Not a word was spoken. No order came from the Captain. The men awaited some word. There came none. Then the waters, which thus rose up like a heap before them, struck the ship with all the accumulated fury of that resistless onset, and hurled their utmost weight upon her as she lay before them.
The ship, already reeling far over at the stroke of the storm, now, at this new onset, yielded utterly, and rolled far over on her beam-ends. The awful billows dashed over and over her, sweeping her in their fury from end to end. The men clung helplessly to whatever rigging lay nearest, seeking only in that first moment of dread to prevent themselves from being washed away, and waiting for some order from the Captain, and wondering while they waited.
At the first peal of thunder Brandon had started up. He had lain down in his clothes, in order to be prepared for any emergency. He called Cato. The Hindu was at hand. “Cato, keep close to me whatever happens, for you will be needed.” “Yes, Sahib.” He then hurried to Beatrice’s room and knocked. It was opened at once. She came forth with her pale, serene face, and looked at him.
“I did not lie down,” said she. “I knew that there would be something frightful. But I am not afraid. At any rate,” she added, “I know I will not be deserted.”
Brandon said nothing, but held out to her an India-rubber life-preserver. “What is this for?” “For you. I wish you to put it on. It may not be needed, but it is best to have it on.” “And what will you do?” “I—oh! I can swim, you know. But you don’t know how to fasten it. Will you allow me to do so?” She raised her arms. He passed the belt around her waist, encircling her almost in his arms while doing so, and his hand, which had boldly grasped the head of the “dweller in the wreck,” now trembled as he fastened the belt around that delicate and slender waist.
But scarcely had this been completed when the squall struck the ship, and the waves followed till the vessel was thrown far over on her side; and Brandon seizing Beatrice in one arm, clung with the other to the edge of the skylight, and thus kept himself upright.
He rested now for a moment. “I must go on deck,” he said. “I do not wish you to leave me,” was her answer. Nothing more was said. Brandon at once lifted her with one arm as though she were a child and clambered along, grasping such fixtures as afforded any thing to which he could cling; and thus, with hands and feet, groped his way to the door of the cabin, which was on the windward side. There were two doors, and between them was a seat.
“This,” said he, “is the safest place for you. Can you hold on for a short time? If I take you on deck you will be exposed to the waves.”
“I will do whatever you say,” she replied; and clinging to the arm of the almost perpendicular seat, she was able to sustain herself there amidst the tossing and swaying of the ship.
Brandon then clambered out on deck. The ship lay far over. The waves came leaping upon her in successive surges. All around the sea was glistening with phosphorescent lustre, and when at times the lightning flashed forth it lighted up the scene, and showed the ocean stirred up to fiercest commotion. It seemed as though cataracts of water were rushing over the doomed ship, which now lay helpless, and at the mercy of the billows. The force of the wind was tremendous, exceeding any thing that Brandon had ever witnessed before.