His passengers in the hold, Captain Weber, fully relying on the
soldier's promise, and certain his brig could never fall into the hands
of the pirates, had made his last dispositions. An old sailor named
Porter was at the wheel, the crew, as it had previously been determined,
were divided into two watches, one under the mate on the forecastle, the
other with Wyzinski, commanded by the captain. The break of the
quarter-deck had been fortified with a number of bales and boxes roused
up from below, an opening for the nine-pounders having been left. The
same arrangements had been made for the forecastle, and the companion
ladders removed. The "Halcyon" surged along, the wind aft, under the
little sail she could show, but the schooner was coming up,
hand-over-hand, the wind over her quarter. The brig already felt the
coming squall, and, had she not lost her masts, would have cared little
for the pirate. Hauling down his foresail under his mainsail and jib,
the piratical craft came sweeping up with the diminished sail. It was a
beautiful sight as her low black hull drew through the waves, her flush
decks crowded with men, and the long eighteen-pounder slewed fore and
aft. Feeling the first puffs of the squall, she heeled over, showing
the bright copper nearly to her keel, while the water swirled in jets
from her wedge-like bows. On she came, driving through the seas until
she was a couple of lengths only from the brig, and then a discharge of
musketry, and a shout to heave-to followed.
"Run up the Union Jack," said Captain Weber, in deep guttural tones, "we
will show them the temper of the old flag yet."
"Do you see yonder fellow at the wheel? If I did not know to the
contrary, I should say it is the very man who led the attack in St
Augustine's Bay," exclaimed the missionary.
"You are a dead rifle shot," replied the captain, speaking slowly and
deliberately, "are you not?"
Another hail from the schooner followed. She was now, as has been
already said, running under her mainsail and jib, and yet fore-reaching
on the brig though her main tack was hauled up, her crew once more
getting the eighteen-pounder ready to discharge before boarding.
"I am," replied Wyzinski, the schooner's hail being unanswered.
"Pick off that man when I raise my hand. Remember, sir," added the
captain, speaking sharply and sternly, "remember, sir, I am about to
play my last stake, and all depends on your aim."
Leaving Wyzinski, the seaman stood by the wheel, his eyes fixed on the
schooner. It was evidently her intention to pass under the brig's bows,
and range up under her lee using her gun before boarding. So near were
the two craft that a biscuit could have been thrown aboard either.
"Port a little. Luff you may, Porter--"
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the man. "Luff it is, sir," and the schooner
passed ahead.
"Now!" shouted the captain, raising his hand. The double report of
Wyzinski's rifle followed. The bulky Malay, shot through the back,
loosed his hold of the wheel, the spokes flew round as he threw up his
hands, and with one long unearthly yell fell forward dead on the deck;
the schooner, as Captain Weber foresaw, under the pressure of her
enormous mainsail, flying up into the wind, and almost crossing the
brig's fore-foot.
"Starboard! hard a-starboard!" roared the captain, as the whole fury of
the squall struck the two vessels. Dashing madly onward, the "Halcyon"
tore through the water as with one broad sheer to port she neared the
black hull. For a moment her decks seemed to overshadow those of the
doomed craft, while her broad bow, with all the force of the tempest
driving her, struck the schooner amidships.
"Hurrah!" shouted the master, in his excitement, "Hurrah! To Hell with
the pirates!"
The shock was tremendous, as the brig bore down her small antagonist
bodily, burying her beneath the sea. The crashing sound of splintering
wood followed, a hundred half-naked yelling figures were grouped on the
schooner's decks, the next a few floating spars lay astern, a few
drowning wretches cried for the mercy they themselves had refused, and
the "Halcyon" passed on her way. Half-a-dozen Malays had escaped, as,
clutching at the ropes and gear which hung from the jib-boom broken with
the shock, they scrambled on board, to meet the cutlasses of the enraged
crew. Their bodies were hove overboard, and then not a vestige remained
of the dreaded pirate, the scourge of the Indian sea.
Leaping from the quarter-deck, Wyzinski hauled at the hatchway, shouting
down it to his friend below. He was just in time, for but another
moment and the brig, disembarrassed of her enemy, would have been blown
to atoms; as it was, a wild cheer burst from the crew when five minutes
later Hughes was hoisted on deck, his pistol black with the loose powder
into which it had been thrust, and his face pale with excitement.
"We are in the hands of Providence, dear lady," said the captain, as the
whole party sought the cabin. "With a half-dismasted ship, a heavy gale
in prospect, and a lee shore, there is much to be done; but the great
peril is over. You can clear the deck, Mr Lowe, of all the boxes and
bales we roused up. I don't think the pirates will trouble us any more.
Take the foresail off her, and send the carpenter aft."
The captain had his hands full on deck. Scudding before the wind is
ever a dangerous thing, because the waves following so fast are apt to
break on board, if the vessel is not propelled through the water with a
speed greater than that of the following sea.
In the cabin, that cabin which they had never thought to see again, the
whole party knelt, and led by Wyzinski, returned thanks to Heaven, for
their lives thus almost miraculously spared. The missionary prayed long
and eloquently, for it seemed to him that his had been the act which had
resulted in sending the whole crew of that terrible vessel to the
bottom. True, life, and more than life, was at stake; true, also, that
the schooner, with her low, black hull and white canvas, had been a
scourge in those seas, still the loud despairing shriek which rose on
the air, as the brig's bows buried themselves in the frail timbers of
the lightly-constructed vessel, rang in his ears, and though an act of
necessity, it was none the less a terrible one. A fearful crisis in the
lives of all had passed by, and with the sense of relief came that of
deep gratitude to the hand which had turned aside the terrible fate so
lately hanging over them. The missionary, then, prayed long and
fervently, and never had he an auditory, more disposed to join him with
heart and soul. A long life may be the soldier's destiny, a bright
career that of the Portuguese noble, a happy lot fall to the share of
the dark-eyed maiden whose face is now buried in her hands, as she
follows the missionary's words, but never can any of the three actors in
the scene forget that moment, when with the muzzle of the pistol buried
in the powder keg, the forefinger bent on the trigger of the cocked
weapon, one second would have hurled into eternity not only themselves
but the entire crew.
On deck the scene was a wild one. The wind had gradually freshened, and
the sea in consequence risen, the ocean, far as the eye could reach,
being one sheet of green, crested with white foam, the brig rolling
through the waves under her fore-topsail only, at a great rate. Two
serious holes in the hull, caused by the entrance of the eighteen-pound
shot, had been plugged in a makeshift manner, it is true, but still they
had been boarded over.
Notwithstanding all this the party in the cabin was a merry one. So
hopeless, so utterly desperate had been their situation that morning,
that all the danger of a lee shore, all the discomforts of a small
vessel during a heavy gale at sea, were forgotten. The old noble, too,
had accepted the position which had been made for him. After late
events, more particularly the half-hour passed in the brig's hold, it
was impossible to think of Captain Hughes as anything but his daughter's
affianced husband, and as such he had been frankly and fairly accepted.
The marriage was to take place on their arrival in Portugal, and the
whole party to proceed to Europe together.
The captain sat poring over an Admiralty chart laid before him on the
table. The old noble was dozing in one corner, the missionary communing
with his own thoughts and Isabel and her lover talking in low tones.
The roar of the wind was heard even in the cabin, the creaking of the
ropes as the gale tore through them, and now and then a wave larger than
common would break over the brig, deluging her decks.
"Why don't you run for Delagoa Bay, captain?" said Hughes, as the seaman
rose, placing his hand on the table to steady himself.
"We are far to the southward of Delagoa Bay," replied he; "the only port
available is Port Natal."
"Then run for that," rejoined Hughes.
"It's a nasty coast, and there is a bar there of which I am afraid. It
was of this I was thinking; for some of those makeshift spars may leave
us at any moment, and then I must lie-to."
"Is the harbour dangerous at all times?" asked Hughes.
"Most certainly not; but with an easterly gale there can be no
communication with the shore. I do not know the harbour, and have never
been there but once, which makes the attempt, if I am forced to it, the
more dangerous."
"But you have been there once, and consequently, with a seaman's
instinct, know the place," said Hughes.
"I will tell you how I know it, and what that knowledge is worth," said
the captain, seating himself beside Isabel, "and then when I go on deck
you can tell the story to Dona Isabel. She may be very anxious to set
her pretty little foot on land, but hardly in the same way I did. Some
years since I was first-mate of the brig `Vestal,' sailing under the
command of Captain Bell. We dropped our anchor on Thursday morning,
just off the bar, close to Port Natal. The following one it began to
blow, and all that day the gale increased, just as this one has done,
and from the same direction. Steward, just mix me a glass of grog.
Will you join me, captain? Better had than wish you had. No--well, you
have not to pass the night on deck, as I have--but to continue: All that
unlucky Thursday the gale steadily increased, and the sea came rolling
in mountains high. Near us lay a schooner called the `Little Nell,' and
further to sea a steamer `The Natal.' This latter got up her steam, and
under a full head went out. It was a glorious sight to see her as the
waves swept her decks, and sometimes she seemed more under water than
above it. The schooner parted from her anchors, and ran right across
the bar, thumping heavily, but she was light, and managed to cross,
though she stripped all the copper from her bottom, and had to be
docked. Towards eight o'clock, our anchors parted too, and we drifted
bodily in, the big waves pounding at our brig, and sweeping clean over
us."
"But why did you not try to run over the bar like the schooner?" asked
Hughes.
"You shall hear," continued the captain, leisurely sipping his grog.
"Our skipper lost his head. I do believe we might have run over the
bar, and, at all events, the crew have been saved, but no,--all went
against us. He let go his third anchor on the bar itself. Wood and
iron could not stand the fearful sea running there. She struck right
between the breakwaters, the sea dashing clean over her, and the brig
thumping heavily. The masts went over the side, and at last one
enormous wave turned her over on her broadside, we clinging to the upper
bulwarks. It was a fearful sight, for we could see the lights moving
about on shore close to us. The hurricane never diminished, and the
seas made a clean breach over us, carrying away from time to time some
of the crew. We held on our best, for, so near land, we could not think
we should be left to perish, but we waited in vain."
"Could not a lifeboat live in that sea?" asked Hughes.
"Ay, ay, but the lubbers had none, and for anything I know have not got
one yet. Lashed to the bulwarks, we waited for help all through that
fearful night, but when the grey light of day came, we saw that there
was no hope. I and a sailor named Hesketh determined to take our
chance. We lashed ourselves to a stout spar each, and tried hard to
persuade the others to do as much, but they would not. The captain was
nearly speechless, and did not seem to know what he was doing. It was a
fearful moment when we two threw ourselves into the raging ocean."
"You could both swim, I suppose?" asked Hughes.
"Ay, ay; we could swim, but what use was swimming in such a sea? The
first wave rolled us over and over, like corks, but could not sink us.
We remained several hours in the water, every moment expecting death. I
was insensible most of the time."
"Did you remain near each other?"
"No, after the last shake of the hand as we jumped overboard, we parted
company. Two lads found me rolled on the beach like a log, and help
being forthcoming I was kindly treated and restored, but it was weeks
before I could get about. The sailor, Hesketh, was a good deal bruised,
but managed better than I did."
"And the captain and remaining crew?" inquired Hughes.
"Perished. Not a trace of the brig remained. Captain Bell, belonging
to the port, and Captain Wilson of the Point, the landing agents, and
other authorities, had fires lit, and did what they could, but there was
no lifeboat, and save myself and Hesketh, brig and crew went to Davy
Jones's locker, stock and block."
"I can easily conceive your antipathy to an anchorage at Port Natal
during a gale of wind," remarked his hearer.
"If our jury masts only hold, and the gale don't increase, we shall do
very well; and now I'm for deck, and I would advise Dona Isabel to turn
in. Good night, Senhora," said the old seaman, rising, and in his heavy
leggings, waterproof, and broad sou'-wester, clumping up the companion
into the rough night; and when the clear ring of the brig's bell came
from the forecastle, striking eight times, the cabin was empty, and a
solitary lamp shed a feeble light as it swayed to and fro, the brig
pitching heavily, her timbers groaning and creaking, the gale roaring
over her decks, and moaning through her rigging.
Towards midnight, Captain Weber and his mate came below, the steward
mixing for them two stiff glasses of grog.
"How's the barometer, sir?" asked the mate, as he passed the sleeve of
his coat over his mouth, after having taken a good pull at the steaming
liquor.
Captain Weber stepped into his own cabin, remained some minutes, and
then came out again, looking very grave.
"We have not had the worst of it yet," he replied; "the mercury has
fallen since four bells struck."
The chart was placed on the table, and the ship's position verified.
"There's nothing for it, Lowe," said the captain, "with a falling glass,
a lee shore, and a heavy gale, there's nothing else for it. Heave the
brig to until morning."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the officer, rising, and draining the last drop
in the tumbler, "it's a good moment too, for there seems a lull."
The mate went on deck, leaving Captain Weber poring over the chart. His
broad-brimmed sou'-wester lay on the table, his coat was open, the wet
dropping from it, and his grey hair was dripping with salt brine.
A momentary bustle on deck was heard. A noise of trampling feet, and a
few hoarse words of command. A heavy sea struck the ship, flooding her
decks; a cabin-door opened, and the steward was called; but still
Captain Weber remained poring over his chart. Hours passed by, and at
last the anxious man rose, and went into his own cabin once more. His
face was very grave when he came out, for the mercury in the barometer
had again fallen, and it now stood so low as to foretell a hurricane.
Morning broke slowly over an ocean whose long, green, angry looking
waves were lashed into boiling foam. Not a sail was in sight, but the
thin haze hung over the sea. The brig was doing her best, hove-to,
under a closely reefed make shift main-topsail, and fore and
main-staysails, the gale, if anything, having diminished in fury.
"It is a grand sight, Isabel," said Hughes, as towards ten o'clock the
whole party stood on the quarter-deck, looking over the wild, angry
ocean, the speaker holding on to the weather bulwarks, with one hand,
the other being passed round Isabel's waist, who clung to him for
support. Dom Maxara stood at the break of the quarter-deck, looking the
picture of misery, while the missionary under the lee of the companion,
was gazing over the raging ocean, his face perfectly calm and composed.
Near the wheel stood the captain and his mate, in their rough sailor
dreadnoughts and dripping sou'-westers.
"Well, I will never wish to see a gale on the ocean again," said Isabel;
"but how warm the wind is."
A report like that of a heavy gun was heard over the howling of the
gale, which now came down with double force, and the white canvas which
had been the main-topsail was seen flying to leeward, while the shreds
and ribbons left in the bolt-ropes were beating violently about in the
gale. Losing the sail aft which had so powerfully helped to keep her to
the wind, the brig's bows fell off, just as the whole weight of the
hurricane came down upon her. Striking her broadside on, a huge wave
bore her down on her broadside into the trough of the sea, pouring over
the bulwarks, and flooding her decks fore and aft. The "Halcyon" was on
her beam ends, with the full fury of the hurricane raging around her.
The crash of splintering wood was heard over the roar of the tempest, as
the fore-topmast, with its heavy top and all its gear, came tumbling
down on deck, smashing in the planking of the forecastle, and driving
out the lee bulwarks, as the heavy blocks and massive wood-work surged
to and fro.
Slowly the brig righted, and the voice of the master was heard above the
confusion.
"Steady lads; out axes, and cut away the wreck."
Not a man moved, for some hundred yards away a monster wave, tipped with
white, was rolling furiously towards the brig. The men were stunned by
the suddenness of the misfortune.
The first-mate, seeing the imminence of the danger, sprang forward;
seizing an axe, he and the missionary, who had quietly followed him,
were soon busy cutting away the wreck. Dom Maxara had disappeared.
"Hold on, lads, hold on for your lives," roared the captain, as the
great sea struck the brig on her starboard bow, pouring over her decks,
and burying her beneath the foam, and then passed away astern. "Cut
away cheerily," now he shouted, as the bright axes flashed among the
tangled mass of ropes, for their hesitation was over, and the crew, led
by the first-mate and the missionary, were now working well.
Two crushed and mangled bodies lay among the broken spars, but there was
no time to look to the wounded, for the safety of all depended on the
wreck being cleared away, and the brig got before the wind.
"Man the down-haul. Tend the staysail sheet. Let go the halyards.
Haul down," were the rapid words of command shouted by the master, as
the main-staysail was hauled down.
Again a heavy sea poured over the brig's bows, but as it passed aft,
with it went the remains of the fore-topmast, with all its tangled mass
of ropes and blocks. A moment of comparative calm succeeded, and the
men lay out on the fore-yard. The close-reefed foresail was set, the
stout sail threatening to blow bodily out of the bolt-ropes, as feebly
obeying her helm, the brig slowly righted, the sail filled, her bows
payed off from the wind, and the dismasted "Halcyon" flew before the
gale.
"This is indeed terrible," moaned Isabel, as, supported by her lover,
she took her way below, following four of the crew who bore the body of
her father to his cabin. Dom Maxara had been nearly dashed overboard as
the huge wave broke over the brig, throwing her on her beam ends.
Sorely bruised and shaken he had been unable to rise, and each
succeeding wave, as it swept the decks, had rolled him to and fro,
surging about among the broken timbers and tangled rigging.
Flash after flash of lightning, instantly followed by peals of thunder,
succeeding each other so closely as never to seem to die wholly away,
now followed, and all day long the hurricane continued to sweep the face
of the Indian Ocean, until, far as the eye could reach, the sea was one
boiling mass of foam.
The brig rolled awfully, and with four men at the wheel, yawed wildly.
The great thing in scudding is to keep the vessel going, with a velocity
superior to the following wave. If this be not effected, then she is
pooped, the seas overtaking and flooding her, whereas if she be not kept
dead before the wind, and continually met with the helm when yawing to
starboard or port, the scudding vessel broaches to, and down she goes at
once.
Towards evening the gale broke, the main-topsail was set closely reefed,
and the clank of the chain pumps was heard, in the stillness of the
night, telling their own tale. The haze cleared away, the wind
gradually fell, and with it the sea, but even yet the brig rolled
fearfully.
On deck Hughes and the missionary were working with the men, encouraging
them at the pumps, for there is no duty a seaman dislikes more than
that. The captain, fairly worn out, had rolled himself in a great coat,
and was sleeping heavily, coiled up against the rails of the
quarter-deck. His mate was standing near the wheel, and the brig was
dragging slowly and heavily through the seas. Above the clear blue sky
and the bright stars, and around the ocean, with its surging waves,
while on the stillness of the night came the sharp clank of the chain
pumps: Towards morning the reefs were shaken out, and Hughes came aft.
"The water is gaining on us," he said, moodily, addressing the mate.
"Had the captain not better be roused?"
"What's the use? we cannot do more than has been done. We shall sight
land by daybreak, and I hope run into Port Natal, if the wind holds."
"Have you heard anything of Dom Maxara?" anxiously asked Hughes.
"Nothing; but he got a terrible mauling. When I saw him, he was lying
between the pump and the mainmast with his thigh broken."
"Is there any one else hurt?"
"Yes," returned the mate; "poor Stapleton has been severely crushed.
That huge sea dashed them both on deck and stove in all our boats."
"Is not that day breaking, away to the eastward?" asked Hughes.
"Yes; and if the wind will only hold, we shall soon sight the land, for
with the leak gaining on us, short-handed, and nearly dismasted, the
sooner we make a port the better," answered the mate, as, wearied and
moody, the soldier turned, and went below.
Volume 2, Chapter VIII.