[Gutenberg 44497] • The Wreck of the Grosvenor, Volume 1 of 3 / An account of the mutiny of the crew and the loss of the ship when trying to make the Bermudas

THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR."

CHAPTER I.

There was every appearance of a south-westerly wind. The coast of

France, which had been standing high and shining upon the horizon on

the port bow, and so magnified by the clear northerly air that you

could discern, even at that distance, the dim emerald sheen of the

upper slopes and the streaky shadows thrown by projecting points and

elbows on the white ground, was fast fading, though the sun still stood

within an hour of its setting beyond the bleak Foreland. The north

wind, which had rattled us with an acre of foam at our bows right

away down the river, and had now brought us well abreast of the Gull

lightship, was dropping fast. There was barely enough air to keep the

royals full, and the ship's number, which I had just hoisted at the

peak--a string of gaudy flags which made a brilliant figure against the

white canvas of the spanker--shook their folds sluggishly.

The whole stretch of scene, from the North Foreland down to the

vanishing French headlands miles away yonder, was lovely at that

moment--full of the great peace of an ocean falling asleep, of gently

moving vessels, of the solemn gathering of shadows. The town of Deal

was upon the starboard bow, a warm cluster of houses, with a windmill

on the green hills turning drowsily, here and there a window glittering

with a sudden beam of light, an inclined beach in the foreground with

groups of boats high and dry upon it, and a line of foam at its base

which sang upon the shingle so that you could hear it plainly amid

intervals of silence on board the ship. The evening sun shining over

the giant brow of the South Foreland struck the gray outline of the

cliff deep in the still water, but the clear red blaze fell far and

wide over the dry white downs of Sandwich and the outlying plains, and

threw the distant country into such bold relief against the blue sky

that, from the sea, it looked close at hand, and but a short walk from

the shore.

There were three or four dozen vessels at anchor in the Downs waiting

for a change of wind or anticipating a dead calm for some hours. A few

others, like ourselves, were swimming stealthily over the slack tide,

with every foot of their canvas piled upon them with the effort to

reach safe anchorage before the wind wholly failed and the tide turned.

A large ship, with her sails stowed and her masts and rigging showing

with the fineness of ivory-tracing against the sky, was being towed up

Channel, and the slapping of the water by the paddles of the tug, in

fast capricious revolutions, was quite audible, though both ship and

steamer were a long league distant. Here and there small boats were

rowing away from the anchored ships for the shore. Now and again you

could hear the faint distant choruses of seamen furling a big sail or

paying out more cable, the *clank, clank* of which was as pretty as

music. Down in the east the heavens were a deep blue, flecked along the

water line with white sails, which glowed in the sunshine like beacons.

I was in a proper mood to appreciate this beautiful tranquil scene.

I was leaving England for a long spell, and the sight of that quiet

little town of Deal and the grand old Foreland cliffs shutting out the

sky, and the pale white shores we had left far astern, went right to

my heart. Well, it was just a quiet leave-taking of the old country

without words or sobs.