As he spoke, a wavering flash of blue flame gleamed for a moment up the after hatchway, the hatches of which, in the increasing confusion, had been knocked off. Presently this was followed by a thick column of white smoke, speaking as plain as tongue could have told, that the fire had caught. The column became suddenly streaked with flame, which drove the miserable group of women and men forward into the waist. In a minute, the fire burst out of the main hatchway also, and scorched away the two young missionaries and the captain from the pumps, to which, although deserted by the crew, they had, with noble intrepidity and calm resolution, clung until this very moment.
The eldest lady was now lying motionless on the wet deck, as if she had been dead or in a faint, with her bare arms clasped round her child, who, poor little fellow, was tossing his tiny hands, and apparently crying piteously, while the younger woman was clinging convulsively round her husband's neck, as, along with his companion and the old captain, he now sat on the deck; the whole grouped round the patriarchal old Moravian, who was kneeling in the middle, seemingly with outstretched hands imploring Heaven for mercy; while over all, the sea, now lashed into redoubled fury by the increasing gale, broke in showers of spray.
The whole after part of the ship was by this time on fire; and falling off before the wind under her foresail, she ran down in the direction of the frigate that was lying to about a mile to leeward. As she bore up and passed us, the old captain, drenched, half-naked, and bareheaded, with a face pale as death, was endeavouring to seize the ensign union down in the main rigging, but it was torn from his feeble hands by the strength of the wind; and, as if it had been the last faint gleam of hope finally deserting them, flew down to leeward like a flash of red flame. He then again hung the board on which he had formerly telegraphed over the gangway. The following fearful legend was now written on it:
ON FIRE, AND SINKING!
To have followed her, after having once been pooped, and nearly swamped already, would have been downright madness, especially as we could render no earthly assistance. We had therefore nothing for it but to keep the Midge lying to.
The firmament now became black as night. A thick squall, with heavy rain, that had been some time brewing to windward, burst down on us with the most terrific fierceness. For a minute we could neither see nor hear any thing but the roaring of the tormented waters, and the howling, or rather thundering of the wind. The shred of sail that we had set flew out of the bolt-rope into ribbons, with a sound like a cannon-shot, and I thought the little vessel would never have righted again. At length it passed us, and cleared where we were, only to show us the poor disabled ship overtaken by it. And now it was evident that she was water-logged, from the heavy sickly way in which she rolled and pitched, while the fire tinged the whole dark sky overhead with a red murky glare, as if it had been midnight.
The squall crept up to her, thickened round her, and gradually concealed both her and the frigate, hiding them entirely from our view within its watery veil; but the conflagration still lit up, and shone through the grey mist-like shroud (alas, in very truth a shroud to one of them!) giving horrible indications as to her whereabouts.
It suddenly disappeared, and the tornado of wind and rain drifted down to leeward. The clouds rose—the weather cleared away—Great God, what do I see!—The frigate is there——BUT THE SHIP IS GONE!
*****
For several minutes, the thunder-storm continued with great violence. At one time I thought the lightning had struck our mast-head; but it was the breaking up of the weather, for with startling suddenness a bright slanting beam from the evening sun pierced through the dark masses of cloud in the west, and floated on the tempestuous surface of the troubled waters where the ship had gone down, like a ray of hope breaking through clouds and shadows on the tumultuous agitations of a departing spirit. Was it in very truth the eye of Providence glancing on the watery grave of the innocent and virtuous, and evincing, through our senses, that the quenching of their gentle light amidst the howling waste of waters, although unseen of men, was not unmarked of the Eternal, "who maketh the clouds his chariot, and who walketh on the wings of the wind?" And was the doom of the wicked in the rolling thunder? The thought stirred me like a trumpet-note.