The Wreck of the Grosvenor, Volume 3 of 3: An account of the mutiny of the crew and the loss of the ship when trying to make the BermudasRussell, William Clark
General
The Wreck of the Grosvenor, Volume 3 of 3: An account of the mutiny of the crew and the loss of the ship when trying to make the Bermudas
However, she lay steady, that is, as the compass goes, but rolled
fearfully, wallowing deep like a ship half full of water, and shipped
such tremendous seas that I constantly expected to hear the crash of
the galley stove in.
I now shaded my eyes to look astern; not hoping, indeed, to see the
steamer near, but expecting at least to find her in sight. But the
horizon was a dull blank: not a sign of the vessel to be seen, nothing
but the rugged line of water, and the nearer deep dark under the shadow
of the leaden pouring clouds.
CHAPTER III.
In bringing the ship close to the wind in this terrible gale, without
springing a spar, we had done what I never should have believed
practicable to four men, taking into consideration the size of the
ship and the prodigious force of the wind; and when I looked aloft and
considered that only a few hours before, so to speak, the ship was
carrying all the sail that could be put upon her, and that three men
had stripped her of it and put her under a close-reefed main-topsail
fit to encounter a raging hurricane, I could not help thinking that we
had a right to feel proud of our endurance and spirit.
There was no difficulty now in holding the wheel, and, had no worse sea
than was now running been promised us, the helm might have been lashed
and the vessel lain as comfortably as a smack with her foresail over to
windward.
The torn sails were making a hideous noise on the yards forward, and
as there was no earthly reason why this clamour should be suffered to
last, I called to Cornish to get his knife ready and help me to cut the
canvas away from the jackstays. We hauled the braces taut to steady the
yards, and then went aloft, and in ten minutes severed the fragments of
the foresail and topsail, and they blew up into the air like paper, and
were carried nearly half a mile before they fell into the sea.
The wind was killing up aloft, and I was heartily glad to get on deck
again, not only to escape the wind, but on account of the fore-topmast
and top-gallant mast, both of which had been heavily tried, and now
rocked heavily as the ship rolled, and threatened to come down with the
weight of the yards upon them.
But neither Cornish nor I had strength enough in us to stay the masts
more securely; our journey aloft and our sojourn on the yards, and our
fight with the wind to maintain our hold, had pretty well done for
us; and in Cornish I took notice of that air of lassitude and dull
indifference which creeps upon shipwrecked men when worn out with their
struggles, and which resembles in its way the stupor which falls upon
persons who are perishing of cold.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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