William Thornton looked in that direction, above the storm-tossed billows, and could distinctly discover the high land stretching away to the southward.
“It cannot be the mainland,” he observed, promptly, “for I can make out its termination. No doubt it is Ivica, the smallest of the islands.”
“Well, the sooner we get to work the better. You see our friend the privateer still keeps on the same tack, with reduced canvas.”
Going steadily before the gale, the Babet, excepting an occasional roll, remained pretty steady, and there were tokens of the gale lulling; so all hands turned to, to get their jury-masts and yards up. The corvette was well supplied with everything in the shape of rigging and sails, an abundance of rope, and some fine spars. They worked unceasingly, speedily rigged a pair of spars, whilst the wind and the sea were rapidly falling. There was not a cloud to be seen—the sun shining as bright and glorious as in the early autumn, though the air was exceedingly keen.
Before sunset, Ivica was plainly to be seen, and, in the distance, the other islands; and so well and energetically did the crew work, that a main and mizen jury-mast were stepped and wedged, and before dark they could set sufficient canvas to permit them to alter their course, and draw off from the land, towards which they had been previously running.
During the evening, both the gale and the sea gradually fell; the night was fine and bright, and the air less cold. Before twelve on the following day, the Babet looked like a new-rigged craft, with reduced spars; and by working all day, and the weather continuing fine, she could set as much sail as a craft half her size; but, being a remarkably fast sailer, she went through the water at a very fair speed, and so satisfied became her commander with her rig, that he resolved to continue his voyage to England under it, giving up his previous intention of putting in to Gibraltar to refit.
Off the Cap de Gatt they had a calm of two days, with the weather warm, so that the females could enjoy air, and a little exercise. They had quite recovered their sea-sickness, and little Mabel, in anticipating her future meeting with her mother in England, was rapidly increasing in spirits.
She was sitting one beautifully fine evening, the last of the calm, beside William Thornton, gazing over the ship’s side at the long line of Spanish coast, not more than two leagues from them, on which the sun was shining brightly, and watching the numerous craft, becalmed, like themselves—some with their lofty latine yards and sails, lying in graceful folds, their crews plying their long sweeps, and creeping gradually along the coast, whilst lying within a mile of them were two Spanish gun-boats, or “guarda costa,” and, some three leagues seaward, two vessels, evidently frigates, but whether English or French they could not make out.
“Oh! how different this is, William,” exclaimed Mabel, “from the frightful storm of the last few days. How quiet and beautiful this blue sea looks! and how delightful to catch a glimpse of the land, which, do you know, we all thought we should never see again.”
“Ah, Mabel, I dare say you were terribly frightened,” remarked the midshipman, thinking it was very possible that the thin, almost haggard-looking little girl, with her quiet and wonderfully expressive eyes, with the brows so beautifully marked, might turn out a very lovely girl in a few years; “but tell me, dear, now that we have a quiet hour, and our handsome commander is so busy learning French from Mademoiselle Agatha——”