cut ’em down, a ship’s captain has to contend with in order to gratify his instincts as a man of feeling and compassion. It’s all very well,” said he, striking a match and holding a flame in the hollow of his hand as though a stiff breeze were blowing, “for landsmen to read those letters of thanks and to feel touched, and to talk of the generosity of sailors and the like. Why—since the laws which govern folks are made ashore, and not at sea—why, after they’ve done wiping their eyes over the humble thanks poor sailors give to them who save their lives, don’t they turn to and give a hand to the cause of humanity on the ocean by letting captains know that the laws of the British nation, anyway—leaving other countries out—will never let a man who does a noble act suffer for it as much, ay, and sometimes more than if he did a wrong? You hear of ships passing vessels in distress—taking no notice—pushing on, as if in a hurry to get out of sight. There is nothing in the marine reports which set my teeth more on edge than those yarns—nothing! But I’m master of a ship; I know the duties and responsibilities of that position. I’ve tried to do good, have hauled some fellow-mortals out of the very jaws of death, and have been so made to suffer for my humanity that when I think of it there comes into my mind a bitterness that makes me curse the ill-luck which drove me into the track of the sinking ship and her perishing crew. These are strong words, but if I don’t justify them you shall force me to eat ’em. Give me your attention for five minutes. I’ll try not to keep you longer; and if I should lose my temper and talk a bit stronger than you may think there’s need for, take no notice, but just quietly go on listening till I’ve done; and then, should I fall a-swearing, maybe I’ll have got you into a frame of mind fit to join me.

“In the middle of last October my ship sailed from a certain port—there’s no need to give any names—in ballast, bound on a voyage across the Atlantic. The weather was promising enough for three or four days after we got away; moderate, north-easterly winds which, crank as we were, enabled us to carry a fore-topmast studding-sail, and we drove along prettily enough, nothing happening to call for remark. But this sort of thing was too good to last; accordingly, at midnight or thereabouts on the fifth day of sailing, I was roused by the mate, and, hurrying on deck, found half a gale of wind blowing, everything in confusion, vessel almost on her beam ends, everything let go, and as much shindy aloft as would furnish out noise for a battle-field. It was a squall with a storm behind it. However, bit by bit we managed to roll up the canvas and save our spars, and when daylight broke we found ourselves under a lower maintop-sail, tumbling upon as savage a sea as was ever rolled up in a few hours by a gale in the Atlantic.

“This was the beginning of a deal of delay. The gale kept us humbugging about in one place—allowing for that lee drift which you’ll expect of a ship in ballast—for hard upon a week: then better weather came. We shook out reefs, mast-headed the yards, and crawled a trifle to wind’ard; but the slant was a short one; another gale came along and lasted three days; and so it went on, sometimes fine and most often foul, until at the end of thirty-six days we found ourselves a good deal closer to Europe than we were to America.

“Well, sir, the thirty-seventh day proved moderate; a breeze from the W.N.W., a heavy swell running to show that either a gale had been blowing or was coming, and pretty clear weather, with a little glimmer of sunshine now and again streaming through the cloud-rifts; enough to improve our spirits. I came on deck at half-past seven, and was taking a look at the weather and wondering if the swell that was making the ship roll like an empty cask was to signify more bother, when I was hailed by the mate, who sung out that there was a dark object upon the water, a point on the lee bow. I took the glass and made out the hull of a totally dismantled vessel—apparently a barque, but all that was left of her masts were three stumps barely showing above her topgallant bulwarks. She was water-logged—like a pancake on the swell that hid her with every send; and after taking another look at her, and not doubting from her appearance that she was abandoned, I put the glass down, waterlogged vessels being by no means rare objects in the North Atlantic.

“We were swarming along over the swell at about three to four knots an hour, and as we should pass the hulk pretty close to windward, I reckoned that if there was any poor miserable creature aboard her we were bound to see him as we drove by. However, I had scarcely put the glass down five minutes, and was standing looking over the taffrail, when the mate again hailed me, and on my going to where he stood peering through the telescope, he put the glass into my hand and told me to look yonder, for there was a boat full of men, heading directly for us. I looked, and sure enough saw a whole boat-load of human beings lifting and falling and coming towards us. It was more like an apparition than a real thing, for when I examined the wreck again I could not conceive how such a number of men had managed to keep by a hull which offered them no refuge aloft, and over whose decks the water rolled in shining masses, as she swung into the hollows.

“As the boat approached, we backed the mainyards, and lay waiting for her to come alongside. By this time I could make out no less than fourteen men, and a sadder freight of human beings I never want to see again. Their white faces, their streaming clothes, their gaunt, hollow looks, the languid movement of the oars, and, above all, the manner in which those who rowed kept their faces turned towards us upon their shoulders, as if they feared we should vanish if they did not keep their eyes fixed upon us, was a sight the most iron-hearted man could not have viewed without pain and grief. We hove them the end of a rope, and dragged the boat alongside; and I wanted no better assurance of the character of their sufferings and of the lamentable condition they were then in than their slow, weak motions as they caught the line, and got their oars in and stood up. One by one we lifted or helped them over the side—fourteen of them, sir. Some of them were too weak to answer our questions. My men took the seamen forward, holding them up as they walked, for they could scarcely use their limbs; and I carried the captain and the two mates into the cabin, where we furnished them with food and dry clothing, and then got them to bed.

“All this while we remained hove to with the wreck bearing about a mile distant from us on our lee bow. My own crew consisted of eleven hands only, and the job of helping the rescued men forward had given them work enough until the poor fellows were below. I went on deck, and found the mate singing out to the hands to swing the main-topsail and get way upon the ship. I stood looking on, full of thought. Presently the sails were trimmed, and I called the mate over to me.