In the “Lady Vain” Dinghy

I do not propose to add anything to what has already been written concerning the loss of the Lady Vain. As everyone knows, she collided with a derelict when ten days out from Callao. The longboat, with seven of the crew, was picked up eighteen days after by H. M. gunboat Myrtle, and the story of their terrible privations has become quite as well known as the far more horrible Medusa case. But I have to add to the published story of the Lady Vain another, possibly as horrible and far stranger. It has hitherto been supposed that the four men who were in the dingey perished, but this is incorrect. I have the best of evidence for this assertion: I was one of the four men.

I do not intend to add anything to what has already been written about the loss of the Lady Vain. As everyone knows, she collided with an abandoned vessel ten days after leaving Callao. Eighteen days later, H. M. gunboat Myrtle picked up the longboat, which carried seven of the crew. The story of their terrible hardships has become as well known as the far more horrible Medusa case. But I must add another story to the published account of the Lady Vain. It is possibly as horrible and far stranger. Until now, people have assumed that the four men in the dinghy died, but this is not true. I have the best evidence for this claim: I was one of the four men.

But in the first place I must state that there never were four men in the dingey,—the number was three. Constans, who was “seen by the captain to jump into the gig,”¹ luckily for us and unluckily for himself did not reach us. He came down out of the tangle of ropes under the stays of the smashed bowsprit, some small rope caught his heel as he let go, and he hung for a moment head downward, and then fell and struck a block or spar floating in the water. We pulled towards him, but he never came up.

But first, I must say that there were never four men in the dinghy. There were three. Constans, who was “seen by the captain to jump into the gig,”¹ did not reach us. This was lucky for us but unlucky for him. He came down through the tangle of ropes beneath the supports of the smashed bowsprit. As he let go, a small rope caught his heel. He hung upside down for a moment, then fell and struck a block or spar floating in the water. We rowed toward him, but he never came up.

I say luckily for us he did not reach us, and I might almost say luckily for himself; for we had only a small beaker of water and some soddened ship’s biscuits with us, so sudden had been the alarm, so unprepared the ship for any disaster. We thought the people on the launch would be better provisioned (though it seems they were not), and we tried to hail them. They could not have heard us, and the next morning when the drizzle cleared,—which was not until past midday,—we could see nothing of them. We could not stand up to look about us, because of the pitching of the boat. The two other men who had escaped so far with me were a man named Helmar, a passenger like myself, and a seaman whose name I don’t know,—a short sturdy man, with a stammer.

I say it was lucky for us that he did not reach us, and almost lucky for him too. We had only a small beaker of water and some soaked ship’s biscuits. The alarm had been so sudden, and the ship so unprepared for any disaster. We thought the people on the launch would have more supplies, though it seems they did not. So we tried to call out to them. They could not have heard us. The next morning, the drizzle did not clear until after midday, and then we could see no sign of them. We could not stand up to look around because the boat was pitching. The two other men who had escaped with me so far were Helmar, a passenger like myself, and a sailor whose name I do not know. The sailor was a short, sturdy man with a stammer.

We drifted famishing, and, after our water had come to an end, tormented by an intolerable thirst, for eight days altogether. After the second day the sea subsided slowly to a glassy calm. It is quite impossible for the ordinary reader to imagine those eight days. He has not, luckily for himself, anything in his memory to imagine with. After the first day we said little to one another, and lay in our places in the boat and stared at the horizon, or watched, with eyes that grew larger and more haggard every day, the misery and weakness gaining upon our companions. The sun became pitiless. The water ended on the fourth day, and we were already thinking strange things and saying them with our eyes; but it was, I think, the sixth before Helmar gave voice to the thing we had all been thinking. I remember our voices were dry and thin, so that we bent towards one another and spared our words. I stood out against it with all my might, was rather for scuttling the boat and perishing together among the sharks that followed us; but when Helmar said that if his proposal was accepted we should have drink, the sailor came round to him.

We drifted for eight days in all, starving and, once our water ran out, tortured by unbearable thirst. After the second day, the sea slowly settled until it was as smooth as glass. An ordinary reader cannot possibly imagine those eight days. Luckily for them, they have nothing in their memory to imagine them with. After the first day, we said little to one another. We lay in our places in the boat and stared at the horizon. Or we watched our companions grow weaker and more miserable, our eyes growing larger and more haggard each day. The sun became merciless. Our water ran out on the fourth day. By then, we were already thinking strange things and saying them with our eyes. But I think it was the sixth day before Helmar said aloud what we had all been thinking. I remember that our voices were dry and thin, so we leaned toward one another and used few words. I opposed his proposal with all my strength. I would rather have sunk the boat and died together among the sharks following us. But Helmar said that if we accepted his proposal, we would have something to drink. Then the sailor came around to his side.

I would not draw lots however, and in the night the sailor whispered to Helmar again and again, and I sat in the bows with my clasp-knife in my hand, though I doubt if I had the stuff in me to fight; and in the morning I agreed to Helmar’s proposal, and we handed halfpence to find the odd man. The lot fell upon the sailor; but he was the strongest of us and would not abide by it, and attacked Helmar with his hands. They grappled together and almost stood up. I crawled along the boat to them, intending to help Helmar by grasping the sailor’s leg; but the sailor stumbled with the swaying of the boat, and the two fell upon the gunwale and rolled overboard together. They sank like stones. I remember laughing at that, and wondering why I laughed. The laugh caught me suddenly like a thing from without.

I refused to draw lots, though. During the night, the sailor whispered to Helmar again and again. I sat in the bow with my pocketknife in my hand, though I doubt I had the courage to fight. In the morning, I agreed to Helmar’s proposal. We used halfpenny coins to find the odd man out. The sailor drew the lot, but he was the strongest of us and refused to accept it. He attacked Helmar with his bare hands. They struggled together and almost stood up. I crawled along the boat toward them, intending to help Helmar by grabbing the sailor’s leg. But the sailor stumbled as the boat rocked, and they both fell against the side and rolled overboard together. They sank like stones. I remember laughing at that and wondering why I laughed. The laughter came over me suddenly, as if it came from outside me.

I lay across one of the thwarts for I know not how long, thinking that if I had the strength I would drink sea-water and madden myself to die quickly. And even as I lay there I saw, with no more interest than if it had been a picture, a sail come up towards me over the sky-line. My mind must have been wandering, and yet I remember all that happened, quite distinctly. I remember how my head swayed with the seas, and the horizon with the sail above it danced up and down; but I also remember as distinctly that I had a persuasion that I was dead, and that I thought what a jest it was that they should come too late by such a little to catch me in my body.

I lay across one of the boat’s benches for I don’t know how long. I thought that if I had the strength, I would drink seawater and drive myself mad so I could die quickly. As I lay there, I saw a sail rise above the horizon and approach me. I was no more interested than if it had been a picture. My mind must have been wandering, yet I remember everything that happened quite clearly. I remember how my head swayed with the waves, and how the horizon and the sail above it danced up and down. But I also remember just as clearly that I was convinced I was dead. I thought what a joke it was that they had come just a little too late to catch me in my body.

For an endless period, as it seemed to me, I lay with my head on the thwart watching the schooner (she was a little ship, schooner-rigged fore and aft) come up out of the sea. She kept tacking to and fro in a widening compass, for she was sailing dead into the wind. It never entered my head to attempt to attract attention, and I do not remember anything distinctly after the sight of her side until I found myself in a little cabin aft. There’s a dim half-memory of being lifted up to the gangway, and of a big round countenance covered with freckles and surrounded with red hair staring at me over the bulwarks. I also had a disconnected impression of a dark face, with extraordinary eyes, close to mine; but that I thought was a nightmare, until I met it again. I fancy I recollect some stuff being poured in between my teeth; and that is all.

For what seemed like an endless time, I lay with my head on the boat’s bench, watching the schooner rise into view over the sea. It was a small ship, with schooner sails on both masts. It kept tacking back and forth in widening arcs, because it was sailing directly into the wind. It never occurred to me to try to attract attention. After seeing its side, I remember nothing clearly until I found myself in a small cabin at the stern. I have a dim memory of being lifted up to the gangway. A large, round, freckled face surrounded by red hair was staring at me over the side. I also have a vague impression of a dark face with extraordinary eyes close to mine. But I thought that was a nightmare until I saw the face again. I think I remember something being poured between my teeth. That is all.