LETTER X.
My late letter to you, from Portsmouth, had nearly been a last address. In my passage from thence to the Lord Sheffield, at the Mother-bank, I was exposed to such imminent peril as to have had scarcely a hope of escape. The necessary arrangements being made for occupying our new births, I left Portsmouth in a small four-oared boat, belonging to the Lord Sheffield, accompanied by Mr. Jaffray (the master of the ship) and Mr. M‘Lean, of the hospital department. On our way to the Mother-bank, we were suddenly overtaken by a violent, and, situated as we were, most perilous storm. The sky blackened; the tearing winds roared; and the tumid sea, gathering into frightful mountains, rushed before the wind in boisterous loudness, threatening us with instant destruction. Tossed from wave to wave, and dashed and rolled about, amidst the broken mountains of water, every moment seemed likely to be our last: for any one of the heavy seas might have upset our little bark, or have broken over us, and sent us to the bottom. Begirt with multitudes of rugged and liquid hills, rupturing on all quarters, and rolling and tumbling one over another towards her, so small a boat seemed to have no chance of maintaining herself upon the rude and ever changing surface. From the deep swelling of the sea, together with the constant agitation and breaking of the waves, the sailors could not take sufficient depth to pull steadily with their oars; nor could the boat be made to obey the helm. At one moment we were raised, as it were, on a pinnacle—at the next ingulfed in deep shade between two roaring surges, towering high above us, and seeming to say, “Ye shall never rise again.” Yet, quickly, we were lifted upon a new-formed summit, and as suddenly dashed again into the vale of still more rugged billows, each contending in hasty strife, which should be the messenger of our fate.
The captain, with a countenance strongly expressive of anxiety, begged of us not to speak, lest we should divert his attention from the helm: upon the management of which our safety very much depended. Sitting at his elbow, in profound silence, as he desired, I watched his features as the barometer of my hopes and fears, and you will believe that I felt not quite at ease, upon observing him betray manifest symptoms of alarm. To move was even worse than to speak, and might be instant destruction to us all; hence it only remained to us to sit in solemn stillness, and meet our destiny.
To reach the Lord Sheffield was absolutely impossible; for the wind was contrary, and the tide in concert with the storm, to prevent it: and to return to Portsmouth was, scarcely, less difficult, or less perilous, from the inability of our little boat to resist the enormous following waves, impelled by the joint force of the gale and the tide.
In this critical dilemma it was decided that we should steer for the nearest ship there was any hope of our being able to fetch; and the captain, encouraging the sailors to continue at their oars, and bear away to leeward, directed the helm accordingly. In this attempt we struggled on, often washed with the heavy sprays, and as frequently almost upset by the tearing gusts of wind. But perseverance, together with great dexterity in the management of the boat, at length, succeeded in bringing us alongside the Diana frigate, where we were kindly received, and even cherished as friends rescued from the devouring deep.
Having witnessed the danger to which we had been exposed, the officers, in the most liberal manner, welcomed us on board, and refusing to hear a word of apology, insisted upon our not attempting to depart until every appearance of the gale should have subsided. Indeed they gave orders that our boat should be hoisted on board, and desired that we would think only of making ourselves comfortable for the night. In this they were imperative, nor will you imagine that our obedience was reluctant.
The Diana was under the command of Lieutenant Davy, in the absence of Captain Faulkener. This gentleman gave directions for our receiving every accommodation the ship could afford, and tendered his services in a manner that made it grateful to accept the kindness bestowed. Every individual seemed to emulate the commanding officer in friendly attentions towards our party, insomuch that we had cause to rejoice in the peril which had driven us among them.
As soon as we were made dry, and enabled to feel a little like ourselves, we were invited to the dinner-table of the mess. It was spread with plenty, and we partook with Mr. Davy, and the whole party of officers, who vied with each other in kind hospitality towards the rescued strangers. Good humour prevailed; the conversation was agreeable; and the bottle passed freely until evening, when a party was formed to a rubber at whist, and, at night, we were conducted to some of the best births of the ship.
We were pleased to hear every person, with whom we conversed, speak of lieutenant Davy in the highest terms of praise. He was entitled to our best wishes, and we owed him much respect and gratitude: we were exceedingly happy, therefore, to learn that he had equally the esteem of his captain, his messmates, and the sailors. As a companion, he is amiable and engaging. His address is easy; his manners are accomplished; and, independent of his great kindness to us, in the hour of peril, his general conduct, and the handsome report of his brother officers, could not but call forth our regard.
We passed the night in rest and comfort. In the morning the weather was settled and fine; therefore, after taking breakfast, our boat was lowered down, and we made the best of our way to the Lord Sheffield, reluctantly quitting the hospitable party, with whom misfortune had brought us acquainted.
Without further interruption we reached the Mother-bank, and I have now the pleasure to address you, in safety, from the Lord Sheffield, a very fine West India ship, and as superior to the gloomy George and Bridget, as her captain had represented. She is thoroughly clean, has a general air of neatness, and seems likely to verify the commander’s report of her sailing. She is conveniently adapted for passengers, and is expressly calculated for the West Indies, having awnings, scuttles, port-holes and all the necessary accommodations for the climate. The cabin is commodious, and is fitted up with mahogany wainscot, pier glasses, chairs, sofa, &c. due regard being paid to taste and ornament.
We have several guns on board, and wear the appearance of being well armed; but the ship is not sufficiently manned to defend herself against a regular attack, and this is what we have most to lament in our change from the Ulysses, for in other respects our situation is improved.