With Cochrane the DauntlessHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
General
With Cochrane the Dauntless
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Biographical fiction; Dundonald, Thomas Cochrane, Earl of, 1775-1860
The mainmast had been cut away, and was towed by a long hawser from the
stern, thereby aiding to keep the vessel dead before the wind. Stephen
felt that there was nothing to be done but to wait for the end. There were
no materials for making a raft, and indeed the constant wash of the seas
would have rendered the task an almost impossible one, even had there been
spars at hand; but a raft, could one have been manufactured, would have
prolonged life but for a few hours. They were now, he calculated, fully a
thousand miles from the land, and there was no chance whatever of any
vessel coming across them in these unfrequented seas. From the time the
gale burst upon them he had but twice thrown himself down for a short
sleep, and had eaten no food save a dry biscuit or two. The Peruvian
captain agreed with him that the vessel would float but a few hours
longer. She rose but sluggishly upon the seas, and several times she had
plunged her head so deeply into them that Stephen thought that she was
going to dive bodily down.
Night fell. He and the captain lay down on two of the sofas aft, while the
crew were all in the forecastle. None expected to see the morning light;
but Stephen left the door open, saying to the captain:
“It will make no difference; but I should rather make a struggle for my
life before I die, than be drowned like a rat in a hole.”
The Peruvian, who had shown much cool courage during the storm, shrugged
his shoulders.
“It makes no difference,” he said, as he rolled a cigarette and lighted
it; “we have done all that we could. As for me, I would as lief be drowned
here as outside. But I don’t think that there will be much choice; we
shall have no warning when she goes; she will plunge down head-foremost.”
Stephen was too worn-out to reply, but he felt that what the captain said
was true. But even the thought that when he woke it would be but for a
short struggle for life was insufficient to keep him awake, and in a
minute or two he dropped off to sleep. How long he slept he could not
tell; he was awakened suddenly by a tremendous crash that threw him on to
the floor. He struggled to his feet and rushed out almost instinctively,
in obedience to his train of thought before sleeping. As he issued out of
the poop a wave poured down from above, and for a moment he shrunk back.
He was conscious that the ship was fast. There was no longer any movement;
but the sea struck against the stern with a force that made the vessel
quiver. As to going forward it was out of the question, for each wave
swept right over her. The Peruvian had joined him at the door.
“Our voyage has ended, señor.”
“Yes, as far as the ship is concerned; but if she holds together until
morning there will be a chance of getting ashore.”
As he spoke a great wave struck the vessel. She rose on it, moved a few
yards further forward, and then fell again with a crash that threw them
both off their feet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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