Boon Island: including Contemporary Accounts of the Wreck of the Nottingham Galley (49 page)

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Authors: Kenneth Roberts,Jack Bales,Richard Warner

Tags: #Survival After Airplane Accidents; Shipwrecks; Etc., #Nottingham (Galley) - Fiction, #Transportation, #Historical, #Boon Island (Me.) - Fiction, #Boon Island, #18th Century, #Survival After Airplane Accidents; Shipwrecks; Etc - Fiction, #Survival After Airplane Accidents; Shipwrecks; Etc, #Shipwrecks, #Fiction, #Literary, #Sea Stories, #Historical Fiction, #Shipwrecks - Maine - Boon Island - History - 18th Century - Fiction, #test, #Boon Island (Me.), #General, #Maine, #History

BOOK: Boon Island: including Contemporary Accounts of the Wreck of the Nottingham Galley
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Page 343
meat, stoking the fire, and dozing in its faint glowa mere breath of nothing to anyone who has known a real fire in a real fireplace; colder, far colder than the Bodleian at its coldest; but a bit of heavenly radiance to us who had lived so long in a frigid hell.
We looked, of course, toward shore, but not in hopefulness. No vessel could have approached Boon Island in that abominable storm, and we were afraid, even, to speculate as to when Nason might reach Portsmouth. We knew in our hearts that he and his little sloop, with that unexpected wind to harry them, might never have reached Portsmouth at all.
 
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January 4th, Thursday
The snow stopped, the wind dropped, the tent was warm, and we must have slept like logs; for when I woke, we were sitting up, all ten of us, wild-eyed, hair on end. I was vaguely conscious, in the recesses of my mind, that a gun had been fired: that I was still hearing its echo.
The tide was almost dead low: the sea had fallen: the wind was a light breeze, offshore, so that the tops of the swells had a slick lookand rising and falling on those rollers was a craft so sturdy, so smart, so daring in the way she slipped around those brown ledge-fingers, almost touching them, that I couldn't shout, or even speak. All I could do was stand there, empty of thought, devoid of sensation, barely alive.
The little vessel was odd-looking. She had a high sharp bow and an even higher sharp stern, and under her boom rested a broad, high-sided skiff with a narrow, flat bottom. There were five men on her deck, one lying out on the short bowsprit watching for ledges, one at her tiller, one reloading the musket that had aroused us, and two wrestling the skiff over the side.
 
Page 345
"That's a pink," Captain Dean said in a strangled voice.
"Nothing like 'em to nose in and out of a rocky coast."
Captain Dean lowered himself halfway down the seaweed.
The man on the pink's bowsprit jumped up and let go an anchor: then joined those at work on the skiff. The man at the tiller left it, took two coils of rope and tossed them into the skiff: then four men slid her into the water and jumped in.
One made fast a rope to the bow: another did the same in the stern, tossing the unattached end of the rope to the man who had held the tiller.
The man in the bow stood up, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to Captain Dean. His voice carried strongly to us on that gentle but frost-laden land breeze. "The dory's made fast astern. We'll pay out easy. When we're close enough, we'll throw the bow rope ashore. Get some men down there with you and lay onto that bow rope. Hold it taut so we can't be swamped."
Two of the men in the dory stood up, pushing at oars. They faced in the direction they were rowing, which seemed strange and awkward. It wasn't right, I thought numbly, for a rower to be able to see where he was going, instead of turning his back to his objective and seeing nothing, as do rowers in England.
I wondered why these Americans had to be so different, sailing something called a pink, sharp at both ends: recklessly approaching ledges in a flat-bottomed dory instead of a skiff: standing up to row so to face forward.
I looked around for someone to help the captain. Only Neal, Langman and White had come from the tent. The
 
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others must be helpless, sick, probably, from too much meat, too much smoke, the unaccustomed warmth.
The four of us joined the captain. When the man in the dory's bow tossed us the rope, we fumbled for it, caught it and clumsily took it high up onto solid rock, above the seaweed.
The dory, held bow and stern, jerked at the ropes like a fractious horse.
The newcomers picked their way over the seaweed and stood looking at us as we laboriously made the rope fast around a boulder. I never saw such incredulity as was written on their faces.
Captain Dean, testing the hitch, looked up at the foremost of those sturdy heaven-sent figures.
''You probably don't remember me," he said. "We'd pretty near lost hope" His voice broke.
All four men stared at us, their brows wrinkled, their mouths half open.
The man Captain Dean had addressed seemed both horrified and puzzled.
"Nason said I'd find John Dean here," he said. "I'd like to"
"I'm John Dean," the captain said. "You're Furber."
He turned to another. "You're Captain Long. III"
He sat down suddenly on a boulder, clasped his hands around his middle and rocked himself back and forth.
Long and Furber jumped forward and hoisted him to his feet. Long patted his back. Furber held his upper arm with both hands.
"We caught the outgoing tide as soon as we heard," Furber said. "Nason said to hurry, so we hurried. You'll be all right, John!" He hesitated and asked uncertainly, "You're John Dean of Twickenham?"
"Jasper's brother," Captain Dean said. "I'll be all right
 
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when I get away from these damned breakers! Can't seem to hear a thing! Where's Nason?"
"He's in Portsmouth," Furber said. "He ran into a southeast squall and piled up on Kittery Point. Too much of a hurry to get back, I guess. He lost his sloop, but he got word to Colonel Pepperrell, and Colonel Pepperrell got word to us. We sail Pepperrell's ships, John."
"We got gruel aboard the pink, John," Captain Long said. "You'll feel different when you get some gruel into you."
He spoke to the two silent sailors, who were examining us as if we were dangerous animals in cages. "Put the captain in the dory."
"You're William Long," Captain Dean said in a shaking voice. "And Jethro Furber! I never thought I'd see the day!"
"Now, John," Captain Long said. "We'll have you out of here in a jiffy." He took Captain Dean's arm and steered him toward the dory.
"Take the others first," Captain Dean said. "They're in the tent. Had our first fire last nightbreathed a lot of smoke. Tent smells pretty bad. Things weren't easy. I had to stop trying to drive 'em."
"You can't drive 'em if you're human," Captain Furber said.
Captain Dean's voice was suddenly shrill. "Hurry up and help those others. We can't tend this rope all day."
Captain Long, Captain Furber and the two seamen scuttled off toward the tent as rapidly as anyone could move across those snowy, icy rocks.
Captain Dean rubbed his face with both hands, and examined them as if surprised. "I'd know Furber anywhere.
 
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Name of Jethro. Only Jethro I ever saw. Used to keep running into himAntigua, Halifax. Where was I? Oh yes, he sailed under John Frost. John married Mary Pepperrell. Pepperrells marry all over. Is John Frost here with Furber? Or is it Long? I met John's wife once."
I saw his mind was wandering. When I went to help him, he half turned, put out his hands gropingly and fell heavily.
Neal tried to lift him up.
"Let him alone," I said. "Let him rest. He's been through a lot. A rest won't hurt him."
Long, Furber and their two sailors came cautiously to us, each one carrying a man on his back.
"The captain had a fall," I told Captain Long. "The fire smoked last nighttarred ropeno wood. I think he's a little tired."
"I wouldn't wonder," Captain Long said. "Now look: I'm in command here! Put Dean in the dory right now." He pointed at Neal. "Put him in, too. That's two passengers and two to row."
He signaled to the man on the pink, who tightened the dory's stern rope.
"All right," Captain Long said to Captain Furber. "Slack away on that bow cable. Hold it tight till she's halfway out."
We stowed the captain in the dory: Neal got in by himself.
The two rowers faced the pink, and when a roller lifted the dory, they dug in their oars and pushed hard. Aboard the pink the man pulled at the stern rope. The dory went stern-first as readily as bow-first.
"How many left in the tent?" I asked Captain Long.
 
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"We couldn't see," he said. "We brought out four. Who are they?"
I looked at them, sprawled just above the seaweed. They all seemed to be exactly alike. They might have been quadrupletsbearded, foul, horrible-looking.
"One's the captain's brother," I said. "I think the others are Graystock and Saver and Gray. Gray was a gunner."
I couldn't remember what it was that Captain Long had asked me, and so shook my head.
Captain Long, seeing that I was confused, reached out and slapped my cheek, so to jolt me back to reality. "No offense meant," he said. "Who else is there? Have we got 'em all?"
"Let's see," I said, "Neal and Langman and the captain and I hauled in on the bow rope. That's four. Yes, and White. That's five. You took out four. That's nine. There must be another in the tent. Mellen. He can walk. It must have been that damned smoke. That's ten. There were fourteen to begin with."
Captain Furber nudged Captain Long. "The dory's coming back," he said.
They went as close to the water's edge as they could, watching the dory lift with the surges, rock toward us, pushed by the two sailors. When one of them tossed the bow rope ashore, the two captains belayed it around the same boulder we'd used.
The rowers climbed out and hurried back to the tent.
Captain Long came to stand beside me. "Nason told us there were twelve: that two were lost on the raft, though only one was found."
"No," I said, "there were fourteen. The cook died of lung complaint. We set him adrift. Then the carpenter
 
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died. The men wanted to eat him. We finished him up last night."
Captain Long took me by the shoulder. I saw he once more thought my mind was troubled, and was about to slap me to sensibility again. "I'm all right," I said, pushing his hand away. "You'd have done the same in our place."
Langman crowded up to Captain Long. "I was against it," he shouted. "I said it was barbarous, unchristian and a sin!"
Captain Long dropped his eyes from mine: then looked hard at Langman. "So you didn't eat him?" he asked.
"I didn't eat him as Chips Bullock," Langman explained earnestly. "I didn't eat him the day he was skinned. I only ate him the next day, when he was beef."
"That's a nice distinction," Captain Long said.
He became suddenly irascible, impatiently lifted Henry Dean, and shouted at Saver, Graystock and Gray. "Get on your feet! Stow yourself in that dory!"
He pointed a stubby finger at Langman. "Help 'em if they
need
help; then get in yourself! Don't stand around! All we need is a capful of wind to be stuck on this damned island ourselves! God knows how you stood it! I couldn't have stood it a week without losing all my anchors!"
His two seamen came back, pushing and pulling at Mellen.
"Get him in! Get him in!" Captain Long shouted. He tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the southwest. There, coming up fast, were two schooners and a brigantine, all three of them running before the wind.
"Word's got around," Captain Long said. "And that wind has shifted! Pack 'em in! Pack 'em in!"
Five minutes later I was hauled over the side of the pink,

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