Where The Flag Floats (7 page)

BOOK: Where The Flag Floats
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1.30pm

I opened my eyes at a slight jolt as the ship slowed sharply. The commodore called out an order and the engine room boy ran forward, repeating the shouted order down the companionway; I could faintly hear the message being repeated again down the engine room ladder. The vibrating increased as the engines beneath us throbbed with power.

Up forward, Fred was talking to the First Lieutenant, Mr Mudge. From his gestures I saw that he was very excited but I did not know why. Maybe he was pleading for my life, but it was too early for that. Mr Mudge waved Fred back to the forecastle but the men around him pushed him forward, and he walked past the lieutenant and approached the bridge quickly.

“Excuse me, sir, but we’re on the wrong course.” His words had been directed to Mr Strong, the master.

“What say you?” said Mr Strong, puffing out his chest.

“Sir, I’ve crossed the bar in the
Harrier
. The course is further north. We have to change course, sir, immediately, sir.”

A marine came up to take Fred back to the forecastle but Mr Strong waved him away while the commodore came to stand alongside Mr Strong. He looked down at Fred, his expression serious. “What was your position on the
Harrier
?” he asked.

“I was quartermaster, sir. And I took the
Harrier
over the bar.”

“And you say the course is further north?”

“Yes, sir, without a doubt.”

“Mr Amphlett,” the commodore called and the lieutenant about-turned smartly. “You’ve been over the bar before. Do you concur with Mr Butler?”

“I must admit, sir, to being ignorant of the navigational instructions of these parts, but I would defer to Mr Butler’s observations as I do seem to recall that the rock was in a more open position on approach.”

The commodore turned to Mr Strong. “Change course immediately, Mr Strong; veer away to the north.”

“Yes, sir.’ Even from my position I could see the relief in Mr Strong’s face, but the relief was short-lived as Mr Mallock approached the bridge.

“The signal tells us to ‘stand off shore’, sir.”

“Yes, we’re trying to do that, Mr Mallock,” Mr Strong replied.

It was true: the helmsman was straining at the wheel while one of the other helmsmen stepped forward to assist him. But before he could reach the wheel, the ship struck something softly, so softly I believe that very few of the seamen were initially aware of it. The breakers, before which we had been running, now carried forward to the shore without the ship and she slowly slid to a stop, settling as gently as a lady sitting down upon a chair.

We were aground – and much, much too far from shore.

 

 

 

2pm

“Full astern!” the commodore ordered and the engine room boy again ran across the deck to holler the command down the hatchway. “Lower the topsails and reef in the sails as much as the ropes will allow.”

This was followed by another order to batten down the hatches. Around me, men scrambled about as they ran to obey the orders, knowing that their work was crucial. I could feel the boards beneath me shudder and groan as the engines reversed and I, like the men around me, waited for the ship to lift and continue on her way.

She did not.

Instead a wave struck her, breaking across her stern. The ship shifted sideways until she was broadside to the waves. The action was sudden, knocking several men off their feet and sending them sprawling across the deck. I clung to the stanchion as she lurched to port, side-on to the oncoming waves, and the seas thrust against her side with a tremendous boom that shook the whole ship. Water surged across the deck, smashing the two boats that had hung on davits on the port side and taking the port bulwark with it. Waves cascaded over me; I lost my grip on the stanchion and slewed sideways so that I hit a coaming. I could not register the pain as I was struggling to breathe, the volume of water so great that I could not raise my head above it. It tugged at me as it drained away but my hands were held tight by the rope that now dug into my wrists, and my arms felt as though they were being torn from their sockets.

“Lighten the ship – get the port guns overboard!” I heard the commodore shout. Water was in my nose, throat and ears and I shook my head to clear them all. The deck was in chaos. Some of the supplies had moved, sliding across the deck to land up against the guns and suppliers on the port side. Men scrambled across the deck too, officers trying to direct their men while the seamen in the rigging struggled with the sails that now thrashed, unclewed, in the wind. I tried to call out but another rush of water engulfed me, filling my mouth with water. I heard a cry and saw a man carried along by the retreating waves towards the space where the port bulwark had been. He disappeared through the space and a seaman threw a lifebuoy to him, but I doubted he’d ever reach it.

The deck was at a tilt towards the port, the seas rushing over the bulwark with every broaching wave, flooding over the wood and knocking men off their feet as they laboured at throwing the guns overboard. As I watched, a hatch was thrown upwards by the violent bumping and was carried away by the sea. The next wave flooded over and into the opening left by the absent hatch.

I scrambled up against the lean of the deck until I could hook my legs around the stanchion to which I was tied. I tried to shout out but my throat was raw from the seawater I had swallowed. I would drown if I was left tied to the stanchion, but the men were too busy to be concerned for me.

“Look, sir, smoke!” Lieutenant Amphlett called. On the bridge above me, the lieutenant was pointing landwards. “A steamer, sir, making its way out of the harbour. It may be our salvation.”

“Hands out boats!” the commodore ordered. “Mr Fielding, man the starboard cutter. Take the ships records; ensure that they are passed into safe hands and then return.”

I knew then that the ship was in peril. When the ship first struck, I was sure that the competent sailors would soon have us afloat and moving again, heading towards the safety of the harbour but, by giving this order, I realised that the commodore believed that there was a chance the ship would sink and take the ship’s records with it – unless they were swiftly removed.

I watched as the men loaded the cutter with the ship’s records, the commodore’s desk and a small tin case in which, I presumed, were valuable papers. But the ship was lurching badly, the men could not keep their footing for more than a few seconds at a time and I saw some of the records lost overboard before they ever made it into the small boat.

It took a great deal of effort from the men to lower the cutter into the sea and the rest of the men gathered to watch as it left the ship. I was unable to see anything from my position at the compass and could only hope that the brave men had made it clear away.

“Lieutenant Hill!” the commander shouted. “Launch the pinnace and go to the aid of the cutter.”

It appeared that the cutter was already in distress.

“And Mr Hill,” the commodore called. “Take Mr Amphlett with you for he is acquainted with this place and will know where to get assistance.”

“Aye, sir,” the lieutenant said and I saw him approach Lieutenant Amphlett. Together with about two-dozen men, they manhandled the pinnace to the side of the ship and lowered it into the water. Both lieutenants jumped into the boat, landing in it safely in spite of the rush of water that caused it to slew about. Several other men got in too, and the last I saw of them was as they pulled away from the ship, the oarsmen straining to row against the strong push of the water.

As the pinnace disappeared from my sight, I realised that my watch had now gone with Lieutenant Amphlett. I was trapped on the ship, and, though I shouted at the men who rushed past me to release me, I was ignored.

If the ship sank, then I would go down with it to my death.

 

3pm

“Attention all hands!” the commodore shouted. “Any of the men wishing to save themselves must be ready at the starboard side of the ship to jump into the launch.”

Another boat had been prepared. It was the big one in the centre of the ship; it had taken thirty seamen to get her over the side and now she hung by both aft and forward lines as men jumped into her.

“Hey!” I called out again, trying to get someone’s attention, so often now that my voice was hoarse. “Someone let me loose!”

I had been straining against my bonds since the pinnace had left and all I had managed to achieve was chafing of my hands and wrists. Blood mixed with seawater was running down my arms. I had called to the seamen as they ran past but not one had noticed. I sagged against the stanchion, cold and exhausted and certain that I was going to die.

“Sam,” a familiar voice said as a firm hand grabbed my shoulder. “Do you live?”

“Aye,” I said wearily. I raised my head and tried to smile at Fred.

“Right, let’s get you off this ship.” He produced a small knife and began to saw at the sodden rope around my wrists.

“I thought they had left me to die.” I could not keep the anger from my voice. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

“Sorry, Sam, the officers kept us busy and I couldn’t get away. But now there’s not much more that can be done – the ship is doomed. We’ve hit the middle bank and the ship’s settling in. The sea is rushing in below and soon the tide will turn and she’ll be under water. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll have no chance.”

“What happened to the steamer?”

“I don’t think it’s seen us – it turned to the south and is almost out of sight.”

“How could it not?” I asked but Fred did not answer, intent as he was on cutting through the rope. I looked over at the waiting launch and saw John there, poised to jump, timing his departure such that he landed in the middle of the thwarts and was steadied by the crewmen.

The wet rope around my wrists was resistant to the sharp edge of the blade and Fred had to work hard to cut through the strands. It was slow work and I constantly looked over as the launch filled with men. Finally the last thread was cut and I stood unsteadily as another breaker rocked the ship, grabbing at the stanchion to prevent myself from being thrown off my feet. My wet and bloody hands slipped on the metal and Fred steadied me as I stumbled.

“Wait, Sam, there’s a set of rollers coming.”

I looked seaward and saw the black blocks of waves charging towards us.

“Hold on!” Fred shouted as the first wave in the set hit, and the ship groaned and shuddered before another wave hit soon after. Forced by the surge of water, the ship began to roll to her starboard side and I could hear men shouting and screaming as they were dislodged. The receding wave rolled her back again, back towards port. There was a grating, roaring noise and I had a glimpse of the launch flying through the air before it was lost to sight.

“What happened?” I asked Fred, shaken by the wild movement of the ship and the sight of the launch sailing through the air.

Fred’s face was white and drawn. “The fluke of the anchor caught the launch and it was lifted up and then thrown back down. It must have been smashed to pieces when it hit the water. I guess all in her have drowned.”

“John?” I cried.

“And a good many brave men too.”

“What are we to do?”

“I have no idea, Sam, but unless rescue comes soon, we’ll all be drowned like those in the launch.”

 

4pm

 

A voice called out through the gloom. “It’s every man for himself!”

I could not see who had shouted it but I surmised that it had to be one of the officers.

As Fred and I clung to the binnacle of the compass, trying not to lose our grip with each shudder and roll of the ship, a great wave struck and water again rushed across the deck. I struggled to hold on as the weight of the water threatened to pull me away, into the rough sea. Fred was having the same trouble.

“The ship is breaking up!” Fred shouted above the tumult around us. “We have to get atop!”

I looked up into the rigging where men now clung to spars and yardarms.

“I can’t,” I declared.

“You’ll have to, Sam; shortly she’ll be under, and us too if we stay here.”

I looked around me. The deck was now almost empty of men and, as I again glanced up, I saw the commodore climbing the mizzenmast shrouds. I knew then that the situation was dire and that the deck was not a safe place to be, and yet still I hesitated as I struggled with my fear: stay and drown on deck, or attempt to reach the dubious safety of the rigging. Most of the masts were standing firm and, although some of the rigging had snapped, the masts seemed solid and unmoving. Men clutched them, and to the rigging, looking like bees clustered around a hive. I knew that up top was the only safe place to be for the time being.

Fred was pulling at my tattered shirt. “This is no time for praying,” he said, misreading my hesitation. “We have to go now.”

With quick, unsteady steps, Fred left my side and made for the base of the mizzenmast. He turned and reached out for me, his words almost whipped away in the cacophony of sound. “Come, Sam, quickly, before the next set comes through.”

I trembled with fear, unwilling to leave the security of the binnacle, knowing that failing to move would mean I would eventually drown there, swept away when my strength failed me. Taking a deep breath and encouraged by Fred, I let go of the binnacle and staggered across the sloping deck, reaching Fred just before another wave hit. I clung to the mast.

“To the shrouds,” Fred said, pointing to the starboard side of the ship. I was amazed that the guns still remained there, along with most of the stores, but from my position I could see the ropes starting to fray. Soon those heavy guns and goods would be swept across the sloping deck, taking me and Fred with them. We would have to be quick.

“You go first,” Fred said, giving me a push that I had no time to resist. I scrambled up the sloping deck towards the bulwarks, catching hold of ropes that secured the guns and pulling myself on top of them. My knees bled – I had skinned them getting up the deck – but I was momentarily safe.

“Go on, up the shrouds. I’ll be behind you.” Somehow, Fred had joined me.

By now I was almost beyond endurance and it was only with a great deal of determination that I hauled myself onto the shrouds, clinging as the ship shivered and shook in the water, making the shrouds sway and vibrate. As I brought my foot up, the rope moved beneath me and I found myself stepping into air. Below me, Fred grabbed my foot and guided it onto the rope. I climbed up slowly, my heart hammering in my chest.

Moving up the shrouds took us higher but it did not take us away from the raging sea, for the ship was leant far over the water; when I looked down all I could see below me was the grimy grey of the waves, the white of the caps and the broken bits of the ship being tossed backwards and forwards.

“Higher!” Fred yelled from below me, but the truth was that I was frozen in place, unable to go further. I tried to speak but my jaw was clenched so tight that I could not get the words out. “Come on, move!” He tugged at my fingers wrapped tightly around the rope.

At that moment there was a loud crack from above me followed by a chorus of screams. I gripped the shrouds tighter as a broken yardarm fell from the top, carrying with it several men. The yardarm hit the water with a great splash, and some of the men were instantly knocked from it. I watched in horror as they were swept away. One man still clung to the wood: it was Private Gardner. He clutched at the yardarm as it was fetched away from the ship, bouncing in the rough waves, and I prayed that he would be able to maintain his hold and be carried to safety … but the savage sea plucked him from his salvation and he disappeared beneath the waves.

I stifled a cry. He had caused me pain and yet I wished no ill of him. He had to have been only ten years older than me and his life had been unfairly cut short.

“There’s no time for misery,” Fred said into my ear, for he had now come alongside me. “Keep moving higher.”

I looked up. Ahead of me was the mizzenmast top in which many men already sheltered. Above them were still more seamen, holding fast to whatever they could. There was not much room left in that precarious safety.

“Help will come soon,” Fred said. “The pinnace and the cutter have got away. They’re making for the signal station. Help will come soon if we just hold on.”

I could only believe him for I had nothing else on which to pin my hope. Reluctantly I moved forward, reaching for the handholds as if in a dream, my mind as frozen as my limbs. Reaching just under the shrouds, I could go no further. Fred must have known I had come to end of my endurance for then he straddled my body, pinning me to the shrouds so that I would not fall.

“There’s the steamer,” he said. “Just to the south of us – can she not see we are floundering?”

I did not have the strength to lift my head. I stared down to the water beneath me, filled with broken bits of wood and metal and loose clothing. At least, I thought it was clothing, until one bundle turned and I looked into the sightless eyes of the cook. I think I screamed but my shriek was snatched away by the wind.

“Hush, now,” Fred said as he patted my shoulder. “Help will come.”

I could not consider this. My world had been reduced to hell. The sea thundered beneath me, the water slamming against the hull which shuddered and creaked and groaned as it was torn apart. The wind howled in the rigging while the masts swayed, pulling the tangled web of lines first slack and then taut as they shifted.

Then came a yell from the mainmast, and a stay suddenly snapped with a sound like a gunshot. The bight of the rope caught a man around the neck and he was snatched from the rigging, his yell cut short as the rope tightened. He sagged like a rag doll, dead, his neck broken. I could not take my eyes off him as he swung at the end of the rope. I knew his face but not his name. I loosened my grip then, prepared to fall rather than endure this torture.

“The steamer!” a seaman shouted. “The steamer is turning. She’s coming back. We’re saved!”

“Hold on, Sam, hold on,” Fred begged. “We’ll soon be saved.”

 

BOOK: Where The Flag Floats
2.37Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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