The Missing Ship: The Log of the "Ouzel" Galley

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Soon after this the wind somewhat lulled, and the ship looked up more to the northward than she had hitherto done, showing that the wind had shifted a point or two. Even the master thought that the weather was improving. The watch below was ordered to turn in and some of the officers went to their berths.

It had just gone two bells in the morning watch, when a sound like a thunder-clap was heard, and Gerald, who was in his hammock, was nearly thrown out of it. He felt the ship heeling over to starboard. He and all those below, slipping into their trousers, sprang on deck. The ship was on her beam-ends, the water washing half-way up to the coamings of the hatchways.

“Hard up with the helm! let fly the main and mizen-topsail sheets!” cried the commander; but the ship did not rise or answer the helm. “Cut away the mizen-mast!” he shouted; and the carpenter and boatswain, armed with axes, came aft, and while some of the men severed the rigging, a few blows served to send the mast, with its spars and fluttering sails, over the side. At the same moment the mainmast, which must already have been sprung when the hurricane struck the ship, fell after it, and the seamen immediately commenced hacking away at the rigging to clear the wreck. The ship thus relieved, rose to an even keel, and now feeling the power of the helm, away she flew before the gale.

The master hurried to the binnacle. The wind had happily shifted to the westward, and though blowing with far greater fury than before, the ship was in less peril than she would have been had it continued in its former quarter. The yards were now squared and preventer backstays set up, and the carpenter, having examined the mast, reported that it was secure. The hands were sent to close-reef the fore-topsail; but even though thus reduced, it was as much sail as the ship could carry. On she flew, free from the wreck of both the masts, which it was impossible to secure. Every effort was made to secure the remaining mast, on which so much depended. Some spare spars still remained, with which, when the weather moderated, jury-masts could be rigged; but with the heavy sea now running, nothing could be done. The wind kept veering about, sometimes to the southward and west, at others getting back to the north-west.

“Provided it does not shift to the northward, we shall have room to run on till it blows itself out,” observed the master. But there was no security that it would hold in the most favourable quarter.

The hurricane blew harder and harder—for such it might almost be considered, though not one of those fearful storms which so frequently devastate the islands of the Caribbean Sea. The rain, too, beat down furiously, and the spoondrift in thick showers flew off the summits of the seas, shrouding the ship in a dense mist, through which no objects, had any been near, could have been discerned. At present, the chief fear was lest the ship should run foul of any other hove to, for none could cross her course under sail.

On she flew. Daylight returned, but the view around was almost as obscure as during the night. The master consulted the chart. He would have wished to haul to the southward, but the sea was running too high and the wind blowing too furiously for that to be done; neither, in consequence of the loss of her after-rails, could she be hove to. Her only safe course was to fly before it. Except the close-reefed topsail, no other canvas was set. The Champion had by this time got to the eastward of Cuba, and was compelled to run on far away from the coast her commander wished to reach.

Another day and night passed by, the wind blowing with scarcely less fury than at first. The well was sounded, but it was found that the ship had made no unusual amount of water. If she could steer clear of rocks and reefs, the only other thing to be apprehended was that, while in her crippled condition, she might fall in with an enemy’s ship of equal or superior force. Numerous reefs and rocks however existed, and as it had been impossible to take an observation, or even to keep an exact dead reckoning, in consequence of the frequent shifting of the wind, the master confessed that he was not certain of her position. She was, he supposed, approaching the southern end of the dangerous Bahama Islands, known as the Great Caicos. The island of Inagua, it was hoped, was passed, but even that was not certain.

Another night was coming on. All on board hoped that the gale would blow itself out, but as the darkness increased, it gave no signs of doing so. A sharp look-out was of course kept, ahead, and the cables were ranged ready to let go the anchors should any danger be seen.

Except when wearied out, in order to snatch a short rest, few of the officers or men had gone below. Most of them were collected on deck, when a voice from forward shouted out, “Breakers on the starboard bow!” and almost immediately afterwards their roar was heard, and the white foam could be seen dashing up over a dark reef. The helm was put a couple of spokes to windward; the ship flew on. Scarcely had the danger been passed, when the wind fell and the sea became rapidly calmer.