. . . . . .
I am not going to describe this terrible war with the elements; suffice it to say that it was fearful, and that it ended in a gale.
The Zingara emerged therefrom, almost a total wreck.
Two masts, the mizen and the main, had gone almost by the board; there remained of them only the jagged stumps. The fore-topsail was also carried away, and the rudder itself was all but useless. They had been drifted away far from their course.
The boats had been taken in-board. There were five of these altogether, but being turned bottom upwards on the deck, they had luckily escaped injury.
“To-night!” said or rather whispered the leader of the mutineers.
“To-night!” The word was passed round, and every one knew that the hour had all but arrived.
By seven bells in the first watch the wind had gone down. Not a breath of air; not a zephyr to ruffle the oily, heaving waves.
Once more the good ship was but like a log on the great waters, drifting helplessly at the mercy of the current.
Our heroes and all aft had turned in. Even Antonio was sound asleep, and both mates also, for the bo’s’n was now permitted to keep watch.