Seizing a sharp
tomahawk, I made signs to the captain that I would attempt to cut away
the wreck, follow me who dared. I mounted the weather-rigging; five
or six hardy seamen followed me; sailors will rarely refuse to follow
where they find an officer to lead the way.
The jerks of the rigging had nearly thrown us overboard, or jammed us
with the wreck. We were forced to embrace the shrouds with arms and
legs; and anxiously, and with breathless apprehension for our lives,
did the captain, officers, and crew, gaze on us as we mounted, and
cheered us at every stroke of the tomahawk. The danger seemed passed
when we reached the catharpens, where we had foot room. We divided our
work, some took the lanyards of the topmast rigging, I, the slings
of the main-yard. The lusty blows we dealt, were answered by
corresponding crashes; and at length, down fell the tremendous wreck
over the larboard gunwale. The ship felt instant relief; she
righted, and we descended amidst the cheers, the applauses, the
congratulations, and, I may add, the tears of gratitude, of most of
our shipmates. The work now become lighter, the gale abated every
moment, the wreck was gradually cleared away, and we forgot our cares.
This was the proudest moment of my life, and no earthly possession
would I have taken in exchange for what I felt when I once more placed
my foot on the quarter-deck. The approving smile of the captain--the
hearty shake by the hand--the praises of the officers--the eager gaze
of the ship's company, who looked on me with astonishment and obeyed
me with alacrity, were something in my mind, when abstractedly
considered, but nothing compared to the inward feeling of gratified
ambition, a passion so intimately interwoven in my existence, that
to have eradicated it, the whole fabric of my frame must have been
demolished.
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