We are chased by a large vessel—Overtaken by a storm—A stern chase—The stranger is dismasted—We are in a dangerous position—Loss of our crew—The gale moderates—The brig gives signs of sinking—We set about building a raft—An unexpected appearance—Jacques and his fiddle—The raft completed and launched—The first night—Dick and I compare notes—Troubled sleep—A dreadful reality—My companions swept overboard—Clinging on for life.

Two days had passed by since we left the frigate. It was my middle watch below, and I fancied that the greater part of it had passed by when I heard Mr Harvey’s voice shouting, “All hands on deck, and make sail.”

I was on my feet in a moment, and looking astern as I came up, I saw through the gloom of night a large vessel to the southward, apparently standing to the eastward, while a smaller one, which I took to be the Flore, had hauled her wind, and was steering west.

“She is taking care of number one,” observed Dick to me, as we together went aloft to loose the topgallant sails, for, like a careful officer, being short-handed, Mr Harvey had furled them at sundown. We then rigged out studden sail booms, hoping, should the stranger not have perceived us, to get a good distance before daylight. Soon after the first streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern sky, we saw her alter her course in pursuit of us. We had, however, got a good start, and, unless the wind fell, we might still hope to escape her.

At first it was doubtful whether she would follow us or the Flore. If she should follow her, we should be safe, as she would have little chance of capturing us both. As the day drew on the wind increased, and at length it became evident that the stranger intended to try and take us.

“She may, after all, be an English frigate,” said Dick to me.

“Mr Harvey doesn’t suppose so, or he wouldn’t be so anxious to escape her,” I answered. “He thinks it best to be on the safe side and run no risk in the matter.”

We were all at our stations, including the cook and steward, who were told to stand by and pull and haul as they might be ordered.

I asked the latter whether he thought the ship in chase of us was English or French.

He shrugged his shoulders, observing that he was not much of a sailor, and could not tell one ship from another unless he saw her flag.

Mr Harvey stood with his glass in his hand, every now and then giving a look through it astern. Then he glanced up at the sails. The topgallant masts were bending like willow wands. Every instant the wind was increasing, and the sea was getting up; still he was unwilling to shorten sail while there was a possibility of escaping.

At last, after taking another look through his telescope, he shut it up, observing to me, “She’s French! there’s no doubt about it. We’ll hold on as long as we can, she hasn’t caught us yet.”

Scarcely two minutes after this there came a crash. Away went both our topgallant masts, and as I looked aloft, I was afraid that the top masts would follow. Still the wreck must be cleared. Dick and I sprang up the main rigging, and I hurried aloft to clear the main-topgallant mast, while two others, imitating our example, ascended the fore rigging. The brig was now plunging her bows into the fast-rising seas. It was a difficult and dangerous work we had undertaken, but getting out our knives, we succeeded in cutting away the rigging, and the masts and yards with their canvas fell overboard.

“That’s one way of shortening sail,” said Dick as we came on deck. “To my mind, the sooner we get a couple of reefs in the topsails, the better.”

This was indeed very evident. Mr Harvey taking the helm, the rest of us went aloft and performed the operation. We were too much occupied to look at the frigate. When we came down off the yards, we saw that she had shortened sail, but not before she also had carried away her fore-topgallant mast. We were still going as rapidly as before through the water, but the increase of wind gave the advantage to the larger ship, which kept drawing closer.

I have not spoken of time. The day was passing, and Mr Harvey ordered the steward and cook to bring us some food on deck, for no one could be spared below to obtain it. Already it was some hours past noon. If we could keep ahead until darkness came down, we might still manage to escape by altering our course, as soon as we had lost sight of the frigate. At length, however, we saw her yaw. She had got us within range of her guns. She fired, and two shot came whizzing past us. On this Mr Harvey ordered us to run out two long guns, brass six-pounders, through the stern-ports, and to fire in return.

We blazed away as fast as we could run them in and load, but it was a difficult matter to take aim with the heavy sea on through which we were plunging. We managed, however, to pitch two or three of our shot on board, but what damage we caused we could not tell.

Again the frigate yawed and fired all her foremost guns. One of the shot came crashing into the mainmast, and two others hulled us. I sprang towards the mast to ascertain the extent of damage it had received. It seemed a wonder, with so large a piece cut out of it, that it could stand, and I expected every moment to see it go. Still, should the wind not increase, I thought it might be preserved, and Mr Harvey calling all the hands not engaged at the guns to bring as many spars as could be collected, we began fishing it. We were thus engaged when two more shot pitched on board, carrying away part of the bulwarks and capsizing one of the guns.

Another followed, bringing one of our men to the deck with his head shattered to pieces. Our position was becoming desperate. Presently two more shot struck us between wind and water. Several of the men, who had before shown no lack of courage, cried out that we had better strike before we were sent to the bottom.

“Not while our masts stand,” answered Mr Harvey firmly.

We had had but slight experience in fishing masts, so I had little confidence in its strength. Mr Harvey then called me aft to work one of the guns.

I again pitched a shot into the frigate. My great hope was that I might knock away one of her spars, and give us a better chance of escaping. The wind had been drawing round to the westward of south. We still kept before it. Presently the frigate braced up her yards, intending apparently to fire her whole broadside at us. As she did so, the wind suddenly increased. Over she heeled. She was almost concealed from sight by the clouds of spray and dense masses of rain which came suddenly down like a sheet from the sky.

Even before Mr Harvey could give the word we were letting fly everything. The brig rushed on through the foaming seas. When I looked aft, I could just distinguish the dark hull of the frigate rolling helplessly from side to side, her masts gone by the board.

On we flew, soon losing sight of her altogether. Though our masts were standing, our canvas, except the fore-topsail, was blown to ribbons. The storm showed no signs of abating, for although there was a short lull, the wind again blew as hard as ever. The thunder roared, the lightning flashed from the clouds, and the night became pitchy dark. The seas increased, and, as they came rolling up, threatened to poop us.

How long the gale might last it was impossible to say. Before it had abated we might have run on the Irish coast. It would be wiser to heave the brig to while there was time; but the question wag whether the mainmast would stand. The fore-topsail was closely reefed, the helm was put down; but as the vessel was coming up to the wind, a sea struck us, a tremendous crash followed, the mainmast, as we had feared, went at the place where it had been wounded, and, falling overboard, was dashed with violence against the side, which it threatened every moment to stave in.

Mr Harvey, seizing an axe and calling on us to follow and assist in clearing away the wreck before more damage was done, sprang forward. At any moment the sea, striking the vessel, might sweep us off the deck. With the energy almost of despair, we worked away with axes and knives, and at length saw the mast drop clear of the side. While we were still endeavouring to clear away the wreck of the mast, Mr Harvey had sent one of the crew below to search for some more axes, as we had only three among us. Just at this juncture he came on deck, exclaiming, in a voice of alarm, “The water is rushing in like a mill sluice!”

“Then we must pump it out,” cried Mr Harvey, “or try and stop it if we can. Man the pumps!”

We had two each, worked by a couple of hands, and we began labouring away, knowing that our lives might depend upon our exertions.

The brig lay to more easily than I should have supposed possible, though we were still exposed to the danger of an overwhelming sea breaking on board us. We got the hatches, however, battened down, and kept a look-out, ready to catch hold of the stanchions or stump of the mainmast, to save ourselves, should we see it coming.

As soon as the pumps had been manned, Mr Harvey himself went below, accompanied by Dick and another hand, carrying a lantern to try and ascertain where the water was coming in, with the greatest rapidity.

It appeared to me that he was a long time absent. He said nothing when he at last came up, by which I guessed that he had been unable to discover the leak. “As long as there is life there’s hope, lads,” he said: “we must labour on to the last;” and he took the place of a man who had knocked off at the pumps. He worked away as hard as any man on board. After some time I begged that I might relieve him, and he went and secured himself to a stanchion on the weather side. I at last was obliged to cry “Spell ho!” and let another man take my place.

I had just got up to where Mr Harvey was seated on deck, and having taken hold of the same stanchion, remarked that the brig remained hove-to better than I should have expected.

“Yes,” he observed; “the foremast is stepped much further aft than in English vessels, but I wish that we had been able to get up preventer stays; it would have made the mast more secure.”

Scarcely had he uttered the words than a tremendous sea came rolling up and burst over the vessel.

“Hold on for your lives, lads!” shouted Mr Harvey.

Down came the sea, sweeping over the deck. I thought the brig would never rise again. At the same instant I heard a loud crash. Covered as I was with water, I could, however, see nothing for several seconds; I supposed, indeed, that the brig was sinking. I thought of my wife, my uncle and aunt, and our cosy little home at Southsea, and of many an event in my life. The water roared in my ears, mingled with fearful shrieks. Chaos seemed round me. Minutes, almost hours, seemed to go by, and I continued to hear the roar of the seas, the crashing of timbers, and the cries of my fellow-men.

It must have been only a few seconds when the brig rose once more, and looking along the deck I saw that our remaining mast had gone as had the bowsprit, while, besides Mr Harvey, I could distinguish but one man alone on the deck, holding on to the stump of the mainmast. At first I thought that Mr Harvey might have been killed, but he was only stunned, and speedily recovered. He got on his feet and looked about him, as if considering what was to be done.

“We’re in a bad state, Wetherholm, but, as I before said, while there’s life there’s hope. We must try to keep the brig afloat until the morning and perhaps, as we are in the track of vessels coming in and out of the Channel, we may be seen and taken off. Where are the rest of the men?”

“I am afraid, sir, they are washed overboard, except the man we see there; who he is I can’t make out.”

“Call him,” said Mr Harvey.

“Come aft here!” I shouted.

“Ay, ay!” answered a voice which, to my great satisfaction, I recognised as that of Dick Hagger. He did not, however, move, but I saw that he was engaged in casting himself loose. He at length staggered aft to where we were holding on.

“Did you call me, sir?” he asked.

“Yes, my man. Where are the rest of the people?” said Mr Harvey.

“That’s more than I can tell, sir,” answered Dick. “I saw the sea coming, and was making myself fast, when I got a lick on the head which knocked the senses out of me.” After saying this, he looked forward, and for the first time seemed to be aware that we three, as far as we could tell, were the only persons left on board.

The blast which had carried away the foremast seemed to be the last of the gale. The wind dropped almost immediately, and though the seas came rolling up and tumbled the hapless brig about, no others of the height of the former one broke over us. Our young officer was quickly himself again, and summoned Hagger and me to the pumps.

We all worked away, knowing that our lives might depend upon our exertions. Though we did not gain on the water, still the brig remained buoyant. This encouraged us to hope that we might keep her afloat until we could be taken off............