### Chapter V
Improvised Sailors

Will Halley and his crew, taking advantage of the night and the passengers’ sleep, had fled with the brig’s only boat. No one doubted it. This master, whose duty obliged him to remain the last on board, had left first.

“The rascals have fled,” says John Mangles. “Well, all the better, my Lord. They have spared us some annoyances!”

“I agree,” said Glenarvan. “Besides, there is still a Captain on board, John, and your companions are brave, if not skilful, sailors. Give us your orders. We are ready to obey you.”

Major MacNabbs, Paganel, Robert, Wilson, Mulrady, and even Olbinett, applauded Glenarvan’s words, and — standing on deck — put themselves at John Mangles’ disposal.

“What should be done?” asked Glenarvan.

The young Captain looked out over the sea, examined the broken masts of the brig and, after a few moments of reflection, said “We have two options, my Lord, to get us out of this predicament: to raise the ship and get back to sea, or to gain the shore on a raft that will be easy enough to build.”

“If the ship can be raised, let’s raise it,” said Glenarvan. “That is the best option, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Honour, for once on land, what would become of us without means of transport?”

“Let’s avoid the coast,” said Paganel. “We must be wary of New Zealand.”

“Especially since we’ve drifted off course,” said John. “Halley’s carelessness has brought us south, it’s obvious. I will make my sighting at noon, and if, as I presume, we are below Auckland, I will try to take the Macquarie north, along the coast.”

“But what of the damage to the brig?” asked Lady Helena.

“I do not think it is serious, Madame,” said John Mangles. “We can set up a makeshift mast to replace the foremast. We’ll sail — slowly, it’s true — but we’ll go where we want to go. If, unfortunately, the hull of the brig is ruptured, or if it can not be floated free, it will be necessary to resign ourselves to gaining the coast and to resume the way to Auckland on the shore.”

“Let’s see the state of the ship,” said the Major. “It matters most.”

Glenarvan, John, and Mulrady opened the main hatch and went down into the hold. About two hundred barrels of tanned skins were very badly stowed there. They could be moved without much difficulty by means of hoists attached to the main yard, directly above the hatch. John had some of the barrels thrown overboard to lighten the ship.

The Macquarie was listing to starboard

After three hours of hard work the bilges of the brig could be examined. Two seams had opened in the planking on the port side at the level of the water line. The Macquarie was listing to starboard, its port side elevated, and the defective seams were in the air so that water could not penetrate. Wilson quickly caulked the gaps in the planks, and carefully nailed a sheet of copper over them to restore the seal.

While making their inspection they found only two feet of water in the bilge. The pumps would easily drain that water and lighten the ship.

John concluded that the hull had suffered little damage in the grounding. It was likely that some of the false keel would remain embedded in the sand, but he could do without it.

After examining the interior of the ship, Wilson dove into the sea to determine her position on the shoal.

The Macquarie had grounded on a steep sandbank, pointing in a northwesterly direction. The lower end of her bow, and about two-thirds of her keel were deeply embedded. The stern of the ship floated in up to five fathoms of water. The rudder was not embedded, and operated freely. John thought it was unnecessary to lighten her a great deal. A real advantage, because they would be able to sail at the first opportunity.

The tides are not very strong in the Pacific; however, John Mangles was counting on the arrival of the flood to raise the Macquarie. The brig had grounded about an hour before high tide. From the moment when the ebb tide was felt, her starboard list had become more and more marked. At six o’clock in the morning, at low tide, it had reached its maximum inclination. It seemed pointless to prop the ship up on crutches. It was thus possible to keep the yards and other spars that John intended to use to build a makeshift foremast on board.

It remained to make their preparations to free the Macquarie. It was long and painful work. It was obviously impossible to be ready for the noon high tide. They would only see how the brig would behave, partly emptied, under the action of that tide, and they would make the push at the next tide.

“To work!” commanded John Mangles.

His improvised sailors were at his orders.

John first ordered the sails furled. The Major, Robert, and Paganel, led by Wilson, went up the main mast. The main topsail, stretched under the force of the wind, would have interfered with the floating of the ship. It was necessary to secure it, which was done as quickly as possible. Then, after taxing work — severe on hands that were not accustomed to it — the main topgallant was lowered. Young Robert, agile and bold as a cat, was a great deal of help during this difficult operation.

It was then a question of placing an anchor, or perhaps two, in line with the keel at the rear of the ship. The anchor’s traction would be required to haul the Macquarie off the bar at high tide. This chore would be easy if they had a boat. Just carry out an anchor, and drop it at the predetermined point. But with every boat gone it was necessary to improvise.

Glenarvan was enough of a sailor to understand the necessity of this undertaking. An anchor had to be set to extract a ship grounded by low water.

“But what do we do without a boat?” he asked John.

“We will use the remains of the foremast and empty barrels,” said the young Captain. “The task will be difficult, but not impossible, because the Macquarie’s anchors are small. Once set, I hope that they won’t slip.”

“Very well. Let’s not waste any time, John.”

Everyone, sailors and passengers, was called to the deck. They all took part in the work. The rigging that still held the foremast was cut away with an axe. The small mast had broken in its fall so the crow’s nest could be easily removed. John Mangles intended to use these spars to build the platform of a raft, supported with empty barrels, and capable of carrying the anchors. A scull was fitted, which allowed the raft to be steered. The ebb tide itself would help make it drift out behind the brig. Then, when the anchors were lowered, it would be easy to get back on board by hauling on the rope that stretched back to the ship’s deck.

This work was half finished when the sun approached the meridian. John Mangles allowed Glenarvan to continue with the task, and turned his attention to finding their position. This was very important to determine. Fortunately, John found a very dirty sextant, with a almanac from the Greenwich Observatory, in Will Halley’s cabin. It was good enough to take the sighting. He cleaned it up and brought it to the deck.

This instrument, by a series of moving mirrors, superimposes the sun’s image on the horizon at the moment when it is noon, that is to say when the day star reaches the highest point of its course. To operate the sextant you must aim its telescope at a true horizon, where the sky meets the water. In this place, however, a point of land to the north interposed itself between the observer and the horizon making a direct observation impossible.

When the true horizon can’t be sighted, it is replaced by an artificial horizon. This is usually a flat bowl filled with mercury, above which one operates. The mercury presents itself as a perfectly horizontal mirror. John had no mercury on board, but he overcame the difficulty by using a pail filled with liquid tar, the surface of which reflected the image of the sun quite well.

He already knew his longitude, being on the west coast of New Zealand. This was fortunate, because without a chronometer he could not have calculated it. The latitude alone was lacking and he was able to obtain it.

He used the sextant to measure the meridian height of the sun above the horizon. This was 68° 30′. The distance from the sun to the zenith was therefore 21° 30′, since these two numbers added together give 90°. On that day, February 3rd, the declination of the sun was 16° 30′, according to the almanac. Adding this to the zenith distance of 21° 30′, gave a latitude of 38°.

The position of Macquarie was thus determined to be 174° 45′ of longitude, and 38° of latitude, allowing for some insignificant errors produced by the imperfection of the instruments, which could be ignored.

Using the Johnston map bought by Paganel in Eden, John Mangles saw that the grounding had taken place at the opening of Aotea Bay, above Kawhia Point, on the shores of the province of Auckland. The city of Auckland being situated on the 37th parallel, the Macquarie had been diverted one degree to the south. They should therefore go north one degree to reach the capital of New Zealand.

“So,” said Glenarvan, “a journey of eighty miles.fn1 It’s nothing.”

“What is nothing on the sea will be long and difficult on shore,” said Paganel.

“So,” said John Mangles, “we do all that is humanly possible to float off the Macquarie.”

Their position established, the work was resumed. High tide came at a quarter past twelve. John could not take advantage of it, since his anchors were not yet set, but he watched the Macquarie with some anxiety. Would it float under the action of the flow? The question was going to be decided in five minutes.

They waited. They heard some crunches. The hull shuddered, but they didn’t rise. John had good hopes for the next tide, but the brig did not move yet.

They lowered the anchor in ten fathoms of water

Work continued. At two o’clock the raft was ready. The smaller anchor was loaded onto it. John and Wilson boarded the raft after mooring a rope to the stern of the ship. The current carried them half a cable out from the brig, and they lowered the anchor in ten fathoms of water.

The position was good and the raft was hauled back to the ship.

There remained the larger davit anchor. It was loaded onto the raft with difficulty. The raft was played out again, and soon this second anchor was secured behind the first, fifteen fathoms deep. John and Wilson hauled themselves back to the Macquarie.

The anchor cable and hawser were fixed to the windlass, and they waited for the next high tide, which would be at one o’clock in the morning. It was then six o’clock in the evening.

John Mangles complimented his sailors, and told Paganel that, with courage and good conduct, he might one day become a quartermaster.

Mr. Olbinett, after helping with the various tasks, returned to the kitchen. He prepared a timely and comforting meal. The crew had worked up hearty appetites that were fully satisfied, and everyone felt ready for more work.

After dinner, John Mangles made the final preparations to ensure the success of the operation. Nothing should be neglected when it comes to freeing a ship. Often the attempt fails for the lack of a little more lightening, and the trapped keel does not leave its sand bed.

John Mangles had thrown a large portion of the cargo into the sea in order to lighten the brig; but the rest of the barrels, the heavy spars, the spare yards, and a few tons of pig iron which formed the ballast were carried to the stern to lighten the bow. Wilson and Mulrady also rolled a number of barrels which they had filled with water to the stern, in order to raise the nose of the brig.

These last tasks were completed by midnight. The crew was exhausted: a regrettable circumstance at a time when they would need all their strength to turn the windlass, which led John Mangles to revise his plan.

The breeze had calmed. The wind was scarcely able to raise a few ripples on the surface of the water. John, looking at the horizon, noticed that the wind was swinging around from the southwest to the northwest. It was unmistakable to his sailor’s eye, from the disposition and colour of the bands of cloud. Wilson and Mulrady shared their captain’s opinion.

John Mangles told Glenarvan of his observations, and proposed that they postpone the floating.

“And here’s why,” he said. “First, we are all very tired, and we’ll need all our strength to free the ship. Then, once free, how do we guide it to deep water through these dangerous reefs in the dark? Better to do it in daylight. Another reason to wait is that the wind is shifting to a more favourable quarter and I want to be able to take advantage of it. I want the wind to blow us off while the sea lifts us. Tomorrow, if I am not mistaken, the breeze will blow from the northwest. We can raise the sails on the main mast, and they will help to free the brig.”

These arguments were convincing. Glenarvan and Paganel — the most impatient to be free — agreed, and the operation was postponed until the next day. The night went well. A watch was set, especially to keep an eye on the anchors.

The day came. John Mangles’ weather prediction was accurate. A fresh breeze blew from the north-northwest. It gave them an important aid. The crew was assembled. Robert, Wilson, and Mulrady went to the top of the mainmast; the Major, Glenarvan, and Paganel were on the deck, preparing the sails to be deployed at the proper moment. The yard of the main topsail was hoisted to the block — the main sail and the main topsail left furled.

It was nine o’clock in the morning. High tide was still four hours away. They were not idle. John had them build a makeshift mast at the front of the brig to replace the foremast. This would allow him to maneuver away from these dangerous shoals as soon as the ship was afloat. The work proceeded with renewed vigour, and before midday the foresail was firmly secured to its mast. Lady Helena and Mary Grant made themselves very useful rigging a spare sail to the topgallant’s yard. They were happy to work for their common salvation. The rigging was completed. If the Macquarie left something to be desired from the point of view of elegance, at least she could sail so long as she didn’t venture too far from the coast.

The tide rose. The surface of the sea rose in small, choppy waves. The heads of reefs disappeared little by little, like marine animals ducking under the water. The hour was approaching to attempt the grand operation. A feverish impatience kept everyone on edge. Nobody spoke. Everyone looked to John, anticipating his orders. John Mangles, leaning over the quarter deck, watched the tide. He glanced anxiously at the braided cable and hawser stretching out to the anchors. At one o’clock, the sea reached its highest point. It was steady for this short moment between its rise, and beginning to fall again. It was necessary act without delay. The main sail and the main topsail were dropped and combed the mast under the force of the wind.

“To the windlass!” John shouted.

It was a windlass with twin cranks, like a fire pump. Glenarvan, Mulrady and Robert on one side, Paganel, the Major and Olbinett on the other, leaned on the handles that turned the mechanism. At the same time, John and Wilson, engaging the breaker bars, added their efforts to those of their companions.

“Hardy! Hardy!” cried the young Captain. “And all together!”

The cable and the hawser were stretched taut under the powerful action of the windlass. The anchors held firm and did not slip. It was necessary to succeed promptly. The high water only lasts a few minutes, and it would soon fall. They redoubled their efforts. The wind gave a violent gust, and pressed the sails against the mast. A few tremors were felt in the hull. The brig seemed ready to rise. Perhaps one more arm would be enough to pull her off the sandbar.

“Helena! Mary!” Glenarvan shouted.

The two young women joined their efforts to those of their companions. A last click of the ratchet was heard.

But that was all. The brig did not move. The chance was lost. The tide was already beginning to ebb, and it was evident that even with the help of the wind and the sea, this small crew could not free the ship.

fn1. Verne has twenty-five miles here, but the straight line distance from Aotea to Auckland is eighty miles. (130 kilometres) Verne does use a more accurate distance in later chapters. The longitude he gives is also off by about 3° 30′, so I’ve adjusted it. — DAS