"Let us get clear of the boat!" exclaimed all the men; "we may be knocking about here for some days to come, till we are all starved."
"But we may obtain provisions from the ship sufficient to last us for a week, or more, perhaps," observed La Motte; "she is evidently outward-bound, and many a long day may pa.s.s before we get back to England."
"Better that than being swamped or dying by inches," was the answer.
Finally, we discovered that all the men, including Andrews, had made up their minds to be quit of the boat at all events. La Motte told me that he knew how anxious I was to return home, and that he was ready, if I wished it, to remain with me in the boat, and to endeavour to make the sh.o.r.e.
Sincerely I thanked him for this mark of his friendship and kindness, I debated in my mind whether I ought to accept his offer. In my anxiety to reach home, I would have risked everything; still I thought that I ought not to expose the life of another person for my sake. How I might have decided, I scarcely know. I suspect that I should have accepted his offer, but the matter was pretty well settled for us.
Clouds had been gathering for some time in the sky, and while we were speaking, thin flakes of snow began to fall, and continued increasing in density, so that we could scarcely see the approaching ship. We could not ascertain whether we had been seen by those on board before the snow-storm came on, and, if not, there was too great a probability that she would pa.s.s us. At all events, she was now completely hidden from our view.
We calculated that if she kept on the exact course she was on when last seen, we should be rather to the southward of her. We therefore got out our oars, and endeavoured to pull up to her. Every one, however, was so weak, that it was with difficulty we could urge the boat through the water. Our last morsel of food had been consumed that morning; indeed, for the two previous days we had taken barely enough to support life.
We looked about--we could not see the ship--we shouted at the top of our voices--all was silent--we pulled on--again we shouted, or rather shrieked out. A hail came from the eastward. It sounded loud and clear compared to the hollow tones of our voices. Presently the dark hull and wide-spreading sails of a ship broke on our sight through the veil of falling snow, and directly afterwards we dropped alongside her.
She hailed us in German. I understood a little of the language, but La Motte spoke it perfectly. Great indeed was our satisfaction to find from this that she belonged to a friendly power. She appeared to have a great number of pa.s.sengers on board, for they crowded the sides and gangway to look at us, and very miserable objects, I daresay, we appeared.
Thinking probably that we were afraid of them, they told us that the ship was the _Nieuwland_, belonging to Bremen, bound for Baltimore, in the United States, and that the people we saw were Hanoverian emigrants.
When we told them in return that we were Englishmen escaping from a French privateer which had captured us, they warmly pressed us to come on board. When, however, we tried to get up to climb up the sides, we found that we could scarcely stand on our legs, much less help ourselves on deck. Three or four of our companions were so weak and ill that they could not rise even from the bottom of the boat, and it was sad to see them, as they lay on their backs, stretching out their hands for help to those who were looking down on them over the ship"s side.
Certainly we all must have presented a perfect picture of woe and misery--half-frozen and famished--pale, haggard, shivering, with our beards unshaven, and our hair hanging lank and wet over our faces, our lips blue, our eyes bloodshot, our clothes dripping with moisture. Our condition was bad enough to excite the compa.s.sion of any one.
The master and seamen of the ship and the emigrants evidently felt for us, by the exclamations we heard them utter. They quickly fitted slings, which were lowered to hoist us up, and the seamen came into the boat to help us. One after the other we were conveyed on board, and at once carried below. Not one of us could have stood, had it been to save our lives.
I felt grateful for the looks of pity which were cast on us as we were lifted along the deck, while many of the emigrants volunteered to give up their berths. I remember how delightful I felt it to find myself stripped of my damp clothing, lying between dry blankets, with a bottle of hot water at my feet and another on my chest, while kind-hearted people were rubbing my limbs to restore circulation. It was some time, however, before anything like the proper amount of heat came back to my chilled frame. Then some warm drink was given me, and I fell into a deep slumber.
I believe that I slept nearly twenty-four hours on a stretch without once waking. At last, when I opened my eyes, daylight was streaming down on me through the open hatchway. The doctor came and felt my pulse. He spoke a little English, and told me to keep up my spirits, and that I should do very well. Then some broth was brought me by one of the emigrants, and after I had taken it I felt very much better. I inquired after my companions.
"They are not all in as good case as you are," said the doctor. "Two poor fellows have died, and a third, I fear, will not be long with us."
"Which of them have gone?" I asked. "I trust the officer, La Motte, is doing well."
"He is weak, and suffers much, but still I have hopes that he may recover," was the answer.
I was very sad on hearing this, yet I felt what cause I had to be thankful that I had escaped with my life, and was not likely to suffer in my health, as was the case with some of my companions.
With returning strength, however, came more forcibly on me the consciousness of the postponement once more of all my hopes of happiness. I had risked everything; I had gone through the most trying hardships to reach home, and now I found myself being carried away far from that home, without any immediate prospect of reaching it. I turned round in my berth and burst into tears.
The kind-hearted German who was attending on me inquired, in his broken English, what was the matter. I felt that it would be a relief to me, and would gratify him, if I were to tell him my history. He was much interested in it, and warmly sympathised with me. He did not consider my tears unmanly. I do not think they were, either. I was weak and ill, too. Perhaps otherwise, as is the English custom, I should have kept my feelings and my history to myself. Yet I think that English habit of hiding our thoughts and feelings, shows a want of confidence in the sympathy and kind feeling of our fellow-men which is altogether wrong. Nothing could surpa.s.s the kindness and sympathy of my German friends, especially of Karl Smitz, the young man who attended on me.
We had a fair breeze and fine weather, so that in three days I was able to get out of my berth. My first visit was to La Motte. He was unable to move. With fear and trembling I looked at him, for he seemed to me sadly changed from what he had been when we left the lugger: I had not seen myself, and I was not aware how haggard and ill I even then appeared.
He told me that he only felt weak and bruised, and that he had hopes he should soon be well. I found that three of our late companions had been committed to the deep, and that a fourth was in a dying state. This made me feel still more anxious about La Motte. From our old friendship, now cemented by the hardships we had gone through together, I could not help regarding him with the affection of a brother. I sat by the side of his berth till the doctor came and told me I must go on deck, as fresh air was now the only medicine I required.
The captain welcomed me on deck when I appeared in the kindest way, and said that he was glad to find even one of his guests on the fair road to recovery. He, it appeared, had heard my story, and he came up to me and told me that he had no doubt I was anxious to get to England, and that if we fell in with any homeward-bound ship, he would put me on board her. I told this to La Motte when I went below, and he said that if he had strength even to move he would accompany me.
Two days after this I was sitting on a gun-carriage enjoying the fresh breeze, when there was a movement on deck among the crew and pa.s.sengers, and I saw four men coming up the main hatchway, bearing between them what I saw at once was a human form, wrapped up in a fold of canvas. It was placed on a plank near a port at the opposite side of the ship. A union-jack was thrown over it, and I guessed from that circ.u.mstance that the dead man was another of my companions. I called to Karl Smitz, who was pa.s.sing.
"Ah! they did not know that you were on deck, or they would have told you before the poor fellow was brought up," he observed. "Yes, he was another of those we saved out of the boat. We are now going to bury him as we would wish to be buried ourselves."
Soon after this the captain came into the waist with a Lutheran prayer-book, from which, with an impressive voice, he read some prayers.
Then both the seamen and emigrants--men, women, and children--stood round and burst forth into a hymn most sweet and melodious; first it was sad in the extreme, and then it rose by degrees to tones of joy, as it pictured the spirit of the departed borne by angels into Abraham"s bosom; while another prayer was being uttered, the body of my shipmate was launched into the deep. Thus four of us had been taken and six remained.
I was long very anxious for La Motte; he, however, slowly recovered, and in about a fortnight was able to come on deck. By that time Andrews and the other men had recovered, and were able to do duty. We are all of us anxious to be of use, for no honest seaman, or any other true man for that matter, likes to eat the bread of idleness. The ship was rather weak-handed, and the captain was very glad of our services.
La Motte and I consulted together, and we agreed that we ought to make him some recompense for the trouble and expense he had been at, and all the care he had taken of us. The other men agreed to what we proposed.
We accordingly, when he was on deck one day, went up to him and told him how grateful we felt for his kindness, and begged him to accept our boat. He smiled at our warmth.
"No, indeed, my good men, I can accept nothing from you," he answered; "I have only done what is the duty of every seaman to do when he finds his fellow-men tossed about on the ocean in distress. What was your lot may be mine another day; and I should expect others to do for me what I have done for you."
"Well, sir," said La Motte, "we feel the truth of what you say.
Unhappily, some seamen do not act as you have done; and there are wretches who will pa.s.s a ship in distress, and never attempt to relieve her. However, what I am going to say is this; our clothes are in a very bad condition, and if you will supply us, we will consider them as payment for the boat."
This proposal pleased our kind captain, and he forthwith gave us a suit of clothes, and a warm cap, a pair of shoes, and a couple of shirts, out of his slop-chest. We were thus all of us able to put on a decent and comfortable appearance. I am very certain no good action ever goes unrewarded in one way or another, though, perhaps, through our blindness, we do not always find it out.
A few days after this a terrific gale sprung up. All hands were roused up in the middle watch to reef topsails. We Englishmen, hearing the cry and roar of the tempest which had suddenly struck the ship, sprang on deck. The crew were aloft in vain struggling with the bulging topsails.
At that moment the fore-topsail, with a report like thunder, blew out of the bolt-ropes, carrying with it two men off the lee yard-arm. The poor fellows were sent far away to leeward into the boiling sea.
Any attempt to help them was utterly hopeless; we heard their despairing shrieks, and for an instant saw their agonised countenances as the ship swept by them, and all trace of them was lost. We hurried on to the main-topsail-yard just in time to save the people there from sharing the fate of their messmates. The courses were furled, the main-topsail closely reefed, and the ship flew onward on her course.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
THE EMIGRANT SHIP AND OUR KIND CAPTAIN--GET ON BOARD A HOMEWARD-BOUND SHIP--AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER--MY OLD CAPTAIN--A CONVERTED MAN--A CRIPPLED SHIP--LAND AT BERMUDA--ONCE MORE SAIL FOR ENGLAND--PRESSED AGAIN.
The good ship _Nieuwland_ made rapid progress. Though I was flying away from home and all I longed to be with, yet anything was better than moving slowly. If we did not fall in with any ship in which I might return, I felt that the sooner I got to the end of the voyage, the sooner I might be starting back again. The gale continued for several days; the wind at length dropped and then came ahead, blowing stronger than ever. It was now necessary to heave the ship to.
In performing the operation, a heavy sea struck her bows, and two more of the crew were washed overboard. Happily the emigrants were below, or many would probably have shared the same fate.
I had now what I much required, abundance of work as a seaman. When it is well for a person to fly from his own thoughts, there is nothing like useful occupation to help him along; nothing is so bad as to allow oneself to dwell on one"s misfortunes. The best advice I can give to a man when he is unhappy, is to go and help others. He will find plenty of people requiring his aid, and numbers far more unhappy than himself.
The ship had suffered a good deal during the gale, and we began to be apprehensive for her safety should the weather continue bad; but it soon cleared up, and we had every hopes of reaching our port in a week or ten days at the farthest. The day after the fair weather set in, a sail was reported ahead. As we drew near each other, we saw that she was in a very shattered condition. She was a brig, we perceived, but only one mast was standing. Her bowsprit was carried away, and her foremast was gone by the board.
Our captain made a signal to ask what a.s.sistance was required. The answer was, "Some spars for our foremast and bowsprit, and some hands who may be willing to return to England to help navigate the ship. We have lost five overboard."
Our kind captain called us all aft. "Here is an opportunity for those who may desire it to return home," said he. "The brig is in no very good plight, as you see; but many a vessel in a worse condition has made a safe voyage. I will not advise you either way. I shall be very sorry to lose you, but you are at liberty to go."
We thanked him very much for this additional proof of his love of justice and fair dealing, and La Motte and I consulted together what we would do. I at all events was ready to run every risk for the sake of returning home. I also felt that we might be the means of saving the brig and the people on board her.
La Motte agreed to accompany me; so we told the captain that we would go. Andrews and another man said that they would accompany us. Our captain therefore signalled that he would afford all the help asked for, and told the people in the brig in the meantime to send a boat on board us. As we pa.s.sed under the counter of the brig, previous to heaving to, a man standing on her taffrail hailed us through his speaking-trumpet:
"We cannot do what you ask; we have not a boat that can swim, and we have only four hands remaining on board."
It struck me as I looked at the man that I knew his figure, and even the tone of his voice; but where I had seen him I could not tell. While the ship was being hove-to, we went round to bid farewell to the numerous friends we had found on board. Had we been brothers, we could not have been treated more kindly, and to no one was our grat.i.tude more due than to the honest Bremen captain.
The boat was ready; we stepped into her, with a couple of spars towing astern. The captain took his seat in the stern-sheets.