Weathering in due time Cape Maysi, the eastern extremity of the island of Cuba, we shaped a course for Crooked Island Passage, and being then able to get a small pull upon the weather-braces and to ease off the mainsheet a foot or so, we bowled along in a style which filled all hands with delight.
On our arrival at Crooked Island we called at the post office, and I left a letter for the admiral, reporting progress. There was a fine full-rigged ship lying there when we arrived, bound for London; she had been there two days, waiting and hoping for the arrival of a man-of-war, under the protection of which to get safely through the Passage. She carried a very rich cargo and some sixteen passengers, most of whom were ladies, and as she only mounted four small guns, and carried no more than just sufficient men to work the ship, her skipper was willing to lose a day or two upon the chance of getting a safe convoy clear of the islands, among which there had been of late some very daring cases of piracy.
Finding that the “Centurion”—as his ship was named—was perfectly ready for sea, I arranged with her skipper to sail again that afternoon, which we accordingly did. The “Centurion” proving to be a slow sailer, we were four days taking her out clear of everything, when, having done so without molestation, the two ships parted company, and we bore up for a regular cruise to the southward among the various passages.
We fell in with a good many ships, all English, pushing through the various passages, and a few of them asked for convoy; but of pirates, slavers, or French privateers—any of which would have been game for our bag—we saw nothing.
At length, having made the circuit of the archipelago once, calling at the post office on reaching it, but finding no orders, we had proceeded so far on our cruise as to have arrived off the Square Handkerchief Shoal on our second round, and were about to bear up through the Silver Kay Passage, when, toward the end of the afternoon watch, the wind suddenly dropped, and by sun-down it had fallen stark calm.
The air turned close and hot as the breath of an oven, and as the evening wore on a heavy bank of black cloud worked up from to leeward and slowly overspread the sky, gradually settling down until the vapour appeared to touch our mast-heads.
Hawsepipe, a master’s-mate, who was acting as master, had been very fidgety for some time, and at last, “What do you think all this means, Mr Chester?” said he.
“I scarcely know what to make of it,” I replied. “I have never seen anything quite like it before. It looks more like an impending thunder-storm than anything else; but it may be something very different, and I was about to give the order to shorten sail when you spoke.”
“I really think we had better,” he returned. “I see no sign of wind as yet, certainly; still, as we are in no hurry, it would be just as well to be prepared for anything and everything that can possibly happen. What sail shall we get her under?”
“Well, being, as you remark, in no sort of hurry, I think we will make our precautions as complete as possible by stowing everything except the fore-trysail and staysail. Let the men commence with the mainsail, as it is the largest and least manageable sail in a breeze.”