The brig was now riding at single anchor, the headyards braced up one way, her afteryards the other, her sails flapping heavily.
“Heave away, my lads, heave away with a will,” shouted Weber, the moment his foot touched the quarter-deck, and the remaining anchor was soon hove up, and properly stowed away on board. “Brace round the headyards. Let fall the fore course. Take a pull at the bowlines, Mr Blount. Touch her with the wheel, Adams, she will come up a couple of points yet,” were the rapid words of command, and the “Halcyon” moved through the water on a taut bowline, heading nearly her course.
“A pleasant voyage to you,” said Dom Assevédo, as he bent over Isabel’s hand in the cabin.
“Below there!” came in the captain’s rough tones, “tell the Senhor Assevédo that if he don’t want to see the Cape, he had better get on board his barge. The tow-rope won’t hold on long, I’m thinking.”
Heartily shaking hands with all, the Portuguese gentleman, whose name and kindly nature are well known to men of every nation trading on the Zambesi, stepped over the side, the boat’s painter was cast off, a last good bye shouted in Weber’s stentorian voice, and the “Halcyon,” with all sail set, to her royals, was soon standing off the bar, the bubbles flying past her rounded counter, as she slipped through the water at the rate of sonde six knots an hour.
Towards sunset the wind fell, and the brig began to lose her way. The stars came out shining through a thin haze, and sail after sail flapped against the masts, filling for a moment, then collapsing again, until soon the “Halcyon” lay rolling on the gentle swell, her cordage rattling, her blocks and tackles striking against her spars and rigging, her hull groaning, and her sails perfectly useless, not having even steerage way.
Leaning over the bulwarks, and looking towards the land, the faint outline of which could still be discovered about ten miles distant, Hughes was conversing with the captain.
“You think, then, we shall have wind?” he asked.
“I am sure of it,” replied Weber; “look at the double halo round the moon, look at the sickly, watery appearance of the clouds, look at that fog-bank away to the southward. We shall have plenty of wind before morning.”
“And from what direction?”