The Two Shipmates

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The master, who had been below, returned hurriedly on deck, and spoke to the captain.

“If so, we’ll heave the ship to,” was the answer.

Scarcely had the order been given to “Put the helm a-lee,” than the look-out forward shouted “Breakers ahead!” and the next instant a fearful crashing sound was heard. The ship quivered from stem to stern, the tall masts rocked, and those on deck, unable to hold on to the bulwarks, were thrown off their feet. It was a moment of intense suspense. The head-sheets had been let fly. Would the ship answer her helm? No. A tremendous sea met her bows, sweeping over her deck, and carrying several men in its relentless grasp into the raging surf to leeward. Again she struck, with greater violence than before; the next sea hove her on her beam ends. The carpenter reported twelve feet of water in the hold, and rapidly increasing—a rock had gone through her. The captain ordered the masts to be cut away. He had abandoned all hopes of saving the ship, and his only thought now was how to preserve the lives of his people. A party of the crew, led by Ralph and other officers, with gleaming axes quickly severed the weather rigging, and a few strokes were sufficient to send the tall masts, with their spars, crashing over to leeward. The furious seas in quick succession struck the devoted ship, carrying away her bulwarks, and destroying several of her boats. The officers and crew were collected on the quarter-deck, for the stern of the ship having swung round it was least exposed to the assaults of the waves. Ralph had sought out his two young friends, Chandos and Dickenson, wishing to help them if he could. Looking over the larboard quarter, he observed that the water in that direction was less broken than elsewhere, and he felt sure that he saw the land rising to a considerable height at no great distance. He told the captain that he thought he might reach the shore, and, if it was inhabited, bring assistance to the ship. A small boat hung at the after-davits capable of carrying four or five people.

“You can try it,” said the captain; “choose any two of the men on whom you can rely to accompany you, and take these two youngsters,” touching Chandos and Dickenson on the shoulders, “there will be less risk for them than by their remaining on board, I fear. Remember, Michelmore, if you escape, that I was in chase of an enemy when the ship was lost, and that there was an error in the chart. Heaven bless and preserve you!” he wrung Ralph’s hand as he spoke.

The two young midshipmen were placed in the boat, which was carefully lowered, with Jacob Crane, and another man, Ned Hawkins, whom Ralph selected, he himself following. He put Jacob at the helm, confident of the old man’s judgment, and got out an oar, the rest doing the same. Sheltered by the wreck, the boat at first floated in comparatively smooth water, but scarcely had her head been got round than she was in the foaming waves, which rolled in towards the shore. They, however, did not break as they did at the fore part of the ship, and Ralph knew from this that she had struck on the extreme point of a reef, and he hoped that, could the remaining boats or rafts be launched, his shipmates might yet be saved. Anxious to communicate this information, he directed Jacob to steer back to the ship, but after pulling for some time they found that they had made no progress, and it became evident that a strong current was sweeping round the point, and that their utmost efforts would be in vain. The boat’s head was therefore once more turned towards the shore. The current, however, swept them at a rapid rate to the westward, so that they soon lost sight of the ship. Not a glimpse either of the land could be obtained, and they began to fear that they should be carried out to sea.

“Never say die if we are,” observed Jacob; “it may be better for us than having to run through the surf with the chance of being rolled over and over in it.”

The storm raged with greater fury than before. Jacob advised, as the only hope of preserving their lives, that they should keep the boat’s head to the sea, and allow her to drift on till daylight, when they might discover some spot where they could attempt to land with a prospect of success. In spite of all their efforts the seas continually washed into the boat, and compelled the two midshipmen to work hard at baling out the water, while Ralph and Ned Hawkins, with their two oars, kept the boat in a right position. Their anxiety about the fate of their shipmates prevented them from contemplating as much as they would otherwise have done the perils of their own situation. To return to the wreck was impossible; to land in safety seemed equally so. At any moment a raging sea might overwhelm them, and it required their utmost strength and skill to avert the catastrophe. Now and then, as the boat rose to the summit of a billow, Ralph fancied that he could distinguish through the darkness the dim outline of the coast, and as its form had changed since first seen, he was convinced that they were still drifting along it. He feared that, unless the direction of the current changed, they might be carried far away out to sea, when death from hunger and thirst must be their lot; still, trusting in God’s mercy, he did his utmost to keep up the courage of his companions. The midshipmen behaved as became them, not a word of complaint escaping their lips, while every time a sea broke on board, Chandos cried out, “Hurrah, here’s more work for us; bale away, Dickenson; we must clear her before the next comes.” It seemed, indeed, wonderful that so small a boat could live in such a sea. Thus the night wore on.

At dawn of day Ralph discovered, less than half a mile to the south-west, a rocky point, the extreme eastern end, he supposed, of a somewhat elevated island, along the northern coast of which they had been drifting during the night. The light rapidly increased, while the clouds cleared away, and the wind abated. As far as the eye could reach to the westward appeared an unbroken line of raging surf, into which, had the boat been carried, her destruction would have been certain. He pointed out to his companions how mercifully they had hitherto been preserved; “and if we can get round yonder point we shall be in smooth water, under the lee of the island, and shall probably without difficulty get on shore,” he added.

Once more he cast an anxious look westward, but not a trace of the wreck could be seen. Had the Falcon and her gallant crew been totally engulfed by the waves?

“I fear that it’s all over with them,” said Jacob; “I don’t think we could have come so far as to lose sight of the wreck altogether if she still hung together.”