The captain gave the word, so that the boat touched the water just at
the best time. Peter Poplar stood in the bows, boat-hook in hand, and
moved off; Mr Gale steered; the three other men were the strongest of
the ship's company; and truly it required all the care and seamanship
mortal man could possess to keep a boat alive in such a boiling caldron
as the wide Atlantic then was. I was very anxious for Peter's safety,
for he was indeed my friend. I feared also for the rest. I was fully
alive to the danger of the expedition they were on.
The boat, keeping under the lee of the brig, dropped down towards the
scene of the catastrophe. So fiercely boiling, however, were the waves,
that with awful rapidity the greater number of those who had lately
peopled the deck of that big ship were now engulfed beneath them. Some,
however, still struggled for existence.
Had the sea been less violent many might have been saved; for as we
stood on the deck we could see the poor wretches struggling among the
foam, but by the time the boat reached the spot they had sunk for ever.
The captain had gone into the main-rigging, and with his outstretched
arm was indicating to the second mate the direction in which to steer;
but of course she could venture to go very little out of one particular
direction without a certainty of being swamped. It was very dreadful to
watch one human being after another engulfed in the hungry ocean. We
have just to picture to ourselves how we should be feeling if we were in
their places, to make us eager to save those under like circumstances.
The most conspicuous object was the tall priest, and towards him the
boat was accordingly making her way. Two other figures were at the same
time seen. One floated only a short distance to leeward of the brig; it
was that, I felt certain, of the beautiful girl I had seen supported by
the young officer. She was unconscious of all around, and I believe
that even then life had left her frame. She was supported by a piece of
plank, to which probably she had been secured with the last fond effort
of affection by him who had thus been unable to provide any means of
escape for himself. He, however, must have struggled bravely for
existence, for I made him out at a short distance beyond, now rising on
the crest of a wave, now sinking into the trough of the sea, but still
swimming on with his eye gazing steadily in the direction of that
floating form.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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