United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
The crew warmly cheered this speech, though the voices of many of the
poor fellows sounded hollow and faint. They knew, however, that, badly
off as they might be, not an officer would touch a mouthful of food
while they were without it. How eagerly we all looked out for a sail
which might bring us relief! There was no necessity to hail the
mast-heads to ascertain that the men stationed there were doing their
duty. I certainly did not wish myself back at Ou Trou, but I never
suffered such pangs of hunger there as I was now doing. We had two or
three prophets of disaster on board, and they were continually citing
instances where the whole crew of a ship had died from starvation, or
perhaps where only one or two had survived to tell the tale of their
misfortunes. Water was our greatest want. The wind was light, almost a
calm, and the sun shone forth on the calm shining sea with intense fury,
the very pitch in the teams of our decks bubbled up, and if we had a
beef steak we might have cooked it on the capstan-head. We put on our
sword-belts, and drew them tighter and tighter round our waists. The
men used their handkerchiefs for the same object. But all would not do.
Tight as we drew them we could not stop the gnawing pangs which
attacked us. Those on watch had, of course, to keep the deck. The rest
of the officers lay down in their cabins, but I could not remain in
mine. I was soon again out of it, and climbing up aloft eagerly to scan
the horizon, in the hopes of finding a sail in sight. In vain I looked
round; not a speck was to be seen above the horizon. At length the sun
went down, and darkness came on, and there the ship lay becalmed, with
her crew of starving men. Anxiously all that night passed away--the
calm continued. We had indeed practical experience of how hard hunger
and thirst is to bear. We could see the Hinchinbrook at a little
distance from us, rolling her polished sides in the water, over which
the moonbeams were now playing. She was now in as bad a condition as we
were, and could no longer render us any assistance. The sun again rose,
and then the two ships lay with their sails idly flapping against the
masts. A hurricane would at that time have been welcomed--anything to
move us on. There was no piping to breakfast that day. The boatswain
put his whistle to his mouth, but instantly let it fall again. The men,
however, were mustered at divisions, and then they were set on to do all
sorts of work, to keep their minds employed if possible, although their
jaws were to be idle. At dinner-time as much of the oil and tallow
candles as could be spared was served out, but some of the men could not
touch the greasy compound, even though about a thimbleful of rum was
offered at the same time to wash it down.
"Stay a bit," observed the surgeon, "in two or three days they will take
it eagerly enough."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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