Chapter Eleven.
A Catastrophe.
The Whirling Columns—A Stupendous Spectacle—We lose our New Friends.
“Still round and round the fluid vortex flies,
Scattering dun night, and horror through the skies,
The swift volution and the enormous train
Let sages versed in Nature’s lore explain;
The horrid apparition still draws nigh,
And white with foam the whirling surges fly.”
The breeze was now steady, though gentle, and Max and Morton set to work rigging the sail, which for the last two days had served as an awning.
During our mutual inquiries and explanations, the Frenchman had kept the canoe close alongside of us; he now braced round the yard of his triangular sail, which had been shaking in the wind, and began to draw ahead. The young native who had interfered so effectually in Max’s behalf, observing the eagerness with which we had devoured the doughy mass of pounded bread-fruit, tossed another cake of the same substance into the boat as we separated, which, when distributed, afforded a morsel or two to each of us. I had particularly observed this boy on the first approach of the canoe, from the circumstance of his occupying a small raised platform, or daïs, of wicker-work, covered with mats.
As our sail had been entirely disengaged from the mast and gaff, it was quite a piece of work to rig it again for service, and by the time this was effected, the canoe was some distance ahead of us: though she was far better adapted than the yawl for sailing with a light breeze, yet we nearly held our own with her, after once getting fairly under way.
When the wind first sprang up, the sky had become slightly overcast with broken masses of clouds, of a peculiar and unusual appearance. From the most considerable of these masses, radiated, as from a centre, long lines, like pencils of light, running in straight, regularly diverging rays, to the ocean.
We had been sailing in the wake of the canoe, perhaps half an hour, when I observed in the south-west a singularly shaped cloud, to which a dark column, extending downward to the sea, appeared to be attached. This column was quite narrow at the base, but enlarged as it rose, until just below the point of union with the cloud, it spread outward like a gothic pillar, diverging into arches as it meets the roof. I surveyed this strange spectacle for several minutes before its true character occurred to me. It was already observed by those in the canoe, and from their exclamations and gestures, they evidently viewed it with apprehension and dread.
It was moving slowly towards us, and we also watched, with feelings in which alarm began to predominate over curiosity and interest, the majestic approach of this vast body of water, (as we now perceived it to be), held by some secret power suspended between heaven and earth.
“It appears to be moving north before the wind,” said Arthur, at length; “if it keeps on its present course, it will pass by, at a safe distance on our left.”
This seemed probable; but we felt disposed to give it a still wider berth, and shifting the sail, we steered in a north-easterly direction. Scarcely had our sail filled on the new tack, when a cry of terror again drew attention to the canoe, and the natives were seen pointing to another water-spout, moving slowly round from the east to the north, and threatening to intercept us in the course we were pursuing. This, unlike the first, was a cylindrical column of water, of about the same diameter throughout its entire length, extending in a straight and unbroken line from the ocean to the heavens. Its upper extremity was lost amid a mass of clouds, in which I fancied I could perceive the effects of the gradual diffusion of the water drawn from the sea, as it wound its way upward with a rapid spiral motion, and poured into that elevated reservoir. As the process went on, the cloud grew darker, and seemed to stoop with its accumulating weight of waters.
Our position was fast becoming embarrassing and dangerous. We had changed our course to avoid the first water-spout and now we were confronted by another still nearer at hand.
For a moment all was confusion, indecision, and dismay.
“Quick! round with her head, and let her go right before the wind!” shouted Max hurriedly.
“That would be running directly into the danger,” cried Morton, “they are both moving north, and approaching each other.”
“Then let’s pull down the sail, until they are at a safe distance.”
“I would rather keep her under headway,” said Arthur, “or how could we escape, if one of them should move down upon us!”
“What can we do, then?” exclaimed Max; “we can’t sail in the teeth of the wind.”
“I am for going about to the left again, and steering as near the wind as possible,” said Arthur; “the one on that side is farthest north.”
This was the course which the natives had already adopted, and they were now steering nearly south-west. We immediately followed their example, and the fore and aft rig of the yawl enabled us to sail nearer the wind than they could do.
In a few moments the funnel-shaped water-spout, which we had first seen, had passed off northward, and was at such a distance as to remove all apprehensions on account of it. Not so, however, with the second; for hardly had we tacked again, when, notwithstanding that we were to windward of it, it began to move rapidly towards us.
Its course was not direct and uniform, but it veered now to the right and now to the left, rendering it difficult for us to decide which way to steer in order to avoid it.
Arthur sat at the helm, pale, but quite calm and collected, his eyes steadfastly fixed on the advancing column, while Johnny crouched at his side, holding fast one of his hands in both his own. Morton held the sheet and stood ready to shift the sail, as the emergency might require.
Onward it came, towering to the skies, and darkening the ocean with its impending bulk; soon we could perceive the powerful agitation of the water far around its base, and within the vortex of its influence: a dense cloud of spray, thrown off in its rapid revolutions, enveloped its lower extremity: the rushing sound of the water as it was drawn upward, was also distinctly audible. And now it seemed to take a straight course for the canoe. The natives, with the exception of the boy, threw themselves down in the bottom of the boat in abject terror; it was, indeed, an appalling spectacle, and calculated to shake the stoutest heart, to see that vast mass of water, enough as it seemed, to swamp the navies of the world, suspended so strangely over them.
The Frenchman appeared to be endeavouring to get the natives to make some exertion, but in vain. He and the boy then seized a couple of paddles, and made a frantic effort to escape the threatened danger; but the whirling pillar was almost upon them, and it seemed as though they were devoted to certain destruction. The Frenchman now threw down his paddle, and sat with his hands folded on his breast, awaiting his fate. The boy, after speaking earnestly to his companion, who merely shook his head, stood up in the prow of the canoe, and casting one shuddering look at the dark column, he joined his hands above his head, and plunged into the sea. In a moment he came to the surface, and struck out vigorously towards us.
The canoe seemed already within the influence of the water-spout, and was drawn towards it with the violently agitated waters around its base. The Frenchman, unable longer to endure the awful sight bowed his head upon his hands; another moment, and he was lost to sight in the circle of mist and spray that enveloped the foot of the column; then a strong oscillation began to be visible in the body of the water-spout; it swayed heavily to and fro; the cloud at its apex seemed to stoop, and the whole mass broke and fell, with a noise that might have been heard for miles. The sea, far around, was crushed into smoothness by the shock; immediately where the vast pillar had stood, it boiled like a caldron; then a succession of waves, white with foam, came circling outward from the spot, extending even to us.
The native boy, who swam faster than we sailed, was already within forty or fifty yards of us, and we put about and steered for him: in a moment he was alongside, and Arthur, reaching out his hand, helped him into the boat.
The sea had now resumed its usual appearance, and every trace of the water-spout was gone, so that it was impossible to fix the spot where it had broken. Not a vestige of the canoe, or of her ill-fated company, was anywhere to be seen. We sailed backward and forward in the neighbourhood of the place, carefully scrutinising the surface in every direction, and traversing several times the spot, as nearly as we could determine it, where the canoe had last been seen: but our search was fruitless: the long billows swelled and subsided with their wonted regularity, and their rippled summits glittered as brightly in the sunshine as ever, but they revealed no trace of those whom they had so suddenly and remorselessly engulfed.
The water-spout which had first been seen, had disappeared, and a few heavy clouds in the zenith alone remained, as evidences of the terrific phenomenon which we had just witnessed.