your position on the Harrier ?” he asked.
“I was quartermaster, sir. And I took the Harrier over the bar.”
“And you say the course is further north?”
“Yes, sir, without a doubt.”
“Mr Amphlett,” the commodore called and the lieutenant about-turned smartly. “You’ve been over the bar before. Do you concur with Mr Butler?”
“I must admit, sir, to being ignorant of the navigational instructions of these parts, but I would defer to Mr Butler’s observations as I do seem to recall that the rock was in a more open position on approach.”
The commodore turned to Mr Strong. “Change course immediately, Mr Strong; veer away to the north.”
“Yes, sir.’ Even from my position I could see the relief in Mr Strong’s face, but the relief was short-lived as Mr Mallock approached the bridge.
“The signal tells us to ‘stand off shore’, sir.”
“Yes, we’re trying to do that, Mr Mallock,” Mr Strong replied.
It was true: the helmsman was straining at the wheel while one of the other helmsmen stepped forward to assist him. But before he could reach the wheel, the ship struck something softly, so softly I believe that very few of the seamen were initially aware of it. The breakers, before which we had been running, now carried forward to the shore without the ship and she slowly slid to a stop, settling as gently as a lady sitting down upon a chair.
We were aground – and much, much too far from shore.
2pm
“Full astern!” the commodore ordered and the engine room boy again ran across the deck to holler the command down the hatchway. “Lower the topsails and reef in the sails as much as the ropes will allow.”
This was followed by another order to batten down the hatches. Around me, men scrambled about as they ran to obey the orders, knowing that their work was crucial. I could feel the boards beneath me shudder and groan as the engines reversed and I, like the men around me, waited for the ship to lift and continue on her way.
She did not.
Instead a wave struck her, breaking across her stern. The ship shifted sideways until she was broadside to the waves. The action was sudden, knocking several men off their feet and sending them sprawling across the deck. I clung to the stanchion as she lurched to port, side-on to the oncoming waves, and the seas thrust against her side with a tremendous boom that shook the whole ship. Water surged across the deck, smashing the two boats that had hung on davits on the port side and taking the port bulwark with it. Waves cascaded over me; I lost my grip on the stanchion and slewed sideways so that I hit a coaming. I could not register the pain as I was struggling to breathe, the volume of water so great that I could not raise my head above it. It tugged at me as it drained away but my hands were held tight by the rope that now dug into my wrists, and my arms felt as though they were being torn from their sockets.
“Lighten the ship – get the port guns overboard!” I heard the commodore shout. Water was in my nose, throat and ears and I shook my head to clear them all. The deck was in chaos. Some of the supplies had moved, sliding across the deck to land up against the guns and suppliers on the port side. Men scrambled across the deck too, officers trying to direct their men while the seamen in the rigging struggled with the sails that now thrashed, unclewed, in the wind. I tried to call out but another rush of water engulfed me, filling my mouth with water. I heard a cry and saw a man carried along by the retreating waves towards the space where the port bulwark had been. He disappeared through the space and a seaman threw a lifebuoy to him, but I doubted he’d ever reach it.
The deck was at a tilt towards the port, the seas rushing over the bulwark with every broaching wave, flooding over the wood and knocking men off their feet as they laboured at throwing the guns overboard. As I watched, a hatch was thrown upwards by the violent
“I was quartermaster, sir. And I took the Harrier over the bar.”
“And you say the course is further north?”
“Yes, sir, without a doubt.”
“Mr Amphlett,” the commodore called and the lieutenant about-turned smartly. “You’ve been over the bar before. Do you concur with Mr Butler?”
“I must admit, sir, to being ignorant of the navigational instructions of these parts, but I would defer to Mr Butler’s observations as I do seem to recall that the rock was in a more open position on approach.”
The commodore turned to Mr Strong. “Change course immediately, Mr Strong; veer away to the north.”
“Yes, sir.’ Even from my position I could see the relief in Mr Strong’s face, but the relief was short-lived as Mr Mallock approached the bridge.
“The signal tells us to ‘stand off shore’, sir.”
“Yes, we’re trying to do that, Mr Mallock,” Mr Strong replied.
It was true: the helmsman was straining at the wheel while one of the other helmsmen stepped forward to assist him. But before he could reach the wheel, the ship struck something softly, so softly I believe that very few of the seamen were initially aware of it. The breakers, before which we had been running, now carried forward to the shore without the ship and she slowly slid to a stop, settling as gently as a lady sitting down upon a chair.
We were aground – and much, much too far from shore.
2pm
“Full astern!” the commodore ordered and the engine room boy again ran across the deck to holler the command down the hatchway. “Lower the topsails and reef in the sails as much as the ropes will allow.”
This was followed by another order to batten down the hatches. Around me, men scrambled about as they ran to obey the orders, knowing that their work was crucial. I could feel the boards beneath me shudder and groan as the engines reversed and I, like the men around me, waited for the ship to lift and continue on her way.
She did not.
Instead a wave struck her, breaking across her stern. The ship shifted sideways until she was broadside to the waves. The action was sudden, knocking several men off their feet and sending them sprawling across the deck. I clung to the stanchion as she lurched to port, side-on to the oncoming waves, and the seas thrust against her side with a tremendous boom that shook the whole ship. Water surged across the deck, smashing the two boats that had hung on davits on the port side and taking the port bulwark with it. Waves cascaded over me; I lost my grip on the stanchion and slewed sideways so that I hit a coaming. I could not register the pain as I was struggling to breathe, the volume of water so great that I could not raise my head above it. It tugged at me as it drained away but my hands were held tight by the rope that now dug into my wrists, and my arms felt as though they were being torn from their sockets.
“Lighten the ship – get the port guns overboard!” I heard the commodore shout. Water was in my nose, throat and ears and I shook my head to clear them all. The deck was in chaos. Some of the supplies had moved, sliding across the deck to land up against the guns and suppliers on the port side. Men scrambled across the deck too, officers trying to direct their men while the seamen in the rigging struggled with the sails that now thrashed, unclewed, in the wind. I tried to call out but another rush of water engulfed me, filling my mouth with water. I heard a cry and saw a man carried along by the retreating waves towards the space where the port bulwark had been. He disappeared through the space and a seaman threw a lifebuoy to him, but I doubted he’d ever reach it.
The deck was at a tilt towards the port, the seas rushing over the bulwark with every broaching wave, flooding over the wood and knocking men off their feet as they laboured at throwing the guns overboard. As I watched, a hatch was thrown upwards by the violent
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