A Lad of Grit by Percy F. Westerman

Author:Percy F. Westerman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781620134702
Publisher: Duke Classics

Chapter XI - Of the Manner of My Homecoming

*

Bad weather dogged us during our homeward voyage. Crossing the Bay of Biscay we were battened down for three days, and, save on one occasion, I did not go on deck the whole time the storm raged.

That occasion called for every available hand, for the securing bolts of two of our deck guns had broken adrift, and the huge ungainly weapons charged to and fro across the ship, carrying destruction in their passage. After strenuous efforts the guns were secured, but at a cost of four men washed overboard and five injured, either by the heavy seas that came tumbling inboard, or else by the wild career of the derelict weapons. After the gale came a fog, so thick and continuous that for two days we could scarce see the end of our jibboom.

Captain Poynings, after deliberating with the master, came to the conclusion that land was not far off, but the weather did not allow of the use of either sextant or quadrant. The lead, then, was our only guide; so a man was stationed in the chains, and minute-guns were fired in the hope that we might hear an answering and reassuring sound.

With the first cast a depth of thirty fathoms was obtained, and shortly afterwards the fog cleared, disclosing a bold headland on our larboard bow.

"Land! land!" was the cry, and amongst the men for'ard there was almost a wrangle, some affirming that the headland was the Start, others the Lizard or "The Bill", while a few sanguine men expressed their belief that it was the coast of the Wight.

"Keep the lead going," shouted the master, as the fog again swept down upon us like a pall, shutting us out of the sight of the land we so eagerly desired.

With great regularity the lead gave a gradual shoaling till twenty-four fathoms were announced.

Suddenly we were startled by the lookout shouting: "Breakers ahead!"

"'Bout ship!" ordered the master, and with a creaking of blocks and a slatting of sails the Gannet stood off on the other tack.

We could hear the dull roar of rushing water, but how far the sound came we could not determine..

"Keep her as she is, bos'n's mate," commanded the master. "Faith, as if I did not know; this is none other than the Race of Portland!"

As night came on, the wind, hitherto steady, increased into a gale, and before midnight it blew a hurricane such as had not been known for years; and to sheer off a dangerous coast we had to keep under storm canvas, though had we had searoom the master would have had the ship to lay to.

An hour after midnight our mainsail, though treble-reefed, parted with a report that was heard above the storm, the torn canvas streaming out to lee'ard like so many whips; and simultaneously our bowsprit carried away close to the gammonings, with the result that the ship yawed, then shot up into the wind.

With a shuddering crash the foremast went by the board, and we were helpless in the midst of the raging sea.

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