Adrift in a Boat

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Harry was by this time fully awake, and called David to follow him on deck, to ascertain what was the matter. When David got there, he wished himself below again. The gale had returned with tenfold fury, and the helpless ship was driving before it, surrounded by high foaming and roaring seas; the mist had cleared away, but the clouds were as thick as ever, chasing each other across the sky. Nothing else was to be seen. Mountain waves and dark clouds almost pressing down on their heads—no sail in sight to bring them assistance. So violently was the ship tossed about, that they could scarcely keep their feet, even by holding on.

“Oh, the boat! the boat!” shouted David. Just before, they had seen her still afloat, secured by the hawser, when a heavy sea, rolling towards the ship, broke aboard the boat, and filled her in an instant. She rose on the top of a high foaming sea, when the thwart to which the two ropes were secured was torn out of her, and the next moment she sunk from sight. The boys looked at each other for a minute or more without speaking.

“We shall have to stick to the ship now, at all events,” said Harry at last.

“I hope that the ship will stick to us, and keep afloat, then,” remarked David.

“We’ll sound the well presently, and see what water she has in her,” said Harry. “In the meantime, let us go down into the hold, and see of what her cargo consists. Much depends on that, whether or not she keeps afloat. I want to have a look into the fore peak also; I cannot make out why the vessel should have been deserted.”

The main hatch was on, and as it would have been dangerous to lift it, even if they could have done so, when any moment the deck might have been swept by a sea, they worked their way on to the fore hatch. This was not secured. They descended. It was some time before they could see about them in the close, dark, and dirty abode of the seamen. On either side were bed-places, one above another, with a few large wooden chests below them, and jackets and trousers, and various other articles, hanging up against the bulkhead. They observed nothing of consequence, and as the atmosphere was stirring, they were about to climb up again on deck, when a low groan was heard. Both were brave fellows, but it must be confessed that their hearts sunk, and their first impulse was to hurry up the ladder as fast as they could go. Again there was a groan. They looked at each other. Was it a human voice? There could be little doubt about that. Where could it come from? They stopped for a few seconds, holding on to the ladder, to recover their composure. The voice came from one of the berths; of that they were soon satisfied. Just then Harry observed a small locker close to the ladder, and putting in his hand found a candle and tinder-box. A light was soon struck; and they approached the berth whence the groans had proceeded. It is not surprising that they should have started back with horror. The dim light of the candle fell on the ghastly features of a human being, who, except that his eyes moved wildly, might have been taken for a corpse. His beard was long and tangled, and blood, which had flowed from a fearful gash across his brow, stained the blankets in which he was wrapped. His eyes were staring wildly, his mouth was open. He seemed at the point of death. Yet he was not dying of starvation, for within his reach hung a bottle of water and a bag of biscuits. Why, however, he had been deserted was a mystery which he himself seemed incapable of solving. In vain Harry and David asked him. Not a word did he speak in answer to their questions. He was, however, conscious of their presence, they thought, by the way his eyes followed them as they moved about the cabin. Had they discovered him before, they might have been of some assistance to him, but they could not now even attempt to move him into another berth. David, however, undertook to get some better food from the cabin. Harry did not feel altogether comfortable when left alone with the dying man. He looked so horrible, and the groans which he uttered were so fearful. David seemed to be absent a long time. He did not like to leave the wretched man, or he would have gone to look for him. What could have become of David? The sea every now and then washed with a loud sound across the deck. Could he have been carried away by it? How dreadful the thought! He went back to the dying man, and stood over him, hoping that he might return, to consciousness. Suddenly the man sat up, and pointing with his thin hand across the cabin, uttered a loud shriek, and sinking back was a corpse. The young midshipman was left alone in the dark fore peak of the sinking vessel. The sad thought came across him that perhaps he might be the only living person on board. Old Jefferies was apparently on the point of death, and perhaps David had been washed overboard. As he could be of no use where he was, he determined to ascertain the worst, and climbed up on deck, immediately closing the hatch again. He looked about him. David was not to be seen. Even during the time he had been below matters had grown worse—the ship was tumbling about more than ever, and the seas, which rose high above the bulwarks, seemed every instant about to engulf her. But where was David? He worked his way, not without great danger of being carried overboard, to the companion hatch, over which, stooping down, he shouted David’s name. His heart sank within him. There was no answer. “David! David!” he cried again. “Oh, David, where are you?” Was his dear brave friend really gone? Just then he observed that some rigging had been washed over the starboard quarter, and he fancied that he heard a faint cry. From the temporary position of the wreck, the sea ceased just then to break aboard. Harry sprang aft, and there, clinging desperately to the rigging, now almost under water, now lifted into the air, as the stern of the ship was thrown upwards, he saw David. His friend recognised him, but seemed unable to speak. Though Harry could not swim he could climb well, and was strong and active. His immediate impulse was to fasten a rope round his own waist, the other end secured round a stanchion, and to spring towards David. “We will die together,” he said to himself as he did so, “or I will save him. May we be protected!” He alighted on a spar close to David, whose arm he saw was caught by a rope, from which he could not disengage himself. To do this without the risk of his friend being washed away was no easy task. He succeeded at length, however, in doing so, and by an effort, of which he would not have thought himself capable, he scrambled up on deck again by means of the tangled mass of ropes, and tattered sails and spars, which hung overboard. Then, dreading that another sea would come and sweep them back together into the seething ocean, they tottered to the companion hatchway, down which Harry half dragged, half carried his friend, closing the hatch above him. Scarcely had he done so than a tremendous blow on the hatch, and the loud rushing sound of the water as it passed over the deck, told them that another sea had broken aboard, which would in all probability have swept them away to destruction. They fell on their knees in thankfulness as they reached the cabin, that they had been thus providentially preserved. They then went to the berth in which old Jefferies lay. He was still too weak to move, but perfectly sensible. They told him what had just occurred, and of the death of the poor seaman whom they had discovered in the fore peak. He could not conjecture why the man had been left there. The boys, however, thought that, by examining all the papers, they might elucidate the mystery. They feared, from the appearance of the poor stranger, that some foul deed had been done on board. Now, however, they were more concerned about themselves. The brig had hitherto withstood all the buffeting she had received without apparently leaking much, but would she continue to do so? Old Jefferies thought not. He had heard, he said, strange sounds as he lay in bed, which he knew well proceeded from water forcing its way into the hold, or rather from the air which was thereby forced out—groans, and sighs, and low cries.

“Some people, when they hear these sounds for the first time, think that the ship is full of ghosts and spirits, and that they are crying out that she is going down,” observed the old man. “But I know better. I wish that I hadn’t heard them, for they make me sad. Not for myself, though, for I am well-nigh worn out, and that poor boy’s death weighs heavy on me. I daren’t face his grandmother, and tell her that he is gone. But, boys, I am sorry for you. You are young and full of life, and there are many who love you on shore, and will mourn your loss.”

“What, do you think that the ship is going down?” exclaimed Harry and David together, in a very natural tone of dismay.

“It would be cruel in me not to tell you so, and I hope that you are prepared to die, my boys,” answered the old man. “Still I don’t say but that in God’s mercy you may escape. A vessel may heave in sight in time to take you off, or you may build a raft, and it may float you till you are picked up. I don’t say give in, but be prepared for the worst.”

The boys listened calmly to what the old man said.