“Starve to death,” he answered, in a hollow voice. “A day—a few hours—will settle the point.”
We neither of us spoke again for long after that. The ship’s head kept going round and round the compass. Some of the people were too weak even to endeavour to crawl into the shade. We supported ourselves as long as we could against the bulwarks, but at length had to sit down on a gun-carriage, our knees refusing any longer to hold us up. The day was drawing on. I felt with Staunton that another day would settle the question of life or death for most of us. One by one the men had come down from aloft, giving up all hope of seeing a sail approaching to our relief. Weak as they were, we could not insist on any of the poor fellows remaining up there, except as volunteers.
I was thinking over all I had gone through at different parts of my life, and how often I had been mercifully preserved. “I’ll not give in even now,” I said to myself. “I’ll go aloft, and have another look-out.” Suddenly I felt my strength returning. I got up, and, slinging my glass over my shoulder, went up the fore rigging. It appeared to me that I was as strong and active as ever. I gained the foretop mast-head. I unslung my glass and looked out. There, right away to the westward, was a long, dark line in the horizon, which could be caused I knew alone by a fresh breeze, and even as I looked and hailed the welcome sign of deliverance, several dots appeared above it, the loftier sails, as I well knew, of approaching ships. I rubbed my eyes. Again I looked to assure myself of the reality of what I fancied I saw, and that I might not be deceived by some phantom of the brain. No, I was certain that I was right; there were the approaching sails. With a strong breeze they came on quickly towards us.
“Several sail in sight!” I shouted out, and my voice was scarcely weaker than usual. I waved my hand and pointed in the direction I saw them.
The effect was electrical. Men who seemed before almost at their last gasp rose to their feet. The officers came hurrying on deck. Captain Packenham himself appeared. Many mounted the rigging and joined me aloft to assure themselves that I was not deceived. There could be no doubt about the matter. All saw the approaching ships. Royals, topgallant sails, topsails appeared one after the other above the horizon. They might be the ships of the expected Jamaica fleet, or they might be enemies. By that time the sea was swarming with them. In that case we should have to fight for what we wanted.
“No matter,” was the cry of all on board, “we are ready and able as ever to meet a foe.”
The prospect of relief roused everyone, and though our cheeks were thin and our strength was feeble, our spirits rose and we felt that we could fight as well as ever. Anxiously we watched the approaching strangers. As we rose their courses out of the water we felt pretty certain from their appearance that some of them were men-of-war. At length we made out their colours. They were English. They might, however, have been hoisted to deceive us. Not to be taken by surprise we went to quarters. We now clearly ascertained that the two headmost ships were frigates and the rest merchantmen. They soon showed the private signals. They were the Aeolus and Prudente frigates with the long-expected convoy for England. We hoisted signals of distress, and, lowering our boats, they were alongside them by the time they hove-to near us.
The different way in which we were treated by the officers of the two frigates was very remarkable. Captain Waldegrave of the Prudente aided us in the most kind and compassionate way, and he was warmly seconded by two of his lieutenants, Campbell and Ferris, who exerted themselves to the utmost to bring provisions on board without an instant’s delay. They sent us their own dinners which had just been dressed, and also all the cooked meat on board, so that we were able at once to satisfy the cravings of hunger. They despatched also all the delicacies they could think of, likely to be of use to us from their own private stores. The officers of the other frigate, on the contrary, treated our sufferings with heartless indifference, and seemed much vexed at having to give up some of their provisions towards supplying our wants, and at the delay which we caused them.
The masters of the merchantmen seemed to vie with each other which should afford us most voluntary assistance, and among others we were especially indebted to Captain Louis of the Augustus Caesar, a large London ship, who sent us wine, tea, sugar, sheep, fowls—indeed, everything we could possibly require. Altogether from them and the men-of-war we were supplied with provisions for three weeks. Delightful indeed was the change from actual starvation to the abundance we now enjoyed. With right good-will did we cheer the fleet which had so amply relieved our distress as we parted from them and made sail once more for Jamaica.
The following day, the 6th of August, we saw the Island of the Grand Caymayne. Here we anchored for a few hours and were then ordered by Captain Parker to proceed direct for Jamaica with despatches for his father. One of the ship’s company was destined never to reach it. The captain of the maintop, a fine active fellow, fell from aloft, and, striking part of the rigging, bounded overboard. The ship was instantly hove-to, a boat was lowered and pulled towards the spot where he fell. Some thought they saw his head floating above the waves. In vain we looked about for him. Either stunned by his fall he sank at once, or a shark, one of those ravenous monsters of the deep, had made him his prey. Poor John Nettlethorp! There were mourning hearts in your quiet home in Devonshire when the ship returned and your fate was told those who had long-expected to see you once again.