“Man the down-haul. Tend the staysail sheet. Let go the halyards. Haul down,” were the rapid words of command shouted by the master, as the main-staysail was hauled down.
Again a heavy sea poured over the brig’s bows, but as it passed aft, with it went the remains of the fore-topmast, with all its tangled mass of ropes and blocks. A moment of comparative calm succeeded, and the men lay out on the fore-yard. The close-reefed foresail was set, the stout sail threatening to blow bodily out of the bolt-ropes, as feebly obeying her helm, the brig slowly righted, the sail filled, her bows payed off from the wind, and the dismasted “Halcyon” flew before the gale.
“This is indeed terrible,” moaned Isabel, as, supported by her lover, she took her way below, following four of the crew who bore the body of her father to his cabin. Dom Maxara had been nearly dashed overboard as the huge wave broke over the brig, throwing her on her beam ends. Sorely bruised and shaken he had been unable to rise, and each succeeding wave, as it swept the decks, had rolled him to and fro, surging about among the broken timbers and tangled rigging.
Flash after flash of lightning, instantly followed by peals of thunder, succeeding each other so closely as never to seem to die wholly away, now followed, and all day long the hurricane continued to sweep the face of the Indian Ocean, until, far as the eye could reach, the sea was one boiling mass of foam.
The brig rolled awfully, and with four men at the wheel, yawed wildly. The great thing in scudding is to keep the vessel going, with a velocity superior to the following wave. If this be not effected, then she is pooped, the seas overtaking and flooding her, whereas if she be not kept dead before the wind, and continually met with the helm when yawing to starboard or port, the scudding vessel broaches to, and down she goes at once.
Towards evening the gale broke, the main-topsail was set closely reefed, and the clank of the chain pumps was heard, in the stillness of the night, telling their own tale. The haze cleared away, the wind gradually fell, and with it the sea, but even yet the brig rolled fearfully.
On deck Hughes and the missionary were working with the men, encouraging them at the pumps, for there is no duty a seaman dislikes more than that. The captain, fairly worn out, had rolled himself in a great coat, and was sleeping heavily, coiled up against the rails of the quarter-deck. His mate was standing near the wheel, and the brig was dragging slowly and heavily through the seas. Above the clear blue sky and the bright stars, and around the ocean, with its surging waves, while on the stillness of the night came the sharp clank of the chain pumps: Towards morning the reefs were shaken out, and Hughes came aft.
“The water is gaining on us,” he said, moodily, addressing the mate. “Had the captain not better be roused?”
“What’s the use? we cannot do more than has been done. We shall sight land by daybreak, and I hope run into Port Natal, if the wind holds.”
“Have you heard anything of Dom Maxara?” anxiously asked Hughes.