“I’ll try it, sir,” cried Ben Twinch, the boatswain’s mate, one of the most powerful men in the ship. “I’d like, howsomdever, to have a line round my waist. Do you stand by, mates, and haul me back if I don’t make way; there are some ugly bits of timber floating about, and one of them may give me a lick on the head, and I shan’t know what’s happening.”
Ben’s offer was accepted. While the coil of line was being got ready, a large spar, to which a couple of men were clinging, was seen floating in towards the beach, but it was still at some distance, and there was a fearful probability that before it touched the shore the reflux of the water might drag them off to destruction.
“Quick, lads, quick, and I’ll try to get hold of one or both of them, if I can,” cried Ben, fastening the rope round his body. His example was followed by another man, who, in the same way, secured a rope round himself, when both plunged in and seized the well-nigh drowning strangers, just as, utterly exhausted, they had let go their hold. They were able, however, to speak, and Rayner discovered that they were French.
By the captain’s directions he inquired the name of the ship.
“The Zenobie frigate, of forty guns and three hundred and forty men,” was the answer. “We had an action yesterday with an English frigate, which made off while we were repairing damages, but truly she so knocked us about that when we were caught by the gale our masts went over the side, and we were driven utterly helpless on this terrible coast.”
Rayner did not tell the Thisbe’s men, who were trying to assist the hapless strangers, that they were their late antagonists. He merely said, “They are Frenchmen, lads; but I’m sure that will make no difference to any of us.”
“I should think not, whether they’re Mynheers or Mounseers,” cried Ben. “They’re drowning, and want our help; so, whether enemies or friends, we’ll try to haul as many of the poor fellows ashore as we can get hold of, and give them dry jackets, and a warm welcome afterwards. Slack away, mates!” And he plunged into the foaming billows.
His progress was anxiously watched as he rose now on the top of a roaring sea, now concealed as he sank into the hollow to appear again on the side of another, all the time buffeting the foaming breakers, now avoiding a mass of timber, now grasping a spar, and making it support him as he forced his way onward, until he was lost to sight in the gloom.
After a considerable time of intense anxiety it was found that the line was taut. Ben had, it was supposed, reached the forechains of the frigate. Then the question rose, whether he would be able to make himself understood by the Frenchmen. One of the men, however, who had been washed on shore said that he believed one or two people on board understood English; but it was doubtful whether they were among those who had already perished.
Some more minutes passed, and then they felt the line shaken. It was the signal for them to haul in. Rapidly pulling away, they at length had the satisfaction of finding the end of a stout hawser, with a smaller line attached to it. The hawser was made fast round a rock, then, knowing the object of the line, they hauled away at it until they saw a cradle coming along with a couple of boys in it. The moment they were taken out the cradle was hauled back, and then a man appeared, and thus, one after another, about sixty of the French crew were dragged on shore.