As yet the wind was no more than a fair breeze, but by degrees it became boisterous, and the crew, still weak and now short of three men, could barely manage the schooner. José and I knew nothing of seamanship, but we bore a hand here and there, straining at this rope or that as we were bidden, and encouraging the crew to the best of our ability.
As yet we gave little thought to the new danger that menaced us, being full of thanks for our escape from a horrible death; but the fury of the storm increased, the wind battered against the schooner in howling gusts, and presently the topgallant mast fell with a crash to the deck. Fortunately no one was hurt, and we quickly cut the wreckage clear; but misfortune followed misfortune, and at length, with white, scared face, the carpenter announced that water was fast rising in the hold.
Here, at least, José and I were of service. Taking our places at the pumps, we toiled with might and main to keep the water down. Thus the remainder of the night passed with every one working at the pumps or assisting the captain to manage the vessel.
Morning brought no abatement of the storm, but the light enabled us to realize more clearly how near we were, a second time, to death. The rain still poured down in torrents, the wind leaped at us with hurricane fury, the schooner tossed, a helpless wreck, in the midst of a mountainous sea. The carpenter reported that, in spite of all our labours, the water was fast gaining on us. The sailors now lost heart, and one of them left his post, saying sullenly they might as well drown first as last. It was a dangerous example, but the skipper checked the mischief. Running forward with loaded pistol, he shouted,—
"Go back to the pumps, you coward, or I will shoot you down like a dog! Call yourself a man? Why, that youngster there is worth fifty of you!"
The fellow returned to his work; but as the hours passed we became more and more certain that no amount of pumping would save the ship. Even now she was but a floating wreck, and soon she would be engulfed by the raging sea.
While José and I were taking a rest, the captain told us that, even should the storm cease, the Aguila must go down in less than twenty-four hours, and that he knew not whether we were close to the shore or a hundred leagues from it. José received the news coolly. He came of a race that does not believe in whimpering, and his only care was on my account.
"I am sorry for your mother, Jack," said he, "and for you too. We're in a fair hole, and I don't see any way of getting out; but for all that we will keep our heads cool. Never go under without a fight for it—that's as good a motto as any other. You heard the skipper say the schooner is bound to go down, and you know we have no boats—they wouldn't be any good if we had, while this storm lasts; but if the sea calms, a plank will keep you afloat a long time, and maybe a ship will come along handy. Anyhow, make a fight for it, my boy. Now we'll have a snack of something to eat, and then for another spell at the pumps."
By this time a feeling of despair had seized the crew, and but for fear of the captain's pistol they would have stopped work in a body. However, he kept them at it, and towards noon the tempest ceased almost as suddenly as it had begun. The gale dropped to a steady breeze, and the surface of the ocean became comparatively calm.
The change cheered us; we looked on it as a good omen, and toiled at the pumps even harder than before. We could not lessen the quantity of water, but for a time we kept it from gaining, and a germ of hope crept back into our hearts. Every hour now was likely to be in our favour, as the captain judged the wind was blowing us to some part of the coast, where we might either fall in with a vessel or effect a landing. Thus, between hope and fear, the afternoon passed, and then we saw that the captain's judgment was correct.