The Three Commanders

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“She’s gaining nothing, I fear,” observed Jack, as he watched her.

“She’s rather losing ground, I suspect,” answered Higson. Presently the brig fired a gun; another and another gun followed, at the interval of a minute. “It is as I feared,” observed Higson, “she’s driving farther and farther up the bay, and Commander Adair knows that there is no holding-ground which can be trusted to.”

“We must go in and help her, at all risks!” cried Jack; and the helm being put up, the steamer, under her head-sails, went rushing forward towards her small consort. In the meantime, the engineers were also ordered to get up as much steam as possible. Again the guns were heard. “Adair would not make those signals unless he were in great distress,” observed Jack; “tow her out we must; though I fear that unless we’re very brisk about it, we shall lose much ground in doing so.”

Two stout hawsers had been ranged aft and well secured, ready to carry on board the brig. Her movements were eagerly watched by all eyes on board. Desmond felt more anxious than he had ever before been in his life, for he loved his uncle heartily, and clearly saw the danger he was in. All round the shores of the bay appeared a broad line of snowy foam, contrasting with the dark shore. Not a break was there to be seen, not a spot where the brig could be beached with any prospect of affording escape to her crew. As she stood across the bay, she appeared to be not more than a couple of miles from the deepest part—and in how few minutes would she be driven that distance!

She had again reached the northern shore; once more her head-sails shivered in the gale, and the hearts of the bravest on board the Gauntlet trembled, lest, missing stays, her fate might be sealed. “She’s about all right!” shouted several voices; and like a gallant steed galloping across the course to the winning-post, she came plunging on through the troubled waters. Though Adair saw his friend coming to his assistance, he must not for a moment, he knew, relax his own efforts. By this time the Gauntlet had reached the centre of the bay, and her head being put to the wind, she waited at a spot which the brig must pass on her next tack to cross the bay.

The Romp was nearing the southern shore; again she came about. Adair gave proof that he was a good seaman, and his crew in prime order, or it could never have been done. He was seen standing aft conning the brig; the topmen were in the rigging, ready to swarm aloft to shorten sail; a party of the hands stood on the forecastle with the second lieutenant and boatswain, ready to secure the hawsers. The rest of the hands were at their stations on deck. The work, to be done successfully, must be done smartly; everyone knew that. Rapidly the brig approached. Two of the strongest and most active seamen were on the poop ready to heave the lines on board. Adair’s voice was heard above the gale, shouting, “Down with the helm—shorten sail!” In an instant the topmen were on the yards, the staysails were hauled down, and, the brig luffing up, the Gauntlet moved slowly ahead, while the hawsers were rapidly hauled on board.

Some flags were run up to the foremast and head of the brig. “He thanks you, sir,” said Desmond, who had the signal-book in his hand; and Adair was seen pointing significantly at the fierce breakers dashing over the rocks astern.

Short as had been the time occupied in the operation, the vessels had drifted farther into the bay. Now came the tug of war. The hawsers being secured, the Gauntlet, with all her boilers at full pressure, steamed ahead. Jack kept his eye on the shore, anxiously watching what way was made; both hawsers were at full stretch; though the screw was exerting all its power, yet the vessels scarcely seemed to move onwards. Higson, who was looking out at the other side, was unusually grave; anxious as he was to assist Adair, he thought that Jack had no business to venture into his present position.

“If anything goes, we are done for,” he muttered to himself; “she doesn’t move an inch ahead.” Jack thought the same; he sent for the chief engineer to ascertain if more pressure could be put on the engines.

“They will not stand it—they are doing their utmost, sir,” was the answer. Still, Jack was determined not to abandon Adair. On board the brig the hands were still aloft sending down topgallant-masts. Jack hoped against hope that the gale would decrease, and that he should then be able to tow Adair out of the bay; if he once weathered the headland, the brig might stand away on a bowline and gain the offing—but within the bay she lost, each time she tacked, more ground than she had gained.