Thus, once more, were the Catamarans delivered from a terrible danger,--
almost literally "from the jaws of death"; and once more, too, by what
appeared a providential interference.
Ben Brace actually believed it so. It would have been difficult for
anyone to have thought otherwise; but the moral mind of the sailor had
of late undergone some very serious transformations; and the perils
through which they had been passing,--with their repeated deliverances,
all apparently due to some unseen hand,--had imbued him with a belief
that the Almighty must be everywhere,--even in the midst of the
illimitable ocean.
It was this faith that had sustained him through the many trials through
which they had gone; and that, in the very latest and last,--when the
ruffians upon the raft were fast closing upon the _Catamaran_,--had led
him to give encouraging counsels to Snowball to keep on. It had
encouraged him, in fine, to strike the boat-hook from the grasp of Le
Gros,--which act had ended by putting their implacable enemy _hors du
combat_, and conducting to their final deliverance.
It was this belief that still hindered the brave mariner,--now that the
sea began to surge around them, and the spray to dash over the deck of
their frail craft,--hindered him from giving way to a new despair; and
from supposing that they had been only delivered from one danger to be
overwhelmed by another.
For some time did it seem as if this was to be their fate,--as if,
literally, they were to be overwhelmed. The breeze which had so
opportunely carried the _Catamaran_ beyond the reach of the pursuing
raft, soon freshened into a gale; and threatened to continue increasing
to that still more dreaded condition of the ocean atmosphere,--a storm.
The rafts were no longer in sight of each other. Scarce five minutes
had elapsed, after being grappled by Le Gros, when the breeze had caught
hold of the _Catamaran_; and, from her superior sailing qualities, she
had soon become separated from the more clumsy embarkation of the enemy.
In another hour, the _Catamaran_, under good steering, had swept several
miles to westward; while the raft, no longer propelled by oars, and its
rudder but ill-directed, had gone drifting about: as if they who
occupied it were making only a despairing effort to keep it before the
wind.
Despite the rising gale and the increasing roughness of the water, there
were no despairing people upon the _Catamaran_. Supported by his faith
in providential protection, Ben Brace acted as if there was no danger;
and encouraged his companions to do the same.
Every precaution was adopted to provide against accidents. As soon as
they saw that the pursuer was left behind,--and they were no longer in
any peril from that quarter,--the sail was lowered upon the mast, as
there was too great a breadth of it for the constantly freshening
breeze. It was not taken in altogether, but only "shortened,"--reefed
in a rude fashion,--so as to expose only half its surface to the wind;
and this proved just sufficient to keep the _Catamaran_ "trim" and
steady upon her course.
It would not be correct to say that her captain and crew felt no fears
for her safety. On the contrary, they experienced the apprehensions
natural to such a situation; and for this reason did they take every
precaution against the danger that threatened. The Coromantee might
have given way to a feeling of fatalism,--peculiar to his country and
class,--but there was no danger of Ben Brace doing so. Notwithstanding
his faith about being protected by Providence, the sailor also believed,
that self-action is required on the part of those who stand in need of
such protection; and that nothing should be left undone to deserve it.
The situation was altogether new to them. It was the first thing in the
shape of a storm, or even a gale, they had encountered since the
construction of their curious craft. Ever since the burning of the
_Pandora_, they had been highly favoured in this respect. They had been
navigating their various embarkations through a "summer sea," in the
midst of the tropical ocean,--where ofttimes whole weeks elapse without
either winds or waves occurring to disturb its tranquillity,--a sea, in
short, where the "calm" is more dreaded than the "storm." Up to this
time they had not experienced any violent commotion of the atmosphere,--
nothing stronger than what is termed a "fresh breeze," and in that the
_Catamaran_ had proved herself an accomplished sailer.
It was now to be seen how she would behave under a gale that might end
in a storm,--perhaps a terrific tempest.
It would be untrue to say that her crew looked forward to the event
without fear. They did not. As said, they suffered considerable
apprehension; and would have felt it more keenly, but for the cheering
influence of that faith with which her captain was sustained, and which
he endeavoured to impart to his companions.
Leaning upon this, they looked with less dread upon the sky lowering
above and the storm gathering around them.
As the day advanced the wind continued to freshen until about the hour
of noon. It was then blowing a brisk gale. Fortunately for the crew of
the _Catamaran_, it did not become a storm. Had it done so their frail
craft must have been shivered, and her component parts once more
scattered over the ocean.
It was just as much as her crew could accomplish to keep them together,
in a sea only moderately rough,--compared with what it would have been
in a storm. This they discovered during the afternoon of that day; and
it was no great comfort to them to reflect that, in the event of a real
storm being encountered, the _Catamaran_ would undoubtedly go to pieces.
They could only console themselves with the hope that such an event
might not arise until they should reach land, or, which was perhaps more
probable, be picked up by a ship.
The chances of terminating their perilous voyage in either way were so
slight and distant, that they scarce gave thought to them. When they
did, it was only to be reminded of the extreme hopelessness of their
situation, and yield to despairing reflections. On that particular day
they had no time to speculate upon such remote probabilities as the
ultimate ending of their voyage. They found occupation enough,--both
for their minds and bodies,--in insuring its continuance. Not only had
they to watch every wave as it came rolling upon them,--and keep the
_Catamaran_ trimly set to receive it,--but they had to look to the
timbers of the craft, and see that the lashings did not get loose.
Several times did the sea break quite over them; and but that Lilly
Lalee and little William were fast tied to the foot of the mast, they
would both have been washed off, and probably lost amidst the dark waste
of waters.
It was just as much as the two strong men could do to keep aboard and
even they had ropes knotted round their wrists and attached to the
timbers of the raft,--in case of their getting carried overboard.
Once a huge billow swept over, submerging them several feet under the
sea. At this crisis all four thought that their last hour had come, and
for some seconds were under the belief that they were going to the
bottom, and would never more look upon the light of day.
But for the peculiar construction of their raft this, in all likelihood,
would have been the result; but those buoyant water-casks were not to be
"drowned" in such a fashion and soon "bobbed" back to the surface, once
more bringing the _Catamaran_ and her crew above water.
It was fortunate for them that Ben Brace and Snowball had not trusted
too much to fate while constructing their abnormal craft. The
experienced sailor had foreseen the difficulties that on this day beset
them; and, instead of making a mere temporary embarkation, to suit the
conditions of the summer sea that then surrounded them, he had spared no
pains to render it seaworthy as far as circumstances would allow. He
and Snowball had used their united strength in drawing tight the cords
with which the timbers were bound together,--as well as those that
lashed them to the casks,--and their united skill in disposing the rude
materials in a proper manner.
Even after "launching" the _Catamaran_,--every day, almost every hour,
had they been doing something to improve her,--either by giving the
craft greater strength and compactness, or in some other way rendering
her more worthy both of the sea and her sailors.
By this providential industry they were now profiting: since by it, and
it alone, were they enabled to "ride out" the gale.
Had they trusted to chance and given way to indolence,--all the more
natural under the very hopelessness of their situation,--they would
never have outlived that day. The _Catamaran_ might not have gone to
the bottom, but she would have gone to pieces; and it is not likely that
any of her crew would have survived the catastrophe.
As it was, both raft and crew weathered the gale in safety. Before
sunset the wind had fallen to a gentle zephyr; the tropical sea was
gradually returning to its normal state of comparative calm; and the
_Catamaran_, with her broad sail once more spread to the breeze, was
scudding on,--guided in her course by the golden luminary slowly
descending towards the western edge of a cloudless heaven.