Chapter Six.
The Mermaid’s Crew witness a Catastrophe.
The Mermaid carried the south-east trade winds until she was well south of the parallel of Rio de Janeiro; and then she ran into the Doldrums; these being belts of calm, broken into at intervals by light baffling airs from various directions, with occasional violent squalls, or terrific thunderstorms, just to vary the monotony. These belts of exasperating weather are to be met with to the north of the north-east and the south of the south-east trade winds, interposed between the trade winds and those outer regions where a steady breeze of some sort may usually be reckoned upon.
And here the unfortunate crew of the brig encountered their full share—and a little over, some of them said—of the annoyances that usually accompany a passage across these belts; their first experience being a calm that lasted five days on end without a break, save for the occasional cat’s-paw that came stealing from time to time over the glassy surface of the ocean, tinging it here and there with transient patches of delicate evanescent blue. And as these cat’s-paws were all that they could rely upon to help them across the calm belt, it was necessary to maintain a constant watch for them, and to trim round the yards in such a manner as to make the most of them during their brief existence. This constant “box-hauling” of the yards was no trifling matter, accomplished as it had to be under the fierce rays of a blazing sun; and as it often happened that after laboriously trimming the yards and sheets to woo a wandering zephyr, it either expired before reaching the brig, or capriciously turned in another direction, passing her by without causing so much as a single flap of her canvas, it is not to be wondered at that the grumbling among all hands was both loud and deep.
At length, however, with the dawn of their sixth day of these vexatious experiences, there appeared to be a prospect of something more helpful than mere cat’s-paws coming their way; for although the calm still continued, the morning broke with a dark, lowering, and threatening sky through which the rays of the sun were unable to pierce. This last was in itself a relief to everybody; for although the heat was still so oppressive that the slightest exertion threw one into a profuse perspiration, the stinging bite of the sun was no longer to be reckoned with. Furthermore, the eyes of those on board the brig, weary of continually gazing upon a bare horizon since the day upon which the friendly whaler had vanished from their view, were now gladdened by the sight of another craft, a small barque, that had drifted above the southern horizon during the night, and now lay some five miles away from them.
As the morning wore on towards noon the aspect of the sky steadily, though by insensible degrees, assumed a more threatening character, the huge masses of cloud that overspread the entire dome of the visible sky darkening in tint to such an extent that the scene became enwrapped in a murky kind of twilight. That wind, and plenty of it, was brewing, seemed evident from the fact that the clouds, although not drifting across the sky, were working visibly, writhing and twisting into the most extraordinary and fantastic shapes, as though influenced by some powerful impulse within themselves. One of the most frequent of these manifestations was the sudden darting forth of long sharp quivering tongues from the bodies of the blackest and most lowering of the clouds. With the appearance of the first of these Leslie knew what to expect, for he had beheld the same phenomenon more than once before, and quite understood what it portended. So he turned to Miss Trevor, who was on deck interestedly watching the subtle changes in the aspect of the sky, and said to her—
“Have you ever seen a waterspout, Miss Trevor? No? Then the chances are that you will see several before you are many hours older. Have you noticed those long, black, quivering tongues that dart out and in from the bodies of the darkest clouds? Well, those are the forerunners of waterspouts. See, there is one now. Do you mark how it seems to be striving to reach down to the surface of the sea? Ah! it has shrunk back again. But sooner or later, unless I am greatly mistaken, one of those tongues will reach down, and down, until it begins to suck up a column of water from the ocean; and there you will have a full-grown waterspout.”
He gazed round the sky intently; then went to the skylight and as intently studied the barometer—or “glass” as sailors very commonly call the instrument. The mercury in it had fallen somewhat since he had last looked at it, though not sufficiently to cause alarm. Nevertheless, short-handed as the brig was—such small craft are usually sent to sea with at least two hands too few in the forecastle—he deemed it best to err on the right side, if err he must; so as it was by this time noon he ordered eight bells to be struck; and when the watch had come on deck he set them to work to clew up, haul down, and stow everything save the two topsails and the fore-topmast staysail; after which he ordered them to go to dinner.
Dinner in the cabin was served at the same time as in the forecastle on board the Mermaid; when Leslie and Miss Trevor, therefore, went below, the deck was left in charge of one man only, namely the carpenter. This, however, did not particularly matter, since the brig was well snugged down, while Chips might be trusted to keep a sharp look-out and give timely warning of the approach of anything of an alarming nature. Nothing, however, occurred; and Leslie and his companion were allowed to finish their meal undisturbed.
It was now Leslie’s watch below, and in the ordinary course of events he would have retired to his cabin for the purpose of securing an hour or two of rest. But, with such a lowering and portentous sky as that overhead, he scarcely felt justified in entrusting the carpenter with the sole responsibility and care of the brig for so long a time; and he accordingly accompanied Miss Trevor on deck again.