The Cruise of the Frolic

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“You are right as to its being a ship’s hull, I am pretty certain,” I answered. “We shall be up to it soon, and that will settle the question.”

Some of the people, however, declared that what we saw was a rock or an island, and others that a dead whale had floated in through the Straits. As we approached, however, our opinion was found to be the correct one, and then it became a subject of discussion as to what she could be.

“She is a good-sized craft, whatever she is,” observed Hearty, who had joined us on deck. “Is she an English or foreign vessel do you think?”

“English by her build,” replied Porpoise, observing her narrowly through the glass; “I cannot make it out. I see no one on board. How she came into that state puzzles me.”

“My dear fellow, have you any idea what sort of a vessel the ‘Success’ is? Does any one on board know her?” exclaimed Hearty, suddenly turning pale, and literally trembling from head to foot, as all sorts of horrible suspicions and fears flashed through his mind.

Inquiries were made, but no one recollected to have seen the brig in which our friends had taken their passage. We did our best to calm Hearty’s apprehensions, but under the circumstances they were very natural, and in spite of all we could say, they rather increased than diminished, as we approached the wreck. Carstairs shared them, but, being of a far less excitable temperament, in a much less degree; indeed, Hearty seemed to look on him as being very callous and insensible, for not making himself as miserable as he felt.

The breeze was very light, and our progress seemed terribly slow to the impatient feelings of our kind-hearted host. His glass was never for a moment off the wreck; indeed we were all of us constantly looking at her, in the hopes of seeing some one appear. The afternoon was drawing well on, before we got up to her. The instant we approached her, two boats were lowered, and Hearty and I jumped into the first, and away we pulled as fast as the men could bend to their oars—the men evidently entering fully into the feelings of their master. I went with him that I might really look after him, should his worst anticipations be realised. We were soon alongside, and in an instant scrambled on board.

The masts, and rigging, and sails, hung over the side; the former in their fall having carried away the bulwarks and smashed the boats. I saw before we got on board, that she had lost her masts with all sail set, in some unaccountably lubberly way it seemed. The sea had washed away some of her spare spars and the caboose, but she had apparently righted directly her masts went, and there seemed no reason why she should have been deserted by her crew. As we pulled up under the stern, we looked out for a name painted there, but a sail hung over it, and if there was a name it was not perceptible. Hearty, the moment he was on board, rushed with frantic haste along the deck, to ascertain the important fact, and very nearly fell overboard in his attempt to remove the sail, till others could aid him. The sail was soon dragged aside, and as we hung down over the taffrail, a large S appeared, there could be no doubt of it. There was the word “Success” of London. I had to help my friend on board again.

“What can have happened! What can have happened!” he exclaimed, as soon as he could find words to speak.

“Why, I trust that they fancied the brig in a much worse condition than she appears to us to be, and that they quitted her in the boats, or some other craft which was fortunately passing soon after the catastrophe.” But as I spoke, our eyes fell on the shattered boats, and I recollected that the former hypothesis could not be correct. “They must have fallen in with some vessel,” I remarked to Hearty. “The ladies were happily conveyed on board her, but why the crew deserted the ship I cannot say.”