The G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  “What is it, uncle?”

  “I saw the flash of a gun. Ah! there it is again. There is a ship ashore on the Middle Sunk.” Jack gazed in the direction in which his uncle was pointing. In a minute there was another flash.

  “It is all over with her,” Ben Tripper said solemnly. “The strongest ship that ever was built could not hold together long on that sand with such a sea on as there will be there now.”

  “Cannot we do something?”

  Tripper was silent for half a minute. “What do you think, Tom? We might get there through the swashway. There is plenty of water for us, and we could lay our course there. It is a risky business, you know, and we may not be able to get near her when we get there; but that we cannot tell till we see how she is fixed. Still, if we could get there before she goes to pieces we might perhaps save some of them.”

  “I don’t mind, Ben, if you don’t,” the other said. “I have neither wife nor child, and if you like to take the risk, I am ready.”

  Ben Tripper looked at Jack. “I would not mind if it wasn’t for the boy,” he said.

  “Don’t mind me, uncle,” Jack burst out. “I would not have you hang back because of me, not for anything in the world. Do try it, uncle. It would be awful to think of afterwards, when we hear of her being lost with all hands, that we might have saved some of them perhaps if we had tried.”

  Ben still hesitated, when another bright flash was seen. It was an appeal for aid he could not resist. “Put down the helm, Tom,” he said. “Now, Jack, help me to rouse in the sheet. That will do. Now then for a pull on the jib-sheet. Now we will put the last reef in the foresail and hoist it, slack the brail and haul down the main-tack a bit. We must keep good way on her crossing the tide.” Now that they were nearly close-hauled instead of running before the wind, Jack recognized much more strongly than before how heavy was the sea and how great the force of the wind. Lively as the boat was, great masses of water poured over her bow and swept aft as each wave struck her. Her lee bulwarks were completely buried.

  “Give me the helm, Tom,” Tripper said; “and get those hatchways up and cover the well, and lash the tarpaulin over it. It is bad enough here, it will be worse when we get into broken water near the wreck.” Most of the bawleys are provided with hatches for closing the long narrow place known as the ‘well,’ but it is only under quite exceptional circumstances that they are ever used. Jack and the man got them up and managed to fit them in their places, but getting the tarpaulin over them was beyond their power.

  “I will throw her up into the wind,” Ben said. “Haul on the weather fore-sheet as I do, and belay it with the foot of the sail just to windward of the mast. Now rouse in the main-sheet. That is right.”

  Quitting the tiller as the boat lay-to to the wind, Ben lent his aid to the other two, and in three or four minutes the tarpaulin was securely lashed over the hatches, and the boat completely battened down.

  “Now, Jack, you had best lash yourself to something or you will be swept overboard; we shall have it a lot worse than this presently. Now, Tom, before we get well away again get the last reef in the mainsail, then we can haul the tack down taut again; the sail will stand much better so, and we shall want to keep her all to windward if she is to go through the swashway.”

  When all was ready the fore weather-sheet was let go, and the lee-sheet hauled taut. The main-sheet was slacked off a little and the Bessy proceeded on her way. It was a terrible half-hour; fortunately the dense heavy clouds had broken a little, and it was lighter than it had been, but this only rendered the danger more distinct. Once in the swashway, which is the name given to a narrow channel between the sands, the waves were less high. But on either hand they were breaking wildly, for there were still but four or five feet of water over the sands. The sea was nearly abeam now, and several times Jack almost held his breath as the waves lifted the Bessybodily to leeward and threatened to cast her into the breaking waters but a few fathoms away. But the skipper knew his boat well and humoured her through the waves, taking advantage of every squall to eat up a little to windward, but always keeping her sails full and plenty of way on her. At last they were through the swashway; and though the sea was again heavier, and the waves frequently swept over the decks, Jack gave a sigh of relief. They could make out the hull of the vessel now looming up black over the white surf that surrounded it. She had ceased firing, either from the powder being wetted or her guns disabled.

  “Which way had we better get at her, Tom?” Ben Tripper asked. “She is pretty near on the top of the sand.”

  “The only way we have a chance of helping her is by laying-to, or anchoring on the edge of the sand to leeward of her. They may be able to drift a line down to us. I do not see any other way. Our anchors wouldn’t hold to windward of her.”

  “No; I suppose that is the best way, Tom. We must make the best allowance we can for the wind and the set of tide, otherwise they will never drift a line down to us. She won’t hold together long. Her stern is gone as far as the mizzen, so we must be quick about it.”

  The wreck was evidently a sailing vessel. Her masts were all gone, her bulwarks carried away, and she lay far heeled over. A group of people could be seen huddled up in the bow as they neared her. Tom Hoskins and Jack had for the last ten minutes been busy getting the spare anchor up on deck and fastening to it the wrap of the trawl-net, which was by far the strongest rope they had on board.

  “What water is there on the sand, Ben?”

  “Six or seven feet on the edge, but less further on. We do not draw over five feet, so we will keep on till we touch. The moment we do so let the two anchors go. Wind and tide will take her off again quick enough. Pay out ten or twelve fathoms of chain, and directly she holds up drop the lead-line overboard to see if she drags; if she does, give her some more rope and chain.”

  The anchors were both got overboard and in readiness to let go at a moment’s notice, the instant the Bessy took ground.

  The foresail was lowered and the mainsail partly brailed up, so that she had only way on her sufficient to stem the tide. As they entered the broken water Jack was obliged to take a step back and hold on to the mast. Her motion had before been violent, but to a certain extent regular; now she was tossed in all directions so sharply and violently that he expected every moment that the mast would go. Tom looked round at Ben. The latter pointed to the sail and waved his hand. Tom understood him, and going to the mast loosened the brail a little to give her more sail, for the waves completely knocked the way out of her. When she forged ahead again, Tom returned to his post.

  Jack held his breath every time the boat pitched, but she kept on without touching until within some eighty yards of the wreck; then as she pitched forward down a wave there was a shock that nearly threw Jack off his feet, prepared for it though he was. In a moment he steadied himself, and crept forward and cut the lashing of the hawser just as Tom severed that of the chain. The latter rattled out for a moment. There was another shock, but less violent than the first, and then the renewed rattle of the chain showed that she was drifting astern. Ben now left the tiller and sprang forward. The jib was run in by the traveller and got down, the foresail had been cast off and had run down the forestay the moment she struck, and the three now set to work to lower the mainsail.

  “She is dragging,” Tom said, examining the lead-line, “but not fast.”

  “Give her another five or six fathoms of chain,” Ben said, himself attending to the veering out of the hawser.

  This done they again watched the lead-line. It hung straight down by the side of the vessel.

  “They have got her!” Ben said. “Now then for the ship.”

  For the first time since they entered the broken water they had leisure to look about them. Those on board the ship had lost no time, and had already launched a light spar with a line tied to it into the water.

  “It will miss us,” Ben said, after watching the spar for a minute. “You see, I allowed for wind and tide, and the wind
does not affect the spar, and the tide will sweep it down thirty or forty yards on our port bow. “

  It turned out so. Those on board payed out the line until the spar floated abreast of the smack, but at a distance of some thirty yards away.

  “What is to be done?” Ben asked. “If we were to try to get up sail again we should drift away so far to leeward we should never be able to beat back.”

  “Look here,” Jack said; “if you signal to them to veer out some more rope I could soon do it. I could not swim across the tide now, but if it were twenty fathom further astern I could manage it.”

  “You could never swim in that sea, Jack.”

  “Well, I could try, uncle. Of course you would fasten a line round me, and if I cannot get there you will haul me in again. There cannot be any danger about that.”

  So saying Jack at once proceeded to throw off his oil-skins and sea-boots, while Ben went to the bow of the boat and waved to those on the wreck to slack out more line. They soon understood him, and the spar was presently floating twenty yards further astern. Jack had by this time stripped. A strong line was now fastened round his body under his arms, and going up to the bow of the boat, so as to give himself as long a distance as possible to drift, he prepared for the swim.

  CHAPTER V

  THE RESCUE

  Jack was a good swimmer, but he had never swum in a sea like this.

  “If I raise my arms, uncle, pull in at once. If I see I cannot reach the spar I sha’n’t exhaust myself by going on, but shall come back and take a fresh start. Let me have plenty of rope.”

  “All right, Jack! we won’t check you.”

  Jack took a header, and swimming hard under water came up some distance from the boat.

  “He will do it,” Tom shouted in Ben’s ear. “He is nigh half-way between this and the rope already.”

  It was, however, a more difficult task than it looked. Had the water been smooth it would have been easy for Jack to swim across the tide to the spar before he was swept below it, but he found at once that it was impossible to swim fast, so buffeted and tossed was he by the sea, while he was almost smothered by the spray carried by the wind to the top of the waves. He trod water for a moment with his back to the wind, took a deep breath, and then dived again. When he came up he was delighted to see that he was as near as possible in the line of the spar, which was towing but a few yards from him. He ceased swimming, and a moment later the tide swept him down upon it.

  He had before starting fastened a piece of lashing three feet long to the loop round his chest, and the moment he reached the spar he lashed this firmly round the rope, and passing one arm round the spar lifted the other above his head. In a moment he felt the strain of the rope round his chest, and this soon tightened above the water. But Jack felt that the strain of pulling not only him but the spar through the water might be too much for it, and rather than run the risk he again waved his hand, and as soon as the line slacked he fastened it to the rope from the wreck, loosened the hitches round the spar and allowed the latter to float away. He was half drowned by the time he reached the side of the bawley, for he had been dragged in the teeth of the wind and tide, and each wave had swept clean over his head.

  At first those on board pulled but slowly, in order to enable him to swim over the top of the waves. But the force of the spray in his face was so great that he could not breathe, and he waved to them that they must draw him in at once. As soon as they understood him they pulled in the rope with a will, and more under than above the water he was brought to the side of the smack and lifted on board, the wind bringing down the sound of a cheer from those on board the wreck as he was got out of the water. Ben undid the line round his body, carried him downstairs, wrapped a couple of blankets round him and laid him down on the lockers, and then ran upstairs to assist Tom, who had carried the line forward and was already hauling it in.

  “That is right, Tom. They have got a good strong hawser on it, I see, and there is a light line coming with it to carry the slings.”

  As soon as the end of the hawser came on board it was fastened to the mast. The line by which it had been hauled in was unfastened and tied to that looped round the hawser, and payed out as those on the deck hauled on it. A minute later two sailors got over the bulwarks, and a woman was lifted over to them and placed in the strong sling beneath the hawser. A lashing was put round her, and then they waved their hands and the fishermen hauled on the line. In two minutes the woman was on the deck of the smack; the lashing was unfastened and knotted on to the sling ready for the next passenger, then at Ben’s signal that all was ready those on board the wreck hauled the sling back again.

  Jack remained between the blankets for a minute or two. He had not lost consciousness; and as soon as his breath came he jumped up, gave himself a rub with the blanket, slipped into some dry clothes, and was on deck just as the woman arrived. She was all but insensible, and directly the sling had started on its return journey Ben carried her on into the fo’castle.

  “Jack! set to work and make a lot of cocoa. There are no spirits on board; but cocoa is better, after all. Put the other kettle on and chuck plenty of wood upon the fire, and as soon as the one that is boiling now is empty, fill that up again. I should say there are twenty or thirty of them, and a pint apiece will not be too much. Take a drink yourself, lad, as soon as you have made it. You want it as much as they do.”

  Fast the shipwrecked people came along the line. There was not a moment to lose, for the wreck was breaking up fast, and every sea brought floating timbers past the bawley.

  “It is a good job now, Tom, that we anchored where we did, instead of in the direct line of the tide, for one of those timbers would stave a hole in her bow as if she were a bandbox.”

  “Aye, that it would, Ben. I thought we had made rather a mess of it at first; but it is well that, as you say, we ain’t in the line of the drift.”

  Nineteen persons were brought on board—the captain being the last to come along the line. The first four were women, or rather, the first two were women; the third a girl of ten years old, and the fourth a woman. Then came a middle-aged man, evidently a passenger. Then came ten sailors, a steward, two mates, and the captain.

  “Is that all?” Ben asked as the captain stepped from the slings.

  “I am the last,” the captain said. “Thank God all are saved who were left on board when you came in sight. We all owe our lives to you and your men. I had little hope that one of us would live to see the night when we made you out coming towards us. But there is no time to talk. The ship cannot hold together many minutes longer, and when she breaks up in earnest some of the timbers will be sure to come this way.”

  “I have got the buoy with a length of rope on the chain ready to slip,” Ben said, “and a spar lashed to the hawser. Now, Tom, let the chain out; I will jump below and knock out the shackle. Now, captain, if one or two of your men will lend us a hand to get up some canvas, we shall be out of it all the sooner. And please get them all except the women out of the cabin, and put them aft. We want her head well up for running before this sea.”

  “Now, lads, tumble out and lend a hand,” the captain said. “I see you have got some cocoa here. Well, all who have had a mug come out at once, and let the others get aft as soon as they have had their share. The ladies are all right, I hope?”

  “Quite right, captain,” one of the men answered, “and begin to feel warm already; which is natural enough, for this cabin is like an oven after the deck of the Petrel.”

  “Now, skipper, do you give the orders,” the captain said as Ben took the tiller.

  “Run up the foresail and haul in the starboard-sheet. That will bring her head round.”

  “Now let go the cable and hawser.” There wasa sharp rattle of chains, and the cry “All free!”

  “Slack off that weather-sheet and haul down on the lee-sheet,” was Tripper’s next order. “Not too much. Have you got the jib hooked on to the traveller? Out with it, then. Now,
up with her. Now man the throat and peak halliards. Up with her. Slack out the main-sheet well, and boom the sail out with an oar. Trice the main-tack up as far as it will go.”

  The Bessy was now running almost before the wind. Every moment the great waves loomed up high behind her stern, and looked as if they would dash down upon her deck, but she slipped easily away. The clouds had broken up much now, but the wind had in no way abated. A gleam or two of sunlight made its way through the rifts of the clouds, and threw light green patches upon the gray and angry sea.

  “She is a splendid sea-boat this of yours,” the captain said. “I would hardly have believed such a small craft would have made such good weather in such a sea.”

  “There are few boats will beat a bawley,” Ben said. “Well handled, they will live through pretty near anything.”

  “I can quite believe that. Which of you was it who sprang overboard to get our line?”

  “It was not either of us,” Ben said. “Neither Tom nor I can swim a stroke. It was my nephew Jack—that lad who has just come out of the fo’castle.”

  “It was a gallant action,” the captain said. “I should have thought it well-nigh impossible to swim in such broken water. I was astonished when I saw him leap overboard.”

  “He saw that the spar had drifted with the tide to windward of you and there was no other way of getting at it.”

  “I was in hopes of seeing you throw the lead-line over our line. You might have hauled it in that way.”

  “So we might,” Ben agreed, “if we had thought of it, though I doubt whether we could have cast it so far. Still we ought to have tried. That was a stupid trick, to be sure. I allow I should have thought of it any other time; but we had had such a dusting in getting up to you that our brains must have gone wool-gathering.”

  “One cannot think of everything,” the captain said. “You had your hands full as it was. Is there anything else I can do at present? If not, I will just go below for a minute and see how my wife and the passengers are getting on, and have a cup of that cocoa, if there is any left.”