Peter Biddulph: The Story of an Australian Settler

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“But,” said I, “it’s a beautiful place, Martha. So is this world a very beautiful world, but it’s man that mars it. If man were free from sin, it would be next to heaven itself.”

For ten days or more we had a beautiful run to the eastward. I never saw the little craft go along so fast; it was difficult to believe that, with the smooth sea we now had, we were out in mid-ocean, hundreds of miles from any land.

We were in the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope, and expected to make the land in a few days, when the weather gave signs of changing. We had hitherto been greatly favoured, and I had, with the rest, begun to believe that we should escape bad weather altogether. The sea got up, and the wind went on increasing, but we got the schooner under snug canvas in good time. As we were undermanned, it was necessary to be very careful in that respect. I told my wife and children that they must look out for a regular gale, such as they had not been accustomed to, and make everything fast in the cabins. We got the sheep slung, so as to prevent them being knocked over, and then at last battened down the hatches, intending to heave the vessel to, should the gale not abate.

I had been well accustomed to face bad weather in the Channel in my little vessel, and so had my boys; and I knew well what she would do; but when they saw the heavy seas now rolling up towards us, their young cheeks turned pale with alarm. It certainly did look as if one of those heavy, moving, dark green, watery hills rising up on every side, with the spoon-drift flying from their summits, must ere long engulf us; but the tight little craft, buoyant as a cork, with her stout masts and strong new canvas, every rope well served, and not a strand even chafed, rose up, and then sunk down the steep slopes into the wide valleys between the seas, not one breaking aboard us, though we were every now and then pretty well blinded with the showers of spray which drove across the deck. Still we could not tell what might happen, and the time was an anxious one. At last, when I found how beautifully the schooner was behaving, I determined to call my wife and daughters up, that they might witness a sight which I certainly hoped they might never have to look on again. I slid back the companion hatch and called them. My wife would not venture to move, but Mary and Susan came up. They stood for a minute or more with their eyes opening and very pale; Mary holding my arm, Susan her brother’s.

“I called you girls to show you what the ocean is like sometimes, happily not very often.”

Mary continued silent for some time. At last she gasped out, “Oh, father, what nothings we are!”

“That’s what many a seaman feels, even on board a line-of-battle ship, when in a sea like this, though he doesn’t say it,” I remarked. “Yes, Mary, we are indeed nothing, but we are in the hands of God, and He it is with His wise laws governs the movement of every one of those vast mountain billows. Let but one of them in our track go out of its course, and this little craft, ay, and the biggest afloat, would be utterly overwhelmed and driven down by the tremendous weight of water which would fall over her.”

Mary stood gazing, lost in wonder, and not a little fear also, and unable to speak. However, when I proposed her going below again, she was very unwilling to quit the deck. “I shall dream of this for many a night,” she said.

While I was speaking, I caught sight of a sail to the eastward. I looked for her again, as we rose to the top of the next sea, and pointed her out to Peter. “Yes, father, sure enough there is a sail, and a large craft too, though she has but little canvas set: we are nearing her, I fancy.”

The stranger was, however, nearing us, and as we occasionally got a glimpse of her through our glasses, we saw that she had carried away her main-topmast and mizzenmast, and that she was labouring much, running before the wind with only a close-reefed fore-topsail set. As far as we could judge she looked indeed in some distress. On she came towards us. The wind now again increased, and the seas became more dangerous. Fearing that one might break over us, I sent Mary and Susan and the boys below again, and secured the hatches over them; which done, we passed life lines fore and aft, to give us a holdfast in case of accidents. The stranger drew nearer and nearer. We now saw how deep she was in the water, and how terribly she was labouring. I watched her with double anxiety, on her account as well as on our own. In another ten minutes she would be down upon us, and from the course she was steering, it would be a miracle if we escaped destruction. Just then a signal of distress was run up, but the flag was instantly blown away, and the next minute she gave a plunge forward, and before she rose her remaining mast went over the bows, where the spars hung seemingly engaged in battering them in. Scarcely had this occurred than she broached to, and lay like a helpless log in the trough of the seas. Still she was fearfully near, and I was far from satisfied that she would not drive down upon us, and if so, inevitably with one touch send us to the bottom. Our only chance of escape was to make sail, but the alternative was a dangerous one. I was preparing to do this when we saw those on board stretching out their hands towards us imploring help. It was a piteous sight, for none could we afford, and all her own boats had, we saw, been washed away. Now, as we mounted to the summit of a sea, she began, it seemed, to climb up another watery height, but a still vaster billow came rolling on, and thundering over her deck; down she went beneath it, and the next moment, when we looked, not a trace of her was to be seen except a few planks and spars, which rose to the surface out of the vortex she formed as she sank. Yes, as we continued to gaze, between us and where she had been floated a grating, and to it clung a human form. He was alive, for he turned his head towards us, as if beseeching us to save him. It is strange that we felt more eager to do so than we had been to save all the poor beings who had just gone down before our eyes. The reason was plain; in the first instance we knew that we could not help them; there seemed a possibility that we might rescue the person now floating so close to us. He was being cast by the sea nearer and nearer to us. We got ropes ready at either end of the vessel to heave to him. Peter fastened one round his own waist. “Take care, Peter,” said I.