Leslie stamped his foot upon the deck in sympathetic vexation at the ruin thus wrought in a moment, and again applied his eye to the telescope. The carpenter, whose watch on deck it now was, stood beside him, eagerly impatient to discuss with him the details of the catastrophe that they had just witnessed; while the watch, forward, leaned over the bows alternately muttering to each other their opinions, and glancing round in apprehension lest a waterspout should steal upon the brig unawares and treat them as the crew of the barque had been treated.
It was this same crew—or rather the entire absence of any sign of them—that was now disturbing Leslie.
“I can see nothing of them,” he muttered impatiently, searching the wreck with the lenses of his telescope. “Here, Chips, take a squint, man,” he continued, thrusting the instrument into the eager hands of the carpenter. “His decks are as bare as the back of my hand; there is not enough bulwark left standing to make a matchbox out of—nothing but the stumps of a few staunchions here and there. I can see the coamings of the hatches rising above the level of the planking; I can see the windlass; I can just make out the short stumps of the three masts, and I can find where the poop skylight stood; but hang me if I can see anything living aboard her!”
The carpenter in turn applied his eye to the telescope, and gazed through it long and anxiously.
“No, sir,” he agreed at length, “what you says is perfekly true; there ain’t nobody a-movin’ about on that there vessel’s decks. Question is, what’s become of ’em? Be they down below? Or have they been swep’ overboard? Stan’s to reason that when they found theirselves onable to steer clear o’ that there spout they’d go below and shut theirselves up as best they could, knowin’ as nothin’ livin’ could surwive a waterspout tramplin’ over ’em, as one may say; but where be them there chaps now? If they was all right they’d be out on deck by this time—wouldn’t they?—lookin’ roun’ to see the extent o’ the damage. Would the bustin’ o’ the thing kill ’em, d’ye think, sir—they bein’ shut up below?”
“It is difficult to say,” answered Leslie, meditatively. “It would depend almost entirely upon the strength of their defences. We can see for ourselves what it has done to the craft herself; it has made a clean sweep of everything on deck, and reduced her to the condition of a sheer hulk. Hang this weather! I don’t like the look of it; it is not to be trusted! If it were only a shade or two less threatening I should feel strongly tempted to send away a boat to see just what has happened aboard there. There may be a number of poor fellows somewhere on that wreck just dying for want of assistance. But—”
He paused, and again glanced anxiously round the horizon, noting that the aspect of the sky was still as full of menace as ever.
“No,” he continued, “I dare not do it; it would be risking too much. Ha! look there; here it comes! Fore and main-topsail halliards let go, and man your reef-tackles!” he shouted, as a long line of white foam appeared on the western horizon, slowly widening as it advanced.
The men sprang to their stations in an instant, galvanised into sudden and intense activity by the urgency that marked the tone of the commands, and the next instant there was a rattling and squeaking of blocks and parrells as the topsail-yards slid down the well-greased topmasts and settled with a thud upon the caps. Then, as the men began, with loud cries, to drag upon the reef-tackles, Leslie shouted—
“Call all hands, carpenter, to close-reef topsails. Look alive, lads; if you are smart you may have time yet to get those reef-points knotted before the squall strikes us. Well there with the reef-tackles. Belay! Now away aloft with you all, and hurry about it. You, too,” he added to the man who had been standing by the useless wheel, “I will look after her.”