Chapter Eight.
The Wreck of the Mermaid.
At length, however, the inevitable change came; the wind died away to a breathless calm; the ocean took on the semblance of a sea of gently undulating glass; and the hitherto cloudless sky imperceptibly lost its intensity of blue as a thin, streaky haze gradually veiled it, through which the sun shone feebly, a rayless disc of throbbing white fire. The heat and closeness of the atmosphere were intense, even on deck, while the temperature below was practically unendurable. The brig lost steerage-way about two o’clock in the afternoon; and when the sun sank beneath the western horizon that night, looming through the haze red as blood, distorted in shape, and magnified to thrice his normal dimensions, there was little if any perceptible change in the atmospheric conditions, although the mercury in the barometer had been falling slowly but steadily all day.
The brig was now within the tropic of Capricorn, and not very far to the eastward of the Paumotu Archipelago, in which region night succeeds day with such astounding rapidity that the stars become visible within ten minutes of the sun’s disappearance. Yet no stars appeared on this particular night; on the contrary, a darkness that could be felt settled down upon the brig almost with the suddenness of a drawn curtain. The darkness was as profound as that of the interior of a coal-mine; it was literally impossible to see one’s hand held close to one’s eyes; and movement about the deck was accomplished blindly and gropingly, with hands outspread to avoid collision with the most familiar objects, whose positions could now be only roughly guessed at. And the silence was as profound as the darkness; for the swell had subsided with almost startling rapidity, and the brig was so nearly motionless that there was none of the creaking of timbers or spars, none of the “cheeping” of blocks and gear that is usually to be heard under such circumstances. Even the men forward were silent, as though they were waiting and listening for something, they knew not what. So intense was the silence that even the striking of a match to light a pipe became almost startling; while its tiny flame burnt steadily and without a semblance of wavering in the stagnant air.
Gradually, however, a subtle and portentous change took place. The darkness slowly became less intense, giving place to a lurid ruddy twilight that appeared to emanate from the clouds, for by imperceptible degrees they grew visible and became streaked and blotched with patches of red that suggested the idea of their being on fire within, the incandescence showing through here and there in the thinner parts. This red light grew and spread until the whole surface of the sky was aglow with it; and it was an uncanny experience to stand on the stern grating, close up to the taffrail, and look forward along the brig’s deck to her bows, and note every detail of the craft and her equipment showing distinctly and black as ebony against that weird background of red-hot sky and its ruddy reflection in the polished surface of the water.
Leslie scarcely knew what to make of this lowering and portentously illuminated sky. He had never seen anything quite like it before; but he instinctively felt that it foreboded mischief; and he accordingly kept a sharp eye on the barometer. It was still falling, and now with considerably greater rapidity than at first. At eight bells in the second dog-watch he came to the conclusion that the time for action had arrived; and before allowing the watch to go below he ordered everything to be clewed up and furled, leaving only the fore staysail standing. Then he settled himself down to wait doggedly for developments, determined not to leave the deck until a breeze had come from somewhere. For he had a suspicion that when it arrived, it would prove to be something stronger than ordinary; and he wanted to satisfy himself as to the manner in which his jury rig would withstand such an outburst as appeared to be impending.
Hour after hour went by, however, and nothing happened; until at length Miss Trevor, whose stay on deck had been unusually prolonged by curiosity—and perhaps a dash of apprehension—bade Leslie good night and retired to her cabin, the port of which he particularly requested her to keep closed, despite the stifling heat. At length the strange and alarming glow in the heavens faded as imperceptibly as it had come, until the darkness had become as intense as before; and Leslie was beginning to think that after all nothing was going to happen, when the whole scene became suddenly illuminated by a vivid flash of sheet lightning that for an infinitesimal fraction of a second seemed to set the entire visible firmament ablaze, and caused every detail of the brig’s hull and equipment to imprint a clear and perfectly distinct picture of itself upon the retina. They all listened for thunder, but none came. Suddenly, however, a few heavy drops of rain pattered upon the deck, and an instant later down came a perfect deluge with the sound of millions of small shot roaring and rattling on the deck and hissing into the sea. The rain ceased as suddenly as it had come, as suddenly as the flow of water is stopped by the turning of a tap; and for about a quarter of an hour nothing further happened. Then the sheet lightning began to quiver and flicker among the clouds once more; and presently the pall immediately overhead was rent apart by a terrific flash of sun-bright lightning that struck straight down and seemed to hit the water only a few yards from the brig. Simultaneously with the flash came a crackling crash of thunder of absolutely appalling intensity; and before its echoes had died away another flash, and another, and another, tore athwart the heavens; until within the space of less than a minute the entire vault of heaven was ablaze with flickering and flashing lightnings, steel blue, baleful green, rosy red, and dazzling white, accompanied by a continuous crash and roar of thunder that was both deafening and terrifying. This tremendous manifestation continued for about ten minutes, when down came the rain again, in an even fiercer deluge than before; and in the very midst of it, while the thunder still crashed and boomed overhead, and the rain descended in such sheets and masses that everybody gasped for breath, as though drowning, away came the wind with a howling scream that in an instant drowned even the sound of the thunder. It struck the brig flat aback; and had she happened to have had any of her square canvas set she must undoubtedly have foundered stern first. As it was, Leslie, who happened to be the only man near the wheel, sprang to it and put the helm hard over, causing her to pay off as she gathered stern-way, and thus saving the craft. But even as he stood there, in the very act of putting the helm over, a crash reached his ears out of the midst of the terrific hubbub; he was conscious of receiving a violent blow on the head; and then he knew no more.
When Leslie again recovered consciousness, his first distinct sensation was that of racking, sickening, splitting headache, accompanied by a feeling of acute soreness and smarting. He also felt dazed, confused, and harassed by a vague but intense anxiety about something, he knew not what. Then he became aware that he was lying recumbent on his back, with his head propped high by pillows; and presently he also became aware that his head was heavily swathed in bandages. He stirred uneasily, and attempted to put his hand to his head; but was shocked to find that his hand and arm felt heavy as lead, so heavy, indeed, that after a feeble effort he abandoned the attempt. As he did so, a fluttering sigh, and a whispered “Oh, thank God; thank God!” fell upon his ear; a handkerchief saturated with eau-de-cologne was applied to his nostrils; and, as in a dream, he heard a voice murmur—
“Are you better, Mr Leslie? Tell me that you are feeling better.”