When the storm lulled a little, I prevailed on the sailors to rig a sail forward with some canvass and two spare spars brought up from below; and a jury foremast was soon set up, with a dexterity which showed what the men were capable of if properly directed. Now, once more before the fierce hurricane, the sharp schooner drove on with the speed of a galloping horse: but whether running in full career against the rocks of Stilo, or away into the Ionian sea, we had not the least idea. The seven survivors began to work at the pumps, and we all took heart anew as daylight slowly approached, and the long night, with its excitement and horror, passed away.
It came, the sunless morning—a grey sky, a black sea—a cold gloom everywhere. Afar off we discerned land on the larboard-bow: but there was not a sail in sight, save a ship which rode securely under the coast with her top-gallant-masts struck. I had no doubt it was the Amphion anchored off Cape della Colonna, the promontory so close to the place of my destination.
We were drenched to the skin, and had been so all night: we were without food, yet continued to toil at the pumps; which soon, to our great dismay, brought up clear water. The sea having torn away stern-post and rudder, the pumps were our only chance of safety; and the Maltese, encouraged by my example (more than that of their skipper), worked until they were sinking with fatigue. On, on we flew before the sweeping wind, and soon lost sight of
"Fair Lacinia, graced with Juno's fane."
Once more the mountains sank beneath the horizon; and soon nothing but sea and sky were around us, as we flew before the blast into the Gulf of Tarentum, where we were at the mercy of the wind and tide during the whole of that miserable day. The sailors became dejected: three quitted the pumps and betook themselves to prayer, and the leaks gained on us. Four men still continued to toil, exposed to every wave that washed over the defenceless deck, which was then almost level with the ocean; and the planking was so slippery that we were in continual danger of being carried away to leeward.
"The sunless day went down;" night began to darken sea and sky, and we contemplated its approach with gloomy forebodings and absolute horror. The Santelmo now made less way, in consequence of the thoroughly wetted state of her cargo, which buried her to the chain-plates in the water, where she lurched and pitched heavily. When it was dark, the gale increased; not a star was visible, and the dense gloom thickened in every direction around us.
By breaking through a bulk-head, the carpenter contrived to get up a keg of brandy from the forehold, and with a reckless shout the sailors crowded around him. They drank copiously, and the liquor rendered them mad: they yelled and screamed, shaking their clenched hands at the storm in defiance, reviling the Basilian and his candles, and cursing St. Elmo; whose head the carpenter clove with his hatchet.
In the midst of this ghastly merriment, while they were dancing furiously, hand in hand, over the slippery deck, a tremendous sea took us right amidship. I saw it coming on, dark, heaving, and terrible—a roaring mountain of liquid blackness—and embraced the windlass with all the strength with which despair and love of life endued me. In irresistible fury, the stupendous wave rolled its mighty volume over the wreck: when it passed away I was alone. It had swept, into the boiling sea, every one of them. A cry came feebly on the bellowing wind, and all was over: I heard only the hiss of the dashing spray, and the plunging of the wreck, as alternately it rose on the crest of a wave, and thundered down into the yawning ocean. I had bound myself securely to the windlass with my sash, and my principal fear was that the water-logged hull might sink; for in such a sea, and when so far from land, swimming would be unavailing.
O, the multiplied horrors of that dismal night! How gladly, amid that intense ocean solitude, I would have hailed the sound of a human voice—a glimpse of the distant shore—a gleam from a lonely star. Strange visions of home and happiness—of sunny fields and green moving woods—floated before me. Then came other scenes and sounds: the boom of cannon and the roll of the drums. Now I was leading on my stormers at Scylla; anon I was with Bianca—I heard her soft low voice, her sweet Italian tone, and her gentle hand clasped mine— * * * *
CHAPTER XIX.