For long, the Chilian skipper continues to rave, rolling his eyes about,
now and then glaring fiercely at Don Gregorio, as though he wished to
stretch across the table and tear him. Fortunate he is confined now.
At first the ex-haciendado spoke kindly, endeavouring to soothe him; but
seeing it idle, he has ceased; and now makes no further attempt.
To converse with him would be only painful, and indeed the sight is
sufficiently so, suggesting to Don Gregorio what may be his own fate.
At times he almost fancies himself the same, as sweeps through his soul
the thought of his accumulated calamities.
He wishes that death would relieve him, and has prayed for it more than
once. He prays for it again, silently, with his eyes resting on the
sea. He awaits the final hour, longing for it to come, his features set
in calm, Christian resignation.
Suddenly their expression changes, a ray of renewed hope shooting
athwart his face. Not a ray, but a beam, which spreads over his whole
countenance, while his eyes kindle into cheerfulness, and his lips
become parted in a smile!
Is he about to echo the mad laugh of Lantanas?
No! In that look there is no sign of unseated reason.
On the contrary, he gazes with intelligent earnestness, as at something
outside demanding investigation.
Soon his lips part farther, not now to smile, but speak words that
involuntarily issue from them. Only two little words, but of large
import and greatest cheer:
"A sail!"
For such he has espied; a white speck away off on the line that
separates the two blues, but distinguishable from waif of floating foam
or wing of gull. Beyond doubt, a sail--a ship!
Once more, hope is in his heart, which bounding up, beats audibly within
his breast.
Higher and louder, as the white speck shows larger, and assumes shape.
For the tall narrow disc, rising tower-like against the sky, can only be
the spread canvas of a ship.
And gradually growing taller, he at length sees she is standing towards
the barque!
Intently he continues to watch the distant sail! Silently, without
saying aught of it to his companion, or in any way communicating with
him. It would be of no use; the mind of the Chilian is closed against
outward impressions, and now is not the time to attempt opening it.
Hopefully, Don Gregorio continues gazing, but not without anxiety. Once
before he has had disappointment from a similar sight. It may be so
again.
But, no; that ship was standing across the _Condor's_ track, while this
is sailing in the same course--sailing after, apparently, with the
intention to come up; and though slowly, surely drawing nearer; as he
can tell by her canvas increasing in the bulk, growing broader and
rising higher upon the horizon.
A long time elapses--nearly half-a-day--during which he has many hopes
and fears, alternating as the hours pass.
But the hopes are at length in the ascendant, and all anxiety passes as
the pursuing ship shows her dark hull above the water-line, and he can
distinguish her separate sails. They are all set. What joy in his
heart as his eyes rest on them! They seem the wings of merciful angels,
coming to relieve him from his misery!
And the flag floating above--the flag of England! Were it the banner of
his own Spain, he could not regard it with greater gladness, or
gratitude. For surely he will be saved now?
Alas! while thus congratulating himself, he sees what causes his heart
again to go down within him, bringing back keenest apprehensions. The
strange vessel is still a far distance off, and the breeze impelling
her, light all along, has suddenly died down--not a ripple showing on
the sea's surface--while her sails now hang loose and limp. Beyond
doubt is she becalmed.
But the _Condor_! Will she, too, cease sailing?
Yes; she must, from the same cause. Already she moves slowly, scarce
making way. And now--now she is motionless! He can tell it, by the
glass rack and lamps overhead, that hang without the slightest
oscillation. Anon, the barque gradually swings round, and he loses
sight of the ship. Through the windows he still beholds the sea, calm
and blue, but vacant; no outline of hull--no expanded sail--no flouting
flag to keep up his heart, which is once more almost despondent.
But only for a short time; again rising as the barque, sheering round,
brings once more her stern towards the ship, and he sees the latter, and
something besides--a boat!
It is down in the water, and coming on toward the _Condor_, the
oar-blades flashing in the sun and flinging spray-drops that seem like
silver stars!
The barque swinging round, he has the boat in view but a short while.
What matters it now? He is certain of being saved!
And he looks no longer--only listens.
Soon to hear words spoken in a strong manly voice, to him sweeter than
music. It is the hail:
"Barque ahoy!"
In feeble accents he makes answer, and continues to call out, till other
voices, echoing along the _Condor's_ decks, become commingled with his
own.
Then there are footsteps on the quarterdeck, soon after heard descending
the cabin-stair.
The handle is turned, the door pushed open, and a swish of fresh air
sweeps in, men along with it; as they enter, giving utterance to wild
exclamations.
Wrenching his neck around, he sees there are two of them, both in the
uniform of naval officers, and both known to him!
Their presence causes him strange emotions, and many--too many for his
strength so long and sorely tried.
Overpowered by the sight, he becomes unconscious, as though instead of
gladdening, it had suddenly deprived him of life!