Chapter Seventy One.
A Struggle with the Storm.
The summons of the coxswain is too serious to be disregarded; and soon as hearing it, the two officers hasten upon deck, leaving Don Gregorio reclining along the settee.
Glancing over the barque’s starboard bow, they behold a sky black as Erebus. It is a fog-bank, covering several points of the compass. But while they stand regarding it, it lengthens along the horizon, at the same time rising higher against the heavens. They can see that it is approaching, spreading over the ocean like a pall. And, where it shadows the water, white flakes show themselves, which they know to be froth churned up by the sharp stroke of a wind-squall.
They do not stand idly gazing. All three recognise the threatening danger. They only cast a glance towards the frigate, and, perceiving they can hope for no help from her, at once commence taking measures for themselves. “To the sheets!” shouts Crozier. “Let fly all!”
At the command, the midshipman and coxswain bound off to execute it, the lieutenant himself assisting; since there are but the three to do the work. For the negro, released by Grummet, despite half a pint of rum poured down his throat, is scarcely able to keep his feet. No help, therefore, to be had from him, nor any one else.
But the three strong men, with confidence in their strength, and with knowledge to comprehend the approaching peril, take the proper steps to avert it—these being, as Crozier has commanded, to let go everything.
Working as if for life, they cast off sheets and halyards, and let the canvas flap free. No time for clewing up, or making snug: no thought of either. The sails must take their chance, though they get split into shreds, which they are pretty sure to do.
This actually occurs, and soon. Scarce has her canvas been released from its sheets and tacks, when the barque becomes enveloped in a dense cloud, and the wind strikes like a cannon shot against her sails. Luckily, they were loosed in time. If still stiff set, the masts would have gone by the board, or the Condor on her beam-ends. And luckily, too, before struck, Grummet had hold of her helm, and, by Crozier’s command, brought her before the wind. To attempt “lying to,” with her sails in such condition, would be to court destruction. To “scud” is their only chance for safety.
And away go they before the wind, which, first blowing in fitful gusts, soon becomes a steady gale, with now and then a violent burst catching still another sail, and rending it to ribbons.