“After this, we’ve got to expect ugly weather,” he announced; and as he knew the Caribbean well this preparation somewhat dismayed me. I began to wish we had entered the Gulf of Mexico and made the roundabout trip; but it was too late for regrets now, and we must make the best of our present outlook.
Personally I descended into the hold and examined with care the seams, finding that the calking had held securely so far and that we were as right and tight as when we had first sailed. But even this assurance was not especially encouraging, for we had met with no weather that a canoe might not have lived through without shipping more than a few drops of sea.
The ninth day was insufferably hot, and the evening brought no relief. Ned Britton’s face looked grave and worried, and I overheard him advising Duncan Moit to add several more anchor ropes to those that secured his machine.
We awaited the change in the weather anxiously enough, and toward midnight the stars began to be blotted out until shortly a black pall overhung the ship. The air seemed vibrant and full of an electric feel that drew heavily upon one’s nerves; but so far there had been no breath of wind.
At last, when it seemed we could wait no longer, a distant murmur was heard, drawing ever nearer and louder until its roar smote our ears like a discharge of artillery. The ship began to roll restlessly, and then the gale and the waves broke upon us at the same instant and with full force.
Heavily weighted and lazy as the bark was, she failed to rise to the first big wave, which washed over her with such resistless power that it would have swept every living soul away had we not clung desperately to the rigging. It seemed to me that I was immersed in a wild, seething flood for several minutes; but they must have been seconds, instead, for presently the water was gone and the wind endeavoring to tear me from my hold.
The square sail held, by good luck, and the ship began to stagger onward, bowing her head deep and submitting to constant floods that washed her from end to end. There was not much that could be done to ease her, and the fervid excitement of those first hours kept us all looking after our personal safety. Along we went, scudding before the gale, which maintained its intensity unabated and fortunately drove us along the very course we had mapped out.
The morning relieved the gloom, but did not lessen the force of the storm. The waves were rolling pretty high, and all faces were serious or fearful, according to the disposition of their owners. In our old Saracen, or even the Flipper, I would not have minded the blow or the sea, but here was a craft of a different sort, and I did not know how she might stand such dreadful weather.
I got Ned into the cabin, where we stood like a couple of drenched rats and discussed the situation. On deck our voices could not be heard.
“Are the small boats ready to launch?” I asked.