But our readers will remember that it was now the third week in
February--the worst month at sea, at least in the Mediterranean. The
Italian sailors have a proverb, that "a short February is worse than a
long December." Captain Thompson, in his anxiety to fulfill his young
mistress's wishes, had not failed to heed the weather-glass, and he had
felt anxious at the way in which the mercury was falling--a sure
sign that a strong south-west wind was brewing nigh at hand, the most
unfavorable for the safety of our passengers on this rocky coast. The
_Seagull_, however, sailed gracefully out of port with all sails set,
and impelled by a gentle breeze--gracefully, we say, that is, in the
eyes of Captain Thompson and her owner; but not so gracefully in the
eyes of Aurelia and Manlio, who, never having intrusted themselves to
the deep before, were considerably inconvenienced by the undulating
motion.
Julia had arranged to cruise down the coast for Silvia and Clelia, under
Orazio's protection, bringing to off a small fishing-place a few miles
from Porto d'Anzo, where the yacht was to put in and embark them; but,
though the captain would have gone through fire and water to obey his
mistress's commands, the wind and waves were his superiors. The gentle
breeze had given place to strong gusts, and black clouds were rapidly
chasing one another athwart the sky. A storm was evidently rising, and
every moment the danger of being driven ashore was becoming more and
more possible. Night was closing in, and breakers were in sight. The
only chance of escape was to cast anchor. Thompson accordingly made
Julia, who, wrapped in a shawl, was lying on deck watching every
movement, acquainted with his resolution, in which she acquiesced. The
sailors were about to obey their captain's orders, when Julia cried out
"Hold!" for she had already felt the wind upon her cheek suddenly shift,
and felt that to anchor was no longer wise. Now they must stand out to
sea, and face the shifts of the tempest. The sails began to fill, and in
a short time the _Seagull_ paid off, and began to leave the surf behind
her, obedient to the helm. The wind was fitful, and now and again
terribly fierce; the sails, cordage, and masts creaked, and swayed
to and fro. Captain Thompson ordered his crew, in the energetic, yet
self-possessed tone so characteristic of the British seaman, to "stand
by" the halliards (ropes to hoist or lower sails), but to take in
nothing. Luffing a little more, they were soon free of the immediate
peril; but, the wind increasing, they dared not carry so much sail, and
three reefs were taken in upon the mainsail, the foresail and jib were
shifted, and every thing was made tight and snug against the fierce
blasts which dashed the billows over her sides, and occasionally nearly
submerged the tiny bark.
The Seagull presently put about on the port tack, always beating
out from the land, and battled bravely with the storm, which waxed
momentarily louder and stronger. One tremendous wave dashed over her,
and then the captain, addressing Julia, who had remained on deck,
besought her to go below, or he feared she might share the fate of one
of the crew who had been washed overboard by it. Poor fellow, no help
could save him! Julia saw the sailor go over the side, and threw him a
rope herself, but the man was swallowed up in the darkness and foam. The
steersmen (for there were two) were now lashed to the helm, the captain
to the weather shrouds of the mainmast, and the men held fast under the
bulwarks.
When Julia descended to the cabin to appease the captain's anxiety, and
look after her friends, the scene that met her view was so ludicrous
that, in spite of her sorrow for the loss of the poor seaman, she could
not repress a smile. When the ship gave a lurch to the wave which had
carried the sailor away, Aurelia was precipitated like a bundle of
clothes into the same corner in which Manlio had taken refuge. The poor
woman, frightened out of her wits, and thinking her last hour had come,
clung to the unfortunate sculptor with all her might, as if fancying
she could be saved by doing so. In vain Manlio implored her not to choke
him: the more he entreated the closer became her grasp. The sculptor,
accustomed to move blocks of marble, was powerless to release himself
from the agonized matron, but, aided by the motion of the ship,
contrived to hold her off a little so as to escape suffocation. In this
tragic and yet comic attitude Julia beheld them, and, after giving way
for one moment to her irrepressible amusement, she called a servant to
assist her, and succeeded in pacifying Aurelia, and in liberating Manlio
from his uncomfortable position.
All night the _Seagull_ straggled bravely against the storm, and had it
not been for her superior construction, and the skill of her commander
and the brave blue-jackets in Julia's service, she must have perished.
Towards morning the tempest subsided, and the wind having changed to
south-south-west, Captain Thompson informed Julia it would be necessary
to put in at Porto Ferrajo or Longone to repair the damages the yacht
had sustained, which, indeed, were not slight. The two light boats
had been carried away, also every article on deck, and the starboard
bulwarks from amidships to stem. The foremast, too, was sprung, and
Julia, seeing the impossibility of setting the vessel to rights at sea,
consented to make the land. Here we will take leave of them for a time.