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
"They will not leave us," I answered. "They are men--and it is enough
that they should have seen you among us to make them stay. Oh!" I
cried, "it is hard that those waves do not subside! but patience. The
wind is lulling--we have a long spell of daylight before us. Would to
God she were an English ship!--I should have no fear then."
I again pointed the glass at the vessel.
The captain was still declaiming and gesticulating; but the men
had withdrawn from the quarter-boat, and were watching us over the
bulwarks.
Since the boat was not to be lowered, why did he continue arguing?
I watched him intently, watched him until my eyes grew bleared and the
metal rim of the telescope seemed to burn into the flesh around my eye.
I put the glass down and turned to glance at the flags streaming over
my head.
"There she goes! I knew it. They never shows no pity!" exclaimed the
boatswain, in a deep voice.
I looked and saw the figures of the men hauling on the lee main-braces.
The yards swung round; the vessel's head paid off; they squared away
forward, and in a few minutes her stern was at us, and she went away
solemnly, rolling and plunging; the main top-gallant sail being sheeted
home and the yard hoisted as she surged forward on her course.
We remained staring after her--no one speaking--no one believing in
the reality of what he beheld.
Of all the trials that had befallen us, this was the worst.
Of all the terrible, cruel disappointments that can afflict suffering
people, none, _none_ in all the hideous catalogue, is more deadly, more
unendurable, more frightful to endure than that which it was our doom
then to feel. To witness our salvation at hand and then to miss it; to
have been buoyed up with hope unspeakable; to taste in the promise of
rescue the joy of renovated life; to believe that our suffering was
at an end, and that in a short time we should be among sympathetic
rescuers, looking back with shudders upon the perils from which we had
been snatched--to have felt all this, and then to be deceived!
I thought my heart would burst. I tried to speak, but my tongue clove
to the roof of my mouth.
When the steward saw that we were abandoned, he uttered a loud scream
and rushed headlong down into the cuddy.
I took no notice of him.
Cornish ran from the wheel, and springing on to the rail, shook his
fist at the departing vessel, raving, and cursing her with horrible,
blasphemous words, black in the face with his mad and useless rage.
The boatswain took his place and grasped the wheel, never speaking a
word.
I was aroused from the stupor that had come over me, the effect of
excessive emotion, by Miss Robertson putting her hand in mine.
"Be brave!" she whispered, with her mouth close to my ear. "God is with
us still. My dead father would not deceive me. We shall be saved yet.
Have courage, and be your own true self again!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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