Free Where The Flag Floats by D C Grant Page A

wrists.
    “I thought they had left me to die.” I could not keep the anger from my voice. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”
    “Sorry, Sam, the officers kept us busy and I couldn’t get away. But now there’s not much more that can be done – the ship is doomed. We’ve hit the middle bank and the ship’s settling in. The sea is rushing in below and soon the tide will turn and she’ll be under water. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll have no chance.”
    “What happened to the steamer?”
    “I don’t think it’s seen us – it turned to the south and is almost out of sight.”
    “How could it not?” I asked but Fred did not answer, intent as he was on cutting through the rope. I looked over at the waiting launch and saw John there, poised to jump, timing his departure such that he landed in the middle of the thwarts and was steadied by the crewmen.
    The wet rope around my wrists was resistant to the sharp edge of the blade and Fred had to work hard to cut through the strands. It was slow work and I constantly looked over as the launch filled with men. Finally the last thread was cut and I stood unsteadily as another breaker rocked the ship, grabbing at the stanchion to prevent myself from being thrown off my feet. My wet and bloody hands slipped on the metal and Fred steadied me as I stumbled.
    “Wait, Sam, there’s a set of rollers coming.”
    I looked seaward and saw the black blocks of waves charging towards us.
    “Hold on!” Fred shouted as the first wave in the set hit, and the ship groaned and shuddered before another wave hit soon after. Forced by the surge of water, the ship began to roll to her starboard side and I could hear men shouting and screaming as they were dislodged. The receding wave rolled her back again, back towards port. There was a grating, roaring noise and I had a glimpse of the launch flying through the air before it was lost to sight.
    “What happened?” I asked Fred, shaken by the wild movement of the ship and the sight of the launch sailing through the air.
    Fred’s face was white and drawn. “The fluke of the anchor caught the launch and it was lifted up and then thrown back down. It must have been smashed to pieces when it hit the water. I guess all in her have drowned.”
    “John?” I cried.
    “And a good many brave men too.”
    “What are we to do?”
    “I have no idea, Sam, but unless rescue comes soon, we’ll all be drowned like those in the launch.”
     

4pm
     
    A voice called out through the gloom. “It’s every man for himself!”
    I could not see who had shouted it but I surmised that it had to be one of the officers.
    As Fred and I clung to the binnacle of the compass, trying not to lose our grip with each shudder and roll of the ship, a great wave struck and water again rushed across the deck. I struggled to hold on as the weight of the water threatened to pull me away, into the rough sea. Fred was having the same trouble.
    “The ship is breaking up!” Fred shouted above the tumult around us. “We have to get atop!”
    I looked up into the rigging where men now clung to spars and yardarms.
    “I can’t,” I declared.
    “You’ll have to, Sam; shortly she’ll be under, and us too if we stay here.”
    I looked around me. The deck was now almost empty of men and, as I again glanced up, I saw the commodore climbing the mizzenmast shrouds. I knew then that the situation was dire and that the deck was not a safe place to be, and yet still I hesitated as I struggled with my fear: stay and drown on deck, or attempt to reach the dubious safety of the rigging. Most of the masts were standing firm and, although some of the rigging had snapped, the masts seemed solid and unmoving. Men clutched them, and to the rigging, looking like bees clustered around a hive. I knew that up top was the only safe place to be for the time being.
    Fred was pulling at my tattered shirt. “This is no time for praying,” he said, misreading my hesitation. “We have to go