“It is rather difficult to speak with absolute assurance, sir, for the sea breaks so violently over her that it is almost impossible to get a sight of the whole of her hull at any given moment; still I am inclined to say that not only is her back broken, but that she has actually parted in two amidships. If you will look at her very carefully I think you will agree with me that her hull shows a distinct twist, and that her after-end has a much heavier list than her bows.”
At this moment eight bells struck, and as the midshipman who was to relieve me was already on deck, and as I was pretty nearly wet through with the spray that the frigate was now throwing over herself in drenching showers, I went below to change and to get a cup of hot coffee.
The two succeeding hours, constituting the first dog-watch, brought a material change for the worse in the condition of the weather; for while the haze had cleared away, enabling us to see the land distinctly to leeward, some six miles distant, the wind had increased to such an extent that sail had been reduced to close-reefed topsails and reefed courses, while the sea had risen in proportion and was now so heavy that the frigate was literally smothering herself forward at every plunge. The fact was that she was being terribly over-driven; yet the skipper had no alternative. He dared not relieve the ship of another inch of canvas, for we were on a lee-shore, and embayed, the land astern curving out to windward so far that its farthest visible projection bore a full point on our weather quarter, while our charts told us that beyond that point the dreaded Penmarks stretched out still farther to windward. Moreover it was almost as bad ahead, for although Point du Raz, some seven miles distant, then bore nearly three points on the lee-bow, we knew that stretching out to seaward from that point there was a dangerous reef, with only a comparatively narrow passage between it and the equally dangerous reef stretching out to the southward and eastward from the Isle de Seins, and it was an open question whether we should be able to fetch that passage and pass through it. To all appearance Captain Vavassour was perfectly calm and collected, yet he looked decidedly grave, and I thought it seemed rather portentous that the master should be his companion. The latter appeared to be doing most of the talking, and it was clear to see that he at least was distinctly anxious. At length, apparently by way of reply to a few words from the Captain, he went below and, a minute or two later, returned to the deck with his chart under his arm; then, with a long look into the binnacle, he and the skipper passed into the cabin together. I immediately seized the opportunity to take a squint myself at the compass, noting the exact bearing of the point on the lee-bow and the direction in which the ship was heading. Then I went down below into the midshipmen’s berth, where Maxwell, the master’s-mate, was laboriously endeavouring to translate some French book with the aid of a grammar and a dictionary.
“Here, drop that, Maxwell,” I exclaimed, “and let us have a look at your chart, that we may see what the next hour or two has in store for us. If I am anything of a physiognomist the master is fervently wishing that he was at home with his wife and family to-night, instead of where he is, while the skipper, too, looks anything but cheerful. They have both gone into the cabin, and Trimble has taken his chart with him.”
“Well, there is no particular reason why he should not do that, is there?” demanded Maxwell. “And why should he be especially anxious now, more than at any other time? Things are all right on deck, aren’t they?”
“Ay,” answered I, “up to a certain point they are. But reach down your chart, and produce your parallel ruler and dividers, my hearty; I want to get some sort of notion of what is ahead of us.”
“What, are you frightened too, then?” demanded Maxwell, as he pushed away his books and reached up for the chart.
“No, certainly not,” answered I. “But it is indisputable that the ship is embayed on a lee-shore, and that it is blowing a whole gale of wind. If, therefore, there is a prospect of our being obliged to swim for our lives presently, I should like to know it.”
“Oh, hang it all, man, it surely is not nearly so bad as that, is it?” demanded the mate, as he spread the chart out on the table.
“Oh, isn’t it?” retorted Gascoigne, another midshipman, who had just come below in time to hear the tail-end of my remark and Maxwell’s reply to it. “It is evident that you have not been on deck within the last hour, or you wouldn’t say that. Why, man alive, if you would just pull yourself together enough to become conscious of the antics of the hooker you would understand that she is being driven as no ship ought to be driven without good and sufficient cause. There,”—as the frigate plunged dizzily, rolling at the same moment almost over on her beam-ends and quivering violently throughout her whole fabric at the shock of the sea that had struck her, while plates, pannikins, cups and saucers, knives and forks, books, candles, and a heterogeneous assortment of sundries flew from the racks and shelves with a clattering crash, and constituted a very pretty “general average” on the deck—“what d’ye think of that, my noble knight of the sextant?”