Our hero remained on deck, giving every precautionary and preparatory order, till the night was far advanced; when, much fatigued, and finding that nothing more could be done till daylight, he went below, and lay down on a sofa for a short time, leaving directions with the officer of the watch to call him half an hour before dawn. All was soon perfectly still: every one seemed to have forgotten, in “nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,” both the dangers they had so lately passed, and those which still threatened them.
After some little time spent in uneasy reflections, a sort of stupor, occasioned by excessive fatigue both of mind and body, stole over the senses of Fitz-Ullin. His slumbers were at first much broken; but, at length, after telling himself for the hundredth time that nothing could be done till daylight, they assumed somewhat more the character of repose. He had not enjoyed such quite an hour when a low murmuring sound arose, at first apparently at an immense distance, as though the lulled winds were awaking and whispering together at the furthest extremity of space: a gloomy imagination could fancy them secretly conspiring, at this dead hour of the night, the destruction of those who thus unconsciously slept. The sound grew louder.
It approached—it became a howl—it drew nearer and nearer still. At length the ominous blast, sweeping through the rigging of the vessel, shrieked wildly, and passed away. Fitz-Ullin sat upright for a moment: but the demon of the storm had sounded his signal cry, and was hushed! A pause of breathless silence followed. Our hero listened for some seconds, and finding all still, concluded that some startling dream must have awakened him, and yielded again to repose. The distant murmur recommenced, increased, and grew by gusts impetuous; the howling blast drew near again, but instead of retiring as before, was pursued by another, and yet another, as it were urging each other forward, till their united and accumulated roar became, in an incredibly short time, tremendous.
Fitz-Ullin dreamed of a tempest; but for a few troubled moments, did not again awake; when, suddenly opening his eyes, he leaped up, and, bewildered by the universal uproar which now reigned, without waiting to collect his scattered thoughts, hastened on deck.
It was by this time blowing a gale, the ship beginning to labour excessively, and the darkness so impenetrable, that while his sense of hearing was thus assailed on every side, his sight was strained in vain to discover any object around him, and he was made sensible of being on the upper deck only by the buffeting of the winds, and still rougher salutation of a heavy sea, which, as it passed over the ship, threatened to carry him with it; yet nothing could be done or attempted till day dawned. He remained on deck however. It was the longest hour he had ever passed. From time to time he cast impatient glances towards the east, which looked, he thought, if possible, blacker than the rest of the horizon! At length the sky in that quarter assumed a greyish cast, and gradually it became evident that objects might have been in some degree discernible, but for the thickness of the haze which covered every thing, causing a cruel prolongation of suspense. In a little time, however, one yellow streak appeared near the horizon; then the clouds broke in that direction, and seemed tumbling and boiling round the spot; then, plunging among them, the rising sun was seen at last, for one moment only; it resembled a ball of fire; it seemed to roll past the opening; it disappeared again, and the dense masses of cloud closed immediately. There was now a visible increase of light. A rush of the tempest swept a part of the mist away, while the rocks, looking black and gigantic through what remained, appeared quite close to the ship, as she rode at single anchor.
The waves, notwithstanding the confined area of the little bay, rose with a tremendous swell; though so far unlike the alternate mountain and valley of the open ocean, that the whole body of water which the basin contained, seemed to swing at once to and fro with a simultaneous movement, which every time threatened to dash the frigate against the perpendicular sides of the cliff. At another moment, would the hurricane seize, as it were, the helpless vessel in its stupendous grasp, and appear about to lift her from the water. She seemed, in short, the sole object of contention to the warring element; while they, in their fury, appeared resolved to tear her in a thousand pieces and part her among them, rather than give up the struggle. Fitz-Ullin saw that any effort to get out of this dangerous bay or creek, must, at present, prove impossible, as the wind blew directly in; and it was quite evident that the reef must bring them up, before sufficient canvas could be set, to give the ship headway. He summoned however the officers and crew around him, to afford them the usual privilege of giving their opinion in a case of so much emergency. Some were for cutting away the masts and making the boats ready; but this would be forsaking the post of duty too soon. Some recommended attempting to get under way; but this, as had been shown, with the wind right ahead, would have been madness. Fitz-Ullin therefore rejected each of those suggestions, and finally decided on clinging, as long as the cable held, to the only rational hope which remained, that of the wind chancing to abate, or shift a little in their favour before any fatal catastrophe should take place.
CHAPTER XXXII.
“Must she then die!”