Where The Flag Floats

by Grant, D C

  “What happened?” I asked Fred, shaken by the wild movement of the ship and the sight of the launch sailing through the air.

  Fred’s face was white and drawn. “The fluke of the anchor caught the launch and it was lifted up and then thrown back down. It must have been smashed to pieces when it hit the water. I guess all in her have drowned.”

  “John?” I cried.

  “And a good many brave men too.”

  “What are we to do?”

  “I have no idea, Sam, but unless rescue comes soon, we’ll all be drowned like those in the launch.”

  4pm

  A voice called out through the gloom. “It’s every man for himself!”

  I could not see who had shouted it but I surmised that it had to be one of the officers.

  As Fred and I clung to the binnacle of the compass, trying not to lose our grip with each shudder and roll of the ship, a great wave struck and water again rushed across the deck. I struggled to hold on as the weight of the water threatened to pull me away, into the rough sea. Fred was having the same trouble.

  “The ship is breaking up!” Fred shouted above the tumult around us. “We have to get atop!”

  I looked up into the rigging where men now clung to spars and yardarms.

  “I can’t,” I declared.

  “You’ll have to, Sam; shortly she’ll be under, and us too if we stay here.”

  I looked around me. The deck was now almost empty of men and, as I again glanced up, I saw the commodore climbing the mizzenmast shrouds. I knew then that the situation was dire and that the deck was not a safe place to be, and yet still I hesitated as I struggled with my fear: stay and drown on deck, or attempt to reach the dubious safety of the rigging. Most of the masts were standing firm and, although some of the rigging had snapped, the masts seemed solid and unmoving. Men clutched them, and to the rigging, looking like bees clustered around a hive. I knew that up top was the only safe place to be for the time being.

  Fred was pulling at my tattered shirt. “This is no time for praying,” he said, misreading my hesitation. “We have to go now.”

  With quick, unsteady steps, Fred left my side and made for the base of the mizzenmast. He turned and reached out for me, his words almost whipped away in the cacophony of sound. “Come, Sam, quickly, before the next set comes through.”

  I trembled with fear, unwilling to leave the security of the binnacle, knowing that failing to move would mean I would eventually drown there, swept away when my strength failed me. Taking a deep breath and encouraged by Fred, I let go of the binnacle and staggered across the sloping deck, reaching Fred just before another wave hit. I clung to the mast.

  “To the shrouds,” Fred said, pointing to the starboard side of the ship. I was amazed that the guns still remained there, along with most of the stores, but from my position I could see the ropes starting to fray. Soon those heavy guns and goods would be swept across the sloping deck, taking me and Fred with them. We would have to be quick.

  “You go first,” Fred said, giving me a push that I had no time to resist. I scrambled up the sloping deck towards the bulwarks, catching hold of ropes that secured the guns and pulling myself on top of them. My knees bled – I had skinned them getting up the deck – but I was momentarily safe.

  “Go on, up the shrouds. I’ll be behind you.” Somehow, Fred had joined me.

  By now I was almost beyond endurance and it was only with a great deal of determination that I hauled myself onto the shrouds, clinging as the ship shivered and shook in the water, making the shrouds sway and vibrate. As I brought my foot up, the rope moved beneath me and I found myself stepping into air. Below me, Fred grabbed my foot and guided it onto the rope. I climbed up slowly, my heart hammering in my chest.

  Moving up the shrouds took us higher but it did not take us away from the raging sea, for the ship was leant far over the water; when I looked down all I could see below me was the grimy grey of the waves, the white of the caps and the broken bits of the ship being tossed backwards and forwards.

  “Higher!” Fred yelled from below me, but the truth was that I was frozen in place, unable to go further. I tried to speak but my jaw was clenched so tight that I could not get the words out. “Come on, move!” He tugged at my fingers wrapped tightly around the rope.

  At that moment there was a loud crack from above me followed by a chorus of screams. I gripped the shrouds tighter as a broken yardarm fell from the top, carrying with it several men. The yardarm hit the water with a great splash, and some of the men were instantly knocked from it. I watched in horror as they were swept away. One man still clung to the wood: it was Private Gardner. He clutched at the yardarm as it was fetched away from the ship, bouncing in the rough waves, and I prayed that he would be able to maintain his hold and be carried to safety … but the savage sea plucked him from his salvation and he disappeared beneath the waves.

  I stifled a cry. He had caused me pain and yet I wished no ill of him. He had to have been only ten years older than me and his life had been unfairly cut short.

  “There’s no time for misery,” Fred said into my ear, for he had now come alongside me. “Keep moving higher.”

  I looked up. Ahead of me was the mizzenmast top in which many men already sheltered. Above them were still more seamen, holding fast to whatever they could. There was not much room left in that precarious safety.

  “Help will come soon,” Fred said. “The pinnace and the cutter have got away. They’re making for the signal station. Help will come soon if we just hold on.”

  I could only believe him for I had nothing else on which to pin my hope. Reluctantly I moved forward, reaching for the handholds as if in a dream, my mind as frozen as my limbs. Reaching just under the shrouds, I could go no further. Fred must have known I had come to end of my endurance for then he straddled my body, pinning me to the shrouds so that I would not fall.

  “There’s the steamer,” he said. “Just to the south of us – can she not see we are floundering?”

  I did not have the strength to lift my head. I stared down to the water beneath me, filled with broken bits of wood and metal and loose clothing. At least, I thought it was clothing, until one bundle turned and I looked into the sightless eyes of the cook. I think I screamed but my shriek was snatched away by the wind.

  “Hush, now,” Fred said as he patted my shoulder. “Help will come.”

  I could not consider this. My world had been reduced to hell. The sea thundered beneath me, the water slamming against the hull which shuddered and creaked and groaned as it was torn apart. The wind howled in the rigging while the masts swayed, pulling the tangled web of lines first slack and then taut as they shifted.

  Then came a yell from the mainmast, and a stay suddenly snapped with a sound like a gunshot. The bight of the rope caught a man around the neck and he was snatched from the rigging, his yell cut short as the rope tightened. He sagged like a rag doll, dead, his neck broken. I could not take my eyes off him as he swung at the end of the rope. I knew his face but not his name. I loosened my grip then, prepared to fall rather than endure this torture.

  “The steamer!” a seaman shouted. “The steamer is turning. She’s coming back. We’re saved!”

  “Hold on, Sam, hold on,” Fred begged. “We’ll soon be saved.”

  6pm

  Like the rest of the men, I watched as the steamer slowly made its way back towards the harbour.

  “Why does it not come straight for us?” I asked Fred.

  “The middle banks are between us and her. She will have to return almost to the harbour entrance to take the safe passage out to us.”

  I hung on the shrouds, held there more by Fred’s body than by my own efforts. The strength I had built up over the past few days was seeping away and often I felt like giving up but when I sagged as if to fall, Fred uttered words of encouragement in my ear.

  The tide had turned now and the water was steadily rising, beginning to cover the already swamped deck. The w
aves had increased their fury and the wind had risen while ropes, blocks and the tattered sails flailed about, knocking men from their precarious positions.

  “Here she comes!” Fred said. “Here’s the steamer. And she’s towing the cutter and pinnace!”

  I peered through the sea spray at the approaching ship as she battled strongly through the waves, wondering how she could come alongside for the sea was rough and there was such debris in the water. Behind her, I could just make out the dark shapes of the cutter and pinnace, men in the boats at the oars, not as many as previously. I guessed that some had been taken off somewhere, probably into the steamer. I gazed at her with longing. How I desired to be free of the cold, wet chaos that surrounded me and be inside the belly of that sturdy ship.

  The steamer came upwind of us, still towing the boats; then the boats were let go while the men pulled furiously at the oars so that the two smaller craft drifted past the starboard bow.

  The commodore was above me in the tops and he shouted, “Men on the bowsprit and jib-boom, jump for the boats!”

  The men at the bow hesitated as the boats floated past and a few leapt into the water, floundering as they swept away towards the boats. The men in the cutter picked up eight men before it had been carried too far away for a safe attempt to be made. It had passed close enough for me to see Lieutenant Hill at the tiller. I briefly wondered where Lieutenant Amphlett was and the watch he still had his in possession, but I forgot them both as I looked down at the deck beneath me where the rest of the guns and stores came loose and crashed about as the ship wallowed. The deck was now completely under water and the thrusts of seawater reached as far as the lower yards. The sea below me was full of broken parts of the ship and it was too dangerous to drop into the water – to do so would mean getting tangled in the wreckage.

  “The boats are coming back!” Fred cried. “Can you get to the bow?”

  I shook my head. I could only get to the bow by swinging from the rigging and I was too cold and terrified to do anything other than remain where I was, even if it meant death.

  The survivors who made it to the boats were delivered to the steamer before the boats made their way back to the doomed ship. The sun was low in the sky and the fading light was going to make further rescue difficult. Men jumped into the sea, only their heads visible, taking a chance that they would be seen in the rollicking water. Some made it but so many were lost to sight, unseen by their would-be rescuers.

  “Everyone is to say their prayers,” the commodore shouted above the roar of the wind and waves. “And to look out for themselves. I shall be the last. The Lord have mercy on us all.”

  “Amen,” I heard Fred whisper beside me.

  I was beyond fear now. I was frozen cold, in pain and completely terrified. I could not swim and once in the water, I would have no chance.

  The boats drifted past once again and many men jumped into the sea, knowing it was their last chance. I did not. Could not. Fred remained with me even though I urged him to go.

  “I’ll not leave you,” was all he said.

  The light was fading fast and the steamer stood some way off with blue lights lit, while the cutter and pinnace continued to battle through the waves, plucking men from the water where they could. As the darkness deepened, the steamer blew her whistle and a bell rang out so that those in the small boats could make out her position.

  “It won’t be long now until they go,” Fred said.

  “Who goes?”

  “The masts – they’ll not stand much more of this.”

  I closed my eyes and tightened my grip, knowing it would not prevent the inevitable. It would not be long before I fell into the sea and drowned.

  8pm

  The severe action of the sea was tearing the ship apart. Down below on the deck, the decking split and the boards were carried off into the brine. The rigging sagged as lines snapped and sails flapped in the wind, straining the masts and yards. The mast on which we clung shuddered and cracked as each wave struck. A line snapped close by and the end of it whipped past me, slicing the air an inch from my face. Above the roar of the sea, the screeching of the tortured wood could be heard. It was totally dark now and all that could be seen of the steamer were the blue lights that denoted her position.

  When the singing started, I thought it was angels come for my soul, but then I realised that it was the men on the foremast. It took some time to recognise the song as I could not hear it clearly, but the words floated to me and I realised that it was the one I had heard the previous Sunday morning when I had been locked down below: Abide with me. Though I had been in misery then, it was nothing compared to the despair I now experienced. Some of the men near to me joined in the singing and I could clearly make out the voice of Billy who had sung his shanty a few nights before.

  Cutting through the singing was the creaking death throes of the masts as they swayed alarmingly. The main mast went first. It split with a sound like thunder and the singing changed to screams as the men holding on to it were flung into the sea. The rumble as the mast fell made the ship quiver on the shoal that held her fast. The foremast went next, the men shouting and crying out as they fell.

  “Hold on, lad,” Fred cried as the mizzenmast began to topple.

  My scream was lost in the noise as the wood cracked and popped while the sea rushed up toward us. I had only one chance to take a lungful of air before I was plunged into the cold water that immediately dragged me under and over. The water around me was full of rope, and wood, and debris and I was struck on the head by I knew not what. The water pushed me against the side of the ship and then equally forcefully dragged me away again. I reached out and a hand grabbed mine. I looked into Fred’s eyes and he looked as frantic as I felt, for I was running out of air. Fred struck out for the surface but something tugged me the other way. I looked down and in the dim light, could see a rope curled tightly around my wrist. Fred must have seen it too for he was alongside me and he cut at the rope. His quick strokes cut not only the rope but my flesh as well but I did not feel the pain. Within a few seconds, the rope had parted and Fred struck out for the surface, pulling me with him.

  I felt an amazing sense of peace. My lungs were burning, craving air and yet there was a release of sorts as I floated within the embrace of the sea. I was bone tired, aching, unable to move my limbs and no longer cared whether I lived or died.

  I felt strong arms around me. Fred’s face was in front of mine and, just as I thought I was going to pass out, we surfaced. The sea was wild around us, the ship dangerously close and the night dark and savage.

  “Breathe, damn you,” Fred shouted.

  I vomited water and took in air, then coughed so hard I thought I had consumption. The surface was no better than the depths, for here floated wood, rope, sails, clothing and dead bodies. The water was pushing us this way and that and I could not see where the steamer was, or the shore. It did not matter that Fred had brought me to the surface – it was certain that we would drown anyway.

  A piece of broken deck swirled past us and Fred grabbed it, putting his weight on it so the edge dipped under water. “Hold on to this!” he cried.

  My arms were too weak; I was done. I just wanted to slip back into the embrace of the sea. I heard him swearing as he pushed me onto the wood for I offered no help. When my head and chest rested on the bobbing planks, he took his weight off the wood and I remained on it as it floated on the restless sea.

  “I’ll stay with you, Sam, until the boats pick us up.”

  There was a roar as a wave descended on us. I gripped the edge of the planking as I felt the water bearing down on me. I heard Fred curse and he lost his grip of the wood on which I lay and then his face disappeared as the water washed over me. I almost lost my grip but my fingers had frozen into a cramp which pained me, yet I could not release.

  “Sam!” I heard Fred shout as I was thrust away. “Sam!” The voice was fainter, whipped away by the wind. I heard my name called once more before
the sound of the wind and waves smothered his voice.

  I laid my head on the sodden wood and closed my eyes. I wanted to fall asleep, never to wake until I was in heaven with my mother. I clung to the wood, tossed around on the angry sea, waiting to be taken by the water, beyond caring, beyond hope.

  Finally blackness did come.

  I did not care any longer.

  Night

  I have so few memories of that night. I can recall being thrown about by the waves, the wind chilling my exposed skin and the water in my mouth, nose and eyes. I wanted to let go of the decking and sink to the welcoming depths but I could not disengage my cramped and frozen fingers. A bright moon shone down on me and I thought I heard voices, but when I lifted my head there was no one there. It was an illusion, nothing more.

  I closed my eyes and let the blackness carry me away.

  Dawn came and still I was tossed around in the sea. My face was swollen, my eyes forced shut. I could not see where I was or where the ship was, if she still existed at all. Seawater sloshed uncomfortably in my stomach and my lips blistered in the sun but I could not stop my torture. I lay my head on the wood and waited for death to come. It did not. Would not.

  The sun was high in the sky when I heard the breakers. I tried to lift my head but I didn’t have the strength. I thought there was land ahead, people to save me; I tried to call out but my tongue was thick and swollen in my mouth. The decking on which I lay was churned about just as much as when I first drifted away, and for a while I imagined that I was being carried back to ship, to be smothered by the debris and bodies that floated there.

  The crash of the breaking waves grew louder still and I struggled to stay with the decking as it dipped and slewed around. I was suddenly thrown from it, my hands ripped from the sides so forcefully that the skin was torn from my hands. I was pushed downwards, deep underwater, and I had no will or ability to resist it. I gulped in water as I sank, and then just as suddenly I was in open air again, drawing breath before I was thrust under once more, my limbs flailing as I tumbled over and under, not knowing which was up or down, and not particularly caring either way.