I saw that it was useless saying more, and so rejoined my companions. Boxall was becoming more and more anxious. “We shall, to a certainty, be on the reef before many hours are over, if the ship’s course is not altered,” he said. “I suspect that the lieutenant has mistaken east for west, and that the captain really directed him to steer south-south-west.”
I again went up to the lieutenant, and, as politely as I could, inquired if he did not think it possible that some mistake might have been made as to the course to be steered, and suggesting that he should alter it to south-west. This made him very indignant, and he hinted that if I again interfered with him he should order me under arrest. Making him a polite bow, I returned to Boxall, and we continued our walk. The air, after the heat of the day, was comparatively cool and pleasant, and neither of us felt any inclination to turn in. No one interfered with us; and we were talking eagerly about the probability of falling in with an English man-of-war, or of making our way home on board a merchant-man, when we suddenly felt a shock, but not of sufficient force to throw us off our feet.
“The ship has struck!” exclaimed Boxall. “What are the fellows about? They ought to clew up everything, and she might be got off.”
In spite of the manner in which the officer of the watch had treated me, I ran aft to him, and urged him to do as Boxall advised, “The reef, do you say!” he exclaimed; “that was no reef, but a sunken vessel. See! we are gliding on as smoothly as before.”
Scarcely had he said this when the ship again struck, and with far greater violence than before. The tall masts quivered, and seemed ready to fall. The captain, and most of the officers and crew who were below, came rushing on deck; the lead was hove, and shallow water found on either side. The captain immediately ordered the sails to be clewed up, and the boats to be lowered, that anchors might be carried astern, to haul off the ship.
“If it’s high-water her fate is sealed,” observed Boxall; “but if low, she might possibly be hauled off: and she has not, I hope, received much damage.”
I ran to the chains, and observed that the lead-line was up and down—the ship was evidently not moving. By this time the civilians and other passengers had come on deck, and great confusion prevailed. Everyone wanted to know what had happened, and what was to be done. Several came to me. “We must first try to heave the ship off,” was my answer to all.
The capstan was manned, and the crew commenced heaving; but not an inch did the ship move. The first anchor earned out, not holding, came home, and had with great labour to be lifted; the second held, though the strain on the cable was tremendous.
Boxall had carefully sounded the water alongside.
“She is moving!” he exclaimed at length. “Hurrah! work away, my fine lads!” he could not help crying out, though the men could not understand him. The water continued to rise, the ship moved faster and faster, and there appeared every probability of our getting off.