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 — John Shaqi
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
He called to the steward, and we all three went to work and pumped
vigorously, and kept the handles grinding and clanking, with now and
again a spell of a couple of minutes' rest between, until the pumps
gave out the throaty sound which told us that the water was exhausted.
Though this proved beyond a doubt that, providing the leak remained as
it was, we should be able to keep the water under, the prospect before
us of having to work the pumps every hour was extremely disheartening;
all four of us required sleep to put us right, and already our bones
were aching with weariness. Yet it was certain that we should be able
to obtain at the very best but brief snatches of rest; and I for one
did not even promise myself so much, for I had strong misgivings as to
the condition of the ship's bottom, and was prepared, at any moment, to
find the water gaining more rapidly upon us than we could pump it out,
though I kept my fears to myself.
I had been on deck now for four hours at one stretch; so, leaving
Cornish at the wheel, I lay down on the steward's mattress in the
cuddy, whilst he seated himself on the bench with his head upon the
cuddy table, and snored in that posture.
But we were all aroused again within the hour by Cornish, who called
to us down the companion, and away we floundered, with our eyes gummed
up with sleep, to the pumps, and wearily worked them like miserable
automatons.
The dawn found me again at the wheel, having been there half an hour.
I scanned the broken desolate horizon in the pale light creeping over
it, but no ship was in sight. The sea, though not nearly so dangerous
as it had been, was terribly sloppy, short, and quick, and tumbled
very often over the ship's sides, making the decks, with the raffle
that encumbered them, look wretched.
I had not had my clothes off me for some days, and the sense of
personal discomfort in no small degree aggravated the profound feeling
of weariness which ached like rheumatism in my body and absolutely
stung in my legs. The skin of my face was hard and dry with long
exposure to the terrible wind and the salt water it had blown and dried
upon it; and though my underclothing was dry, yet it produced all the
sensation of dampness upon my skin, and never in all my life had I
felt so uncomfortable, weary, and spiritless as I did standing at the
wheel when the dawn broke and I looked abroad upon the rugged fields
of water, and found no vessel in sight to inspire me with a moment's
emotion of hope.
I was replaced at the wheel by the boatswain, and took another turn
at the pumps. When this harassing job was ended, I went into the
forecastle, making my way thither with much difficulty.
I had a sacred duty to perform, and now that the daylight was come it
was proper I should go to work.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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