CHAPTER XII.
The main cabin of the Bon-Citoyen was, though not very large, extremely comfortable, and bore a very war-like aspect, the panels and sides all being covered with various small arms arranged in fanciful devices. Young as he was, and a midshipman, Thornton could not help reflecting on the uncertainty of life, when he recollected that a few hours back the cabin had been tenanted by Captain Victor Chabot, in full life and vigour, and now, thought our hero, he lies at the bottom of that vast expanse of ocean that entombs so many thousands. Too young to be sad, or reflect long on serious things, the young commander, shaking off the feeling of depression that had for a moment come over him, returned upon deck. The fog was still thick, but the wind was rapidly increasing, and so was the sea. Before midnight they were under a double-reefed topsail, and double-reefed mainsail and fore-sail; the schooner was then put about, with her head to the nor’-nor’-east.
Our hero was too anxious to retire to rest; he felt too great a responsibility rested upon him, particularly in the then state of the weather, and the ticklish situation in which they were placed. He also felt uneasy at not being answered by the Babet when he had fired the gun at sunset; so that altogether he was extremely anxious for daylight. The fog, as the wind increased, was gradually dispersing, and towards morning the mist over the sea had totally disappeared. The gale and sea went on increasing, so that when the day made, all hands on board anxiously scanned the horizon around. As the light increased, land was at once seen on the starboard bow, and not more than two leagues distant; but a mist hung over the coast, rendering it obscure.
“I am certain the land we see ahead is the West Penmarks, Mr. Lochart,” said our hero to the first mate; “and it is very strange I cannot make out the Babet anywhere, or the lugger. I see a brig standing under close-reefed topsails to the sou’-west, and three or four other craft under easy canvas running in for the land.”
“There is certainly, sir, no Babet to be seen,” replied Mr. Lochart, “and it makes me uneasy; for if we had not tacked we should have been unable to weather the land under our starboard bow, and in this gale embayed, we might not have been able to carry sufficient canvas to work out.”
William Thornton, if the weather had permitted, would have felt inclined to stand back, and see what could have become of the corvette, it seemed so strange that they should thus have parted company; but his instructions were, under any circumstances, to make the best of his way to Plymouth, and so, though very unhappy, fearing some accident to the corvette and his little charge, Mabel, thus deserted by him, though far from his intention to do so, he carried on till he made the land out, when he found he was quite correct, as the ranges of rocks he first beheld were the West Penmarks.
Having weathered the land, he was able to ease off his tacks, and finally running before the gale, he ran into Plymouth Sound the evening of the second day from parting company with the Babet.
Leaving him in safety, we must return to discover what became of the corvette and our little heroine, Mabel Arden, who was greatly grieved when she understood that her young protector being made master of the schooner, the Bon-Citoyen, they would be separated; but Madame Volney consoled her by the assurance that the two vessels would be close alongside one another the rest of the voyage.
Although the Babet and her prize had lost sight of each other, owing to the dense fog, both vessels steering the same course, the crews did not expect to be very far asunder when the fog should clear off, and permit them seeing over the water.