Such happened to be the case on a certain day in the first week of December. We had a slashing easterly breeze behind us, and fine clear weather; and the chart told us that there were no lurking dangers in our path; we therefore gave the yacht the whole flight of studding sails on both sides, and laid ourselves out to make up a little of our lost time. And we were doing so in handsome style, too, for the ship reeled off her fourteen knots hour after hour until the end of the afternoon watch, when the wind suddenly hauled four points to the southward and freshened; and although this shift of wind necessitated our handing our star board studding sails, it gave our fore-and-aft canvas a chance to put in some good work, which it did, the ship’s speed going up to sixteen knots within the next hour. And for a sailing ship, sixteen knots is a very respectable speed, let me tell you, although I can recall more than one occasion when we logged nineteen, and that not only for a brief spell, but for three or four hours at a stretch. Still, sixteen knots is a pretty good pace; and it was an exhilarating sight to watch the rush of the white yacht over that glorious sapphire sea, with every sail accurately set and trimmed and tugging at the beautiful hull like a team of cart horses, the long, weighty swell chasing us, wind-whipped and capped with seething crests of snow-white foam, while the great, glass-smooth bow wave went roaring away on either hand with its hissing and leaping crown of froth sparkling like gems in the rays of the declining sun.
I think Mrs Vansittart was never more proud of her beautiful ship than she was on that particular evening, as she stood with me on the poop and critically marked our rush through the water and every perfection of hull, spar, and sail. The yacht was a lovely picture, even as beheld by us from her poop; but I would have given a trifle for the privilege of seeing her as she must have appeared at such a moment from a passing ship, had there been such a craft. But, as it happened, there was not; we had the sea to ourselves, for we chanced just then to be traversing a stretch of water very rarely frequented by craft of any description.
It happened to be my eight hours out on that particular night, and when, at eight bells of the first watch, I turned the ship over to Parker, the boatswain, we were still reeling off our sixteen knots, with a fresh, steady breeze from the south-east. It was a dark night, for the moon was only two days old, and had set long ago, while a thin veil of cloud hid most of the stars. Had we been in much-frequented waters I should perhaps have considered it a bit reckless to drive the ship so hard through the darkness; but we were not, and I retired to my cabin with an easy mind, and, undressing at once, tumbled into my bunk and fell sound asleep almost as my head touched the pillow.
Chapter Nine.
Wrecked!
How long I slept I have no means of knowing. All I can remember is that from a sound, dreamless sleep, I was startled into sudden wakefulness by experiencing a shock of such tremendous violence that my first real consciousness of anything being amiss was caused by me finding myself hurled headlong out of my bunk to the deck of my cabin. I fell so awkwardly that I seemed to land fair upon my right temple, and, after an instant of sharp pain, I forthwith lost all consciousness for a length of time that must have been considerable, although I never had the means to guess it even approximately. But I remember one thing distinctly. Even as I was in the very act of falling, a terrific rending crash sounded in my ears, and the thought flashed through my brain: “There go the masts by the board!”
The return of consciousness manifested itself in a hazy and quite detached perception that I was being violently shaken by the shoulder; while a voice, pitched in aggrieved and petulant tones—which I presently recognised as those of the lad, Julius—exhorted me to “Wake up!” At first these exhortations produced no particular effect upon me. I was aware of them, but that was all; they had no definite meaning so far as I was concerned. I did not even trouble to ask myself why I should wake up. Then after a period of silence, during which I perhaps slipped back into unconsciousness, I became aware that water was being vigorously dashed in my face, while Julius’s voice resumed its petulant appeal.
“Oh, I say, dash it all! do wake up, Leigh,” I heard the boy exclaim. “Wake up, I tell you! Momma’s blocked into her cabin, and Sis and I can’t get her out. And you’re the only one of the crew left!”