The gale increased as the night wore on, and the vessel lay to on the port tack and drifted off with her head pointing northwest by north, but she was to the westward of the Ramirez. It was Garnett’s watch and the skipper was below. The ship was driving off to leeward, and the skipper determined to wear ship and stand to the southward again if she was headed off any farther. Garnett had orders to report any change which might take place.
The old mate had a chart in his room with the variation marked on it above the fiftieth parallel, some ten degrees less than where he now was. But even this variation appeared excessive to him, and, as the skipper told him to report if the vessel’s head fell off to the eastward of north, he held on. Figuring on a two-knot drift, he would not be in the vicinity of the rocks during his watch even if she headed as far as north by west, for at noon she had made a good westing.
The ship’s head was to the eastward at four bells, but, as there was really over twenty degrees’ variation, Garnett held on and made sail whenever he could. Long before his watch was out the vessel had been making little leeway and reaching heavily along under lower topsails. At seven bells the wind hauled again to the southward and came harder than ever, carrying the foretop-sail out of the bolt-ropes.
The noise of bawling men brought the skipper on deck, and he had the mizzentop-sail rolled up and the fore-staysail ready for waring ship. While he stood on the poop he looked to leeward. The mist seemed to break into rifts in the dull light of the early morning, and through one he saw an object that made him catch his breath. In an instant the flying spume closed in again and all was blank.
Garnett came aft, and, although it was cold, he took off his sou’wester and mopped the top of his bald head as he glanced at the skipper. The old man stood petrified gazing into the blank to leeward. Then he turned on the mate with a savage glare in his eye. “Get all hands on that fore-staysail, quick!” he roared, and Garnett went plunging forward, the skipper’s voice following him and rising almost to a shriek,—“Loose the jib and foresail!” Then turning, he dashed for the wheel and rolled it hard up. Back again on the poop he roared to Gantline, who came plunging out on the main-deck to loose the foretop-sail.
The men started to obey orders and sprang to the halyards and braces, looking over their shoulders to leeward at each roll of the ship to find out the cause of the excitement.
Suddenly the flying spume broke again, and there, dead under the lee, lay the outer rocks of the Ramirez not a mile distant. Then some of the crew became panic-stricken, and it was all the mates could do to keep them in hand.
“There’s no land there!” roared Garnett “H’ist away the fore-staysail.”
Then the ship’s head paid off, while the staysail tore to ribbons under the pressure. The topsail was loosened, and it thundered away to bits, almost taking the topmast with it. The jib followed suit, but together they lasted long enough to get her head off before the wind. Then Garnett, casting off the weather-clew of the reefed foresail, hauled it down far enough to keep the wind under it, and away they went. In a few moments her head swung to on the starboard tack, and as they hauled the wind a deep thunderous sound rose above the gale. The trusty maintop-sail was trimmed hard on the backstays, and all hands waited with eyes straining to leeward.
“Will she go clear?” asked Dr. Davis, calmly, as he stood by the skipper’s side on the poop. But Green’s teeth were shut tight, and the muscles of his straining face were as taut as the clews of the storm-topsail. Nearer and nearer sounded that dull, booming thunder, and now, right under her lee, they could see the great white rush of those high-rolling seas that tore over the ledges and crashed into a world of smother that hid everything beyond in a thick haze.