(A TRUE TALE RETOLD)
The Francis Spaight was running before it solely under a mizzentopsail, when the thing happened.It was not due to carelessness so much as to the lack of discipline of the crew and to the fact that they were indifferent seamen at best.The man at the wheel in particular, a Limerick man, had had no experience with salt water beyond that of rafting timber on the Shannon between the Quebec vessels and the shore.He was afraid of the huge seas that rose out of the murk astern and bore down upon him, and he was more given to cowering away from their threatened impact than he was to meeting their blows with the wheel and checking the ship's rush to broach to.
It was three in the morning when his unseamanlike conduct precipitated the catastrophe.At sight of a sea far larger than its fellows, he crouched down, releasing his hands from the spokes.The Francis Spaight sheered as her stern lifted on the sea, receiving the full fling of the cap on her quarter.The next instant she was in the trough, her lee-rail buried till the ocean was level with her hatch-coamings, sea after sea breaking over her weather rail and sweeping what remained exposed of the deck with icy deluges.
The men were out of hand, helpless and hopeless, stupid in their bewilderment and fear, and resolute only in that they would not obey orders.Some wailed, others clung silently in the weather shrouds, and still others muttered prayers or shrieked vile imprecations; and neither captain nor mate could get them to bear a hand at the pumps or at setting patches of sails to bring the vessel up to the wind and sea.Inside the hour the ship was over on her beam ends, the lubberly cowards climbing up her side and hanging on in the rigging.When she went over, the mate was caught and drowned in the after-cabin, as were two sailors who had sought refuge in the forecastle.
The mate had been the ablest man on board, and the captain was now scarcely less helpless than his men.Beyond cursing them for their worthlessness, he did nothing; and it remained for a man named Mahoney, a Belfast man, and a boy, O'Brien, of Limerick, to cut away the fore and main masts.This they did at great risk on the perpendicular wall of the wreck, sending the mizzentopmast overside along in the general crash.The Francis Spaight righted, and it was well that she was lumber laden, else she would have sunk, for she was already water-logged.The mainmast, still fast by the shrouds, beat like a thunderous sledge-hammer against the ship's side, every stroke bringing groans from the men.
Day dawned on the savage ocean, and in the cold gray light all that could be seen of the Francis Spaight emerging from the sea were the poop, the shattered mizzenmast, and a ragged line of bulwarks.It was midwinter in the North Atlantic, and the wretched men were half-dead from cold.But there was no place where they could find rest.Every sea breached clean over the wreck, washing away the salt incrustations from their bodies and depositing fresh incrustations.The cabin under the poop was awash to the knees, but here at least was shelter from the chill wind, and here the survivors congregated, standing upright, holding on by the cabin furnishings, and leaning against one another for support.
In vain Mahoney strove to get the men to take turns in watching aloft from the mizzenmast for any chance vessel.The icy gale was too much for them, and they preferred the shelter of the cabin.O'Brien, the boy, who was only fifteen, took turns with Mahoney on the freezing perch.It was the boy, at three in the afternoon, who called down that he had sighted a sail.
This did bring them from the cabin, and they crowded the poop rail and weather mizzen shrouds as they watched the strange ship.But its course did not lie near, and when it disappeared below the skyline, they returned shivering to the cabin, not one offering to relieve the watch at the mast head.
By the end of the second day, Mahoney and O'Brien gave up their attempt, and thereafter the vessel drifted in the gale uncared for and without a lookout.There were thirteen alive, and for seventy-two hours they stood knee-deep in the sloshing water on the cabin floor, half-frozen, without food, and with but three bottles of wine shared among them.All food and fresh water were below, and there was no getting at such supplies in the water-logged condition of the wreck.As the days went by, no food whatever passed their lips.Fresh water, in small quantities, they were able to obtain by holding a cover of a tureen under the saddle of the mizzenmast.
But the rain fell infrequently, and they were hard put.When it rained, they also soaked their handkerchiefs, squeezing them out into their mouths or into their shoes.As the wind and sea went down, they were even able to mop the exposed portions of the deck that were free from brine and so add to their water supply.But food they had none, and no way of getting it, though sea-birds flew repeatedly overhead.
In the calm weather that followed the gale, after having remained on their feet for ninety-six hours, they were able to find dry planks in the cabin on which to lie.But the long hours of standing in the salt water had caused sores to form on their legs.These sores were extremely painful.
