The brig had been carried over a sunken reef, and lay with her masts pointing towards the shore, which could be distinguished through the gloom not more than half a mile away. My father stood by the mainmast perfectly composed, issuing orders as if nothing had occurred. Hands were sent aloft to furl the foretopsail; and he then directed that the boats on the starboard side should be brought over, so as to be launched into the smoother water under our lee—where, on sounding, we found that there was sufficient depth to float them without risk of their striking the coral below. We had driven on to a small inner reef—a portion, probably, of what was once the fringing reef of the continent.
It may seem strange that my father had not gone into the cabin, but his professional duty overcame all
other considerations. His first thought was to take measures for preserving the lives of all on board.
As soon as he heard my voice near him, he directed me to go back to the cabin, to assure my mother and Edith that, though the brig might be lost, he felt perfect confidence that we should all be conveyed safely on shore, and desired them to put together such things as they were most likely to require under the circumstances that we might be placed in. Although my mother was alarmed, her fears did not overcome her; and Edith, seeing her comparatively calm, did not give way to terror.
“This is indeed a sad misfortune,” said my mother; “but God’s will be done. We must trust to him to protect us. Tell your father we will do what he desires, and shall be ready to leave the vessel as soon as he summons us.”
I went on deck, and found my father and the mates, aided by Mudge, labouring with the crew in getting two of the boats into the water. Our boat had unfortunately been stove in by the falling of the topmasts when the brig struck.
“It is as well to be on the safe side, and to have the boats ready to shove off in case it should be necessary,” I heard Mudge observe to my father. “But, if I mistake not, it was somewhere about here that Captain Cook, on his first voyage round the world, was nearly lost in the Endeavour; though I think he must have been further off-shore. His ship was in a worse condition than ours, I suspect, for she went on shore at high-water; and it was not till after two or three tides had fallen and risen, and a large quantity of her stores had been hove overboard, that she was got off. Even then she would have foundered, had not a fothered sail—the use of which was not so generally known then as at present—been got under her bottom, by which she was kept afloat till she was carried into Endeavour River. Never perhaps was a ship so nearly lost; and yet, bad as was her condition, she continued her voyage round the world, and arrived safely in England.”
“You hear what Mr Mudge says, my men,” observed my father to the crew; “it ought to encourage us: but whether we get the ship off or not, I feel very confident that we shall reach the shore without difficulty.”
“Never fear for us, sir,” cried Ned Burton—“we’ll do our duty; and if the brig don’t budge, it will not be our fault.”