Just at that moment a sailor, who had mounted to the main-top to do something to the rigging, passed close behind me.
“What’s the matter?” I asked,
“The wind has changed,” he answered, adding something which I could not hear distinctly, but which sounded like “dead against us.”
Dead against us! then, thought I, the wind had shifted to the south-west, and my last night’s forebodings had been correct.
When daylight at length appeared, I found the wind although not blowing actually from the south-west, had veered round to the north-west, a change which was equally disastrous to us, inasmuch as it was carrying us away from land. Moreover, the ship had sunk considerably during the night, and there were now five feet of water above deck; the side netting had completely disappeared, and the forecastle and the poop were now all but on a level with the sea, which washed over them incessantly. With all possible expedition Curtis and his crew were labouring away at their raft, but the violence of the swell materially impeded their operations, and it became a matter of doubt as to whether the woodwork would not fall asunder before it could be properly fastened together.
As I watched the men at their work M. Letourneur, with one arm supporting his son, came and stood by my side.
“Don’t you think this main-top will soon give way?” he said, as the narrow platform on which we stood creaked and groaned with the swaying of the masts.
Miss Herbey heard his words, and pointing towards Mrs. Kear, who was lying prostrate at her feet, asked what we thought ought to be done.
“We can do nothing but stay where we are,” I replied.
“No;” said Andre “this is our best refuge; I hope you are not afraid.”