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- 2026-01-30T20:48:14.838Z
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- 3982
- text
- CHAPTER XXII.
THE HIGHLANDER PASSES A WRECK
We were still on the Banks, when a terrific storm came down upon us,
the like of which I had never before beheld, or imagined. The rain
poured down in sheets and cascades; the scupper holes could hardly
carry it off the decks; and in bracing the yards we waded about almost
up to our knees; every thing floating about, like chips in a dock.
This violent rain was the precursor of a hard squall, for which we duly
prepared, taking in our canvas to double-reefed-top-sails.
The tornado came rushing along at last, like a troop of wild horses
before the flaming rush of a burning prairie. But after bowing and
cringing to it awhile, the good Highlander was put off before it; and
with her nose in the water, went wallowing on, ploughing milk-white
waves, and leaving a streak of illuminated foam in her wake.
It was an awful scene. It made me catch my breath as I gazed. I could
hardly stand on my feet, so violent was the motion of the ship. But
while I reeled to and fro, the sailors only laughed at me; and bade me
look out that the ship did not fall overboard; and advised me to get a
handspike, and hold it down hard in the weather-scuppers, to steady her
wild motions. But I was now getting a little too wise for this foolish
kind of talk; though all through the voyage, they never gave it over.
This storm past, we had fair weather until we got into the Irish Sea.
The morning following the storm, when the sea and sky had become blue
again, the man aloft sung out that there was a wreck on the lee-beam.
We bore away for it, all hands looking eagerly toward it, and the
captain in the mizzen-top with his spy-glass. Presently, we slowly
passed alongside of it.
It was a dismantled, water-logged schooner, a most dismal sight, that
must have been drifting about for several long weeks. The bulwarks were
pretty much gone; and here and there the bare _stanchions,_ or posts,
were left standing, splitting in two the waves which broke clear over
the deck, lying almost even with the sea. The foremast was snapt off
less than four feet from its base; and the shattered and splintered
remnant looked like the stump of a pine tree thrown over in the woods.
Every time she rolled in the trough of the sea, her open main-hatchway
yawned into view; but was as quickly filled, and submerged again, with
a rushing, gurgling sound, as the water ran into it with the lee-roll.
At the head of the stump of the mainmast, about ten feet above the
deck, something like a sleeve seemed nailed; it was supposed to be the
relic of a jacket, which must have been fastened there by the crew for
a signal, and been frayed out and blown away by the wind.
Lashed, and leaning over sideways against the taffrail, were three
dark, green, grassy objects, that slowly swayed with every roll, but
otherwise were motionless. I saw the captain’s, glass directed toward
them, and heard him say at last, “They must have been dead a long
time.” These were sailors, who long ago had lashed themselves to the
taffrail for safety; but must have famished.
Full of the awful interest of the scene, I surely thought the captain
would lower a boat to bury the bodies, and find out something about the
schooner. But we did not stop at all; passing on our course, without so
much as learning the schooner’s name, though every one supposed her to
be a New Brunswick lumberman.
On the part of the sailors, no surprise was shown that our captain did
not send off a boat to the wreck; but the steerage passengers were
indignant at what they called his barbarity. For me, I could not but
feel amazed and shocked at his indifference; but my subsequent sea
experiences have shown me, that such conduct as this is very common,
though not, of course, when human life can be saved.
So away we sailed, and left her; drifting, drifting on; a garden spot
for barnacles, and a playhouse for the sharks.
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