Читать книгу Richard Galbraith, Mariner; Or, Life among the Kaffirs - E. W. Phillips - Страница 6

On reaching Liverpool, the second port in Britain, the delight with which I wandered about the vast docks and quays, can be easily imagined. Here I found splendid ships—ships that were even giants to those I had so frequently built up in my imagination. As I gazed at their slender tapering masts and net-work of cordage, I despaired in my heart of ever being able to distinguish one of the myriad of ropes from another; but I did what it is the best to do in all cases—I determined to try.

It so happened that at the time of my arrival there was a demand for sailors before the mast, and with my knowledge of the sea it was not difficult for me to procure a berth. Thus on the third day I found myself enrolled as one of the crew of a splendid merchant ship—the Columbus, 2,500 tons, bound for Jamaica with full cargo.

So many accounts have been written of sailor’s first voyages and experiences that I shall pass over mine; they proved very uneventful till seven years had nearly elapsed, during which period I had made many visits home, bringing numerous curiosities for Katie, who now was my wife, and had one or two little sailors in embryo to console her during my absence.

Ten years then do I skip over, and come to the time when I shipped on board the Lively Ariel, merchantman, bound for Madras.

As it was the first time I had been in this part of the globe, I was no little delighted at the change, and promised Katie many Indian rarities, such as ivory work-boxes, etc—little dreaming what a long, long voyage I was about to take, and the vastly different things I should bring her to those I intended.

But a merciful Providence kindly hides the future from us, for the knowledge would make cowards of us all; therefore, ignorant of what was to come, I bade her an affectionate farewell, tossed the crowing babies in my arms, and started on the longest voyage I ever made.

It was a light favourable breeze with which we cleared out of the Mersey, and went down Saint George’s Channel, all sails set, and the ship flying, gliding along, over the blue waves, like a perfect beauty as she was.

With the wind thus in our favour, it was not long before we had lost sight of Cardigan Bay, passed the Scilly Islands, and entered the ocean, the broad Atlantic. We had long passed the Cape Verde Isles, which derive their names from being covered with quantities of Adansonia or baobab trees, whose stems are at times 34 feet in circumference, though they rarely exceed 60 feet in height. These trees so cover the sandy plains of the above-mentioned Islands with their umbrella-shaped tops, that approaching them they present the appearance of one vast field of green verdure. We had long passed them I say before the weather at all changed, then but for a brief space, as we had scarcely crossed the line, before the wind again chopped round to north, and so continued till we reached the Cape of Good Hope, sighting the Table Rock, and the misty cloud hanging above—its tablecloth, as it has been termed—about six a.m. Here we stayed to take in water, of which we were growing scarce, and afterwards proceeded on our course, bringing as it seemed the wind with us, for it speedily veered due south.

It was about the middle watch, which was mine, of the second night that, leaning over the side of the ship, I looked into the dark depths of ocean, and above at the splendid blue sky—a blue only to be seen in the southern hemisphere—studded with stars like gems of immense magnitude. I was looking, I repeat, upon these wondrous beauties of nature, and thinking of Katie and the little ones at home, when my reverie, which had been running as smoothly as the ship glided over the billows, was broken by the voice of Tom Grimes, the boatswain, who, coming up, and leaning over the side like myself, said, as he turned a quid in his cheek.

“Well, Dick Galbraith, this here’s stunning weather, ain’t it. My stars—I mean them at home and not those there big moons up yonder with which I’ve nothing to do—but in all my viages, I’ve never made such a run as this.”

“No, indeed,” I rejoined; “it seems almost too good to last.”

“Ah, that’s it, my boy—that’s it,” answered the old boatswain. “That’s it; we ain’t in sight of Madras yet.”

The stress on the last word made me say, “Do you expect any change, Grimes? Is bad weather brewing?”

“Rather,” he replied; “and when you have been a sailor as long as I have, and with as grey hair, you’ll think so too. Haven’t you noticed that the wind has slightly veered?”

“No,” I said, instinctively putting his words to the test by wetting the palm of my hand and holding it up to the soft night breeze. “Yes, Grimes, you are right,” I continued. “It’s Sou’-Sou’-West, and was due South but half-an-hour ago.”

“Yes, it’s been varying from South to Sou’-West and Sou’-Sou’-East for the last hour, and may chop round to East or North-East and send a perfect hurricane in our teeth. It’s my opinion that that is what it just will do.”

“Why?” I asked, for old Tom Grimes was an oracle with the crew.

“Why? my lad, why? Because—there just notice the vibration of the ship as she bounds over the waves—don’t you notice a kind of imperceptible stress in the movement, and a slight recoil?”

“Well, I certainly do; yet it is so slight.”

“Ah! A hurricane can come from a cloud only the size of a man’s hand, and that vibration shows a cross-sea running. Mark my words, Galbraith, we shan’t go many days, if one, before there is an unpleasant change of weather.”

“Well, never mind, if we can only weather it,” I laughed; and just then, the watch being changed, I went below and turned into my hammock, where, falling speedily asleep, I forgot all about old Grimes’ prophecies.

The next morning’s dawn, however, proved them only to be too true. The blue sky we had enjoyed for so long was overcast with large ominous-looking clouds, while the wind had already chopped round to East. The ship was rigged for hard weather; and just an hour after sunset, when about latitude 33 degrees 29 minutes South, longitude 42 degrees 12 minutes East, the gale struck us dead in our teeth. The heavens had suddenly become of an inky blackness; the sea rushing high, with that hollow roar as if it rose from vast caverns in its depths, frequently swept the decks; while the wind increased to such a terrific pitch that it was with the greatest difficulty we could hold our course.

Scarcely half-an-hour elapsed before we saw that the danger of the ship was imminent. In my seven years’ experience never had I witnessed such a storm, nor one which did such speedy execution. At each succeeding wave the large ship started and quivered in every one of her timbers, while sail after sail flew from the bolt ropes, and was lost in a minute’s space in the darkness to leeward. Each man that night had his full share of duty; and I noticed the Captain—a noble, brave-hearted fellow, as he stood issuing his orders, which the gale scarcely permitted to be heard—looked every moment anxiously at the rigging. Finally surrendering his speaking trumpet to the mate, he descended quickly to the cabin.

It was not many moments before he returned, and, hidden by the darkness, I heard him address the mate in a grave tone.

“Sanders, I fear we are in a bad way.”

“Where abouts are we, sir?” responded the other.

“Heaven alone knows; for the electricity in the storm has rendered the compass almost useless. But, judging from where we were before the gale struck us, and from how we have been drifting since, I fancy we are near the African coast—too near, I fear, for we cannot with certainty make for any known harbour.”

“I reckon,” said the mate, “that we are not far from the Mozambique.”

“I fancy so too. Would to Heaven I could get but one glimpse of the Southern Cross. We might then with some chance make for Natal or Delagoa Bay.”

And he turned his eyes hopelessly up at the impenetrable blackness—hopeless indeed, for there was no sign of breaking there.

Hardly had I noted this when a cry of terror escaped from the lips of the whole crew. A terrific wind, accompanied by a quick succession of mountainous waves, had carried away at one sweep the jib-boom, fore-top-mast, gallant-mast, and royal-mast, leaving them still clinging to the ship by the stays, so impeding her progress that she rolled in the deep troughs of the sea as if every moment she would plunge in to rise no more. Our peril was not, however, yet at the worst; for hardly had a little calm succeeded this last damage, and the wreck had been cleared away—at the expense of two poor fellows’ lives—than, staggering on to the deck with pallid face, came the carpenter, with the awful announcement that the ship had sprung a leak, and the water was even then some feet deep in the hold.

The order was given—“All hands to the pumps;” and men wearied beyond apparent endurance before, at this danger were animated with fresh strength, and worked like giants.

Worked!—but to what purpose? Each anxious message sent down to learn how much the water had decreased, only brought back the desponding reply of an increase,—first, so many inches; then a foot; then two; then the terrible truth that, work with the strength of fifty giants, all would be useless. The ship was doomed—was sinking, sinking rapidly into the midst of that black, boiling, awful sea. If all men’s hearts grew faint at the news, was it a matter of wonder? Even the Captain’s cheek was pale as he gave the order to lower the boats, a command rapidly obeyed, but which only disclosed fresh disasters; for it was found that the starboard lifeboat had gone. They had therefore to repair to the starboard cutter, and with difficulty was it lowered to leeward, when it was speedily filled by some of the crew.

I stood by the captain, determined not to leave him; and cutting away the ropes, we watched the cutter take its course. Not for long did it keep it; for with a terrific cry from its wretched freight, echoed by all on the doomed ship, it foundered, leaving but a struggling mass of human beings on the surface, to be quickly engulphed by the mighty waves. The captain gave one lingering look, uttered a short prayer for them and for us, then, turning, wrung my hand, saying, while, I fancy, tears stood in his eyes—

“Galbraith, my man, our time will come next—our hour is at hand. Orders, now, in the wreck my poor, my beloved ship have become useless. We must part. Her fate is sealed, and so, I believe, is ours. God help us! Let each one now look for what safety he can. Goodbye—farewell—my men! God have mercy upon us! Should any chance to survive this terrible night, let him take the last farewells of those less fortunate to the dear ones left at home.”

A sad cheer rose from the poor fellows’ throats, and solemnly the captain, raising his eyes to heaven, uttered a brief appeal to God for himself and his crew—an appeal fervently repeated by each man. Then one and all sought some spar or other to which to attach himself, and thus await death; for there was little chance that any there would survive to take home those last solemn farewells.

One by one I saw my companions borne overboard by the giant waves till I grew sick at the thought that my turn would be the next. But not yet—the brave captain went first. Then, suddenly, death seemed to seize me—the sea was all about me—its horrible rushing was in my ears, and I felt sinking—sinking to the very bottom of the ocean. I believe for the moment I lost consciousness; but when I came to, I was again on the surface of the waters, rising like a cork upon the waves.

So I floated here and there for, it appeared to me, hours—though it could not have been one—alone on the ocean—alone, for all I knew; for, as far as I could see, when on the top of some great billow, not a vestige of the fine ship, or her crew, was in sight.

Abruptly, almost as abruptly as it had risen, the hurricane began to abate. As it did so, I became aware of the sound, so well known to sailors, of breakers in the direction to which I was driving head first. In vain I strove to turn, to ascertain whether the breakers to which I was evidently hastening were created by rocks above or below the surface. If the former, with such a surf running, I must assuredly be dashed to pieces. But all I could see was a vast expanse of white boiling foam, into the midst of which the next wave flung me, to be tossed among a mass of sharp pointed rocks. Existence here would have been of short duration had not another billow, more kind than the first, raised me in its arms and thrown me over the reef into comparatively calm water. A few seconds after I fancied my feet touched land. I waited anxiously for the next wave. Yes—land it was, and oh, thank Heaven! the tide was running in.

Releasing one of my arms, I strove to aid my progress; but, as if wearied of its terrible play, the ocean at last cast me, rolling over and over, on to a sandy beach. Fearful that it might repent of its kindness, and drag me back again, I managed to free myself entirely from the spar. Then, faint and staggering—for, besides my exertions, the jagged rocks had inflicted many bruises on my person—I crawled far up the beach, till my hand, touching some plant that I knew by its fresh dryness had never been covered by the salt sea, assured me I was safe; then I sank down insensible, utterly ignorant, nor at the moment caring, upon what portion of the African coast I had been thrown.