Perseverance Island

The end of the day found us with a still fresh working breeze headed for Easter Island.

CHAPTER III

Captain Davis's condition. Only five men fit for duty. Terrific storm. The schooner thrown on her beam ends and dismasted. Loss of three more of the crew. Taking to the whale-boat. Foundering of the schooner "Good Luck." Death of Captain Davis. Storm again, running to the southward before the tempest. Strike upon a reef. The author cast on shore.

The next fifteen or twenty days passed over us without anything material interfering with our advancement towards the islands.

During this time the change in the condition of Captain Davis had become worse; and we could all see that he was failing surely but rapidly; the sailor with the broken arm, on the other hand, was every day gaining strength and health, and bid fair to be soon amongst us again and at work. Bill Thompson and myself had fully recovered from the bruises and blows that we had received, and were in excellent health.

The duty at this time was rather exhaustive, as there were only five of us, including myself, fit for duty, and our turn at the wheel came about pretty often, as we, being so short-handed, had each to take our "trick." Our vessel was small, to be sure, and easily handled, but reduced, as we were, to five men, it was no boy's play to manage her.

In the first place, it needed a man at the helm night and day; then there was the cooking to be taken charge of; and at night the lookout man on the forecastle; these were three imperative duties which admitted of no change or neglect, and, divided amongst five persons, and including the watches at night, gave us plenty to do and to think of.

On November 5 we went about our usual duties in the morning, washing down the decks, and making everything snug and cleanly, as seamen like to see things. At noon I was able to get a good observation of the sun, which gave us lat. 40° 89′ 12″ S., and longitude by two forenoon observations by chronometer, 112° 5′ 54″ W. from Greenwich. The wind had for the last two weeks steadily hauled ahead, and we had been close-hauled and often unable to lay our course, hence I found the schooner much too far to the southward, but with her longitude well run down, and it was my purpose to decrease our latitude, even if we had to stand on the other tack to the northward and eastward. We were about fifteen hundred miles to the westward of the Straits of Magellan, which was not a bad run for a small vessel of the size of the "Good Luck;" especially when it was to be remembered that we had also made several degrees (about ten) of northing, in latitude.

The afternoon shut down cloudy and threatening, and I hastened to the cabin to consult the barometer; I found no great change, but marked it with the side regulator, so as to be able to see if there was any sudden change within the next hour or two. At about eight bells (4 P. M.) the wind shifted suddenly to about N. N. W., and then died away and left us bobbing about in a heavy cross-sea, with dark, dirty weather to the northward and westward, but with little or no wind.

I examined the barometer again, and to my dismay saw that the mercury had fallen rapidly since my last visit. Everything about us showed that we were about to catch it, and although I knew that we were out of the track of typhoons and cyclones, still we were evidently about to experience a heavy gale of wind; the admonitions of nature were too evident and palpable to be misunderstood. I called all hands, and we went to work with a will to put the schooner in order for the coming blast.

We soon had the foretopsail lowered on the cap, close reefed, and then furled to the yard. We then took two reefs in the mainsail, and reefed and then stowed the foresail; got the bonnet off the jib, and the outer jib furled. Under this short sail we awaited the coming of the inevitable. First, the day grew darker, and was overcast with clouds of inky blackness; then came the mysterious sobbing and moaning of the ocean that all sailors have experienced; then the jerky and uneven motion of the schooner on the heavy swells for want of enough wind to keep her canvas full and herself steady.

Finally, towards evening, the pent-up storm came madly down upon us from the N. N. W., where it had been so long gathering its strength and forces. We laid the schooner's head to the westward and awaited the blast. Oh! if we only could have had wind enough to have gotten steerage-way upon her, so as to have luffed up into the howling blast, I might have been spared writing this narrative; but lying, as we were, almost dead upon the waste of water, we were compelled to receive the blast in all its strength, not being able to yield an atom to it. We had done all that men could do, except to await the result and trust in the mercy of God. I do not think that there was very much fear as to the result; there was a certain anxiety, however; but sailors never believe that wind or sea can hurt them till it does so. We expected to be struck hard, and to suffer some damage; but I think no one on board of that schooner had the slightest idea of the shock that we were about to receive. As the storm, or rather advance whirlwind, approached, we took our different stations and awaited the result. It came upon us with a crash, and in spite of all our care and skill the foretopmast went over the side, followed by the jibboom and maintopmast, as if the whole fabric had been made of paper, and the schooner was thrown violently upon her beam-ends. We lowered away the mainsail halyards, and, by cutting away the wreck to leeward, finally got her head before the wind, when she righted, and we dashed off before the tempest with nothing set but the jib, the mainsail having blown out of the bolt-ropes. Black night shut down upon us like a pall, and sheets of rain and spray fell upon us in torrents; thunder and lightning played about us, lighting up the decks one moment as bright as noonday, and the next leaving us in the most intense darkness, with a feeling about the eyes as if they had been burned up in their sockets. After the "Good Luck" once got started she did pretty well, scudding before it, but the forward sail was too small for the tremendous sea getting up astern of us; and we were in deadly peril of being pooped, and feared it each moment. We could set no square sail, everything forward above the foretop having been carried away; and we had no means of hoisting the foresail, even if we had dared to set it, as the peak-halyards had been carried away with the fall of the topmast, and we could not repair them; so all we could do was to fasten down the companion-way and trust to luck in letting her run before it under the jib. I thought that I had seen it blow before, but such a gale as this I never experienced; the voice of the tempest howled so through the rigging that you could not hear the faintest sound of the human voice in its loudest tones. I stood at the wheel, after helping to cut away the wreck, aiding the man at the helm through that long and awful night. We lashed ourselves to the rail and rudder-head; and well was it that we did so, for we were repeatedly pooped, and large masses of water came in over the stern, and rushed forward over the decks, that would have carried us to a watery grave if we had not been lashed to our post. My comrade Bill Thompson and I had no means of knowing whether the others forward had fared as well as we, or had been swept overboard by the repeated invasions of the sea.

Before we had been able to cut clear from the wreck we had received several severe blows from the timbers alongside, how severe I had no means of judging as yet, but my great fear was that we had started a butt or been seriously injured by these floating spars before we had been able to get rid of them.

About two bells (1 A. M.) as near as we could judge, the thunder and lightning ceased; and the puffs of wind were less and less violent, so that it was easy for us to feel confident that the strength of the gale had passed us. At eight bells (4 A. M.) there was a great difference both in the sea and wind; the former was no longer to be feared, and the latter was fast dying out. With what anxiety did we watch for the first light of day, – hours of agony unknown to those who have never led a sailor's life. As the gray of the morning began to come upon us, both wind and sea abated more and more, till in the full light of the morning we lay a dismantled wreck upon the waste of waters, with scarcely wind enough for a fair topsail breeze, and the seas momentarily going down.

My first care was to rush into the cabin, and to the locker, and pounce upon some food, and my next to carry some to my companion at the wheel. After this I looked around me to take in our situation. The foremast was gone near the head, the foreyard had evidently parted in the slings, and the foretopmast, topsail, and hamper, all gone together over the port bow.

Bill Thompson and I both strained our eyes for a view of some of our companions forward, but not a living soul met our gaze. I descended into the cabin, and found the captain and the sailor with the wounded arm doing as well as could be supposed after such a night of horrors. Captain Davis was evidently much weaker and much worse. I gave them an outline of the misfortunes that had overtaken us, and then went forward with a beating heart to the companion-way, threw it open, and passed into the forecastle and found it empty; not one soul left of three gallant fellows to tell the story of their swift destruction. The repeated poopings that we had received during the night must have swept them into the sea. I passed on deck, and thence aft. I noticed that the cook's galley was gone, and the bulwarks on the starboard side, and all the boats, except our whaleboat, which, although full of water, still remained pinned down to the deck by the lashings across her frame to the numerous ringbolts. As I walked aft, I could not but think that the schooner seemed low in the water; but I for the moment put it down to her changed appearance on account of the loss of her bulwarks. By this time the sun had risen and as beautiful and mild a day as one might desire to see burst upon us. I relieved Thompson at the wheel, and the wounded sailor soon took it with his one arm; the vessel scarcely moving through the water with the light air now stirring. I went below for the sounding-rod, and hastened to the well, as I knew we must have made much water during the storm, and I prayed to God that it might be no worse. I pulled out the pump-bucket and inserted the rod, it came back to the deck, marking at least FIVE FEET of water in the hold. I struggled one moment with my emotion, and then, turning to my companions, I said, "Get Captain Davis on deck; clear away the whaleboat; this vessel, curse her, is doomed. She will not float one hour; she has started a butt."

Amazement was depicted upon the faces of my companions; but, sailor-like, they hastened to obey my commands. We went into the cabin, and with infinite care and solicitude lifted the captain out of his berth and carried him to the deck. We then gathered round the whaleboat, relieved her from her slings and fastenings, tipped her over upon the deck, and got out all the water, and righted her, and then launched her over the starboard side through the broken bulwarks, and, putting her in charge of the broken-armed sailor, let her drop astern by her painter. We commenced at once rummaging for stores; and out of a mass of stuff brought on deck I ordered the following into the boat (the spritsail and oars were already lashed to the thwarts): Two half casks of fresh water, one bag of hard tack, one bag of uncooked salt junk, a fishing-line and hooks, a pair of blankets, some canned meats, a compass, charts and quadrant, a Nautical Almanac, Bowditch's Epitome, and a very valuable book of my own, a Compendium of Useful Arts and Sciences, a few pounds of tea and coffee, four tin canisters containing garden-seed, matches, two rifles and four revolvers, and ammunition for the same; this, with the usual clothing of the men, was as much as I dared load the boat with; and, pulling her up alongside, we lowered the captain on board on a mattress, and proceeded to stow away the articles I have enumerated in as good order as possible. We stepped the spritsail forward and unlashed the oars, and got the steering oar out aft through the becket made for that purpose. I feasted my eyes upon the treasures round about me, but had sense enough not to allow the boat to be overloaded with trash, so as to swamp us in the first gale of wind. Having got everything on board, and carefully noted the day of the month, November 6th, in the Nautical Almanac, we cast off from the unlucky "Good Luck," and set our sail to keep near her till her final destruction took place, which to our practised eyes could not long be postponed, as she was evidently in the throes of death. We found that she was making so little headway on account of the light breeze, and from having settled so deep in the water, that we took in our sail and lay to upon our oars at a safe distance and watched her.

Could anything be more miserable than our condition? Four unfortunate men, two of whom were crippled, one probably to the death, cast on the open ocean in an open boat, at least a thousand miles from any known land.

I thought of all the open-boat exposures of which I had ever read; of Lieutenant Bligh and the "Bounty," and others equally startling. I shuddered when I thought what our fate might be. I ran through, in my mind, the rapid events that had followed each other since our departure from England, and the unexplainable series of fatalities that had robbed us of our comrades till we remained only the little group now seated in this frail boat. In what direction should we steer? what was to be our fate? what had God still in store for us in the shape of misfortune and horror? It seemed as if the bitter cup had been full to overflowing, and that we had drained it to the very dregs. I was awakened from my day-dream by the voices of my comrades, who drew my attention, without speech, by pointing to the doomed vessel. We lifted Captain Davis in our arms, and with fixed eyes and set teeth saw the misnamed schooner drive her bows under the water, and then shortly after, majestically raising her forefoot high in air, sink down grandly into the abyss of ocean, leaving us poor unfortunates adrift upon its treacherous bosom.

After we had seen the last of the schooner we gathered together for consultation as to our course. It was demonstrated by the chart that we were much nearer to Easter Island than to any other land, say some eight hundred miles distant by projection. But, on the other hand, the wind hung persistently from the northward and placed us to leeward of our port. It was too far to think of standing back to the South American coast, and we felt that we must keep a northwesterly course, and if the wind headed us off from Easter Island, that we could at least fetch some of the more westerly of the Society Group.

Having decided upon this, we set our foresail and laid our course about W. by N., which was as high as the wind would allow us to lie. The day was pleasant and the wind light, and the sea quiet. I inaugurated at once a system of daily allowance, and for this first day we were to issue no rations, we all having had at least, although coarse and interrupted, one meal and plenty of water, before leaving the schooner. The days were growing perceptibly longer and warmer, and we ran all that afternoon quietly along over quite a smooth sea, making good headway to the westward, but little northing, which I was so anxious to make. As the sun went down Captain Davis, although very weak, called us all aft around him and, in a faint voice on the lonely ocean, from memory repeated for us all the Lord's Prayer; the loneliness of our situation and the solemnity of the occasion remain vividly in my mind to this day. We all saw that we must soon lose our captain, but no one dared to say as much to his neighbor; we could plainly see that his hours were few, and that the motion and exposure of the boat could not be endured by him much longer. After the sun went down I took the steering oar aft, and telling the men to lie down and get all the rest they could, I kept the boat on her course and seated myself near the captain, stretched on his mattress at my feet. At about ten o'clock, as near as I could judge, after a long and absolute silence, I heard Captain Davis utter my name. I bent down towards him, and he said, "Do not be shocked. I am soon, very soon, about to depart, the sands of life have almost run out, and I am weary and want to be at rest in the Haven of Repose. If you ever get back to England, tell them that I did my duty faithfully. I, as you know, have no wife or child to mourn for me, but I want you all to remember me as a just captain, with all my faults. I have no fear of being buried in the sea; God can find me anywhere at the great day, when we shall all be mustered on the quarter-deck for inspection, and, if worthy, promotion. If you are driven out of your course, keep to the westward still, and you will eventually find land. Say a prayer or two over my body when you commit me to the deep; and now wake up the men and let me say good-by to them, for I am going fast." I called up the men, and the two poor fellows came aft and shook the hand of our captain in sore distress; and we sat watching, unwilling to sleep or break the silence of that solemn moment. In about an hour Captain Davis opened his eyes, that had been closed, raised his arm slowly to his head, touched an imaginary hat, and said, "Come on board to report for duty, Sir," – and passed away like a child dropping to sleep. We covered the body with our spare clothing, and each sat in sad reflection. Bill Thompson soon after relieved me at the oar, and I laid down in the forward part of the boat and tried to sleep; and such was exhausted nature that, in spite of our unfortunate condition, I soon dropped off. I was awakened early in the morning by a slight call from Bill, and sat up in the boat, rather bewildered for a moment, till I saw the outline of the body in the stern sheets, and then everything flashed back to my memory. I have little doubt but what that sleep saved me for the purposes that God has preserved me for to this day. It was thought best to dispose of the body before the full breaking of the day, and we for that purpose gathered around the remains, and, in compliance with the dead man's request, I recited the Lord's Prayer, and we committed the body to the deep. This event produced a new shock to our already overstrained systems, and we looked sadly enough upon each other with almost vacant eyes. We as yet were blessed with pleasant weather, and, although we were not heading up to our course, we were making westing quite fast. This day, November 7th, we passed without any remarkable event. As there were now only three of us left we found plenty of room in the boat to lie down at our ease, and it only took one of us to steer and look after the boat. We rearranged everything, and stowed all our articles in convenient places. So far, we had seen no signs of vessel or land, and we passed the day in sleeping and refreshing ourselves for whatever the future might have in store for us. The night was quiet and the stars shone down upon us with their silvery light, and we used them to keep our course by, having no light to see the compass in the night-time. Towards eight o'clock in the morning of the 8th the weather began to change, and large clouds to gather in the northern horizon; it was at this time that we made another discovery, and that was that one of the breakers of water had leaked out quietly till there was scarcely enough in it for our rations for that morning; this was caused by its not having been used for some time before we filled it on board of the ship. This discovery caused us great uneasiness, and although the breaker had evidently ceased leaking now, having swollen with the water placed in it, it was no longer useful, as we had no water to replace that which was lost. The weather to windward caused me great disquietude, and I was sadly afraid, in case of a blow, that my Nautical Almanac and Epitome and Compendium would be destroyed, either by rain or seas that we might ship. I bethought me, therefore, of copying off the declination of the sun for a few days, and the tables that I might want to use, on a spare leaf of the Epitome, and take out the head of the now useless breaker and enclose all the books and charts in it and head it up. This was accordingly done. We started the hoops, took out the head, put the books and charts in, carefully wrapped up in a piece of blanket, and replaced the head and closed up the bung-hole. I felt relieved after this, as I looked upon the preservation of my books as of the utmost importance in our future navigation, and I could think of no greater loss to people in our condition than to have them lost or destroyed. It was with infinite satisfaction that I saw them thus safely preserved from the water till I could again take them out in good weather and examine and copy from them.

Whilst we had been busy at this task the weather to windward was fast becoming bad and threatening. I dealt out a fair ration of hard tack and canned meat to my two comrades, and then ordered them to take the sprit out of the foresail, and bring the peak down to the foot of the mast, and lash it to the inner leach of the sail, and fasten what was before the after leach to the foot; so as to make a sort of double leg-of-mutton sail, with the body low down and along the boom. We labored with a will at our work, for the freshening breeze was fast coming down upon us, and at twelve o'clock, as I judge, we were plunging along quite well for so small a boat, in about half a gale of wind, which allowed us to head up as high as N. N. W. The sea, however, was getting up fast, and I foresaw that unless it moderated we should have to bear away and run before it. As I feared, we now commenced to take in considerable water, which, although not in dangerous quantities, gave us work to do in the shape of bailing with the empty meat cans, whilst the attention of one was needed without remission at the steering oar and sheet. We were, thank God, blessed with that best of seaboats, a Nantucket whaleboat; and although she was low in the water, she was also buoyant, and rode the waves better than could be expected of any other craft of her size. I felt, too, that we could at any time make easy weather of it by scudding or running before the wind, for which she was admirably fitted, being sharp at both ends, and therefore in no danger of being pooped; but this was the last thing that I desired to do, as it would take us from our course towards the islands and far to the southward, as such a boat would make rapid way before the wind, with even this small sail.

At about two o'clock the wind hauled more to the westward and headed us off to the southward. At three o'clock we had broken off to S. W., and the wind increasing, and the sea getting up fast, so fast that I already had to let the boat go very free before it, to keep her from being swamped.

At sundown the gale had greatly increased, and I found that to preserve us, and on account of the steady change of the wind, that I was compelled to steer about S. by W., and to allow ourselves to run before the tempest. As the darkness set down upon us like a pall, I gave ourselves up as lost. I clung to the steering-oar and guided the boat before the wind; the only clew that was given me how to steer was the angry roar of the combing billows astern and the rush of the wind by the side of my face: by these two senses of hearing and feeling, I was enabled to tell when the boat was about to broach to, which would have been destruction, and how to steer so as to keep her before the wind. The darkness was the darkness of the ocean in a storm, and torrents of rain and spray flew over us. I was unable to see an atom of even the sail ahead of me in the boat. And thus we plunged on, into the inky darkness, followed by the angry roar of the disappointed waves that we left astern. We were moving with frightful rapidity through the water; but in what direction I had no means of knowing.

I clung to the steering-oar, and my companions to their bailers; how many hours we thus rushed along I know not. I had become hardened to the situation, and the angry roar astern had become a familiar noise in my ears. I commenced to people the darkness with vessels, islands, sunlight, and music; I had long ceased to care what fate might have in store for me; I felt that the night must be nearly passed, and wondered whether we should survive to see the daylight. I dreamed, and became semi-unconscious, but still guided the boat onward before the wind.