We had got somewhat to rights, and were running down the African coast, keeping closer in-shore than usual. It was night, and the second lieutenant’s watch. Boxall and I—who had the first watch—having been relieved, went into the berth to take a glass of “swizzel” and some biscuit and cheese, after which we sat talking for some minutes before turning in. The rest of the watch were below fast asleep. We were standing by our hammocks, about to undress, when we felt the brig heel over on her beam-ends.
“I advised him to shorten sail before he let the watch go below,” exclaimed Boxall. “It’s too late now. Stick by me, Charlie, whatever happens.”
“Turn out there, and save ship!” he shouted, as we sprang on deck; and together we made our way up to the starboard hammock-nettings, on which we found several people clinging, but in the darkness could not make out who they were. The water was rushing in fast through the hatches, and the brig was evidently sinking. Shrieks and cries for help came from the lee side, to which most of those on deck had been thrown; but the greater number of the watch had, I judged, been aloft at that moment, about to shorten sail, and were already struggling in the water.
“Now, my lads, the brig is going down, and we must find something to cling to if we don’t want to go down with her,” sung out Boxall. “Who is there will try and make a struggle for life?”
“I will,” cried a voice, which I recognised as Halliday’s.
“And I,” said Ben Blewett, who worked his way up to us with an axe in his hand.
The boats which had escaped the previous gale were under repair; so we could not trust to one of them. Making our way to the booms, Blewett cut several away; and, providentially, some planks had been left by the carpenters, which we got hold of, together with a few fathoms of rope. The planks and spars, under Boxall’s directions, we rapidly lashed together, and Halliday and I each got hold of a small piece of board. Launching our roughly-constructed raft abaft the mainmast, we threw ourselves on it and paddled away from the wreck for our lives. The officer of the watch must have been thrown to leeward when the brig went over; neither the commander nor any of the other officers had time to make their escape from their cabins. We heard several men, however, who were forward, crying out for help; but it was impossible for us to go to their assistance, and we could only hope that they were attempting to save their lives by constructing a raft, as we had done.
Scarcely had we got clear of the brig when her masts rose as she righted, and down she went, dragging with her all those on board, as well as the men clinging to the rigging.
The dark clouds passed away, and the moon shone forth brightly on the sparkling waters, revealing to us a few floating planks and spars—all that remained of our brig. Not a human being was to be seen; every one of our shipmates had been engulfed by the hungry sea. We paddled back, and getting hold of such spars and planks as we could find, placed them crosswise under our raft to prevent it from upsetting, though it was even thus a ticklish affair. Ben had taken his seat forward, I sat astride at the other end, Boxall and Halliday occupied the middle. How far we were off the coast of Africa we could not exactly tell, but we judged that we should have fifteen or twenty leagues to paddle before we could reach it. This would take us two or three days at least; and, without food or water, how could we expect to hold out? Our prospects were indeed miserable in the extreme; still, we had reason to be thankful that we had escaped the fate which had overtaken our shipmates.
On and on we paddled, till our arms began to ache. “We are making no way, I’ve a notion; and as for reaching the shore, that is more than we can do,” exclaimed Ben at length, as he placed under him the piece of board with which he had been paddling. “Our best chance is to be picked up by some passing vessel; and I hope one will heave in sight when a breeze gets up.”