Page 66 of Lizzie’s Spirit

“I intended to take the inner passage between Mozambique and Madagascar, but the winds are variable, and if they were to fail, we would be close to the Comoros Islands—a pirate stronghold. So we shall hold off the east Madagascar coast in the Indian Ocean, and then veer more westerly once we’re beyond Cape Sainte Marie to pass down the southern African coast.”

Captain Coxon sat to dinner with the passengers in the cuddy. As was customary, Elizabeth sat to his right. Her position as the wife of a lieutenant governor, but more importantly, the niece of the ship’s owner, lent her consequence.

“And the journey time? When are we to arrive at the Cape?” A rather pretentious man of about forty years, a former colonial secretary, imperiously questioned the captain.

“By my reckoning, as long as the winds hold, by the last week of September. The monsoon has weakened, and the winds often turn, so our progress is better than if we were fighting a southwesterly breeze. I’m pleased with our progress.” He turned to Elizabeth.

“Mrs. Darcy, would you be so kind as to entertain us this evening? I enjoyed very much your performance during the journey from Port Jackson to Bombay.”

“Certainly, Captain. I know you prefer English airs, but can I persuade you to listen to something Italian or Spanish, perhaps?”

The captain laughed. “Of course, ma’am, we’ re at your disposal.”

They made good progress passing the southern tip of Madagascar and then turning southwest towards the African coast. Uneventful, monotonous days passed until their luck changed and the barometer began falling at an alarming rate.

The sea became inordinately heavy, the wind rising sharply from the northwest, which threatened to blow the vessel away from its course.

But, as had been the case in the Bass Strait, the wind continued to veer and swung all the way around the compass to come from the opposite direction, from the southeast.

This was, at first, greeted with relief by the crew, for it was only a faint breeze, but it kept increasing in strength; soon it began to rain, the atmosphere charged with moisture carried down from the tropics.

The wind continued to blow hard, with sleet tearing through the rigging and drenching the sailors who had scurried aloft to shorten sail. Soon, a ferocious gale was blowing.

Captain Coxon was a cautious man, and aware that good, tight ships such as the Grosvenor had often foundered due to their captains’ blind confidence in the soundness of their vessels.

The wind had stabilised but was still dangerously strong.

He struck the tops to reduce the profile of the ship, and then, just as he wished for the storm to abate, the gale strengthened, with enormous waves pushing the ship, threatening a broach or capsize.

There was no alternative but to throw out a sea anchor from the stern and run before the wind with bare poles.

The rudder was useless and locked in place to avoid being shattered against the hull.

Fortunately, the hawser securing the sea anchor held, with the mizzen-staysail keeping the ship turned away from the wind.

“I hate it! I hate it!” Eleanor was shrieking; Elizabeth held her tightly as they lay on her cot.

The noise was excruciating; never before had she felt such terror.

If it were not for Eleanor screaming, she would have done so herself.

A great crashing came from the deck below—a gun come loose.

If not secured quickly, it would break through the wooden hull.

Once again the sound of splintering and tortured wood assailed her.

Then, to her relief, there was just the wind howling through the bare rigging and the groaning of the ship’s timbers as great waves pushed against the hull, lifting the vessel as though it were a child’s toy boat.

“Hold tight, dearest,” whispered Elizabeth, “the storm will soon blow itself out.” But it continued for hour after long hour throughout the dark night. Seawater was seeping under the cabin door, sprung from the sealed hatches leading to the upper deck, now awash.

Captain Coxon was worried. Before the gale, he had decided to lie close to the southern African coast to take advantage of the Agulhas Current, which would take them quickly to the Cape.

But, because of the poor weather, he had been unable to make a sighting to determine his longitude after turning westwards.

In fact, he knew he was lost. The strong winds, which had turned from northwesterly to southeasterly, had confused his navigation.

There was no choice but to run before the storm and keep their keenest lookout stationed aloft, tied precariously to the foremast.

Miraculously, at the start of the morning watch, four o’clock, the wind lessened—though still strong—and the rain eased.

The sea anchor was hauled in, and the ship put under mizzen-staysail and foresail.

They were still running ahead of the sea, but now the vessel responded to the helm, and the captain thought to bring the ship around to head south as the wind continued to lessen, to veer away from the coast, which was an uncertain distance to the west .

The air filled with a strange fogginess, and visibility was now much reduced.

At that moment, the lookout came swinging down to the forecastle, shouting that he saw land under the lee bow, on the starboard side.

Captain Coxon immediately gave orders to veer ship and put her on the opposite tack.

The boatswain piped all hands; hurriedly they came up on deck.

The helm was instantly put to windward, the mizzen staysail hauled down, and the fore staysail hoisted to get the ship swung around.

She turned, ever so reluctantly, and was standing against the waves when the stern struck a dark, hitherto hidden rock with such violence that Coxon expected the masts to crash over the side.

Thank God, each held. Immediately, he ordered the crew to throw out the sheet-anchor to hold the vessel from being forced further onto the rocks.

The situation appeared most dreadful, for excessive darkness—being before the dawn—added to the violent squalls of wind and rain, accompanied by lightning, and the surf breaking over the ship.

Elizabeth knew immediately they had struck.

But it was imperative not to panic, to stay with Eleanor until they were called on deck.

The ship had foundered, but the masts had held, and the hull, being almost new and copper-clad, was strong enough.

The floor was awash, but that was immaterial to finding her woollen day dress in her sea chest. Slipping it on, together with a spencer—she ignored her stays, which had become increasingly constricting—she sought Eleanor’s sea chest. The girl huddled on the cot, whimpering, but at least her cries of terror had ceased.

Elizabeth found the girl’s linen dress, perhaps not the warmest, but she had nothing in the way of woollen clothing, having lived all her life in India.

A knock on the door. The pounding of feet in the galleyway as the other passengers rushed to the upper deck. What to take? Of course, her guitar. She saw Eleanor take up the Crusoe Keg , almost too heavy for the child. But she screamed as Elizabeth sought to leave it behind.

“No! No, we made this, and now we’re wrecked! It must come.”

Elizabeth acquiesced—‘twas best to get the child above deck, to safety, rather than linger in the cabin, which would flood at any moment.

The floor sloped downwards towards the gangway, which led to the upper deck.

They gingerly climbed the steps, Eleanor still clutching the keg, which she had fastened by a strap about her waist, and Elizabeth’s guitar slung across her back, secure in its case of leather and oilskin.

The deck was awash, great waves spilling over the railing, some gunports ripped open by the force of the sea.

The depth of water and the slope of the flooring were so great that they slid across the sodden planking, floundering into the wall of the raised forecastle.

There, huddling together, were the other child passengers.

“Where are your parents?” cried Elizabeth.

She looked back to the quarterdeck where most of the crew and passengers were assembled.

She saw that the gangway from the deck was now too steep for any but an adult to climb. The children were left behind.

Captain Coxon came to the taffrail. “Mrs. Darcy, we’ll have a sailor to you, instanter!

” His shout was almost lost in the wind.

Elizabeth waved back in acknowledgement.

She went to the children and, leaning close, told them sailors would come to carry them to the quarterdeck.

Tears streaming from their eyes, they clutched together; Elizabeth pulled them close.

The seas were abating; fewer waves breached the railing of the ship, which, though shuddering as each wave pounded into it, was gradually turning around, pointing into the sea—the anchor was holding.

The wind had shifted, now blowing from the land.

Captain Coxon sent men to the capstan, ready to release the anchor if the ship came free .

One by one, a sailor, secured by a rope to the quarterdeck, took a child and was hauled to the gangway where the child was handed onto the deck above. Finally, all but Elizabeth and Eleanor remained. The seaman made his way to them.

Suddenly, an anguished cry arose from the sailors on the deck behind.

Turning towards the sea, Elizabeth beheld a great wave, a behemoth rearing over the ship.

The vessel groaned and shook, the oak planking twisting under the strain, but the anchor held.

The wind, striking the staysail, swung the vessel free as the wave surged over the rocks.

The crest broke over the decks; all gathered on the quarterdeck were submerged by the massive rush of water.

When it had passed, those on the quarterdeck were safe, but the upper deck was empty, save for the lone sailor still tied to the safety line.

Both Elizabeth and Eleanor were gone, swept into the maelstrom.