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- 2880
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.270Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 2809
- text
- see that the ship’s life-buoys are kept in good order.
In men-of-war, night and day, week in and week out, two life-buoys are
kept depending from the stern; and two men, with hatchets in their
hands, pace up and down, ready at the first cry to cut the cord and
drop the buoys overboard. Every two hours they are regularly relieved,
like sentinels on guard. No similar precautions are adopted in the
merchant or whaling service.
Thus deeply solicitous to preserve human life are the regulations of
men-of-war; and seldom has there been a better illustration of this
solicitude than at the battle of Trafalgar, when, after “several
thousand” French seamen had been destroyed, according to Lord
Collingwood, and, by the official returns, sixteen hundred and ninety
Englishmen were killed or wounded, the Captains of the surviving ships
ordered the life-buoy sentries from their death-dealing guns to their
vigilant posts, as officers of the Humane Society.
“There, Bungs!” cried Scrimmage, a sheet-anchor-man,[2] “there’s a good
pattern for you; make us a brace of life-buoys like that; something
that will save a man, and not fill and sink under him, as those leaky
quarter-casks of yours will the first time there’s occasion to drop
’ern. I came near pitching off the bowsprit the other day; and, when I
scrambled inboard again, I went aft to get a squint at ’em. Why, Bungs,
they are all open between the staves. Shame on you! Suppose you
yourself should fall over-board, and find yourself going down with
buoys under you of your own making—what then?”
[2] In addition to the _Bower-anchors_ carried on her bows, a frigate
carries large anchors in her fore-chains, called _Sheet-anchors_.
Hence, the old seamen stationed in that part of a man-of-war are
called _sheet-anchor-man_.
“I never go aloft, and don’t intend to fall overboard,” replied Bungs.
“Don’t believe it!” cried the sheet-anchor-man; “you lopers that live
about the decks here are nearer the bottom of the sea than the light
hand that looses the main-royal. Mind your eye, Bungs—mind your eye!”
“I will,” retorted Bungs; “and you mind yours!”
Next day, just at dawn, I was startled from my hammock by the cry of
“_All hands about ship and shorten sail_!” Springing up the ladders, I
found that an unknown man had fallen overboard from the chains; and
darting a glance toward the poop, perceived, from their gestures, that
the life-sentries there had cut away the buoys.
It was blowing a fresh breeze; the frigate was going fast through the
water. But the one thousand arms of five hundred men soon tossed her
about on the other tack, and checked her further headway.
“Do you see him?” shouted the officer of the watch through his trumpet,
hailing the main-mast-head. “Man or _buoy_, do you see either?”
“See nothing, sir,” was the reply.
“Clear away the cutters!” was the next order. “Bugler! call away the
second, third, and fourth cutters’ crews. Hands by the tackles!”
In less than three minutes the three boats were down; More hands were
wanted in one of them, and, among others, I jumped in to make up the
deficiency.
“Now, men, give way! and each man look out along his oar, and look
sharp!” cried the officer of our boat. For a time, in perfect silence,
we slid up and down the great seething swells of the sea, but saw
nothing.
“There, it’s no use,” cried the officer; “he’s gone, whoever he is.
Pull away, men—pull away! they’ll be recalling us soon.”
- title
- Chunk 7