As it was, I was dressed and down in the breakfast-room so promptly that the admiral rather kept me waiting; which was quite a different matter. By eleven o’clock however, we were on board the “Vigilant;” and after going carefully through and over the craft—accompanied by myself, Tom Hardy, and the carpenter’s mate—the old boy came to the conclusion that she was strong enough to go round the world if required, and that he therefore need have no hesitation whatever about ordering us to proceed to England forthwith.
He would, however, he said, take it upon himself to detain us until evening; by which time he would have ready some despatches of his own, which he wished to forward.
We utilised the time by filling up provisions and water; a task which was left to the superintendence of Tom Hardy, while Smellie and I had a scramble through the gun-galleries and to the telegraph-station at the summit of the Rock; and just as the sunset-gun boomed out on the evening air we weighed and stood out of the bay, with a light north-easterly breeze, passing Tarifa Point shortly before midnight.
By breakfast-time on the morning but one following, we were abreast of Cape Saint Vincent. Eighteen hours later, we made the Rock of Lisbon; and, on the fifth day out from Gibraltar, finding ourselves in the latitude of Cape Finisterre, we hauled up to the northward and eastward for Ushant; and entered the Bay of Biscay.
So far, all had gone well. We had been favoured with fine weather, and winds which, while somewhat inclined to be light and variable, had still allowed us to lay our course, and we had really made a very fair passage up to this point.
But we had scarcely entered the notorious Bay of Biscay when the aspect of affairs began to change.
The first omen of evil revealed itself in a steadily and rather rapidly falling barometer. The wind for the previous twenty-four hours had been moderate, and steady at about east, but toward evening it became fitful, now dying away until the roll of the ship caused the canvas to flap heavily against the masts, and anon freshening up again for a few minutes, quite to a seven-knot breeze. Then it would drop once more; and nothing would be heard but the heavy flap of the canvas, the creak of the spars, the swish of the water as it lapped in over our bulwarks—the craft rolling gunwale-under—and a low weird moaning of pent-up wind, which teemed to be imprisoned in a heavy cloud-bank rapidly piling itself up on the north-western horizon. The sky, which had been clear all day, became overspread with a canopy of dirty lead-coloured vapour, between which and ourselves soon appeared small ragged patches of fast-flying scud. The moaning sound became louder and more weird and dismal in tone; while the sea—its surface curiously agitated by waves which leaped up and subsided without any apparent cause—grew black as ink.
Fortunately, we had ample and unmistakable notice of the impending change; and we fully availed ourselves of it by making every possible preparation for the expected gale, and adopting every possible precaution for the safety of our craft.
Our first act was to take in and secure our lofty lateen-canvas by getting the yards down on deck and firmly lashing them there; we then set a storm-jib and a leg-of-mutton mizzen, just to steady the craft and place her under command when the breeze should come. This done, we divided our crew into two parties, one of which, under the gunner’s mate, secured the guns with extra breechings, while the other, under Hardy, battened down everything, and put extra lashings upon the booms and boats.
We were ready in excellent time; all our preparations being complete a good half-hour before the breeze came.