John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. William Clark Russell
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and was then swallowed up.
It was now five bells (half-past ten); the skipper ordered rum to be served out to the men, who were wet through to the skin, and fagged to death by their extraordinary exertions. The carpenter sounded the well again, and reported an increase of three inches in the depth of water. This was a terrible announcement, and proved beyond a doubt that the ship was leaking, though the crew were kept in ignorance of the report, that they might not be disheartened.
At six bells the clouds had broken into huge black groups, with spaces of clear sky between, and the wind was lulling as rapidly as it had risen.
The ship was still buoyant enough to rise easily over the seas; but anything more forlorn than her appearance, as it was disclosed by the dim light that fell from the rifts among the clouds, cannot be imagined.
The fore-mast stood like a black and lightning-shattered tree; the jib-boom hung in two pieces from the bowsprit; where the main-mast had stood were some huge jagged splinters; and aft towered the mizzen-mast, with the cross-jack swinging to the roll of the ship, the spanker with its peak halliards gone, and the whole picture of it completing the unutterable air of desolation presented by the storm-shattered vessel.
At eight bells the carpenter reported no increase of the water in the hold, which cheering intimation the captain delivered to the men from the break of the poop, who received it with a faint cheer.
The pumps had been relieved three times, and now the port watch was at them, making the water bubble on to the deck, where it was washed to and fro, and poured in streams through the scupper-holes.
At one o’clock, Holdsworth, who had been on deck since a quarter to seven, went below to put on dry clothes; and as he was leaving his cabin to return on deck he met Mrs. Tennent. Her face was very pale in the light of the swinging lamp, and she stood at her cabin door, by the handle of which she supported herself.
“Are we not in great danger, Mr. Holdsworth?” she whispered, in a tone of deep excitement.
“The worst is passed, I hope,” answered Holdsworth cheerfully.
“Do not be afraid of telling me the truth. I can be brave for my child’s sake. If real danger should come, Mr. Holdsworth, will you remember him? Will you be near him in that moment?”
“We won’t talk of danger yet, Mrs. Tennent. We have had an ugly bout of it, but the daylight is coming, and then we shall be more comfortable.”
“Many times,” she exclaimed, “I thought we were sinking! O God! what a horrible night this has been! I heard the water rushing past the cabin door, and I tried to reach the deck, but was too faint to carry my child, and I could not leave him.”
“Well, you see we are still afloat,” Holdsworth answered cheerily. “Depend upon it, we will do our best to save the ship. Take my advice and lie down and get some sleep. This water here,” pointing to the cuddy-deck, “means nothing; a swab will put that to rights. The morning is coming, and you are sailing under a skipper who knows what he is about.”
He waved his hand cordially, and left her.
All through that long night the hands stuck to the pumps, but the water gained upon them inch by inch, and when the morning broke at last, the vessel was deep and heavy, rolling sluggishly, and leaking fast.
The sun was a welcome sight to the poor fagged seamen. Up he sprang, flushing the universe with a pink splendour, and dispersing the heavy clouds which hung in clusters about his rising-point.
Up to that time there had been a fresh breeze blowing, the dregs, so to speak, of the storm that had dismantled the ship; but this lulled as the sun rose, the sea smoothed out its turbulent waves, and a day filled with the promise of calm and beauty broke on a scene as desolate as any the heart can conceive.
One of the watches was in the forecastle; half the other watch on deck was at the pumps, the monotonous sounds of which had been echoing many hours, together with the gushing of water surging over the decks, and pouring in streams from the ship’s sides.
The vessel was now no more than a log on the water; not a shred of canvas, with the exception of the mutilated spanker upon her, her port bulwarks crushed, her fore-mast a stump, her decks exhibiting a scene of wild disorder—loose spars that had been washed from forward encumbering the entrance of the cuddy; the cuddy front battered to pieces, spare casks piled tumultuously about the poop-ladders, and the long-boat, lashed between the galley and the fore-mast, and which had held some of the live stock, full of water and drowned sheep. On the port side, the severed shrouds, which had supported the masts, trailed their black lengths in the sea; and all about the starboard side were the fragments of ropes and stays hacked and torn to pieces; while the port main-chains had received a wrench that had torn the bolts out of the ship’s side, and left the irons standing out.
As yet none of the passengers had made their appearance. The captain had brought a chart from his cabin and unrolled it upon the skylight, and stood with his finger upon it, calculating his whereabouts by yesterday’s reckoning, and waiting for Holdsworth to return from the hold, which he and the carpenter were exploring for the leak.
The swell, which was heavy, surged against the ship’s sides; but her buoyancy was gone, she hardly moved to the pressure.
Presently Holdsworth came out of the hold, wet and exhausted, followed by the carpenter in worse plight.
“Well?” exclaimed the captain, in a subdued but eager voice.
“I am afraid it is a hopeless case, sir. She’s leaking in a dozen different places.”
“The worst leak is just amidships,” said the carpenter. “It’s under the water in the hold. You can hear it bubbling, but there’s no getting at it.”
“What soundings have you got?”
“Eleven feet, sir!”
“Good God!” cried the skipper; “that’s an increase of a foot and a half since seven bells.”
“We had better look to the boats, sir,” said Holdsworth, scanning the horizon.
“Don’t talk of the boats yet, sir!” panted the skipper. “Clap some backstays on to the fore-mast and turn to and rig up the spare staysail.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Holdsworth, and went forward to call all hands and make what sail they could upon the stump of the fore-mast, whilst the skipper walked passionately to and fro, perfectly conscious of the hopelessness of their situation, but determined to blind his eyes to it.
The first among the passengers to come on deck was the General, who stood transfixed by the spectacle of the wreck. He and some of the others had attempted during the night to leave their berths and find out the reason of the uproar that was going on over their heads, but had been literally blown back again the moment they showed their noses above the hatchway; and none of them, with the exception of Mrs. Tennent, having had an opportunity of speaking to either the captain or Holdsworth, they were all in perfect ignorance that the vessel was actually a wreck.
Whilst the General stood gasping and staring up aloft in search of the majestic masts and sails that had reared their graceful heights when he was last on deck, he was joined by Mr. St. Aubyn and Mr. Holland, both of whom turned pale with amazement and fear.
Then all three of them ran up to the captain.
“Oh, tell us what has happened? What will become of us? Are we sinking?” cried the actor.
“Where are the masts gone? Is it possible that we can ever reach America in this condition?” gasped Mr. Holland.
“Captain, we seem to be in a frightful mess! Why, we are foundering, sir!” exclaimed the General, rolling his eyes over the sea and then fixing them upon the captain.
“Gentlemen! gentlemen!” returned the skipper, extending his hands, “pray leave me! You distract me by your questions.”
“Are we in danger?” implored Mr. St. Aubyn.
“Yes,