“On leaving the hut next day, we found the air a little less keen, and felt that since the snow had ceased to fall, the cold had somewhat abated. We could now hope to see the sun before long, and on the 8th of January we really perceived a faint glimmering in the sky, at which we rejoiced not a little. Eight days later we perceived a reddish tinge, which we hailed as the harbinger of the near approach of the sun. We perceived, also, a slight warmth in the wind, which, joined to the heat of our fire, partially melted the ice on the walls of the hut, which, until now, had remained perfectly solid. As the glimmering light grew stronger every day, we at length ventured, well-armed, to the ship, which still remained in the same position as formerly, but had been frequently visited by bears, as their footsteps in the snow plainly showed. We took a light, and descended into the hold, where we found the water a foot in depth, and frozen perfectly tight.
“As the weather remained fair, we went out into the open air daily. Our usual resort was a hill about a half mile distant, from which we brought stones to our hut, and heated them, in order to warm our beds. It now grew brighter every day, and we were soon able to amuse ourselves by shooting with a cross-bow, using for a mark the top of our snowy flag-staff, which, until now, we had been unable to see. Indeed, we took exercise in any way possible, and endeavored by throwing, running, and other gymnastic sports, to restore strength and suppleness to our half frozen limbs. The foxes, in capturing whom we had formerly been so busily engaged, now suddenly vanished, a sure sign of the re-appearance of the bears. These dangerous 140 beasts soon visited us again, and the war against them was renewed; they evidently came from some more southerly climate, where they had been passing the long winter, as they were very fat. They often endeavored to break open the door of the hut, and one of them even clambered upon the roof, and endeavored to get inside through the hole we had made to allow the smoke to escape; it required the united energies of all of us to defeat his intentions.
“The 27th of January was a sad day for us, for on it one of our party died. He had been sick at the building of the hut, and we had been obliged to convey him to it on a sled. We buried him in the snow, with a prayer, and held a funeral feast to his honor; but we soon recovered our wonted flow of spirits, as we were now confidently expecting a speedy release from the wretched situation in which we had been placed.
“The cold continued unbroken for three months longer, although it was not so severe as formerly. Our provisions now gave out, and on the 3rd of May we cooked our last piece of pork. During the latter part of May we began to make preparations for our journey, and as we found our ship was no longer sea-worthy, we dug out the shallop and boat, which had been protected by the deep snow. We spent all the month of May in mending and fitting out these two vessels. Whilst we were prosecuting this work, we were more than once in great danger of being torn to pieces by the bears. We shot a great many of them, but it happened we found them more dangerous when dead than when alive. Being greatly in want of food we cooked 141 a liver of one of them, and found it very palatable, but all of us fell sick in consequence, and some were so very ill that their lives were despaired of; they were covered from head to foot with a loathsome eruption. However, they at last recovered, for which we thanked God most sincerely, for had we lost them, the rest of us would not have had sufficient strength to launch the boats. In spite of this warning one of the men was imprudent enough, one day, to bring a pot of bear’s liver to the fire, as he was hungry; but Heemskerk, who was standing by, threw it out of the window.
“The weather often grew milder, and the sea began to be free from ice, but a single north wind brought back the most intense cold, and the sea was again covered with ice. In the meanwhile we worked hard to get out of our leaky vessel all that was necessary for our dangerous voyage, but suddenly we experienced a more dreadful storm of snow, hail, and rain, than had yet overtaken us, and which we did not expect at this time of the year. The weather was so bad that we were obliged to leave every thing and retreat to the hut. But we found this in a miserable condition, for we had used the boards, of which the roof was composed, to mend our vessels, and a piece of sail, which had taken their place, answered its purpose so badly that the hut was full of water. Often and often did our courage sink, and we give up in despair, but Heemskerk always cried, ‘If you do not wish to remain in Nova Zembla, and dig your graves in the snow, you must exert all your remaining strength to equip the boats, on which depend all our hopes of safety.’ These words acted like an electrical 142 shock on us, and spurred us on to do what seemed almost impossible.
“In the beginning of June, we dragged the two boats to the vessel, in order, when all was ready, to take them from there to the edge of the ice and launch them into the sea. Suddenly another storm arose unexpectedly, and we were in constant dread lest the ice should break up, and all our property be lost. In that case there would be no hope for us; but Providence watched over us, and the storm passed by, and did us not the slightest harm. We had now to perform our last but most difficult task, viz: to open a passage through the ice from the ship to the open sea, through which we might take the shallop. This, after incredible toil, we accomplished, and loaded our two boats with the tools and provisions we had just taken from the wreck, which consisted of thirteen casks of biscuits, and several more of bacon, oil, and wine. Then being all ready, we started on our voyage on the morning of the 14th of June, 1597.
IV.
“In high spirits and full of courage, we now began a voyage, which certainly was the most remarkable ever undertaken. Crowded together in two wretched, open, and heavily laden boats, we had to cross a space of not less than two hundred miles, in order to reach the nearest shore, and this in a climate where the middle of summer is as cold as our severest winters, and upon a sea covered with huge masses of ice, which at one moment are stationary, and in the next hurled together by a storm, with 143 terrific force. Besides, we were weak from our previous exertions, and had not really the strength to strive successfully against the dangers which threatened us.
“As the eastern shore of Nova Zembla appeared to be bound up with unbroken ice, Barents, with admirable prudence, had advised us to steer towards the north, so that having passed round the northern point of land, we might reach the western coast, and from there run for some Russian port, where we might hope to meet some vessel bound for the Netherlands. We had not gone far on this projected route, when we found ourselves so hemmed in by icebergs, as to be totally unable to make any further progress. Such an unpropitious commencement would have disheartened many men, but fortunately, we were accustomed to danger and disappointment in every shape; so we kept up our spirits, and cast anchor in order to wait until the breaking up of the ice should afford us an opportunity of proceeding on our journey again. In the meantime we employed ourselves in seeking bird’s eggs for our sick, of whom we now had several, and in melting snow by the fire for drinking water. On the 15th of June, the ice in which we were embedded, broke up, and a favorable wind springing up, our men handled their oars so well, that by the 17th we had reached the most northerly point of the island. But, unfortunately, on the same day the icebergs were put in such violent agitation by a storm, and struck the boats with such force, that the boldest grew disheartened. We took a last farewell of each other, and expected every moment would be our last. In this fearful extremity we held a consultation as to what was best to be done; no 144 other means of safety could we see, than to work our way out of the floating ice, and get upon some iceberg. But all our endeavors to get alongside of one of these were in vain, and unable to endure longer the lamentations of my companions, I caught hold of the end of a rope, and leaped like a frog from one place to another, until I reached the firm ice. As the rope was fastened to the two boats, they were quickly drawn to the spot I had reached, when the men took out their cargoes and pulled them upon the ice. We found they were so much injured by striking against the ice, as to need a thorough overhauling, which we set about without delay. The driftwood, which lay along the shore in considerable quantities, now stood us in good need, as by means of it we were enabled to boil our pitch and tar.
“For four long and dreary days had we lain among ice and snow, when a south wind sprang up, and once more opened a passage for us. We hastily launched our boats again, and put their cargoes into them; but hardly had we commenced to row when we found ourselves surrounded by masses of ice again, and were obliged to pick our way out of them with great difficulty; at last we reached the open sea once more, and were able to continue our voyage until the 25th of June, when we were obliged to cast anchor again near a field of ice. At the same time a violent storm arose, and drove our miserable crafts to sea, where they were tossed about in great danger of being dashed to pieces against an iceberg, or upset by the wind. Our men now employed what little strength they had left in striving to get back to the land, but as this could not be done by simple rowing, we ventured to hoist a small 145 sail, which we had scarcely done when the foremast of the boat I commanded suddenly broke in two places, and I found myself obliged, in order to keep up with the shallop, to raise the mainsail, which, however, I had to lower again immediately, or my boat would have been inevitably upset.
“We now deemed our destruction inevitable, as the storm of wind, which had hitherto blown from the south, suddenly changed to the north-east, and drove us from the shore. In the meanwhile the shallop had vanished, and we sought for it in vain for a long time, owing to a thick fog which covered the sea. At last I ordered some shots to be fired, and to my great joy they were answered by others from the shallop. I afterwards employed this means of finding the whereabouts of our comrades with great success on all such occasions.
“On the 28th of June we were again shut in, and obliged to anchor alongside of an iceberg. As we were much fatigued by the incessant tossing about of the boats, we erected a tent on it, and determined to pass the night there; but that we might sleep in safety, we set a watch, and it was a happy thing for us that we did so, for at midnight we received a visit from three immense bears, who, had we not been on our guard, would most assuredly have made a comfortable meal off of some of us. At the cry of ‘Bears! bears!’ we seized our muskets, and although they were loaded with shot merely, fired them at the animals, who were so stupefied at the inhospitable reception their friendly visit met with, that they allowed us time to load with ball. One of them had fallen at the first 146 fire, and the two others made off in all haste. Pretty soon, however, they changed their minds, and coming back, dragged their dead comrade away with them for a short distance, and then set to work to devour him. As soon as we remarked this, we let them have another shot, and this time they ran off in earnest. Four of us now went to look at the carcass of the dead bear, and found to our no little astonishment that they had devoured half of it. The wind, on this and the two following days, blowing from the same quarter, we were obliged to remain where we were.
“The night of the 1st of July, was one of the most fearful and dangerous that we had as yet experienced. The storm gradually increased in violence, and at last by hurling the floating masses of ice against the firm bank on which we were encamped, broke off that portion of it which held our boats, so that they got loose and were driven away. Many bundles and casks fell into the sea, and it was with great difficulty, that by springing from place to place, we succeeded in securing our boats, in which were the sick. After the storm was somewhat abated, we endeavored to collect our provisions and tools together, but alas, missed a great many which were very necessary for the completion of our voyage. Whilst one half of the men were thus employed, the others went over the ice to the land, in order to get a tree that they might mend the broken mast of the shallop. They found not only what they sought, but also, wedges for splitting wood, and wood already split, from which we judged that men had been in this place before.
“About this time we lost two of our men, who had been 147 sick for some time, having been obliged to be carried from our hut to the boat, when we started on our voyage. When Barents, who had also been ailing, heard this, he assured us that his end too was approaching, but as he at the same time regarded with attention, a chart of that part of the country which we had seen, which I had prepared, we did not believe he was so ill, and paid but little attention to his words. Pretty soon, however, he laid down the chart and asked for water; but hardly had he drank, when suddenly he bowed his head and died, to the great grief of all of us. We lost in him a brave comrade and intelligent man, on whose skill rested most of our hopes of again seeing our native land.
“Sorrowing deeply, we continued on our journey, and at length, on the 4th of August, reached the Russian coast, after having suffered much from the cold, and also from the scurvy, which on account of the want of fresh provisions, had broken out among us. We landed to try and find some signs of life, but could see no habitations, and the ground produced nothing but wild shrubs. Some of the party proposed that we should continue our journey by land; but as we could easily lose our way, and fall into great danger, in a desert, which was very likely filled with wild animals, the majority decided in favor of continuing along the coast. But we could not hold out much longer, for our provisions were reduced to a few mouldy biscuits; the most of us, tormented as we were by hunger and sickness, would have welcomed death as a happy release. Happily, however, we discovered a Russian barque coming towards us under full sail; when she reached us, Heemskirk 148 went on board, and taking some money in one hand, pointed with the other to a cask of fish which stood on deck. The Russians understood him, took the money, and gave him the fish, together with some little cakes. Half starved as we were, we rejoiced greatly at this purchase, and hastened to refresh ourselves with the food.
“We now very often met Russian vessels, and they sold or gave us, very readily, a part of their scanty stock of provisions. By the 20th of August, we reached the western shore of the White Sea, and by good luck arrived at a spot where some little houses were standing. We entered them and were received with great kindness by their owners, who were poor Russian fishermen. They led us into a warm room, where we could dry our wet clothes, and gave us a meal of good fish and soup.
“After continuing our journey for several days more, we were obliged, by a storm, to land again, and found a hut where three men dwelt. They cordially welcomed us, and when at their request we had told them our story, informed us that a vessel from the Netherlands was at anchor at Kola, a Russian port not many miles distant. We entreated them to go with one of our party to Kola by land, but as they could not go themselves they sent a messenger, who in a few days returned without our comrade, but with a letter, through which we learnt to our joy and astonishment, that Ryp himself, the commander of the other vessel, from whom we had separated at Bear’s Island, had arrived at Kola in safety, after seeking for an eastern passage in vain.
“It was not long before he arrived himself, in a boat 149 loaded with provisions, and after a warm greeting we took, for the first time since many days, our usual food and drink. Favored by the wind, Heemskerk soon brought us to Kala, where the Russian governor listened with great sympathy to the history of our adventures and sufferings, and ordered our two boats to be preserved as memorials of our wondrous journey.
“On the 18th of September we set sail, and after a prosperous voyage entered the Meuse. From there we went to Amsterdam, and doubtless it is still fresh in your memories, how we were conducted into the town, dressed in the fox skins we had worn at Nova Zembla, and followed by the acclamations of the whole population.”
Father Gerhard ceased speaking, and for a while the young people kept silent too, so much had they been astonished by the recital of such strange adventures. Most did they marvel at the calm resignation of the voyagers to their sad fate, and they hoped that in the voyages which they themselves might hereafter make, that they should have as excellent and brave companions.
They now thanked their patron for the trouble he had taken to gratify them, and with a hearty squeeze of the hand wished him good night.
A few years ago a company of one of the English regiments of infantry, consisting of eleven officers and two hundred soldiers embarked in a large, strongly built ship, to sail from Quebec to Halifax. Besides the troops, there were forty-eight passengers on board, most of them women and children, and the whole number of persons, including the sailors, amounted to upwards of three hundred.
On the evening of the tenth day, when they were clear of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and a brisk wind had driven them out many leagues to seaward, the pilot who, for the greater security of the troops had been kept on board, directed the course of the vessel to the westward, hoping on the next day to run her into Halifax. From the windward side of the otherwise clear heavens a dark cloud showed itself on the horizon, and in a short time afterwards the ship was enveloped in one of those dense fogs, which make a voyage along these coasts so perilous, during the greater part of the year. They had now come within that space of the ocean in which it was usual to hold a ship’s course in sailing from England to the West Indies; torrents of rain increased the thickness of the fog, and fearful gusts of wind increased the danger, and the officers in charge of the troops, thought it expedient to hold a consultation 151 with the captain, as to what course was best to be pursued in the present circumstances. The result of this conference was a determination to keep on the course deemed expedient by the pilot, but with as little sail set as possible. For their further safety a watch was stationed on the foredeck, with the company’s drums which they beat from to time, and taking besides every other precaution against their coming into collision with another vessel.
Among the officers, was a lieutenant named Stewart, a young man of uncommon steadiness and bravery, and who in his zeal for the comfort of the soldiers and the discipline necessary to be observed for maintaining order in the ship, had during the whole voyage, limited his own hours of rest to the smallest possible number. One night, completely worn out, he was about to betake himself to his hammock, when the colonel requested in view of the danger that every moment threatened, that he would remain all night upon deck. Stewart rallied his remaining strength, and conquering the importunate demands of sleep, he took his station with ten men on the foredeck, whilst the captain, with eight soldiers, kept watch at the stern. The rain poured down in streams, squalls of wind and angry waves caused the good ship to reel and turn like one drunk, and to add to the horrors of their situation, the night was so dark they could not see half the length of the ship before them, and the fog enshrouded them in its oppressive vapor. At ten o’clock, the watch on the bowsprit called out to the lieutenant on the foredeck, and directed his attention to a clear spot which he declared to proceed from a light. Stewart at once proceeded to the 152 stern where he found the pilot seated on the rudder, apparently watching the same appearance, but when he inquired of him what it meant, he received a very short uncourteous reply, together with a command from the captain who was by, to go back to his post. He did so, and not long after the man on the bowsprit once more called out, that notwithstanding the thick fog he saw a light distinctly; Stewart looked in the direction the sailor pointed out, and plainly saw the glimmer of the friendly beacon, and knew it at once as the signal placed to warn ships from approaching too near the cliffs which lined the shore. Notwithstanding his first repulse, he approached the pilot a second time; but he met with a second repulse;––he was answered––“Sir, I have been royal pilot on this coast for twenty-five years, and I ought to know where I am.” The captain too, in a sterner manner then before, commanded Stewart to return to his watch. The lieutenant dared utter no further remonstrance, but with a heart, heavy with sad forebodings, busied himself to keep up the failing spirits of his men who were as apprehensive of the threatened danger as himself. And his sad foreboding was only too soon fulfilled, for whilst the pilot imagined his vessel to be sailing on the open sea, she was already among the rocks that lay but a mile and an half from the coast, but yet were sixty distant from the roadstead by which they were to enter Halifax.
By midnight, Stewart felt himself so fairly exhausted by cold and long watching, that he left the quarter deck, and went below to snatch, if possible, a few minutes sleep. He had been in his cabin only long enough to change his 153 damp clothing for dry, when a fearful crash told him the ship had struck upon the rocks. In a moment he was back on the quarter deck. He found that a surging billow had struck the hinder part of the ship, tore off part of the sheathing, and carried away the watch-house in which two women were sleeping––all efforts to rescue them were in vain. Whilst the storm-tossed ocean raged and foamed around the devoted ship, and night shrouded all objects in her veil of impenetrable darkness, wild shrieks and cries arose from the women and children, increasing the horrors of the moment, and filled the stoutest hearted among the mariners and soldiers with dread and despair. Among the soldiers all discipline was at an end, and in many families this hour of terrors had loosed the bonds of affection and dependence, that until now had subsisted for years. The men forsook their wives in the endeavour to save their own lives; their wives and children were entreating the help from strangers denied them by husbands and fathers, and an officer who had heretofore been considered not only as a most courageous soldier, but had showed himself a kind and affectionate husband, now turned a deaf ear to the prayers of his wife, and intent only on his own deliverance, climbed up into the rigging of the mainmast, left her to her fate below, whatever it might be. In the meantime, the captain had ordered the ship to be examined, he found that she had struck upon a hidden rock, and the waves beating over the quarter deck had already filled all the rooms with water. Several men had been washed overboard as they rushed from their hammocks to the deck at the moment of the ship striking, but the greater number had 154 reached the foredeck where they crowded closely together, awaiting in painful anxiety for what the morning would bring.
At length the dappling clouds in the east proclaimed the hour of dawning––the day struggled into existence, and showed to the great joy of the shipwrecked, a rock about fifty yards distant, which raising its dark head above the foaming sea, promised present safety if it could be reached, although the white waves broke furiously against it. But how were they to reach it? The only hope––and it was a weak one––was if they could succeed in passing a rope from the ship to the rock, and fastening it there so firmly that by its aid all might be able to leave the wreck. But who was the adventurous one to carry it thither? The most experienced officers on board, declared it impossible for any one to brave those angry breakers successfully, and the best and most resolute of the sailors, who, perhaps, would have ventured encountering such a risk, had broken into the spirit room and were now lying drunk, seeking to drown the bitterness of death which they were so certain of meeting, by steeping their senses in oblivion.
In the meantime, Lieutenant Stewart with folded arms and thoughtful mien, stood on the foredeck, measuring with his eyes the distance between the wreck and the rock. After some minutes spent in deep consideration, he threw off his coat, fastened a rope round his body, and plunged into the boiling surf. The soldiers looked on in anxious silence––for the bold swimmer had almost immediately disappeared from their view––a wave had buried him deep in its bosom––but again his head was seen above its foaming 155 crest, and with strong arms he parted the angry waters as he swam boldly forward, like one determined to battle with and conquer fate. His strength would not have sufficed to enable him to accomplish his aim, had not a huge wave borne him onward, and dashing powerfully against the rocky ledge left him behind as it retreated. Stunned by the violence with which he was thrown, he lay for some moments deprived of all consciousness; his senses at length returning, he rose hastily and mustering all his strength, essayed to climb the steep and rugged rock, the difficulty of the assent being increased by the slippery sea-grass with which it was covered. After many toilsome efforts he reached the top, where he succeeded in fastening his rope. But as it was impossible for him to be seen from this height by those on the wreck, on account of the thick fog, he was obliged to descend to the shore, where, as he was nearer the ship, he hoped he might be visible, and thus relieve part of their anxiety. On the side next the ship the breakers dashed so violently that he dreaded making the attempt, and venturing on the other, he fell from the steep and slippery path down into the sea.
Benumbed with cold, and sorely wounded by the sharp edges of the rocks, he was at first scarcely able to move, but still he managed to keep his head above the water, and after an half hour spent in a vigorous struggle with death, a rushing wave once more carried him to the shore, where bruised and bleeding he lay on his back like one dead. He felt like giving up the contest, but he saw the sinking ship and his doomed companions––with great effort, therefore, he raised himself, gave the appointed signal to 156 show that he had succeeded in fastening the rope, and a gleam of joy shot through his heart as he heard the loud cheers with which the news was hailed on board.
In less than a minute, the only boat belonging to the ship was let down, and manned with but one stout sailor. Slipping along by the rope which Stewart had drawn he guided his frail craft to the rock, to which he fastened a stronger one, brought with him for that purpose: this being done, he returned to the wreck in order to bring off the passengers. It was determined to send away the women and children first, and accordingly two grown females or a mother with several children were bound together and sent off, the little boat which was guided by two sailors being too small to hold any more.
Stewart assured that the slippery surface of the rock where he had stood when fastening the rope, would not afford sufficient space for all on board, even to stand upon, was half in despair, but just at the moment however, that the boat containing the colonel’s wife, her two children, and the surgeon of the regiment, pushed off from the ship, the fog lifted and parting at the coast, showed another rock of greater height and broader extent a few yards distant from the one on which he stood. The boat almost touched the one first reached––he gave the sailors a sign––it was understood, and they rowed to the second rock where the surf was much less dangerous, and the breakers small in comparison with those that beat against the other. A better landing was to be obtained here, and without the loss of a single life or any untoward occurrence, the women and children reached this place of safety if not of comfort 157 Whilst this was being done, they made a running noose to slip along on the rope that Stewart had fastened to the rock on which he now stood, which rope as we before have said reached to the ship. By this contrivance the officers and most of the soldiers attained the smaller rock, and in the course of two or three hours all on board were safely rescued. By a merciful Providence the ship groaning, creaking, tottering, and gradually sinking, just kept above the water until the last man was taken off; then a surging wave dashed over her, and she was seen no more––a few circling eddies alone showed the spot where she went down.
When the men who, as we have said had landed on the smaller rock had assembled, they found it incapable of holding so many––all could not stand in the narrow space its surface afforded, and too closely crowded, they could not resist the pressure of the waves that sometimes broke over it. The higher rock where the women and children were landed showed that there was still room for many more of the shipwrecked; the colonel, therefore, proposed that the officers should be rowed thither in the boat, but to this the soldiers would not listen. With death staring them in the face, they declared all subordination was at an end––that preference on account of rank and birth was not to be thought of––all were now on an equality, life was as dear to the meanest soldier as to the highest in command; no! no preference should be given––it must be decided by lot, who should go, and who remain. All efforts to still the angry tumult that now arose among the excited troops was in vain, and the little island whose rock-covered surface, 158 lifted for ages above that boiling flood, where wave contended with wave, and had never before been pressed by the foot of man, now became a scene of strife and confusion.
In the midst of the crowd who could thus strive with each other in the very presence of death, lay Stewart, senseless and covered with the blood that flowed plentifully from his wounds. All believed him to be dying, and only a few cared to trouble themselves about the noble young officer, to whose disinterested daring the whole crew owed their lives. His strong constitution, however, soon triumphed over his temporary exhaustion, and he awoke to consciousness, just when the oaths and outcries of the striving soldiers was at the loudest. Slowly and painfully he arose on his stiffened limbs, and supported on the arm of one of his own men from whom he learned the cause of the tumult, he approached and commanded silence. This in the presence of his superior officers was out of place, but distinction was at an end, and beloved as he was by all the soldiers, the command was obeyed at once. “My friends,” he began, “death, inevitable death awaits us all alike, both on the other rock and here where the angry waves beat over us, if we do not soon obtain help. Our only hope for deliverance is by means of the boat, through which we may, perhaps, obtain it from the land, which cannot be very distant. Let the officers and sailors then go over to the other rock, where there is more room than on this, and the surf being less violent and itself nearer to the coast, they can better venture to seek the help, without which we must all perish. We will remain here in peace 159 together, awaiting the issue whatever it be; I will not leave you, but am ready to share every danger, and as I was the first to spring into the foaming sea, to try what could be done for the salvation of all, so I will be the very last to leave this rock.”
His words were answered by a cheer; the true heroic spirit which breathed from his words––the magnanimity of his whole proceedings since the first moment of the common danger, flashed upon the memories of these rude men, and wrought an instant change. The soldiers calmed and encouraged, no longer objected to the departure of the officers and sailors for the other rock, and the boat at once began to ply between. As it would not carry but two persons at once, it took some time before the specified persons had passed over. At the last voyage there was but one to go. This officer as he took his place on the seat beside the rowers, called out to Stewart to “come along, for the flood was rapidly rising on the rock, and his staying behind would do the soldiers no good.” The lieutenant however refused the invitation, with the words that as he had promised the soldiers to remain with them, he was determined to do so, whether the issue was life or death.
So, while the officers with the pilot and sailors were borne to a place of comparative safety, Stewart stood with his two hundred soldiers upon that naked rock that gradually grew less from the rising of the encroaching waters.
Not without good ground for apprehension, had the last departing officer warned the lieutenant of the danger that threatened from the advancing tide. The rock on which two hundred human beings were now crowded, hoping to 160 escape or gain a respite from death, was one which in nautical phrase is called a sunken reef, that is only above water at ebb tide, while at flood, except when swayed by a sweeping north wind, the sea buries it in a depth of ten or fifteen feet.
The pilot knew this well, and having made it known to the colonel, this knowledge was the occasion of his heartless proposition, that the officers should be saved, leaving the soldiers to perish.
But when men deal treacherously with the unfortunate, or seek to ruin the unsuspecting, it is then that a kind Providence watches over them––it is then that the hand of the Most High is stretched forth for their protection;––throughout the whole of this day, the only wind that held the flood tide in check, namely the north-east, swept over the still angry ocean and restrained its perilous advance.
Soon after the ship went down, the sea became covered with boxes and barrels, together with many other articles of the stores on board which had been floated from the hold; the confined air between the decks had caused an explosion, and burst the vessel in every part. This was providential, if those casks of provisions would only flock toward the rock, they might be able to secure enough to support them until help could be obtained either by a passing vessel, or from the shore.
In the meantime, the still rising water had encroached so far upon the rock that but one dry place was left; here the soldiers clustered, standing close to one another, for the confined space admitted but little movement. In order to judge of the rapidity with which the tide was rising, 161 Lieutenant Stewart ordered two large stones to be placed on a rocky projection, whose surface at this time was just even with the water. Leaving the spot and returning after a time, they found them completely hidden. They then placed two others on a spot somewhat higher, and turning away, scarce daring to hope that they should see them again. But what was their joy on returning, to find not only the two last dry, but the first two entirely out of the water; they were thus assured the tide had reached its highest mark.
But now another trouble arose which threatened every moment to increase the sufferings of the shipwrecked. As the waves dashed over them for many hours, they had swallowed a large quantity of sea water, this created a burning thirst, that was increased by their clothing being entirely saturated with salt water. Whilst thus suffering, an object was seen floating on the surface of the water, and approaching the shore, which promised help in this moment of due necessity. One of the sergeants was the first to remark it, and hastening to Stewart, remarked that a cask was being washed by the waves to the edge of the rock, and that he was sure it contained rum. The lieutenant, who dreaded the effect of strong drink on the men as the greatest possible evil, bade the sergeant to sink it as soon as it reached the shore. The cask came nearer––a huge wave lifted it high and dry upon the rock. The sergeant could not obey Stewart’s order––the soldiers at once clustered around it, and having been slightly broken as it was dashed upon the rugged resting place, to their great delight, discovered that it held––not rum, but pure sweet 162 water, and in such quantity that all could drink to their satisfaction.
Thus delivered from dread of being washed away and the torment of thirst, new hope and increased courage sprang up in the breasts of the shipwrecked, and beginning to think over how they might better their condition, their first act was to prepare a comfortable place for their wounded lieutenant, who seemed to be rapidly sinking from loss of blood and the effect of his severe exertions. One corner of the rock, the highest above the sea, presented a smoother surface than the rest; they cleared the slippery sea-grass from the spot, and wrapping a cloak round him, laid him down. Two soldiers, one on the right hand, the other on the left, lay down near to screen him from the cutting sea breeze, some others lay across these, thus forming a pyramid of bodies that secured to the wounded a shelter from wind and rain. The rest of the soldiers threw themselves on the rocky surface, whereon they could find a place, and in a few moments were as sound asleep as if reposing in the most luxurious chamber.
The day closed in, but the fog still continued; the rain poured down in torrents on those half naked men, and the piercing north-east wind made them shiver as it swept over them in their thin and sea-soaked garments. At last all desire for sleep was banished, and rising from their uncomfortable lodging places, each one looked out into the darksome night in hopes of discovering a delivering ship. Sometimes the silence that brooded over the little island was interrupted by the joyful cry of “a ship! a ship!” but directly after, some foam-crested billow rising high 163 above the surrounding waves, showed what had caused the delusion.
The sufferings of the unhappy men after this one short alleviation again increased, the tide rose higher than before, for the wind had now chopped round to the west, there was no restraining influence from it as at first. The sea, as if claiming the rock as part of his domain, advanced higher and higher, until at last only one dry spot remained upon which the soldiers clustered so closely, that those who stood in the middle could scarcely breathe. All believed that death was approaching––all hope of deliverance had faded from each heart, and every one of the seemingly doomed party who could control his thoughts in that dreadful hour, summoned his last effort to be expended in prayer.
As they stood there in silence with hearts darkened by the utter extinction of hope, a red light was seen above the rolling waves––its ruddy glow as it glanced upon the white-capped billows caused those sunken hearts to beat with renewed activity––they gazed far out upon the sea, but no man spoke; in a moment more the form of a ship was seen, dimly but certainly in the enveloping fog. The loud and joyful huzza that burst from the shipwrecked soldiers proved to those on board the vessel sent to their rescue, that the rock was still unsubmerged, and that life was there, and they returned the cheer with great good-will. It appeared afterwards that some of the sailors had attempted to reach the shore in the jolly boat; that they encountered great toil and danger, but were at last so fortunate as to come up with two fishing vessels. One of 164 these had already taken the officers and women from the larger rock and landed them on the coast; the other turned about to look after the soldiers, although the captain of the wrecked vessel declared it was folly to expect to find any of them living, for he was convinced that the “sunken reef” had long ere this been hidden beneath the foaming waters.
For fear of the ship being injured by the rocks, they could only approach within a certain distance, and with only one small boat. Stewart called through a speaking trumpet to the sailors, and inquired how many they could take at one time in the boat. They answered, “twelve,” at the same time recommending to the shipwrecked to embark quietly, and not rush in such numbers as to peril their own safety. Stewart, exhausted as he was, enforced the necessity there was for this caution, and marshaling his men as well as was possible in the narrow space, he divided off the first twelve, and his command was obeyed with promptness and without confusion. In the meantime, the little boat had reached the rock, and the embarcation began, and without the least disorder. The night came on, but nineteen times the boat made its way through the darkness, from the ship to the now nearly submerged rock, still bearing its living freight in safety, and it was only at the last voyage that they shipped the two last soldiers, and the noble hearted, heroic Stewart, whose soul was full of blissful feelings at the thought that by his courage, obtained through confidence in God, he had saved the lives of three hundred men.
Soon after embarking, and wearied by the exertions I had been obliged to make for the last few days, I betook myself to my cabin and to rest. When I again ascended to the deck, I looked towards the shore we had left, but nothing was to be seen, but a long gray stripe that lay like a dim cloud along the distant horizon. It was the last sight of my native land, and gradually its faint purple outline faded until it was lost in the foam-crested waves. On all sides of me was the wild waste of waters; as far as the eye could reach, it rested upon moving masses like fields of sea-green. Above us was the blue and vaulted heavens that were now illumined with the burnished rays of an August sun, that was even now dipping his broad disk into the waves that formed the distant horizon.
All around was life and motion; ours had not been the only ship that had taken advantage of a favorable wind to put out from Cuxhaven to the open sea. Four or five other ships were sailing along side, and as they spread their snowy sails, on which the bright rays of the summer sun was playing, they skimmed like white-winged sea-mews over the dark green waters.
And now one of the pilot boats that lie here at anchor, yet tossed year in and year out by the restless waves, sending 166 on board both, to the homeward and outward bound a skilful guide, to steer the ship through the perilous shoals and sand banks that lie on this coast, approached, to take up the pilot that had steered us safely into the open sea. He took charge of all our letters––from those written to parent, friend, or lady love left behind, to the tender lines penned by the least shipboy, taking a long farewell of the mother who standing on the pier, waved her hand to her child whose home was henceforward to be on the deep, until long after we sailed. The pilot thrust them all into his great leathern bag, held out his sea-hardened hand to bid each one farewell and gave us his sailor-like greeting: “Farewell, and a lucky voyage to you.” He jumped into the boat, four lusty rowers sat on the benches, and it flew over the glancing waters with the speed of a bird until it reached the one-sailed craft he called his pilot ship. This was our final adieu to the homes we had left, for with the departure of the pilot from on board, the last link that unites the sailor to his native land is broken, and it is then the traveller feels how really every rolling wave increases the distance between him and the fireside joys he has left behind.
Light winds soon drove us into the English channel, where we saw the chalk cliffs of Dover shimmering in the bright sunshine on one side––the coast of France like a soft blue cloud dipping into the sea on the other. We approached so near to the British shore, that we could distinguish the buildings and light-houses plainly. Near to Dover, and on a rocky precipice, stands an old fortress of the middle ages, looking out threateningly with bristling canon 167 on the town and over the sea that breaks and murmurs at its rocky base.
As it became dark, numerous beacon lights blazed from the watch-towers, some speedily vanishing, others twinkling and glancing like meteors that beguile the wanderer from his way, but many with clear and steady ray, shone brightly over the face of the deep and guided the sailor on his adventurous course. The first were the so-called fire drakes, covered partly by metallic plates which turn, and thus is caused the appearing and vanishing of the light so speedily, the latter is the steady beacon of the light-house, which distinguishable from all others by its brilliancy and the color of its flame, enables the seaman to direct his craft safely through the channel. Hundreds of other lights were glancing everywhere, like the fire flies of the tropics upon the face of night, those were the burning lanterns carried at the prow of the steamboats, warning each other of approaching too near, and giving the same intelligence to ships.
On the following morning we found ourselves in the neighbourhood of the Isle of Wight, and vainly looked out for some compassionate fisher boat, that for a flask of brandy or some salted fish, would carry our last letters to some port, from whence they might be forwarded to our homes. A few days later, and we lost sight of the English coast; and with it the last land in Europe faded from our eyes. We found ourselves on the open sea, and with lightly swelling sails, steering for the Cape de Verd Islands. Of the many vessels which we hailed or passed in the British channel, not one was to be seen; here every ship held 168 silently on her own monotonous way, without troubling herself about the fate of another; and here instead of the life and bustle to be met with on a coasting voyage, nothing was to be seen, but the dark blue waves of the broad Atlantic and the bright resplendent sky.
To enjoy a sea-voyage one must have entirely overcome the severe ordeal of sea-sickness, and then with the high health that generally follows the departure of this disagreeable visitant, life on the ocean is not without a beauty and variety of its own. In a fortnight one becomes sufficiently versed in the laws of equilibrium to maintain his place in his hammock from a sudden lurching of the ship in a squall or night of tempest, or so skilfully to balance himself and his plate at table, that neither shall be thrown to the right or left. By degrees, too, one becomes accustomed to the slovenliness of the cabin servants, and the dusky appearance of stained and soiled table cloths, and at last even ceases to miss the newspapers and the absence of cream in his coffee.
During the first part of our voyage we had most beautiful weather; the deep blue sea upon which the foam-crested waves chased each other as if at play, and the bright heavens where thin and transparent clouds were floating like veils of gossamer, filled the heart with gladness and disposed it to profitable musings. Light winds filled the sails that swelled beautifully on their masts and drove the ship, that under a cloud of white canvass looked like a stately queen, onward. Sometimes she would lie motionless on the waves for a time, then urged by the breeze she would glide forth like a capricious beauty, cutting 169 the water at the rate of more than four miles an hour. So gentle was the motion, that in the cabin one could scarce hear the murmur of the waves as the ship kissed them with her bowsprit, or raised a track of foam as she divided them with her sharp keel or directing rudder.
It may seem strange, but it is nevertheless true, that on the land, the Sabbath never speaks to man with such solemn voice as it does in beautiful weather on the deep blue sea. Then it seems as if wind and wave and sun and sky were all holding sacred festival, and Nature, such as she appears on that wide and wonderful expanse, invited man, the favored creature, to worship with her in her grand and sacred temple. On week days, with the perpetual industry usual on board a ship, the bustling of the sailors as they pursue their several avocations, the call of the boatswain, the noise of the carpenters’ hammer that cannot be excluded from the cabin, contrasts vividly with the calm brought by the solemn stillness of the Sabbath,––its influence is visible on all. No tar-bucket is seen on deck, no paint-pot stands in the way, the sailor intermits his weekly task of mending the sails, and the ropes that are to be repaired are laid aside. The deck is scoured white and smooth with sand; everything is clean, even the cabin-boy and the table-cloth, two articles that on weekdays seem to hold themselves privileged to be dirty.
The sailors indeed, that is only some of them, take advantage of the time bestowed by the Sabbath, to mend their jackets and stockings, or patch up old boots and shoes; others lie stretched out on the deck with a book in their 170 hands or a cigar in their mouths, murmuring something to which the waves are the only listeners; others are down in the forecastle looking over their chests and coffers, the sight of their humble effects, or perhaps some cherished keepsake, recalling thoughts of loved ones at home. But in whatever business engaged, the influence of the Sabbath is seen on all, for there is no countenance but speaks the calm and quiet content, which this blessed day, so wisely ordered as a respite from toil and care, brings to all, whether on land or sea.
We were out four weeks without having seen anything but sky and water, when one day we saw the rugged crest of a high mountain rising above a pile of thick gray clouds. It was the high hill of the island of St. Anthony, the most westerly of the Cape de Verd group. Little by little the low-lying clouds ascend like a drawn up curtain, and the whole island lay spread out, a living panorama, to our view. But alas! we passengers were not permitted to leave the ship, and as soon as we had taken in provisions and water, the anchor was lifted and we held on our way towards the south.
As in all lands lying in the warm latitudes, the works of nature are found in greater and more vigorous beauty than beneath our colder and melancholy skies, so also do the tropical seas present appearances never seen in the northern waters. If a storm arises, the whole creation seems to be dissolving. No words can be found adequate to describe the scene, or in any measure to convey the frightful experience the sailor has to undergo. But on the other hand, in clear and calm weather, the tropical sea 171 presents an aspect of gorgeousness and grandeur, with which the loveliest natural scenery of a northern climate cannot compare. Here the rising of the sun from his bed of waves, presents a spectacle that fills the heart with reverence and awe at the same time that it swells with rapture of the purest kind. The thick clouds that rested like a veil of darkness upon the illimitable surface of the sea, at the coming of the god of day, disperse in their vapors. The twinkling stars grow paler as he approaches, the dark gray color of the water changes to a cheerful blue, and streaks of clear purple are seen in the east, increasing each moment to a varied hue, and as the horizon brightens, darkness flies far from the bosom of the waters. Suddenly rays of glorious light break forth from heaven and pour their golden glory on the sea, the sun rises in his glowing strength above the bank of purple clouds, and as they disperse themselves over the azure firmament, various are the shapes, whether beautiful or grotesque, that they assume. One can imagine he sees towns, hills, castles with tall towers, ships, and a thousand other objects in their flitting shapes, but yet scarcely formed ere they lose their evanescent beauty both of form and color, as the sun mounts above the horizon.
The animal kingdom of the tropical ocean is extraordinarily rich and varied. The sea birds are distinguished by their size, and beauty of plumage, and greatly surpass those that belong to the north. Thousands of flying fish spring above the surface, in order to escape some lurking enemy below, only to find their death on the deck of the ship, but oftener to fall an easy prey to some rapacious 172 bird. Nothing can equal the gay colors of the Bonito and Dorado, a smaller kind of ravenous fish peculiar to the Southern seas, and which are always found in close pursuit of their neighbors, the flying fish. With what enchantment does the astonished spectator fasten his gaze upon the lightly moving waters. His eye penetrates the depths that lie far below the crystal surface, and is lost in wonder at beholding the myriads of living creatures with which the mighty ocean teems! Not a moment but what presents some new and interesting subject for inquiry or contemplation, thus breaking in pleasantly on the otherwise monotonous current of sea life.
So the day passes over, full of interest, if man will only take the trouble to secure it; and the sun that here regularly measures his diurnal course in twelve hours, is declining to his setting. Again the attendant clouds, that at times assume the appearance of burning volcanoes, gather around him, as though to curtain him as he sinks to rest, but as his glancing rays reflected on the smooth water are refracted in gushing vapors, thousands of fireballs seemed to rise as from a crater, and streams of burning lava to flow into the ocean. At length the sun is hidden beneath the waves; for a few minutes the western horizon is like a sea of glowing purple, and then night comes, shrouding all in her darksome veil. But there is no gloom; thousands of stars far brighter than those of northern lands glitter in the firmament, and are mirrored in the chrystal waters; fiery meteors dart through the heavens, and the whole surface of the ocean is covered with luminous insects.