The Three Admirals

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Who is the poor fellow?” asked Tom of one of the crew.

“Our second mate. He has been queer for some time, and I don’t expect we shall find him.”

This was painful intelligence. Tom felt it his duty to persevere. At length they heard a cry. It came from the Sandwich Islander. They could not see him, but they caught sight of a hen-coop, which assisted them in directing their course. Just then Tom, who had taken the bow oar, standing up to look out, saw two heads. “We shall be in time, even now. Pull away!” he sang out.

The mate had apparently got hold of an oar.

“I see him,” shouted Tom to the Sandwich Islander. “Wait another minute, and we will take you on board;” and he pointed towards the mate. They were not twelve fathoms from him, when a loud shriek escaped him, and, letting go the oar, he threw up his arms and sank from sight. They pulled round, still hoping that he might re-appear, but it was in vain. The Sandwich Islander came swimming rapidly up to them, and without waiting for assistance threw himself over the bows.

“A shark got him,” he said; “and would have had me in another minute.”

It was not without some danger of being swamped that the boat regained the ship’s side. Until the return of the captain and first mate the ship was under the command of Mr Betts, the boatswain, who appeared to be a rough hand; although Tom concluded that he was a good seaman, who would act for the best, and endeavour to get up to the boats and take the officers on board. Tom at once offered his and his companions’ services to work the ship. Indeed, she was so short-handed that without their assistance she could with difficulty even be put about.

“I suppose those who are eating the owner’s bread should work for the owner,” was the gruff answer, as if he declined the offer for himself.

This, however, mattered very little to Tom. As the wind increased he felt more and more anxious for the fate of the absent ones. In order not to miss them, it was necessary to make short boards, so that all hands were kept constantly at work, putting the ship about every quarter of an hour, while lanterns were hung over the weather side to show her whereabouts should the boats have got clear of the whale. The gale became stronger and stronger. The canvas was taken in, until the ship was under closely reefed topsails. The sea got up more and more, frequently breaking over her bows, so that it seemed too probable that the boats, before they could reach her, would be swamped. Already it would be a difficult matter for them to get alongside. Tom, having discovered that there were some blue lights on board, burnt one every now and then, hoping that they might be seen and encourage the crews of the wave-tossed boats. The surgeon told him that he still had some hopes that they might escape, as boats had often done in a heavy sea, by hanging on under the lee of a dead whale, which served as a breakwater.

“In that case we must take care not to go too far, or we may get to windward of them, and they might not venture to leave the shelter which the whale affords them,” observed Tom. On this he proposed to the boatswain to “heave to.”