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
"No, no," I replied, "it's my turn. You stand by to cut away the
lanyards to leeward, and then get to windward and wait for me. We must
watch for a heavy lurch, for we don't want the spars to fall amidships
and drive a hole through the deck."
Saying which I got off the poop and made for the cabin lately shared
between the carpenter and the boatswain, where I should find a saw in
the tool chest.
I crept along the main-deck to leeward, but was washed off my feet in
spite of every precaution, and thrown with my head against the bulwark,
but the blow was more bewildering than hurtful. Fortunately, everything
was secure, so there were no pounding casks and huge spars driving
about like battering rams, to dodge.
I found a saw, and also laid hold of the sounding-rod, so that I might
try the well, being always very distrustful of the boatswain's plugs
in the fore hold; but on drawing up the rod out of the sounding-pipe,
I found there were not above five to six inches of water in her, and,
as the pumps sucked at four inches, I had not only the satisfaction of
knowing that the ship was tight in her hull, but that she was draining
in very little water from her decks.
This discovery of the ship's soundness filled me with joy, and,
thrusting the saw down my waistcoat, I sprang into the main-rigging
with a new feeling of life in me.
I could not help thinking as I went ploughing and clinging my way up
the ratlines, that the hurricane was less furious than it had been an
hour ago; but this, I dare say, was more my hope than my conviction,
for, exposed as I now was to the full force of the wind, its power and
outcry were frightful. There were moments when it jammed me so hard
against the shrouds that I could not have stirred an inch--no, not to
save my life.
I remember once reading an account of the wreck of a vessel called the
_Wager_, where it was told that so terrible was the appearance of the
sea that many of the sailors went raving mad with fear at the sight of
it, some throwing themselves overboard in their delirium, and others
falling flat on the deck and rolling to and fro with the motion of the
ship, without making the smallest effort to help themselves.
I believe that much such a sea as drove those poor creatures wild was
spread below me now, and I can only thank Almighty God for giving me
the courage to witness the terrible spectacle without losing my reason.
No words that I am master of could submit the true picture of this
whirling, mountainous, boiling scene to you. The waves, fore-shortened
to my sight by my elevation above them, drew nevertheless a deeper
shadow into their caverns, so that, so lively was this deception of
colouring, each time the vessel's head fell into one of these hollows,
it seemed as though she were plunging into a measureless abysm, as
roaring and awful as a maelström, from which it would be impossible
for her to rise in time to lift to the next great wave that was rushing
upon her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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