by Howard Pyle
So every one lay on his oars and looked back; just then the sun shone out, pale and watery. Tom could see the vessel very easily from where he lay. The fore-top sail was still standing, and also half of the main-top sail. The yards on the mizzen were swinging about with the braces loose, and her bulwarks were as sound as when she left the docks. Her stern was low in the water, and her bow was standing so high that her red copper bottom could be plainly seen.
Soon they ran down into the trough of a sea, and the Nancy Hazlewood was hidden from sight; when they came up again, she had changed her position. They could not see the after-part of the vessel, though it might have been hidden by a sea, and not under water. By the pitch of her masts the ship seemed to be sitting at an angle of about forty-five degrees. Just then another sea came, and again they ran down in the trough of it; — when they came up the Nancy Hazlewood was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER IX.
FOR A TIME no one in the cutter moved or said a word. I remember that the boatswain chewed at his quid of tobacco as though he was starving; but he did not speak a word.
It was Jack Baldwin’s voice that broke the silence.
“The old ship’s gone, boys,” roared he. “We can’t do her any good, so drop her, and mind what you’re about, or you’ll be with her before you know it.” And he was right, for the cutter was heavily loaded, there being nineteen aboard of her — the right number of her crew was twelve.
I am bound to say, that I believe if any one of the crew of the Nancy Hazlewood had been seen clinging to the loose gear that was floating about the place where the ship foundered they would have been taken into the cutter; but no one was seen, nor was it likely that a man could keep afloat for any length of time, for the spray was flying.
Such was the loss of the good ship Nancy Hazlewood, the story of which I have tried to tell you just as it happened, adding nothing and keeping nothing back that might give you a clear idea of how she foundered on that Thursday, the 26th of April, 1813.
It was judged that she went down in latitude 27° North, by longitude 77° West, and about one hundred or one hundred and ten miles north of the Little Bahama Banks.
The cutter was a fine, light boat, about twenty-five feet in length, by six feet in breadth at the widest part — a small craft to carry nineteen souls one hundred miles through a stormy sea.
Ten minutes after the Nancy Hazlewood foundered the crew of the cutter were pulling away to the southward. After a little while Tom looked up and saw that Jack Baldwin was gazing very earnestly at him.
“Tom,” said he, suddenly, “if I loose the lashings on your arms and legs, will you promise to be quiet, and do your fair share of work?”
Tom’s cheeks were still wet, and he was shaken every now and then by a sob. I hope that you who read this will not think him overly womanish, but will give a thought as to how broken he was with fatigue, and with the hardships through which he had passed. I can say that none of the crew of the cutter seemed to think lightly of him on account of it, and even Jack Baldwin’s voice was kind as he spoke.
I have always found that when men are strongly moved they are apt to be very unreasonable. So it was with Tom, for he felt very bitterly toward Jack at that moment, as though Jack were to blame for the trouble that had fallen upon them. However, nothing could be gained by staying tied as he was, so he presently said:
“You may untie me, if you like. The Lord knows that I don’t care much for my life just now, but there’s no use letting all these poor fellows drown like the rest.”
“Is that all the thanks I get for saving your life?” said Jack Baldwin. “Never mind; you’ll give me more thanks when your feet are safe on dry land. Untie him, bo’sen, for he’ll have to take his hand at the oars, along with the rest.”
The first thing that was done was to divide the boat’s crew into parties, each of which were to row by spells. Two of the men not rowing were to keep a lookout ahead, in case any vessel might heave in sight. The rest were to bail out the boat, for it was needful to keep bailing nearly all the time. In most cases it might have been safer to have tried to ride out the storm, and to have run the chance of being picked up by some passing vessel; but there were certain things to be considered in the case of those in the cutter. Their provisions and water were none too plenty, and there was little chance of being picked up, as so few vessels were sailing in those waters, excepting in fleets and under convoy.
A landsman would have been puzzled to know how a boat as small as the cutter could ever hope to live in a sea such as that was. It was, indeed, no small matter to run her safely, and Jack, who was at the tiller, had to keep his weather eye lifting, I can tell you.
One of the crew kept a constant lookout over the stern, to see when a wave with a crest was coming, and to warn the man at the tiller of it, for these were the seas that brought danger with them. At one time all hands would back water, so as to let such a one break in front of them. At another time they would pull all, so as to get out of the way until the force of the broken sea was spent. Sometimes one of these following seas would fling the cutter high aloft on its crest, carrying it along like an eggshell for a little distance, and giving them a dash as it went by that would set them all bailing for dear life.
Of course, it was needful to let each sea meet them fairly astern, for if the boat should broach too, she would be swamped or capsized as quick as a wink. As soon as one sea would pass them another would come. Perhaps it would be a cross sea, which, of course, was the kind that they dreaded the most of all. Sometimes the helm of the cutter could not bring her around quickly enough, or, maybe, just then her rudder would be clear of the water. Then Jack Baldwin would sing out in his mighty voice:
“Give way starboard! Back port!” or “Give way port! back starboard!”
The next moment, perhaps, another green sea would be seen rushing at them, and Jack would shout:
“Give way together!”
Then there would be a thunder and a roar behind them, and the seething of white foam would hiss alongside of the gunwale, and as it rolled past Jack’s voice would ring out:
“Back, back all!”
There were times when all four of these orders would be given inside the space of a minute. This is what they went through for nearly two days, so it may perhaps give you a notion of what they had to do to keep the boat alive for that time, and what a sea it was to keep her alive in.
They had in the way of provisions about seventy-five pounds of hard-tack and two small breakers of water. They presently found that the water in one of the breakers was mixed with salt, so they heaved it overboard at once to make more room, as they were very much crowded.
So the afternoon wore along, and at last evening began to settle down over them.
Any one but a seaman might have wondered how the boat was to be kept afloat at night, when it was only by such unending care that she was kept alive in the daytime. But as darkness settled the crest of each wave glimmered with a pale phosphorescence that not only showed its position, but the course in which it was traveling. Nevertheless, it was an awful night, one of the most awful that Tom Granger has ever passed through. Above the ceaseless din and thunder of the roaring water Jack Baldwin’s voice could be heard singing out his orders to the oarsmen, and now and then to the others:
“Bail her out smartly, lads! Keep her dry! Who’s bailing there? Lively now!”
Tom had turned to, and was bailing a great part of the time. He had been pulling an oar in the afternoon, for every one had to take his turn; and so, what with weariness and cold and want of sleep, he was nearly done up. He managed to joke and laugh with the men, as though all that they were passing through was nothing to speak of; but for all that he would find himself half asleep at times, though he was still dipping out the water. When in this state he always had one thing before his eyeballs; it was a ship, her stern under water and her bows standing so high that she showed her copper bottom. Her maintop-gallant-mast was gone, and her fore-s
ail was shaking in the wind — it was the Nancy Hazlewood as he had last seen her.
It was the same all that night; whenever he would shut his eyes, even if it were only for a moment, he would see that sinking ship and the troubled waters around her.
About four o’clock in the morning Jack gave up the tiller to Tom Granger. Tom felt very sorry for him, for he seemed harassed and worn. He himself was pretty well tired out, as I have said, for he had only had about two hours sleep for over three days. Nevertheless, he took the tiller, for Jack seemed more done up than he. Tom held the tiller for the rest of that day, and for most of the next night.
Early in the day it was found that the water had given out, so they heaved that breaker overboard also. There was a great mistake somewhere in the matter of this water. Either the allowance for each man was wrong, or there was not as much in the breaker as had been supposed. They had counted on its lasting eighteen hours longer than it did, and the lack of it proved to be one of the greatest causes of their suffering.
The next morning the sun shone out, though the weather was squally, and the sea as heavy as ever. By that time they were suffering more from thirst than from anything else. Tom pitied the poor men from the bottom of his heart. The boatswain, who sat nearest him, kept clearing his throat, as though he could get rid of the dryness and the pain in that way.
As the sharpness of their thirst increased, the men showed that there was not the friendly feeling between them that there had been at first. They were surly, would speak sharply to one another, and were sullen when spoken to by Jack or Tom. About nine o’clock one of the men on the lookout sang out all of a sudden:
“Land over the port bow!”
Jack had the tiller again at this time, and it was all that Tom could do to keep the men from standing up in the boat. If they had done so, they would have capsized her, in all likelihood. About a quarter of an hour afterward they were near enough to hear the surf thundering on the beach. Some of the men were for landing off-hand, and both Jack and Tom found it hard work to keep these fellows in order.
Tom thought that the land in front of them was most likely one of the smaller islands at the northern part of the Bahama group. A line of white sand-hills, topped by a growth of coarse grass and low scrub bushes, could be seen a little distance inland. The shore stretched northerly and southerly, and looking from the seaward, they could see no break in it.
Jack put the boat’s head to the southward, so as to keep the seas pretty well to the stern, his idea being to run along the coast line until he could either turn the end of the island, or find some creek or inlet where there would be a fit place to beach the cutter.
There was a current setting up the beach, and it was very laborious work pulling against it, so, as time went on, the men grumbled louder and louder, saying that they might just as well land where they were, and that there was no use breaking their hearts with rowing, while they might beach the boat, with only a ducking at the worst.
Tom was more sorry for the men, than angry at them, for any one could see how parched they were with thirst, and how nearly worn out.
At last a sailor named Hitch flung down his oar, and swore that he would row no more, without it was to row to the shore. An approving growl went up amongst the men, and things began to take a very ugly look. Jack was in a towering rage; he swore at the men, as only he could swear; but every moment showed that they could not be kept at their oars a great while longer.
Meantime the man Hitch sat sullenly, answering Jack’s words with others not a bit better.
“Tom,” roared Jack, all of a sudden; “Tom, come here and take this tiller, while I settle that mutinous son of a sea cook.”
He made a step forward as he spoke, but in a moment the man’s fingers were around the boat’s plug.
“You’ll settle me, will you?” cried he. “ —— your eyes! Come a step furder, and I’ll out with this plug, and send us all to the bottom, with the boat under us!”
Jack stopped where he was, for he saw that the fellow would do as he said; had he done so, the boat would have filled and gone down in a minute.
When Jack stopped, a laugh went up from all around, for it was plain to see that the men were in sympathy with Hitch. This made the fellow feel inclined to go a step further, for he felt bold when he saw Jack pause.
“If you don’t put the boat’s head to the shore,” said he, “I’ll pull out the plug, anyhow!”
“Tom,” cried Jack, passionately, “give me the tiller; if they will drown for a pack of lubberly fools, let them drown and be —— d!”
“For heaven’s sake, Jack!” cried Tom; “think what you’re about. You’ll drown us all. Let me hold the tiller!”
But Jack was blind and deaf with his passion, and would listen to nothing. Tom struggled with him as long as he was able; holding on to the tiller with might and main, fighting him off, and pleading with him all the while.
I suppose that they must have fought for two or three minutes, and the boat was nearly swamped more than once with their struggles. At last Jack wrenched Tom’s hands away and seized hold of the tiller, for a great part of Tom’s strength had gone from him, because of long and hard exposure, which seemed to have told more upon him than on Jack.
The men appeared to be pretty well frightened by this time, and Hitch had taken his oar again. In a moment Jack had put the boat’s head toward the shore.
“Pull lively now, my hearties,” said he, grimly, “for you’ll have a tough pull of it before you get to that beach over yonder.”
Just before they came to the outer line of breakers, Jack put the cutter’s head about so as to let her beach stern foremost.
Tom knew that the cutter would never get through the breakers. There was not the tenth part of the tenth part of a chance of it; therefore he flung off his coat and kicked off his shoes, so as to be in readiness when the time should come. There was not much of the raging and the lashing of the surf to be seen from the sea. Now and then a spit of foamy water would shoot high up into the air from the recoil of the waters on the hard sand, but they could not tell what the full wrath and roaring of the great breakers were until they had gotten fairly in amongst them.
Jack did all that a man could do to get that boat to the beach. He tried rather to keep it off than to urge it too rapidly toward the shore. He did his work well, for he had brought the cutter through the first line of breakers, and into the second — but he got her no further.
A monstrous wave, fully twelve feet high, a solid mountain of green water, came rushing toward them, its crest growing sharper and sharper, and seeming to mount higher and higher as it swept toward the shore.
“Pull for your lives!” roared Jack, in a voice of thunder. But it was no use, for the next instant the breaker was on them. For a moment Tom had a feeling of spinning toward the shore, with the green water towering ten feet above him; then it arched slowly over, there was a crash and a roar, and he was struggling in a whirling, watery blindness.
Over and over he rolled, grasping at the sand every now and then, but all the time feeling himself as helpless as a rat in the tumultuous swirling of the water. Presently he felt himself being sucked out again. Faster and faster he went, as the undertow gathered force in its rush. For a moment he gained his feet, and bore with all his strength against the outgoing water. The sand slid from beneath his heels, till he must have sunk three inches into it. For an instant he had a half-blinded vision of Jack Baldwin, fifteen or twenty feet nearer to the shore than himself. Then came another crashing roar, and he was whirled over and over and round and round, like a feather in the water. A great feeling of utter helplessness came over him; for a moment his lips came to the surface and he gave a gurgling cry.
Out went the undertow again, and out went Tom with it, only to meet another breaker and to be again whirled by it toward the beach. By this time he had given up struggling, and everything was sliding away from him.
All of a sudden he felt himself clutched b
y the shirt. Once more came the horrible dragging of the undertow, but this time some one was holding him against it. Everything was glimmering to his sight, but he felt that he was being dragged up on the beach, and at last that he was lying on the dry sand, face up, and Jack Baldwin panting alongside of him.
PART II
CHAPTER X.
IN THIS STORY of Tom Granger I have undertaken to divide that which I am writing into chapters and parts, in the same manner that novel writers sometimes divide their novels and tales. I find that it keeps me more steadily to my course, so that, though I wander now and then from the matter in hand, I always get safely back to my bearings again. If you will go with me to the end, you will find that I have spun my yarn to the last word, though it may be in my own fashion.
Every one has read tales of shipwreck and of lonely islands, and there is generally something romantic and even pleasant in them; but in real shipwreck there is nothing either romantic or pleasant; neither is a desert island a cheerful place to dwell upon. I say this because I wish you to understand why it is that I do not intend to give you a long account of the life that they led at this place.
Nevertheless, I would not have you think from that which I have just written that Tom and Jack were altogether miserable during the year and a half that they lived there. Many times they were sick at heart looking for the aid that was so long in coming; but there were other times when they were full of hopes, and times when they were even happy. Neither was the place a barren, desolate, dreary sand waste, such as are many of the Bahama Islands. They saw many curious and beautiful things during the time of their living there. As an instance I may say that when Tom came away he brought with him a parcel of as handsome shells as ever I saw in all my life. They are now piled upon the mantle-shelf in my parlor. I have them before my eyes as I write these words. There is a large one upon the centre-table that has a full-rigged ship wrought upon it. It was carved with a jack-knife, and it shows the work of many idle moments, when Tom sat beside the fire in front of their hut at night, with Jack Baldwin for company.
