The Settlers: A Tale of Virginia

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Oh, steer the ship to their assistance! We must go and help them,” shouted Vaughan, not knowing what he said.

“The attempt were vain,” said the captain; “long ere we could reach the spot where yonder ship has gone down, all who were on board her will have perished;” and he made a sign to the governor, and others standing round to carry the young man below. They succeeded, Vaughan moving like one in a dream. The admiral assured Lettice and her brother that it was possible the ship they had seen go down was not the Rainbow, for though small compared to their own ship, she was a stout, well-built bark, and might contend successfully with even a worse storm than was then blowing; adding that one of the vessels seen in the distance bore a great resemblance to her; indeed, by every means in his power, he endeavoured to restore their spirits. He was compelled, however, soon to leave them, to attend to the navigation of the ship. He and Captain Newport held an earnest consultation, for the fierce storm, instead of giving signs of abating, was hourly gaining strength.

The wind, which first came from the north-east, now shifted suddenly round, greatly increasing the height of the seas, and fearfully straining the labouring vessel.

Night coming on, the other ships were lost to sight; no one could tell in what direction they had gone. Those who were inclined to look at matters in the darkest light believed that they had foundered. Not for a moment did the brave admiral leave the deck. Now, the rain pouring down, all was pitchy darkness; and then suddenly a vivid flash of lightning showed the whole deck, and the pallid faces of the crew—for even the stoutest-hearted looked pale; and well they might, for the raging seas threatened every instant to engulf them. Few men surrounded by such horrors can face death unappalled.

Thus that dreadful night passed on. But matters had not come to the worst; the admiral sat on the deck, conning the ship, endeavouring with all the nautical skill he possessed, in which no man surpassed him, to keep her before the wind. The carpenter, who had been below to sound the well, rushed up, a flash of lightning exhibiting his countenance pale as death. “We’ve sprung a fearful leak, sir,” he exclaimed; “it’s my belief that the oakum is washed out of the seams, for already the water is rising above the ballast.”

“Then hasten with your crew, search out where the worst leaks exist, and strive to stop them,” said the admiral, calmly; “man the pumps, and let others be told off with buckets to bale out the water. We must not give way to despair; often have men been in a worse condition on board ship, and by persevering efforts have preserved their lives.”

The determined way in which the admiral spoke somewhat restored the confidence of the crew; some with lanterns in their hands crept into the wings on either side of the ship, close to the ribs, searching every corner, and listening attentively to discover the place where the water entered. Others, like galley-slaves, stripped to the waist, went to the pumps, and worked away with that desperate energy which men exhibit when they believe that their lives depend on the efforts they are making. Several of the leaks were found, but still the water came rushing in on all sides. The carpenter again reported that it was still rising, and, from the quantities of bread brought up, that the chief leak must be in the bread-room. Here he once more made search, but failed to discover the spot at which the water entered. The officers of all ranks exerting themselves to the utmost, the men followed their example, while the passengers offered to labour with them. Vaughan Audley found the task he, with others, had undertaken, a great relief to his grief and anxiety; with Gilbert and young Fenton, he was working now away at the pumps; now he was standing one of the line formed to pass the buckets up from below. Even the women desired to take their share in the work. All on board were divided into three parties—while one party laboured at the pumps, or passed up the buckets for an hour at a time, the others, exhausted by their exertions, lay down to rest. An officer stood ready to give the signal as soon as the time arrived for the working party to be relieved.

Daylight at length returned, but showed no improvement in the weather; the wind blew as furiously as ever. Not for a moment had the brave admiral left his post. Just before noon a prodigious sea came rolling towards the ship, and, breaking over her bow, washed fore and aft, filling her from the hatches up to the spar-deck. For some time it appeared impossible that she could shake herself clear of the mass of water, which, as it rushed aft, dashed the men from the helm, forcing the tiller out of their hands, and tossed them helplessly from side to side. It seemed a wonder that none were carried overboard or received mortal injury. The admiral, too, was thrown from his seat and, as were several officers round him, cast with his face on the deck. Still, while endeavouring to recover himself, he shouted to others of the crew, who flew to the helm and prevented the ship from broaching to. Though she was running at the time under bare poles at the rate of scarcely less than eight knots an hour, for a moment the violence of the shock stopped her way, and many thinking that she had struck on a rock, shouted out, “We are lost! we are lost!”

“Not yet, my brave fellows,” cried the admiral; “while there is life there is hope! The ship is still swimming: all hands to their stations.”

Another voice was heard clear and clarion-toned amid the howling of the storm, as the voices of God’s ministers should sound at all times:—“Turn to Him who calmed the tempest on the sea of Galilee. Why are ye affrighted, oh ye of little faith? Trust to Him all powerful to save, not your frail bodies only from the perils of the deep, but your immortal souls from just condemnation. Turn ye, turn ye! why will ye die? He calls to you; He beseeches you. Trust to Him! trust to Him!”