“Very good, sir,” replied Pearce, again touching his hat; “as master of this ship, I considered it my duty to state my opinion.”

  “You have done your duty, Mr Pearce, and I thank you for it; but I have also my duties to perform. One of them is, not to allow the lives of one ship’s company, however brave and well-disciplined (and such I must allow to be the one I have the honour to command), to interfere with the general interests of the country we contend for. When a man enters His Majesty’s service, his life is no longer to be considered his own; it belongs to his king and country, and is at their disposal. If we are lost, there will be no great difficulty in collecting another ship’s company in old England, as brave and as good as this. Officers as experienced are anxiously waiting for employment; and the Admiralty will have no trouble in selecting and appointing as good, if not a better captain.”

  The contending ships were now about two cables’ length from each other, with a high rocky coast, lashed with a tremendous surf, about three-quarters of a mile to leeward. The promontory extended about two points on the weatherbow of the frigate, and a low sandy tongue of land spread itself far out on her weather quarter, so that both vessels were completely embayed. The line-of-battle ship again made an attempt to get up some after-sail; but the well-directed fire of the frigate, whenever she rose on the tops of the mountainous waves, which at intervals hid the hulls of both vessels from each other, drove the Frenchmen from their task of safety, and it was now evident that all command of her was lost. She rolled gunwale under, and her remaining mast went by the board.

  “Nothing can save her, now, sir,” replied the master.

  “No,” replied the captain. “We have done our work, and must now try to save ourselves.”

  “Secure the guns — be smart, my lads, you work for your lives. We must put the mainsail on her, Mr Pearce, and draw off if we can.”

  The master shook his head. “Hands by the clue-garnets and buntlines — man the mainsheet — let go those leech-lines, youngster — haul aboard.”

  “It’s a pity, too, by God,” said the captain, looking over the hammock-rails at the French vessel, which was now running before the wind right on to the shore.— “Eight or nine hundred poor devils will be called to their last account in the course of a few minutes. I wish we could save them.”

  “You should have thought of that before, sir,” said the master, with a grave smile at this reaction of feeling on the part of the captain. “Nothing can save them, and I am afraid that nothing but a slant of wind or a miracle can help ourselves.”

  “She has struck, sir, and is over on her broadside,” said the quarter-master, who was standing on the carronade slide.

  “Mind your conn, sir; keep your eyes on the weather-leech of the sail, and not upon that ship,” answered the captain, with asperity.

  In the meantime, the mainsail had been set by the first-lieutenant, and the crew, unoccupied, had their eyes directed for a little while upon the French vessel, which lay on her beam-ends, enveloped in spray; but they also perceived what, during the occupation and anxiety of action, they had not had leisure to attend to, namely, the desperate situation of their own ship. The promontory was now broad on the weather bow, and a reef of rocks, partly above water, extended from it to leeward of the frigate. Such was the anxiety of the ship’s company for their own safety, that the eyes of the men were turned away from the stranded vessel, and fixed upon the rocks. The frigate did all that a gallant vessel could do, rising from the trough of the sea, and shaking the water from her, as she was occasionally buried forecastle under, from the great pressure of the sail, cleaving the huge masses of the element with her sharp stem, and trembling fore and aft with the violence of her own exertions. But the mountainous waves took her with irresistible force from her chesstree, retarding her velocity, and forcing her each moment nearer to the reef.

  “Wear ship, Mr Hardy,” said the captain, who had not spoken one word since he rebuked the quarter-master— “we have but just room.”

  The master directed the man at the wheel to put helm up, in a firm but subdued tone, for he was at that moment thinking of his wife and children. The ship had just paid off and gathered fresh way, when she struck upon a sunken rock. A loud and piercing cry from the ship’s company was followed by an enormous sea striking the frigate on the counter, at once heeling her over and forcing her ahead, so that she slipped off from the rock again into deep water.

  “She’s off again, sir,” said the master.

  “It’s God’s mercy, Mr Pearce! Bring her to the wind as soon as you can,” replied the captain, with composure. But the carpenter now ran up the hatchway, and, with a pallid face and hurried tone, declared that the ship was filling fast, and could not be kept afloat more than a few minutes.

  “Going down! — going down!” was spread with dreadful rapidity throughout the ship, and all discipline and subordination appeared to be at an end.

  Some of the men flew to the boats hoisted up on the quarters, and were casting loose the ropes which secured them, with hands that were tremulous with anxiety and fear.

  “Silence there, fore and aft!” roared the captain, in the full compass of his powerful voice. “Every man to his station. Come out of those boats directly.”

  All obeyed, except one man, who still continued to cast loose the gripes.

  “Come out, sir,” repeated the captain.

  “Not I, by God!” replied the sailor, coolly.

  The boarding-pikes, which had been lashed round the spanker-boom, had been detached, either from the shot of the enemy, or some other means, and were lying on the deck, close to the cabin skylight. The captain seizing one, and poising it brandished over his head, a third time ordered the sailor to leave the boat.

  “Every man for himself, and God for us all!” was the cool answer of the refractory seaman.

  The pike flew, and entered the man’s bowels up to the hilt. The poor wretch staggered, made a snatch at the davit, missed it, and fell backwards over the gunwale of the boat into the sea.

  “My lads,” said Captain M — , emphatically addressing the men, who beheld the scene with dismay, “as long as one plank, ay, one toothpick, of this vessel swims, I command, and will be obeyed. Quarter-master, put the helm up. I have but few words to say to you, my men. The vessel is sinking, and we must put her on the reef — boats are useless. If she hangs together, do you hang to her as your only chance. And now farewell, my brave fellows, for we are not all likely to meet again. Look out for a soft place for her, Mr Pearce, if you can.”

  “I see but one spot where there is the least chance of her being thrown up, sir. Starboard a little — steady! — so,” — were the cool directions of the master, as the ship flew with increased velocity to her doom. The captain stood on the carronade slide, from which he had addressed the men. His mien was firm and erect — not a muscle of his countenance was observed to change or move, as the sailors watched it as the barometer of their fate. Awed by the dreadful punishment of the mutineer, and restrained by their long habits of discipline, they awaited their doom in a state of intense anxiety, but in silence.

  All this latter description, however, was but the event of about two minutes — which had barely expired, when the frigate dashed upon the reef!

  Chapter Fifty Four.

  Thou, God of this great vast, rebuke those surges which wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast upon the winds command, bind then, in brass, having called them from the deep.

  Shakespeare.

  The shock threw the men off their feet as they raised an appealing cry to Heaven, which was mocked by the howling of the wind and the roar of the waters. The masts, which were thrown out from their steps, waved once, twice, and then fell over the sides with a crash, as an enormous sea broke over the vessel, forcing her further on the rocks, and causing every timber and knee in her to start from its place. The masts, as they fell, and the sea, that at the same moment poured over like an impetuous cataract, swept away thirty or forty of the seamen into the boiling element under the lee. Another and another shock from the resistless and furious waves decided the fate of the resolute captain and master. The frigate parted amidships. The fore part of her, which was firmly wedged on the rocks, remained. The quarter-deck and after-part turned over to the deep water, and disappeared. An enormous surge curled over it as it went down, and, as if disappointed at not being able to wreak its fury upon that part of the vessel, which, by sinking, had evaded it, it drove in revenge upon the remainder, forcing it several yards higher upon the reef.

  Two-thirds of the ship’s company were now gone — the captain, the master, and the major part of the officers and men, being on the quarter-deck when the ship divided. The cry of the drowning was not heard amidst the roaring of the elements. The behaviour of the captain and the officers at this dreadful crisis has not been handed down; but, if we may judge from what has already been narrated, they met their fate like British seamen.

  The fore part of the ship still held together, and, fortunately for the survivors, heeled towards the land, so as to afford some protection from the force of the seas, which dashed over it at each succeeding swell of the billows. Daylight left them, and darkness added to the despair and horror of nearly one hundred wretches, who felt, at each shock which threatened to separate the planks and timbers, as if death was loudly knocking to claim the residue of his destined victims. Not one word was exchanged; but, secured with ropes to the belaying-pins, and other parts of the forecastle where they could pass their lashings, they clung and huddled together, either absorbed in meditation or wailing with despair. Occasionally, one who had supported himself in a difficult and painful position, stimulated with the faint hopes of life, to which we all so fondly and so foolishly cling, would find that his strength was exhausted, and that he could hold no longer. After vainly imploring those near him to allow him to better his condition by a slight personal sacrifice on their part (an appeal that received no answer), he would gradually loose his hold, and drop into the surge that was commissioned by death to receive his prey.

  There are situations in human life of such powerful excitement, and in which the mechanism of the human frame becomes so rapid in its motion, that the friction of a few days will wear it out. The harrowed feelings of these poor creatures on the wreck, during the short time that they remained, had a greater effect in undermining the constitution than many years of laborious occupation on shore.

  Fellow-countrymen, if you are at all interested with the scenes I am now describing, and which, if you have any feeling, you must be (however imperfect the description), let the author, a sailor himself, take this favourable opportunity of appealing to you in behalf of a service at once your protection and your pride. For its sake, as well as your own, listen not to those who, expatiating upon its expense, and silent upon its deserts, would put a stop to hardly earned promotion, and blast with disappointment the energies of the incipient hero. And may those to whom the people at large have delegated their trust, and in whom they have reposed their confidence, treat with contempt the calculations, and miscalculations, of one without head and without heart!

  Daylight again, as if unwillingly, appeared, and the wild scud flew past the dark clouds, that seemed to sink down with their heavy burdens till they nearly touched the sea. The waves still followed each other mountains high; the wind blew with the same violence; and as the stormy petrels flew over the billows, indicating by their presence that the gale would continue, the unfortunate survivors looked at each other in silence and despair.

  I know not whether all seamen feel as I do; but I have witnessed so many miraculous escapes, so many sudden reverses, so much, beyond all hope and conception, achieved by a reliance upon Providence and your own exertions, that, under the most critical circumstances, I never should despair. If struggling in the centre of the Atlantic, with no vessel in sight, no strength remaining, and sinking under the wave that boiled in my ear, as memory and life were departing, — still, as long as life did remain, as long as recollection held her seat, I never should abandon Hope, — never believe that it is all over with me, — till I awoke in the next world, and found it confirmed.

  What would these men have valued their lives at in the morning? Yet at noon a change took place: the weather evidently moderated fast; and silence, that had reigned for so many hours, lost his empire, and the chances of being saved began to be calculated. A reef of rocks, many of them above water, over which the breakers still raged, lay between the wreck and the shore, and the certainty of being dashed to pieces precluded all attempts at reaching it, till the weather became more moderate and the sea less agitated. But when might that be? — and how long were they to resist the united attacks of hunger and fatigue?

  The number of men still surviving was about seventy. Many, exhausted and wounded, were hanging in a state of insensibility by the ropes with which they had secured themselves. That our hero was among those who remained need hardly be observed, or there would have been a close to this eventful history. He was secured to the weather side of the foremast-bitts, supported on the one side by the boatswain, and on the other by Price, the second-lieutenant, next to whom was the captain of the forecastle, one of the steadiest and best seamen in the ship, who had been pressed out of a West Indiaman, in which he had served in the capacity of second mate.

  Our hero had often turned round with an intention to speak to Price; but observing that he sat crouched with his face upon his hands and knees, he waited until his messmate should raise his head up, imagining that he was occupied in secret prayer. Finding that he still continued in the same position, Seymour called to him several times. Not receiving any answer, he extended his arm and shook Price by the collar, fearing that he had swooned from cold and fatigue.

  Price slowly raised his head, and looking at Seymour, answered not. His vacant stare and wild eye proclaimed at once that reason had departed. Still, as it afterwards appeared, his ruling passion remained; and, from that incomprehensible quality of our structure, which proves that the mind of man is more fearfully and wonderfully made than the body, the desertion of one sense was followed by the return of another. His memory was perfect, now that his reason was gone. Surveying the scene around him, he began with all the theatrical action which the ropes that secured him would permit, to quote his favourite author: —

  “‘Blow winds, and crack your cheeks — rage — blow,

  You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout—’

  “‘Poor Tom’s a-cold’” — then, shuddering, he covered up his face, and resumed his former position.

  “Is this a time for spouting profane plays, Mr Price?” said the fanatical boatswain, who was not aware of the poor man’s insanity. “Hold your peace, and call not judgment on our heads, and I prophesy that we shall be saved. ‘The waves of the sea are mighty, and rage horribly; but yet the Lord who dwelleth on high is mightier.’”

  Silence ensued, which, after a few minutes, was interrupted by Seymour lamenting over the fate of Captain M — and the rest of the crew who had perished.

  “Well, they are in heaven before this, I hope?” observed Robinson, the captain of the forecastle.

  “‘Many are called, but few chosen,’” rejoined the boatswain, who appeared, by the flashing of his eye, to be in a state of strong excitement. “No more in heaven than you would be, if the Almighty was pleased to cut you off in his wrath.”

  “Where then, Mr Hardsett?” inquired Robinson. “Surely not in—”

  “I know — I know,” — cried Price, who again lifted up his head, and, with a vacant laugh, commenced singing —

  “Nothing of him that doth fade

  But doth suffer a sea-change

  Into something rich and strange.

  Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell!

  Hark! now I hear them — ding-dong-bell.”

  “For shame, Mr Price!” interrupted the boatswain.

  “Ding-dong-ding-dong-bell.”

  “Mr Price, what does the Scripture say? ‘Judgments are prepared for scorners,’” continued the boatswain with vehemence.

  Price had resumed his former attitude, and made no answer. As soon as the interruption of the lieutenant had ceased, Robinson resumed his interrogatory to the boatswain: “Where then? — not in hell, I hope.”

  “Ay,” returned the latter, “in the fire that is never quenched, and for ever and ever.”

  “I hope not,” replied Robinson; “I may deserve punishment, and I know I do. I’ve been overhauling my log-book, while the sea here has been dashing over my bows, and washing my figure-head; and there are some things I wish I could forget; — they will rise up in judgment against me; but surely not for ever?”

  “You should have thought of that before, my good fellow. I am sorry for you, — sorry for all those who have perished, for they were good seamen, and, in the worldly service, have done well. I was reflecting the other day whether, out of the whole navy, I should be able to muster one single ship’s company in heaven.”

  “Well, Mr Hardsett, it’s my firm opinion, that when the hands are turned up for punishment in the next world, we shall be sarved out according to our desarts. Now, that’s my belief; and I shan’t change it for yours, Mr Hardsett, for I thinks mine the more comfortable of the two.”

  “It won’t do, Robinson, you must have faith.”

  “So I have, in God’s mercy, boatswain.”

  “That won’t do. Yours is not the true faith.”

  “Mayhap not, but I hope to ride it out with it nevertheless, for I have it well backed with hope; and if I still drive,” — said Robinson, musing a short time— “why, I have charity as a sheet-anchor, to bring me up again. It’s long odds but our bodies will soon be knocked to shivers in those breakers, and we shall then know who’s right, and who’s wrong. I see small chance of our saving ourselves, unless indeed we could walk on the sea, and there was but one that ever did that.”