We soon dropped down to the brig, and with less difficulty got the poor wretches up the side. The captain proposed sending the two other hands instead of Blair and me, but we begged that we might be allowed to return to the wreck.
Once more we pulled away from the brig, the boat, it must be remembered, tumbling and tossing about, now sunk in the trough of the sea, now rising to the top of a foam-crested wave; the sky overhead threatening and cloudy; a dense mist driving in our faces; and darkness rapidly coming on. We had the lives of fellow-creatures to save, and we persevered. Again the undaunted Peter sprung on board the wreck.
“Take care of that man!” exclaimed the mate, as an extraordinary-looking figure, in a long dressing-gown, with strips of canvas fastened about his head, ran up from behind the woman; “he is not altogether right in his mind, I fear.”
“Avaunt, ye pirates! ye plunderers! ye marauders!” shrieked out the person spoken of. “How dare ye venture on board my noble ship? Away with ye! away! away!” and flourishing a piece of timber which he had wrenched, it seemed, from the side of the ship, he advanced towards Peter.
My shipmate would have been struck down by the maniac’s blow, had he not sprung nimbly aside, and then, rushing in, he closed with the wretched being, and wrenched the weapon out of his grasp. The madman’s strength was exhausted.
“I yield! I yield me!” he cried; and though he was a tall man, Peter lifted him up as he had done the others, and handed him to us. He lay quiet enough in the bottom of the boat, regarding the wreck he was leaving with a stare of wonder.
Three other men were lifted in, but still the mate refused to leave while any remained alive on board. As we were leaving the wreck a second time, a man lifted himself up from the deck, and stood for a moment gazing at us.
“What! again deserted!” he exclaimed, shrieking frantically. “Oh, take me! take me!” and staggering forward, before the mate could prevent him he cast himself headlong into the sea. We endeavoured to put back, but he floated scarcely a moment, and then the foaming waters closed over his head. It was another of the numberless instances I have witnessed of the crime and folly of not waiting with calmness and resignation for what the Almighty has in his providence prepared for us. I trust that the poor man’s mind had given way in this instance; but even that result is often produced by a want of reliance on God’s mercy.
We put our hapless freight on board the brig, and a third time returned to the wreck. Besides the brave mate, Peter found only two more people alive on board. Several were dead. At the earnest solicitation of the mate, Peter helped him to commit them to the deep. It was a melancholy and loathsome task, for some had been long dead.
The delay also was of serious consequence. More than once I summoned Peter, for another thick squall of rain had come on, and when I glanced round for an instant to look for the brig, she was nowhere to be seen! A pang of dread ran through my heart, and all sorts of horrid ideas rushed into my head. I thought that the squall might have struck her, and that she might have capsized, or that she might have drifted so far to leeward that we might not be able to find her. I said nothing, however, but helped Peter to take the mate and the other two survivors off the wreck. Then, indeed, the question pressed on us, What has become of the brig?