The
day dawned, and the appearance of the weather was not favourable; it
promised the return of the gale. Already a breeze ruffled the surface
of the water, and the swell appeared to increase rather than go down. The sky was overcast and the horizon thick. Philip looked out for the
land but could not perceive it, for there was a haze on the horizon,
so that he could not see more than five miles. He felt that to gain
the shore before the coming night was necessary for the preservation
of so many individuals, of whom more than sixty were women and
children, who, without any nourishment, were sitting on a frail raft,
immersed in the water. No land in sight--a gale coming on, and in
all probability, a heavy sea and dark night. The chance was indeed
desperate, and Philip was miserable--most miserable--when he reflected
that so many innocent beings might, before the next morning,
be consigned to a watery tomb,--and why?--yes, there was the
feeling--that although Philip could reason against, he never could
conquer; for his own life he cared nothing--even the idea of his
beloved Amine was nothing in the balance at these moments. The only
point which sustained him, was the knowledge that he had his duty to
perform, and, in the full exercise of his duty, he recovered himself. "Land ahead!" was now cried out by Krantz, who was in the headmost
boat, and the news was received with a shout of joy from the raft and
the boats. The anticipation and the hope the news gave was like manna
in the wilderness; and the poor women on the raft, drenched sometimes
above the waist by the swell of the sea, clasped the children in their
arms still closer, and cried--"My darling, you shall be saved." Philip stood upon the stern-sheets to survey the land, and he had the
satisfaction of finding that it was not five miles distant, and a ray
of hope warmed his heart. The breeze now had gradually increased, and
rippled the water. The quarter from which the wind came was neither
favourable nor adverse, being on the beam. Had they had sails for the
boats, it would have been otherwise, but they had been stowed away and
could not be procured. The sight of land naturally rejoiced them all,
and the seamen in the boats cheered, and double-banked the oars to
increase their way; but the towing of a large raft sunk under water
was no easy task; and they did not, with all their exertions, advance
more than half a mile an hour. Until noon they continued their exertions, not without success;
they were not three miles from the land; but, as the sun passed the
meridian, a change took place; the breeze blew strong; the swell of
the sea rose rapidly; and the raft was often so deeply immersed in the
waves as to alarm them for the safety of those upon her. Their way
was proportionally retarded, and by three o'clock they had not gained
half-a-mile from where they had been at noon. The men not having had
refreshment of any kind during the labour and excitement of so many
hours, began to flag in their exertions. The wish for water was
expressed by all--from the child who appealed to its mother, to the
seaman who strained at the oar. Philip did all he could to encourage
the men; but finding themselves so near to the land, and so overcome
with fatigue, and that the raft in tow would not allow them to
approach their haven, they murmured, and talked of the necessity of
casting loose the raft and looking out for themselves. A feeling of
self prevailed, and they were mutinous: but Philip expostulated with
them, and out of respect for him, they continued their exertions for
another hour, when a circumstance occurred which decided the question,
upon which they had recommenced a debate. The increased swell and the fresh breeze had so beat about and tossed
the raft, that it was with difficulty, for some time, that its
occupants could hold themselves on it. A loud shout, mingled with
screams, attracted the attention of those in the boats, and Philip,
looking back, perceived that the lashings of the raft had yielded to
the force of the waves, and that it had separated amidships. The
scene was agonising; husbands were separated from their wives and
children--each floating away from each other--for the part of the raft
which was still towed by the boats had already left the other far
astern. The women rose up and screamed, and held up their children;
some, more frantic, dashed into the water between them, and attempted
to gain the floating wreck upon which their husbands stood, and sank
before they could be assisted. But the horror increased--one lashing
having given way, all the rest soon followed; and, before the boats
could turn and give assistance the sea was strewed with the spars
which composed the raft, with men, women, and children clinging to
them. Loud were the yells of despair, and the shrieks of the women,
as they embraced their offspring, and in attempting to save them were
lost themselves. The spars of the raft still close together, were
hurled one upon the other by the swell, and many found death by
being jammed between them. Although all the boats hastened to their
assistance, there was so much difficulty and danger in forcing them
between the spars, that but few were saved, and even those few were
more than the boats could well take in. The seamen and a few soldiers
were picked up, but all the females and the children had sank beneath
the waves. The effect of this catastrophe may be imagined, but hardly described. The seamen who had debated as to casting them adrift to perish, wept
as they pulled towards the shore. Philip was overcome, he covered his
face, and remained, for some time, without giving directions, and
heedless of what passed. It was now five o'clock in the evening; the boats had cast off the
tow-lines, and vied with each other in their exertions. Before the sun
had set they all had arrived at the beach, and were safely landed in
the little sand bay into which they had steered; for the wind was off
the shore, and there was no surf. The boats were hauled up, and the
exhausted men lay down on the sands, till warm with the heat of the
sun, and forgetting that they had neither eaten nor drank for so long
a time, they were soon fast asleep. Captain Barentz, Philip, and
Krantz, as soon as they had seen the boats secured, held a short
consultation, and were then glad to follow the example of the seamen;
harassed and worn out with the fatigue of the last twenty-four hours,
their senses were soon drowned in oblivion. For many hours they all slept soundly, dreamt of water, and awoke to
the sad reality that they were tormented with thirst, and were on a
sandy beach with the salt waves mocking them; but they reflected how
many of their late companions had been swallowed up, and felt thankful
that they had been spared.