While the seamen were performing their various duties, the soldiers stood, drawn up along the deck, with their officers, as if on parade. Not a man moved from his post, but all watched the proceedings going forward as if no unusual occurrence was taking place. The sea had by this time so much gone down that the operation of lowering the women and children into the boats was less hazardous than otherwise would have been the case. Mrs Morley and her two daughters were the first to appear on deck. The colonel led them to the gangway, where the boatswain and several of the most active seamen were standing ready to lower them down, under the direction of the first-lieutenant. Whether or not they expected that Colonel Morley would accompany them, it was difficult to say. The only words heard, as Mrs Morley seemed to hesitate for a moment as she was about to be lowered down, were, “We are all under orders. Duty must be our first consideration.”
Poor Mrs Twopenny shrieked out for her husband. “He will follow you presently,” said the first-lieutenant, hoping to pacify her. “Now, Mrs Rumbelow, you are to go in this boat,” he exclaimed. The sergeant’s wife hesitated, casting a glance towards her husband.
“We want you to go and look after the ladies,” said the colonel. “Come, Mrs Rumbelow, you have never acted contrary to orders, and you will not do so now, I am sure.”
Without a word she stepped to the gangway, and with very little assistance reached the boat. A young drummer, with five or six poor women, some having children, were also lowered down.
“Come, Davis, I promised the colonel that you and your medicine chest should go in the launch,” said the commander. “I hope you will be able to give a good account of your charges. Come! come! I must be obeyed,” he added with a melancholy smile, observing that the surgeon seemed to hesitate. “We can do without your services on board.”
Eight hands had been ordered into the boat to serve as her crew, and Willy was very glad to see Paul Lizard among them. The boatswain had been ordered to take charge of the first cutter. Peter Patch went with him, and poor Ensign Holt was lowered into the same boat, looking more helpless and woebegone than any of the women.
The people, however, had not been placed in the boats without considerable difficulty and danger. As soon as the launch had received her complement, she was dropped astern. Here she hung on while the other boats were being loaded, and as those in her watched this proceeding, they dreaded every instant to see them swamped alongside. Some of the people attempted, in their eagerness, to jump in. Several were seen to fall into the water; others were with difficulty caught, and saved from breaking their limbs. The sea, too, which, while the launch was alongside, was comparatively calm, had since then rapidly become more and more agitated, and heavy rollers were seen coming over the ocean towards the ship. As the people were getting into the second cutter, the sea struck her, violently dashing her against the ship’s side; while some were attempting to fend her off, she was swamped and upset, the unhappy people in her being cast struggling into the foaming waters. Two seamen only managed to regain the ship.
“Out oars,” cried Harry Shafto; and the crew of the launch attempted to pull up, and save some of their drowning shipmates. Before, however, they could get up even to the ship’s quarter, nearly all had disappeared, several poor women and children being speedily overwhelmed.
“See! see!” cried Mrs Rumbelow, “there is a little chap striking out towards us; and I do believe he has a baby in his arms. I know him; he is young Broke, a famous swimmer. Oh, Mr Shafto, do save them if you can.”
Harry required no urging, nor did the crew. In another instant the young drummer boy was alongside; and the doctor, stooping down, lifted up the baby; but it seemed as if life was extinct. Young Broke was speedily hauled on board. All for the moment seemed to forget their own danger in their anxiety for the young infant; watching anxiously for the report of the doctor, who was seen for a short time gently pressing its stomach and breathing at the time into its mouth. “It lives,” he said, “and will, I trust, recover.” The little creature had no lack of nurses, for even at that moment of trial all were eager to take it. Young Broke, though nearly exhausted when taken on board, soon recovered; he could not tell what had become of the mother, but he had some idea that she was still on board, having entrusted her child to one of the men before she herself was lowered down.