With the wind at north-west, the Babet, under topsails and top-gallant sails, went rapidly through the water. The log was tried towards morning; she was then going better than twelve knots, which Captain O’Loughlin thought very good work, considering the breeze and the sail set.
It was the latter end of December; it therefore did not surprise the Commander of the corvette, that as the sun rose on the following morning the gulf wind fell, and the appearance of the sky showed signs of heavy weather from the south-west. They had run during the night out of sight of land and from all the vessels, save the huge Commerce de Marseilles and the two frigates, which were in sight about three leagues ahead.
Before mid-day there was a short calm, with a long swell from the south and east.
Madame Volney and her daughters, and Mabel, came on deck, though it was extremely cold; but, like all young voyagers on the vasty deep, they paid their initiate to its power, by being sick all night, and anxious for fresh air.
“I am sorry,” said William Thornton, “to see that you and the young ladies have been suffering, Madame Volney.”
Poor Mabel looked even paler than usual.
“It is a suffering few escape,” said Madame Volney, “but I suppose it is what we must endure for a few days; indeed, very likely, if we have a good passage, we shall not have time to become good sailors.”
“I trust you will not suffer beyond to-day, or to-morrow at furthest,” said our hero.
“We must have sailed very fast in the night, Mr. Thornton; I see no land anywhere. What an immense ship that is away before us!” said Agatha Volney, trying to shake off the disagreeable sensation of giddiness she experienced.
“That is the Commerce de Marseilles, and most likely the Puissant and the Perle are with her.”