The Pirate of the Mediterranean: A Tale of the Sea

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The moment that their services might have availed was lost, if any power could have saved the vessel; those more faithful to their trust, who had remained on deck, flew to the halyards and braces; but, before they could let go the first, or haul away on the others, the white squall was upon them. The sails were taken flat aback, and the yards pressed against the mast would not start. Down, down she went over on her starboard side, like a tall reed bent by the wind. Her bowsprit and the canvas stretched on it flew to leeward. Her head turned a few points to the eastward—she made a stern-board—the water rushed in torrents up her decks and into her hold—the foam flew wildly over her side, and shrieks, and cries, and oaths, extorted by the agony of despair, escaped from her maddened crew, as they beheld their inevitable doom.

As Zappa saw the fury of the squall, he felt that all his skill and all his courage would avail him as nought to save the Sea Hawk. In this, his last dire extremity, no craven fear filled his heart, and though for his own life he cared not, he remembered that there were others whose lives depended on him. To fly towards the stern before the vessel’s deck had become completely perpendicular, was the work of one moment, while in the next he dragged Ada and Nina, who, almost unconsciously, were holding on, by what were now the weather bulwarks, to the outside of the vessel. In this task he was aided by Paolo, when the loud cries of “The ship is sinking, the ship is sinking,” uttered by the seamen, and the roar of the tempest had aroused from his apathy, and who had sprung to the side of the two beings most dear to him on earth, with the thought rather of dying with them than of having even the power of being of any assistance to them. The dreadful position in which they were placed was sufficient to paralyse the heart of the bravest, and the terror of the two girls was further increased by the shrieks of the drowning wretches which reached their ears. They now clung with convulsive energy to the quarter-rail, their feet partly supported by the sill of the after-port, and though expecting instant death, they still, with the impulse which the weakest as well as the strongest feel, endeavoured to preserve their lives. Nina was almost unconscious, but Ada Garden still retained her faculties unimpaired, and though she thus more acutely perceived the dangers which surrounded her, she was better able to exert herself for her preservation; yet, in that wild vortex of water, and with a sinking ship alone to rest on, what hope was there? Poor girl—in that moment how many thoughts passed rapidly through her mind. Death to her could have few terrors, but life had many joys, pure and bright, and even these, presented to her mind in all their glowing colours, yet she tried to banish earthly things, to contemplate the life eternal, towards which she was hastening, to offer up a prayer to Heaven for herself, and for those who were being hurried to their doom with her—she prayed as earnestly for herself as for them, for it did not occur to her that she had less need of prayer than they, and who will venture to pronounce that she had?—her advantages had been many, theirs few. Yet, do all she could, that image of one so truly loved would present itself to her eyes, and it added many an additional pang to her heart, to feel the bitter grief her loss would inflict on him. Months, years would pass away, her fate unknown, he still would be vainly searching for her throughout those seas, till, perchance, some spars, or part of the hull, might be washed on some distant shore, and recognised, and a rumour might reach his ears of the destruction of the pirate’s bark, and the suspicions of her doom might at length be confirmed. This thought was, perhaps, the most cruel she had to bear. These and many more passed through her mind more rapidly than I have taken to write them.

“She sinks, she sinks!” was the only intelligible cry which reached her ears.

“She does not sink,” was heard in answer, in Zappa’s deep-toned voice. “She floats still—come aft here, and aid me in lowering this quarter-boat into the water.”

The men he spoke to who were in the fore-rigging, could scarcely hear his words, but they comprehended his signs and intentions. Eight of them came aft to assist him in lowering the boat, a light gig lashed to the main rigging. Paolo remained with his sister and her friend, to aid them in holding on in their perilous position, in which they were further assisted by some ropes which Zappa had fastened to the rail, and placed in their hands. The operation required great caution, as the only chance of her swimming was to launch her on the lee-side, or, as it were, in board. The attempt was made. All looked on with anxiety, for they saw that on its success their lives depended—the boat gone, they had no other hope of being preserved. The lashings were cut adrift, the boat was lifted up to stand on her keel, on the rigging, and her stern was slewed round for launching, when a wave, larger than any which had yet struck the vessel, came roaring towards them.

“Hold on for your lives, hold on,” cried Zappa.

Some heard him, others, paralysed with fear, let go their hold of the rigging, and the boat, torn from their grasp, was carried over the side, and being stove to pieces, was washed far away from them, while several unfortunate wretches found at the same time a watery grave.

“Lost—all lost!” was the general cry, and this time the captain did not contradict them. The coolest and the bravest abandoned all hope. The foaming waves dashed wildly over the vessel, the wind roared, the thick mist enveloped them with its funereal pall; down, down she went, when a loud crash was heard, the stout timbers and planks were rent and torn asunder; he lifted on the summit of a wave, the bow was seen to twist and writhe, and separating from the after part, to sink in the foaming whirlpool, while the stern was cast with terrific violence on the rocks—another wave lifted it yet higher, and there it remained securely and immovably fixed, though with difficulty the few survivors could maintain their hold. Still their prospect of salvation was small indeed. Another wave might come and wash them off, or dash their last place of refuge into a thousand fragments.

Every instant they expected the coming of the fatal wave; but sea after sea whirled foaming by them, making their eyes giddy, and sickening their hearts with apprehension; yet instead of increasing, each seemed diminished in size.

The last effort of the white squall had been made—its fury was appeased with the sacrifice offered to it. Onward it passed, clothed in its mantle of glittering mist, to other realms: the blue sky appeared, the troubled sea subsided into calmness; and the trembling beings who clung to the shattered wreck beheld, close to them, a reef of black rocks rising some four or five feet above the surface of the water.