Part 4 (1/2)
”Our skipper is a good officer, there's no doubt about it,” observed some of the younger men as they walked the forecastle. ”But he's sometimes overmuch on the safe side, and if a moderate breeze were to spring up, and an enemy appear in sight, she'd slip away long before we could be in a fit state to go after her.”
”You are very wise, mate, I daresay,” said Abel Bush, who heard the remark. ”But just suppose the Captain is right and you wrong, how should we look if the squall caught us with all our light sticks aloft and our canvas spread? Old Harry Cane, when you meet with him in these parts, is not a chap to be trifled with, let me tell you.”
The younger seaman might have replied, but the force of Abel's argument was considerably strengthened by a loud roaring sound which broke on their ears. Far, too, as the eye could reach, the ocean appeared torn up into a vast ma.s.s of foam, which rolled on with fearful rapidity, preceded by still higher undulations than before, which made the s.h.i.+p roll, and pitch, and tumble about in a way most unusual and alarming.
The officers, speaking trumpet in hand, were issuing the necessary orders to try and get the s.h.i.+p's head away from the coming blast; but the little wind there yet was refused to fill the head sails, and only made them beat and flap against the masts.
”I told you so, mates,” said Abel Bush as he pa.s.sed Ned Marline, the young seaman who had been criticising the Captain's arrangements; ”never do you fancy that you know better than your elders till you've had as much experience as they.”
Paul Pringle had been watching the _Thunderer_. He had served on board her; he had many old s.h.i.+pmates now belonging to her; and he naturally took a deep interest in all concerning her.
”She's a fine old s.h.i.+p, that she is!” he exclaimed as he cast a last glance at the gallant seventy-four, before turning to attend to his duty.
She was then not a quarter of a mile to leeward. Now down came the fury of the hurricane; with a roar like that of a wild beast when it springs on its prey, the tempest struck the _Terrible_. The headsails, which alone were set, in an instant were blown from the boltropes, and flew like fleecy clouds far away down to leeward. The helm was put up, but the s.h.i.+p refused to answer it. The tempest struck her on the side. The stout masts bent and quivered in spite of all the shrouds and stays which supported them, and then over she heeled, till the yardarms touched the seething ocean. Fore and aft she was covered with a ma.s.s of foam, while the waters rushed exultantly into her ports, threatening to carry her instantly to the bottom. The crew hurried to secure the ports. Many poor fellows were carried off while making the attempt. In vain Captain Penrose and his officers exerted themselves to wear the s.h.i.+p. Like a helpless log she lay on the foaming ocean. While still hoping to avoid the last extreme resource of cutting away the masts, the carpenter appeared on the quarterdeck with an expression of consternation on his countenance.
”What has happened below, Chips?” asked Captain Penrose.
”Twelve feet water in the hold, and rapidly gaining on us,” was the answer.
”It is probably the water which has got in through the ports; but man the pumps: we must get it out again as fast as we can,” answered the Captain.
”They'll not work while the s.h.i.+p is in this position, sir,” said the carpenter.
”Oh, well, then, we must get her out of it!” cried Captain Penrose in a cheerful voice, though his heart was heavy. ”All hands stand by to cut away the masts.”
The order was repeated from mouth to mouth, for no voice could have been heard along the deck. The carpenter once more went below to sound the well. He shortly returned with even a worse report than the first. The order was therefore given to cut away the masts. He sprang to his post at the mizen-mast, which was to go first; but, just as he was about to cut, the s.h.i.+p righted with a sudden jerk, which well-nigh sent everybody off his legs. All believed that the dreaded resource would not be required, but still the helm was useless, and therefore the s.h.i.+p could not be got before the wind. Not a minute had pa.s.sed before she was once more struck on the opposite side with a still more furious blast of the hurricane. Over the big s.h.i.+p heeled to it, till first the foremast went by the head, carrying all the topmast rigging over the bows; the mainmast followed, going by the board, and the mizen-mast was quickly dragged after it, the falling masts wounding and killing many of the crew, and carrying several overboard. Not a moment, however, was lost, before, led by the officers, all were engaged with axes and knives in clearing the wreck. But now the seas leaped up furiously round the labouring s.h.i.+p, tossing her huge hull wildly here and there, as if she had been merely some small boat left helplessly to become their sport.
Now, for the first time, Paul Pringle and others bethought them of looking for the _Thunderer_. So full of salt spray was the air that they could scarcely make her out, near as she was to them; then on a sudden they saw her dark hull surrounded by the seething foam, but her stout masts were not visible. She, as they had been, was on her beam-ends. Suddenly she, too, righted; up rose the masts, in all their height and symmetry it seemed.
”She has come off scatheless!” cried one or two.
”No, no, mates!” cried Paul Pringle in a tone of anguish. ”See! see!
heaven have mercy on their souls!”
Down, down, sank the big hull; gradually tier after tier disappeared; the foaming waters leaped over the decks--the tall masts followed-- down--down--down--and in another instant the spot where the brave old _Thunderer_ had floated was vacant, and seven hundred human beings were hurried at once into eternity. In vain could the crew of the _Terrible_ hope to render them a.s.sistance--the same fate at any moment might be theirs. No one had even time to mourn the loss of their countrymen and friends. Every nerve must be strained to keep their own s.h.i.+p afloat.
Still the water rushed in.
The opinion became general that a b.u.t.t had been started, (that is, the end of a plank), and that the s.h.i.+p must go down. Even Captain Penrose could no longer conceal from himself that such was too probably the case. He, however, and his officers exerted themselves to the utmost to maintain discipline--no easy task under such circ.u.mstances in those days, when men who had braved death over and over again in battle with the greatest coolness and intrepidity, have been known to break open the spirit stores with the object of stupefying their minds with liquor to avoid facing the king of terrors.
Fiercer and fiercer raged the hurricane, and now all hopes of saving the s.h.i.+p, or of preserving their own lives, were almost abandoned. Paul Pringle, with Abel Bush and Peter Ogle, were seen to be very busy. They were collecting such shattered spars and small ropes, and casks and other articles, as they could most easily lay hands on. These they quickly converted into a small but very strong raft, with a sort of bulwark all round it. In one of the casks they stowed a keg of water, and some biscuits and beef; and in another they stuffed the bedding of a hammock and some blankets; and they stepped a mast on the little raft, and secured a flag to it. The raft might, probably, have borne four or five men, but there was only sitting room for one just alongside the cask which had the bedding in it. When all was ready, Paul Pringle disappeared into the Captain's cabin, and returned carrying in his arms Billy True Blue, followed by Sam Smatch, who had his fiddle and bow tucked under his arm.
”Now, Sam,” said Paul, pointing to the raft, ”you see that. You didn't enter to do a seaman's duty; so you, if any one ought, may quit the s.h.i.+p. Now, you see, none on us knows what moment she may be going down; and so, Sam, just jump into this raft and make yourself fast, so that no sea can wash you off, and take Billy True Blue with you. Though he's on the s.h.i.+p's books, he isn't entered to do duty; so he may quit her without any shame or disgrace, d'ye see. Bear a hand now, Sam.”
The black did as he was bid; and having secured his beloved fiddle in one of the casks, held out his arms to receive little True Blue. Paul for some instants could not bring himself to part with the child. He pressed his lips to its little mouth as a fond mother might do; and then Peter and Abel followed his example with no less signs of affection; but a cry which ascended from below, that the s.h.i.+p was settling down fast, hurried their proceedings.
”There, Sam, take him,” said Paul with a tone of deep feeling, giving up the child to the black. ”Watch over him, Sam, for he's a jewel, mind that. You may be driven ash.o.r.e on that island out there, and as you know the lingo of the people, you may do bravely among them. Your fiddle will stand you in good stead wherever you go, and you may play them into good humour. But mind you, Sam, as soon as you can, you are to get to a British port, and to go aboard a man-of-war, and say who the boy is, and what he is, and how he's to be brought up; and try and find out any old s.h.i.+pmates of mine, or Peter's, or Abel's, or the Captain's-- for I know he'll join us--and say that it was our last dying message, just before the waters closed over us, that they would stand in our shoes and look after the boy. We trust you, Sam. You loves the boy. I knows you do. You'll be faithful, lad?”
”Yes, Paul; so help me, I will,” answered Sam with much feeling, pressing his s.h.i.+pmate's hand held out to him.