CHAPTER III.

THE SHIPWRECK

“To hear The roaring of the raging elements, To know all human skill, all human strength, Avail not; to look around, and only see The mountain wave incumbent with its weight, Of bursting waters o’er the reeling bark,— Oh! God, this is indeed a dreadful thing.” —Southey.

“In breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; boundless, endless and sublime. Each zone Obeys thee, thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.” —Byron.

In a moment, however, the brave girl struggled to her feet. Her first thought was of her aunt. She was about groping her way down to the cabin, for the purpose of seeking Mrs. Warren, when the latter’s voice was heard, faint with terror, calling on her name.

“Here I am, aunt,” answered Kate, as cheerfully as she could. She held out her hand, which Mrs. Warren eagerly caught.

At any other time Kate’s sense of the ludicrous would have overcome her at the figure of her aunt. The good lady had only had time to huddle on the most necessary garments, and some of these were even awry; while the elegancies of the toilet, about which the stately dame was so particular, were totally neglected for once. It was the fashion in those days, for elderly matrons, to wear a cushion on the top of the head, over which to comb the hair; but this was now wholly wanting to Mrs. Warren, and her hair, usually so precisely arranged, and so carefully powdered, hung in tangled elf-locks about her face. The whole of her person and dress, moreover, was dripping, like that of some Triton just risen from the sea. Could the excellent old creature have seen her image reflected in a glass, she would have fainted outright from shame and outraged propriety. But mortal fear had now so conquered every other sensation, that when she rushed into her niece’s arms, it was with the paramount feeling that in Kate’s heroic character was the only hope at this frightful juncture.

“Hold fast under the lee of this bulwark,” said the niece. “It’s the safest place I can find.”

Her aunt mechanically obeyed, without reply, for her increasing fear had now deprived her of the power of speech.

The tremendous shock with which the ship struck, had snapped off the masts as if they had been pipe-stems, and Kate’s next thought, after having temporarily provided for the safety of her aunt, was what was to be done with the wreck of spars and rigging, which, beating against the vessel’s sides, threatened to crush them like egg-shells. Suddenly, through the gloom, she saw a figure, armed with an axe, creep along by the larboard bulwarks, until it had attained a favorable position, when it began cutting away with rapid strokes at the hamper. In this person she had no difficulty in recognizing the captain, who continued skillfully and rapidly dealing his blows, though often half submerged in water, until the confused mass began to give way, and rushing into the boiling vortex, was swept down to leeward. Other strokes from other axes were heard simultaneously, and a moment after the remaining masts, with their complicated yards and canvass, went off also into the wild maelstrom.

While some of the officers and men had been thus engaged in freeing the wreck, others had turned their attention to giving warning of their situation, in case assistance was near. Accordingly, the masts had scarcely been whirled away by the tumultous surge, when a bright jet of flame shot out from the starboard side of the ship; and the solemn boom of a signal gun went forth across the night. Discharge followed discharge, at regular periods, the crew listening eagerly, during the interval, to detect an answering sound, if any should be made. The profound darkness in which the vessel was enveloped was dissipated, for an instant, at each discharge; and the anxious faces of the crew, the desolate decks, and the vexed ocean, stood out, as if revealed by a lightning-flash; but the sudden gleam passed as quickly as it came, a darkness followed, apparently the deeper from the blaze of light; and horror, gloom, and dread fell again on all.

For a considerable time the signal-guns continued to be fired, but when the sailors found that no answer came, a recklessness seized them, the offspring of despair acting on brutal, animal natures. They first began to murmur in undertones; then to refuse doing duty; and finally they left the gun in a body, swearing that there was no use in further efforts. In vain the captain, rushing among them, endeavored to bring them back to discipline; they either sullenly slunk away or openly defied him; and he soon found that he could not even count on his mates, but would probably be murdered if he persisted in his endeavor. In a little while everything was in confusion. The crew, breaking into the spirit-room, speedily became intoxicated, and all semblance even of order was now lost.

While some of the seamen were still lingering in the spirit-room, a cry arose that the ship was breaking up; and immediately a rush was made for the boats by the intoxicated crew. Here again the captain attempted to interpose his authority; but he was knocked down, trampled on, and indeed came near losing his life. It was soon found that but one boat remained fit to use, the others having been stove. Into this the rebellious crew tumbled pell-mell, the mates following; and such was the hurry of the affrighted fugitives, that they forgot to secure either water or provisions.

The whole of these events, from the ceasing to fire signal-guns up to the present period, had followed each other in the quickest succession. Indeed they appeared to have consumed less time than we have taken to describe them.

The boat had been filled and manned, but just as it was pushing off, a voice cried—

“Captain Powell, you may come aboard, if you like”

“No,” was the prompt answer; “I’ll stick by the ship, you mutinous rascals.”

“As you please,” answered the speaker. “But there are the passengers. Ladies, will _you_ come aboard? Make up your minds quick.”

At this the captain rushed to where Kate was standing.

“Don’t go,” he cried, eagerly. “They’ll all be drowned. No boat can live five minutes.”

Kate hesitated. She was inexperienced, and knew not what to do. On the one hand it seemed inconceivable that so many persons would rush to what they ought to be aware would be certain destruction. On the other, the tone of absolute conviction in which the captain spoke, added to the high opinion she had formed of his seamanship and good judgment, inclined her to follow the advice.

“Quick!” cried the speaker from the boat, while other voices murmured impatiently.

She still hesitated, though her aunt pulled her arm, as if to go. Any further decision, however, was not permitted to her, for, the next instant, another voice from the boat cried, sharply—

“We can’t wait all night; push off, push off.”

Other voices, almost simultaneously, seconded this impatient cry, and the boat, on the instant, sunk away from the side of the ship, to be seen, the moment after, rising on a wave a good pistol-shot distant.

“Madmen!” muttered the captain between his teeth.

He had scarcely spoken, when a gigantic roller overtook the boat, still dimly visible as she floated broadside on, for in the haste and confusion of putting off all the men had not yet got out their oars, and consequently her head had not been pulled around.

A cry from the captain, and a stifled shriek from Kate burst forth, for the wave, rising like a moving hill, was now seen overtopping the boat for one brief moment, while a crowd of horror-struck countenances, whose looks Kate never forgot to her dying day, gazed up at it from below; and then, with a roar as of a hungry lion descending upon its prey, the enormous billow plunged headlong upon the miserable wretches. In that roar were mingled shrieks such as made the blood of the listeners curdle, the last wild cries, and the agonizing prayers of dying men. A whirlpool of foam was all that could be seen at first, after the boat had disappeared, out soon an oar floated to the surface, then a hat, then a struggling figure or two, and then faces upturned wildly in the death-struggle. But the next surge that swept over the spot carried them under again, or bore them out of sight into the gloom ahead.

A solemn silence prevailed for a while, broken at last by the captain, who said—

“God pity them!” And after a while, he added. “It is strange that men will be so foolhardy! But when presence of mind is lost, even the bravest become crazed.”

“Is there any hope even for us!” said Kate, after a pause. “Where are we?”

The captain looked down on her with admiration, at the firm tone in which she spoke.

“While there is life there is hope,” he answered. “If these old timbers last till morning, we’ll be able to see where we are; and, if near the coast, perhaps help may be had.”

“You are ignorant, then, exactly where we’ve struck?”

“Yes. My reckoning must have been false. I thought myself more than a day’s sail from the coast, and was thunderstruck when the look-out cried, in the middle of the night, that there were breakers ahead.”

“You were on deck?”

“I never go below, when near the end of a voyage, even if I think everything safe. As soon as he spoke, I leaped into the rigging, and there sure enough, I saw the white water flashing near at hand. I hauled the ship close on a wind at once, and began to crowd the canvass upon her.”

“It was the hurry and noise of making more sail that woke us.”

“It was of no use, however,” continued the captain, acknowledging the interruption by an affirmative nod. “Do all we could, we could just hold our own; and very soon the main-topsail, on which I had placed my chief reliance, split and went to leeward. She fell off instantly, striking with force enough, one would have thought, to shiver her into atoms. The masts went overboard, and you know the rest. Poor thing!” he added, mournfully, apostrophizing the vessel, “she’s carried me across the Atlantic, this is now the tenth time, but she’ll never do it again. Ah!” he continued, with natural emotion, “I little fancied we’d part so.”

“It was just as the sail went to ribbons,” said Kate, after a pause, for she respected the feelings of the master too much to proceed at once, “that I came on deck. You said that, when day broke, succor perhaps might be found. But we may be some distance from land; for, if I recollect—I was born in New Jersey—there are bars far out at sea.”

“You are right,” answered the captain. “The shore, too, is but a sand-bank, all along that coast; and one separated, by miles of shallow lagoons, from the fast land. If we’ve struck anywhere below Squam, we’ll not be likely to get aid, even if the high tide has carried us over the outer bars and landed us right on the shore. Few, or none of the beaches, if I’ve heard rightly, are inhabited. But let us hope we’re nigher the Hook, for, in that case, we must be close in, and there are farm-houses and fishing-cabins there, in sight of the sea.”

He did not add, that, even if this should prove to be the case, it was extremely problematical whether assistance could be rendered to them, while the waves ran so high. His secret opinion was, that the chance of escape was the very slightest, for he had no faith in the ship’s timbers holding together till the gale subsided, even if they did till morning. But, brave as Kate was, he shrank from acquainting one so young, and who had every prospect of a happy life before her, that a speedy death was almost inevitable. Besides, he noticed the extreme terror of her aunt, who could, indeed, scarcely hold to her support, so unnerved was she by the peril of their situation.

For, even during this conversation, both the speakers had occasionally been almost carried from their feet. Nearly every surge swept more or less over the ship. Twice the master had to interpose to save Kate from being prostrated; and still more frequently his services were required in behalf of her aunt. Occupying a position between the two women, he was fortunately able to afford instant aid to either. Meantime, the storm showed no symptoms of subsiding. The rain still fell in sheets, often stinging the bare hands of the victims like hail. The wind shrieked as if the sea had temporarily given up its wicked dead, who gibbered as they rushed past in the gloom.

The seas also seemed to run still higher. They came trooping on, fast and thick as hungry wolves; rushed by with a howl that fairly appalled the listeners; or leaped and snarled about the ship, as if eager for their prey, and grudging every moment of delay. Now and then a roller, more colossal than its predecessors, would sweep the whole length of the deck, making a breach completely over the vessel, whose every timber quivered as if she was about to part.

The darkness, all this time, was palpable. Often it seemed as if the low sky and the upheaved waves were about to commingle above the doomed ship; and always, in looking seaward, the boundary line between the two was lost in a chaos of obscurity scarcely a hundred feet off.