“It’ll soon be on us now,” said the skipper, seeing that the heavens became blacker and blacker to the westwards; and presently it came!
A streak of vivid lightning shot out from the blue-black storm-clouds that were hung over the ship like a funeral pall, lighting up the surrounding gloom and making it appear all the more sombre afterwards from the momentary illumination; and then, with a crash of thunder—that seemed as if the sky above was riven open, it was so awfully loud and reverberating—the tornado burst upon us, accompanied by a fierce blast of wind, that almost took the ship aback, and would have sent her down beneath the water in an instant to a certainty if we had been under sail.
“Let fly everything!” shouted the skipper; and the halliards being cast loose, the topsails came down on the caps by the run; when the Esmeralda, paying off from the wind, began to exhibit her old form of showing her heels to the enemy—tearing away through the sea with all her sheets flying.
Along with the pampero came a terrific shower of hail that lacerated our faces and almost took away our breath for the moment; but, never heeding this, on the skipper issuing his orders, we were up aloft again reefing topsails in a jiffey, and, as soon as the halliards had been manned and the yards rehoisted, the courses were furled and the jib hauled down, the fore-topmast staysail being set in its place. Everything being now made snug, the vessel was brought once more round to her course on the starboard tack, heading a little to the westward of south.
To the hail succeeded a heavy storm of rain; and then, the pampero having blown itself out by its sudden frenzy, a short calm now came on, after which the wind chopped round to the old quarter, the southwards and eastwards, bringing us back again to the port tack as we steered between the Falkland Islands and the South American continent—keeping in closer to the land now, for any fresh wind that might spring up would be certain to come from off shore.
The day of the pampero, however, did not pass by before another incident happened on board the Esmeralda.
When “all hands” were called, of course Mr Macdougall came up too; and, although he did not go aloft the same as I did to help in reefing topsails and furl the canvas—for he was neither so young nor so active as myself, and besides, it was not his place as first mate of the ship thus to aid the crew in doing the practical part of their duty—yet, on deck, he was of much assistance to the skipper in seeing that his different orders were promptly executed at the moment required; being not chary either of lending a hand at a brace when help was necessary, and exerting himself as much as any one, in a way very unusual for him.
So now, when the pampero had passed away and the excitement was over, Captain Billings, in his joyful exuberance of feeling at the Esmeralda having weathered the peril, went up to him and shook hands cordially.
“Hurrah, Macdougall!” he exclaimed, “the old barquey has been too much for my River Plate bully of a pampero.”
“Aye, mon, she’s weethered it weel, I ween,” replied the mate, accepting the proffered pledge of restored friendship; and he was shaking away at the skipper’s fist as if he was never going to relinquish its grasp, when, suddenly, the calm came on that I have mentioned, and the sails flapped against the masts heavily, shaking the ship and making the rigging vibrate.