Presently, after one of his frequent halts, Mendouca turned and gave orders to shorten sail. “Clew up and haul down fore and aft; stow everything except the main-staysail; and see that you make a snug furl of it, men!” he cried; adding, as he turned to me—
“We might as well be snugging down as doing nothing; and perhaps the sight will put some life into the movements of those lazy rascals yonder,” pointing with his cigar as he spoke towards the boats.
“Possibly,” I agreed. “And in any case it appears to me that the time has fully arrived for the commencement of such preparations as you may think fit to make for the coming blow, which, in my humble opinion, is going to be rather sharp while it lasts.”
“Yes; no doubt,” Mendouca assented. “Curse those lazy hounds! Have they no eyes in their heads to see what is brewing? If they don’t wake up, they will have the squall upon them before they reach the brig.”
“In which case,” said I, “you may say good-bye to the brig and to the slaves in her; and may think yourself lucky if you are able to recover your boats.”
I do not know whether he heard me or not. I think it probable that he did; but he made no reply, turning his back upon me, and keeping his glances alternately roving between the boats and the sky, which latter had by this time assumed a most sinister and threatening aspect, so much so, indeed, that had I been in Mendouca’s place I should have recalled the boats without another moment’s delay. But I could see that he had set his heart upon securing possession of the brig, and was willing to run a considerable amount of risk in the effort to do so.
At length, when the boats were, according to my estimation, a little better than half-way to the brig, another flash of lightning, vivid and blinding, blazed forth, this time from almost overhead, only the very smallest perceptible interval of time elapsing between it and the accompanying thunder-crash, which was so appallingly loud and startling that for a moment I felt fairly deaf and stunned with it, and before I had fairly recovered my dazed senses the rain came pelting down in drops as large as crown-pieces. The rain lasted for only three or four seconds, however, and then ceased again abruptly, while almost at the same instant a brief scurry of wind swept past us, just lifting the staysail—which was by this time the only sail remaining set on board us—and causing it to flap feebly for a moment, when it was once more calm again; but we could trace the puff a long distance to the westward by its track along the oily surface of the water.
Mendouca turned to me with an oath. “When it comes, it will come to us dead on end from the brig!” he exclaimed. “It is just like my cursed luck! Do you think it is too late to recall the boats?”
“Yes,” I answered decidedly. “They are now nearer the brig than they are to us, and their best chance certainly is to keep on as they are going.”
Mendouca turned and bestowed upon the boats yet another long scrutinising glance; and then said, with his eyes still fixed upon them—