“Mirk and rainy is the nicht,No’ a star in a’ the carie;Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,And winds drive wi’ winter’s fury.â€â€”Tannah.
“Mirk and rainy is the nicht,No’ a star in a’ the carie;Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,And winds drive wi’ winter’s fury.â€â€”Tannah.
“Mirk and rainy is the nicht,No’ a star in a’ the carie;Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,And winds drive wi’ winter’s fury.â€â€”Tannah.
“Mirk and rainy is the nicht,
No’ a star in a’ the carie;
Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
And winds drive wi’ winter’s fury.â€
—Tannah.
Darkness began to set in, and I soon lost sight of everybody and everything except the light on Cape Schanck. With the daylight fled my hope of a life-boat coming to our assistance. I had all along been under the impression that the sinking of our ship had been seen by the people in the lighthouse, and that it was only a question of time when help would come. I began to give way to despondency! While the daylight lasted I expected assistance, and my attention, when not struggling under water, was taken up watching my mates and the shore. Now night had come, and I felt as if I were left alone in the midst of the raging waters. Was it worth while trying to continue what seemed to be a hopeless struggle for life? I thought of my poorwife, who, just then, would be expecting me home! I remembered, too, that Captain Mathieson—who knew my life was insured—had asked me, on the way from Melbourne to Port Albert, if I had made my will. When I told him “No,†he said, “You should have done so, as no one knows what may occur.†I gave little heed to his words at the time, but now they seemed to have all the meaning of a presentiment. Under the circumstances, thoughts like these were anything but cheering, but nevertheless I made up my mind that, while God gave me strength, I would battle on to the end. My raft, through being so frequently turned over, had got reduced to three boards and the crosspiece. At first I thought this was a misfortune, but I found that, being smaller, it was more easily managed, and less liable to be capsized. The wind began to be very cold, and a heavy shower of rain came on. As I lay on my boards, the raindrops felt to me like spots of ice as they fell upon my body. Strange as it may seem, I believe I must have perished with the cold, but the frequent washings off the raft, and my struggles in swimming to get on again, always kept my blood in circulation, and made me feel fairly warm. Meanwhile, the tide was slowly setting me down towards Cape Schanck, I saw the light burning brightly, and it seemed no great distance off. As I drew nearer and nearer, the breakers I got amongst were terribly heavy. From the peculiar thunder-like roar they made in rushing along, I could hear them coming in time to get ready for them. This I did by turning myself on the raft with my head and face seaward. Thesetremendous waves generally ran in threes, one after the other in succession. The first would dash me off my boards and bury me in a half-senseless state under water; then by the time I got to the surface again, and had a breath or two, the second sea would be on me, repeating the burying process, so that I used to reckon the third would completely finish me. After recovering from these dashings my next great trouble was to find my boards. I was anxious to keep them, as they not only gave me a rest, but they also seemed to be kind of company for me. In the dark I could see them always a little distance off; as they shone on the water with a ring of phosphorus around them. I feel certain that if I had been unable to get on to my boards during the short intervals (about fifteen minutes) between these terrible breakers I would not have had sufficient strength left to resist them. I think it must have been about midnight when I was off the Schanck, but time seemed to be getting beyond my comprehension. I fancied that away back in the dim past I had seen, as in a dream, theAlertsink and leave us all to struggle each one for himself. Then, as I gradually remembered the event took place only a few hours before, the thoughts arose where were my mates and how many of them living. Were they, like myself, still battling for life, or had they all perished in the pitiless storm?
The gale seemed now at its height, and my heart sank within me as I reflected that assistance from the shore had become an impossibility. No boat could face and live in such a sea as now swept along with a forceat least double that of the time when the ship went down. How I longed for daylight! But would it ever come for me, or any of my companions? If to be rescued depended on endurance, then I felt sure the chief officer, Mr. Hodges, would be almost certain to hold out, for he was, far more than ordinary, a powerful man, and his action, up to the period of the vessel leaving us, showed he was clearly and collectedly helping everyone, and preparing for the worst. Whether the foregoing thoughts crowding in on me, caused me to be less watchful, or whether the continued strain on brain and muscle made me stupid and weak, I cannot say, but in the midst of my reflections I got caught in a sort of swirl, or whirlpool. I was rapidly turned round and round, then quickly, raft and all, sucked under water. Whilst belowthistime I felt, as my boards were wrenched away from my instinctive, but nerveless grasp, that all was over. Thanks, however, to my life-belt, more than my own exertions, I was thrown to the surface just as I was choking for want of air. Some minutes after, my boards came up a little distance off, and I managed with great difficulty to reach them and drag myself on top again. As I lay on my raft, resting and trying to collect my scattered senses, I turned my head shoreward, for a bit, to watch the Cape Schanck light. I had not been able, during the forepart of the night, to see the light continuously owing to the heavy showers of rain which had passed over. Now I began to realise that it seemed farther off than before. I was getting into comparatively smoother water, and this fact together with the receding light told me plainlythat the tide was carrying me seaward. While nearing the light it helped to revive my drooping spirits—not that I expected any help from it, for by this time I had abandoned all idea that the lighthouse people could assist—but still the sight of it, gleaming out like a “star of hope,†encouraged me to struggle on.
A new idea seized me. Instead of allowing myself to drift out to sea again, I would leave the raft and make a last desperate effort to swim for the shore. A little reflection, however, showed me the hopelessness of making the attempt. In the dark I could not see the smoothest place to steer for, and being weak, stiff, and sore, I felt that I would most likely be dashed to pieces amongst the rocks. Therefore, I decided to stick to my boards, so long as they stuck to me. My feet now began to trouble me very much, and their cold numbness seemed inclined to creep up my legs. I knew I had made a great mistake in taking off my boots. Had I kept them on they would not only have helped to keep my feet warm, but they would also have prevented my feet from being bruised, and battered against the boards, with the action of the water. Besides, I found by experience that whether in the water, or on the raft, my feet were too light, and needed weight to keep them down. My woollen socks—although I was kept continually pulling them up—were of great service in keeping some heat in, and, though it might have been fancy, my white cotton cap kept my head a bit warm. I think I must have drifted about ten miles past, or south-east of Cape Schanck, and was nearly out of sight of the light before the current began to set in again. The seahad by this time moderated a good deal and I was enabled to keep longer resting on my boards. I tried all ways of reclining on the raft but I found it the safest plan to lie on my left side, thus I got a good grip of the crosspiece with my left hand and one of the boards with my right. In this position I had a chance to watch the heavy seas when they were going to break. I now began to get very cold, and every now and then was seized with cramp in both legs. The working of the life-belt caused my body, and also the inside of my arms, to get raw and sore. To make matters worse, I felt terribly thirsty at times, and a sort of drowsiness seemed to steal over me as if tempting me to go to sleep. I, however, fought against the latter feeling, for I had an inward conviction that if I once gave way to sleep I should never wake again. Meanwhile, I kept gradually nearing the Schanck light once more, but as no signs of daylight were yet visible, I began to fear it would never come for me. The pain in my neck through my head hanging over the life-belt, was getting almost unbearable. Now and then, when I got a chance, I propped my head up with my left hand while keeping the elbow resting on the boards. This gave me ease but I dared not do it so often as I wished for fear of being caught unawares and washed off the raft. All of a sudden I saw a light flashing away in the direction where I deemed Port Phillip Heads would be. My first thought was that it must be a search-light to find out our whereabouts. I kept anxiously watching, but as it did not again appear I came to the conclusion that it had been a flash-light from one of the pilot schooners a long way off, and the hope raised by it diedaway as quickly as it came. Racked with thirst and pain, and under the impression that it was impossible for me to hold out much longer, my thoughts flew back over my past life. Matters long forgotten rose up swiftly in my memory, and the acts of my whole career seemed to pass in review before me. After the past came the questions of the present and the future. Must I go now, and was I fit to die?
boat near shore