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Chapter II. An Unlucky Voyage.

TheMercury, for such was the name of our schooner, was a tight little craft, of about 200 tons. The crew consisted of Captain Marsh, and myself and Harry Murton as first and second mates respectively; Jack Hunter, Peter Smith, Michael Murray, John Parsons, James M'Pherson, Tom Hardcastle, a Spaniard called “Spanish Joe,” Pat Moloney, and a lad named Smart; and lastly, the cook, who went by the nickname of “Swabs”—making thirteen souls, all told.

We had got well clear of the south end of New Zealand when a gale sprang up from the south-east. The vessel was made as snug as possible, and lay to for one night. Next morning the gale increased so much that the captain expressed fears of being driven back on the coast of New Zealand; he therefore determined to run well to the westward, so as to be well clear of any danger of that kind. After doing this for twelve hours, we again hove the vessel to. For four days and nights had the gale continued at its height, when on the morning of the fifth day, as we were sitting down to breakfast, Harry Murton, who had charge of page 5 the deck, shouted down the companion ladder that land was in sight right to leeward.

“Impossible,” said the captain, as he sprang up from table and hurried on deck, followed by me.

“Where is the land, Murton?” he sang out, as soon as he reached the deck.

Harry handed him the telescope, at the same time pointing to what at first appeared to be a bank of clouds, but through the glass, a high range of mountains might be seen, trending away east and west, according to the compass.

“Run down and bring up my chart,” shouted Captain Marsh, to the lad Smart, who was standing at the top of the companion. In a few seconds, the boy returned, bringing the chart.

“Very strange!” said the captain. “There's no land marked anywhere about here; and we cannot have drifted on to the south coast by any chance whatever.”

While the captain had been examining the chart, I had pulled out a small pocket-compass from inside my pilot-coat and for some moments after looking at it I was too astounded to speak. Suddenly recollecting myself, I rushed aft to the binnacle, and then the whole truth flashed upon me. While the ship's compass made the land as lying east and west, mine pointed it out as running almost north and south!—Which was wrong? I immediately shouted out to the captain my discovery, and he hurried up to me.

“Smart, go down for my compass, above the cabin table,—quick, for God's sake!” he said.

Smart was down and back again like a monkey.

The captain's and my compasses agreed. The ship'sHad Gone Wrong.

For some moments none of us spoke. Then, with a muttered oath, Captain Marsh sang out—

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“All hands for'ard there!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” responded” the men.

“Stand by to wear ship.”

In a minute every man was at his station.

“Now, lads, round with the yards. Let go the fore-topsail—be sharp.”

The schooner gradually came up to the wind, which was all this time blowing a hurricane.

Hardly, however, had she got way on her, when, with a crash, the mizenmast went by the board. The vessel having no aftersail to keep her head up, fell away again, and began to drift rapidly in the direction of the land.

The captain did not for a moment lose his presence of mind, but ordered the men at once to get up a jury mast; and in the meantime all sail was taken in, with the exception of the smallest possible amount of canvass to steady her. By the time the jury mast was rigged we were within a few miles of the shore, which rose in precipitous ranges from the water's edge to a great height. Deep, dark ravines could be seen running into the mountains, while the sides were covered with thick forests.

“We are on the south-west coast of New Zealand,” said the captain. “But how that compass could have gone wrong, and without our noticing it, is a mystery to me.”

“It must have gone wrong immediately after we lost sight of land after leaving Dunedin,” said I; “and the gale, instead of coming from the south-east, came from the south-west. When we were, as we thought, steering west, we were steering nearly north. It is a wonder we did not get ashore on the southern part of the Island.”

“There's not the slightest doubt about that, Young,” said the captain. “And God help us if this mast doesn't stand.”

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By this time sail had again been got on the mizen-mast, and the vessel's head brought round to the wind. We now seemed to be making good headway, and slowly, but surely, drawing away from the land. The wind had veered almost due west.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, we judged that the vessel was fully eight or nine miles off shore, and as the new mast showed every sign of standing, we began to feel more at ease. The captain had substituted his compass for the one in the binnacle,—but we could find nothing wrong with the latter, and were quite at a loss to know how it had gone so much astray.

I think it must have been close on midnight. It was my watch on deck, and I was pacing up and down the small poop, wondering when I should see England again, and the little white cottage above the cliffs, where I pictured to myself my father sitting in the big arm-chair by the fire, telling my mother of some fresh vessel he had been down to the seaport to look at, or of some old shipmate he had met. How I longed to be sitting once more in that snug little parlor; and I began to regret having started on this voyage at all. However, there was no help for it now; and I was just beginning to reckon the probable time that would elapse before I should be on my way home again, when my reveries were cut short by the new mizenmast giving a loud crack. I took the binnacle light and went to examine it. I observed nothing to cause me concern; but nevertheless, I ordered the watch to reef the sail on it, so as to give less strain. Too late. Hardly had the words left my lips when the vessel was caught by a sudden squall, which took the mizenmast by the board and blew the reefed topsails into ribbons. The noise awoke the captain and Harry Murton, page 8 who hurried up on deck. One glance showed them the state of affairs.

“I'm afraid it's all up with us, Young,” said the former. “Unless the wind goes down, we shall be ashore before morning.”

He then ordered the vessel's head to be kept more away from the wind, and steer nearly south.

“We must try and weather the land,” said he, “until we get round the south end; its our only chance.”

We had not timber sufficient to make another mast, as we had already lost several spars during the early part of the gale.

None of us quitted the deck that night. The Mercury rolled heavily now, as she was almost broadside on to the sea, which was running very high. How anxiously we awaited the first streak of daylight! All on board, were fully aware of the danger we were running. If we failed to clear the land, the vessel would drift against the towering and rugged rocks which formed the sea-coast, and descended sheer into the sea, leaving no hope of our being able to effect a landing, or to run the vessel on the beach. This we had observed on the previous day.

At last the darkness began to grow less pitchy, and soon we were able to make out the coast line, which appeared to be about eight miles distant. We had evidently made very little progress during the night, for we noticed that a high peak which we had seen exactly opposite the preceding evening was over our lee quarter.

“The wind seems to be going down, doesn't it, Mr Young?” remarked the captain to me, as we were examining the coast line through the glasses.

“Yes,” replied I; “but if this swell keeps up, we shall be on the rocks before noon.”

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“I wish I could see some inlet or other where we might stand a chance of running the vessel ashore,” said he. “I was told by the Yankee captain in Port Chalmers that there were hundreds of deep bights all along this coast.”

I took the glasses from the Captain, and began scanning the shore very carefully. At last I saw what appeared to be a deep gap between two high rocky points which jutted into the sea. I called the Captain's attention to it, and he, after gazing awhile, handed the telescope to Harry, who was standing beside us, saying—

“Can you make out anything, Murton?”

“There's no doubt of there being an opening of some kind there,” replied Harry; “and the water seems tolerably smooth between the two rocks; but unless the wind keeps up, we shall drift helplessly on to those reefs yonder”—pointing to a group of rocks whose heads just appeared above water right to leeward of us. The opening which we had distinguished was some little distance further on.

Suddenly the wind died away entirely, and we were left pitching about in a fearful manner in the heavy rollers.

Nearer and nearer we drew to the land. By the time breakfast was ready we were within three miles of the Coast.

“We shall never make that gap, in the schooner,” exclaimed Captain Marsh, “and she will not live for an instant on those reefs.” Then after a moment's silence he continued—

“Murton, see the boats are all clear for launching.”

Harry proceeded to get the boats ready.

“Get them well stocked with provisions, some blankets, and anything else that may be needful,” said the Captain; then turning to me—

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“If we cannot save the Mercury we may manage to make that opening yonder in the boats.”

“Stand by to let go both anchors!” roared out the Captain immediately afterwards.

The vessel had now drifted within a mile and a-half of the reefs.

“Let go!” and the anchors ran out for some distance, but without seeming to touch the bottom.

“Pay out every inch of spare cable!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” responded the men.

Harry Murton, who had been standing for'ard, then sang out—

“No use, sir! The anchors won't touch the bottom!”

“Men, to your stations at the boats!” came from the Captain as coolly as if we had just dropped anchor in a snug harbor, instead of being almost within a stone's throw of a rock-bound coast in a boiling sea.

“Young, see there's no sudden rushing into the two boats; there's any amount of room if they take care,” said the Captain to me. He then dived below, and after a few minutes' absence returned, bringing up his papers, instruments, &c.

“Young and Murton,” he said, “if you have any valuables, you had better fetch them up.”

But with the exception of some articles of clothing, there was nothing either of us cared about burdening the boats with, except a double-barrelled gun and a good supply of powder and shot; also a bag of bullets, which I had nearly forgotten. Harry had stocked the boats well with everything that he thought would be useful to us, and had also put in his fowling-piece and some ammunition.

All was now ready, and we only waited the Captain's orders to launch the boats. Harry and I were to go in one page 11 with part of the crew, and Captain Marsh in the other with the remainder.

“Look out now, lads,” exclaimed the Captain. “Let go the port side.”

This was our boat, and after some difficulty, through the heavy sea running, we all got into her, and clear of the schooner. I took the steer-oar, and kept the boat's head to the sea, while we waited for the Captain's party.

They, fortunately, were equally successful with ourselves, and together the two boats pulled towards the opening we had seen. When we arrived opposite to it the Captain sang out to us to keep outside the breakers until we saw his boat safely inside. He then steered direct for the narrow passage of smooth water between the rocks. We watched him until he had safely passed through it, when he suddenly turned to the right, and we lost sight of him behind one of the rocks.

“Now boys! give way,” I sang out to my crew, and the boat rushed on borne nearly to the opening on the top of a huge wave; then after a few strokes we entered the narrow lane of smooth water. After passing along this for about fifty yards, it suddenly turned at a sharp angle to the right, and we were as nearly as possible running the boat's bows on to the rocks; but with some little difficulty we got round the sharp corner, and after pulling for another few minutes against the tide, which was running out through the confined channel like a mill race, we again turned to the left, and shooting between two high precipitous walls of granite found ourselves in a perfectly landlocked bay, which extended some distance inland, and then seemed to turn to the left. On both sides the mountains towered up thousands of feet, covered from their summits down to the very water's edge with forests and impenetrable underwood.