Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Juvenile fiction; Midshipmen -- Juvenile fiction; Seafaring life -- Juvenile fiction
"That boat is well handled, or she would have been under water before
this time," observed my messmate. "What she can do others can do, and
some of us may have a chance for our lives if our old ship goes down.
Paddy, my boy, if that happens, do you try and get aboard a boat.
You're young, with a good chance of promotion. I'm old, and have none;
and I should like to have you and Tom Pim save yourselves."
"But I can't go without Larry," I answered; "and you too, Nettleship, if
you have any hope of a boat living in this sea, you must try to get
off."
He shook his head.
"No, no, Paddy. I have long made up my mind for the worst, and am ready
for it. I should be thankful, though, to see you and Pim escape, and
your honest fellow, Larry. There are two or three boats still
uninjured. It's a pity that the lives of some of us should not be
saved, if we can but manage to launch them."
While he was speaking I was watching the progress of the _Dutton's_
boat. First she steered for a ship some way to the eastward, but those
on board at length saw that they should have to haul up to reach her,
and again she kept away for a large merchantman to leeward. Presently
the boat ran alongside the merchantman, from whose deck a number of
ropes were hove into her, and the men, clutching them as the boat surged
by, were hauled up, and, as far as we could see, none were lost, though
the boat herself almost immediately rilled and disappeared. In other
directions most melancholy spectacles met our sight. The whole sea was
literally covered with pieces of wreck and human beings clinging to
them, among whom we observed several women lashed to spars or gratings,
probably by brave fellows who themselves had perished after in vain
attempting to preserve those they loved. No help could be given to the
unfortunate wretches; and even had we been able to haul some who came
near us on board our ship, it would only have been to prolong their
lives for a few short hours.
Our captain and officers were making all possible efforts to save our
ship, but from the first, I suspect, they must have seen they were
hopeless. Every possible weight was got rid of. The anchors were cut
away; then the upper deck guns were hove overboard, though the operation
in itself was a dangerous one, for, after the gun tackles were cut
loose, there was the risk of the guns upsetting and crushing those
standing near. All this time the pumps were being worked. The captain
ordered all hands not otherwise engaged to bale, and we were formed in
gangs to pass the buckets up and down and along the deck.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE WRECK OF THE "CERBERUS."
We were thus employed when the carpenter came to the captain with
consternation in his countenance, and told him that the pumps would no
longer work, for, the shot-lockers being destroyed, the shot as well as
the ballast had got into the well, and completely choked it up.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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