“When we lie in Saint Augustine’s Bay, and I can make myself heard better than at present, I will do so. Try to sleep now,” answered the missionary, rising. “I am going on deck to join Captain Hughes, and shall be very glad when morning dawns.”
And it did dawn, slowly and faintly over the boiling ocean. Large masses of dark cloud were hurrying over the sky, and chasing one another as though in sport. To seaward the horizon was clear, and one mass of foam-tipped waves were to be marked far as the eye could reach. Not ten miles to leeward lay the long line of the Madagascar coast, with Cape Saint Vincent jutting into the sea, while, with the wind blowing a heavy gale from the west-south-west, the “Halcyon,” with her diminished sail, her foremast, main-topmast, and bowsprit standing, looked terribly shorn of her fair proportions. The waves every now and then poured on her decks, rolling away to leeward, and the ropes were here and there flying loose, and streaming in the wind. A strong current must have set the brig down bodily on to the land, and Captain Weber had made up his mind to run for the bay which the missionary had spoken of.
On the quarter-deck, holding on to windward, stood a group of three. Captain Weber, the missionary, and Hughes had watched through the night, and were anxiously waiting for full daylight. Under the weather bulwarks, wrapped in their waterproofs, with their long thick boots poking out here and there, lay huddled the crew.
“There,” said the captain, pointing to a fine bold headland just tinged by the beams of the rising sun as it shone through a break in the clouds, “that is Cape Saint Vincent. The land tumbles in board to the southward and eastward, and your two clumps of trees will guide us. Will you know the place again?”
“Everything connected with it is so stamped on my memory, that I could draw the bay for you.”
“Very well, here goes. Mr Lowe, rouse up the watch, send four men to the wheel, set the foresail.”
Mr Lowe, though second mate, now naturally took the place of the drowned seaman. The yards, instead of being braced sharp up, were eased off, the helm carefully tended, and under her main-topsail, foresail, and fore-topmast-staysail, the “Halcyon,” on an easy bowline, dragged like a wounded sea-bird through the boiling waves, running parallel with the coast. Hour after hour wore on, and all watched anxiously. The long sandy line was now not more than five miles distant, and the tall cocoa-nut trees could be seen plainly.
Now and then the sun would break out and light up the scene, but hour after hour passed on, and still the gale blew furiously, while the sea, striking the brig’s counter, poured over her fore and aft. No one quitted the deck, but now and then the captain’s steward, a Malay, popped up his head with some inquiry from below. “Tell them we shall soon be in smooth water,” shouted Captain Weber, as towards ten o’clock the man’s face appeared through the little opening.
The brig was rapidly approaching a bold headland, which bore no name on the map. She would pass it at a distance of not more than a mile. The chart was nailed down on the wood-work of the cabin hatchway, and was continually consulted by both the missionary and the captain.
“I know that headland,” shouted the former, placing his mouth close to the captain’s ear. “The bay lies about five miles to the southward of it.”