Presently Mr Howard returned to inform Captain Vavassour that his orders had been carried out.
“Very well, sir,” answered the skipper. “Let the men go to their stations for tacking ship. Hands by the best bower-anchor! Oblige me, Mr Howard, by seeing personally that the anchor is all ready for letting go, and also that it is let go on the instant, should I give the order. If at the last moment it should become necessary to club-haul, I will personally take charge. Mr Delamere, find one of the boatswain’s mates and station him below at the main hatchway, in such a position that he can see you on deck here, with instructions to wind his call to cut the cable the moment that he receives the signal which I will pass on to you.”
The critical moment was now close at hand; the point which we were endeavouring to weather was less than a mile ahead, and still far enough on the lee-bow to justify the hope that we might yet go clear. But the scene, generally, was of so alarming a character, and our situation was so critical, that even the bravest man there might well have been excused if he failed to regard it altogether without apprehension. For it was now blowing harder than ever, the sea was breaking with absolutely appalling fury on the reef—speaking eloquently of the fate that awaited us all in the event of failure—and the over-driven ship, so heavily pressed down by her canvas that the lee-side of her quarter-deck and waist was all afloat, groaned and complained in every timber as she literally fought her way through the opposing seas, smothering herself forward so completely at every mad plunge that those who were standing by to let go the anchor had been compelled to lash themselves firmly at their posts to avoid being washed overboard. Add to all this the fierce shriek and howl of the wind through the rigging aloft, the groaning of the masts in their partners, and of the main tack, as the ship rolled to windward, the thunderous shocks of the seas as they smote our bows and shattered into blinding sheets of spray that flew as high as the foretop and drenched the lee clew of the topsail, and the sight of the spars bending and whipping to the terrific strain that they were called upon to bear,—remembering, too, that if anything should carry away just then it would mean the utter destruction of the ship and the loss of all hands,—and the reader may be able dimly to picture the feelings that animated the ship’s company of the Europa on that occasion.
Even the skipper looked a shade paler than usual as he slowly brought the speaking-trumpet from behind him and prepared to raise it to his lips. We were now so near the reef that we could hear the hollow booming thunder and crash of the sea breaking upon it; its outer extremity was within half-a-cable’s length of our lee-bow, and it was evident that, even if all went well, it was going to be “touch and go” with us, when suddenly the ship came upright and the sails flapped with a report like the discharge of a 32-pounder! That fatal flaw of wind round the Point, which the master had foreseen, had come upon us.
Up went the trumpet to the Captain’s lips, and from it issued the bellowing call of—“Hands, ’bout ship! Ready oh, ready! Down helm, quartermaster! Stand by to let go at the word, Mr Howard!”
“Ay, ay, sir!” came the response, faintly heard above the howl of the wind, the thunder of the surf on the rocks to leeward, the heavy “slosh” of a sea in over the bows, and the hair-raising slatting of the canvas overhead.
The ship, in obedience to her lee-helm, had come up about a point, still forging ahead, and bringing the outer extremity of the reef broad on our lee-bow, when suddenly the canvas, with a terrific report, filled again, and the ship careened to her bearings.
“Up helm, quartermaster, hard up with it, and let her go off again! We shall do it yet, by Jupiter!” ejaculated the skipper, in a voice that quivered with excitement, while the master, who had been standing close by all the while, sprang to the wheel and lent his strength to put it over.
“Steady the wheel,” was the next order, as the ship paid off again, and once more began to gather way; “thus and no nearer, quartermaster; keep her full, and let her go through the water! What are you about, sir?”—as the ship suddenly griped and the weather leach of the fore-topsail shook.
“It is the undertow—the recoil of the surf from the reef that is hawsing her bows up into the wind, sir,” explained the master, as he strained at the wheel, with the sweat trickling down from underneath the rim of his hat. “There—now she falls off again—steady as you go.”