Such were his reflections, and for two days the vessel that bore him sailed rapidly toward England; the wind was favorable, and a light breeze seemed to make her fly over the surface of the waves. The sails were unfurled, and the sailors were singing, delighted at the prospect of a happy voyage, while Pierre Gilles, seated on the deck, his back leaning against the mast, kept his eyes fixed on the north, incessantly deceived by the illusion of the changing horizon and the fantastic form of the blue clouds, which seemed to plunge into the sea. He was continually calling out: “Captain, here is land!” But the old pilot smiled as he guided the helm, and leaning over, like a man accustomed to know what he said, slightly shrugged one shoulder and replied: “Not yet, Sir Passenger.”
And soon, in fact, Pierre Gilles would see change their form or disappear those fantastic rocks and sharp points which represented an unattainable shore. Then it seemed to him that he would never arrive, the island retreated constantly before him, and his feet would never be permitted to rest upon the shores of England.
“Alas!” he would every moment say to himself, “they are trying him now, perhaps. If I were there, I would run, I would beg, I would implore his pardon. And his youthful daughter, whom they say is so fair, so good—into what an agony she must be plunged! All this family and those young children to be deprived of such a father!”
Pierre was unable to control himself for a moment; he arose, walked forward on the vessel; he saw
the foaming track formed by her rapid passage through the water wiped out in an instant, effaced by the winds, and yet it seemed to him that the vessel thus cutting the waves remained motionless, and that he was not advancing a furlong. “An hour’s delay,” he mentally repeated, “and perhaps it will be too late. Let them banish him; I shall at least be able to find him!”
Already the night wind was blowing a gale and the sea grew turbulent; a flock of birds flew around the masts, uttering the most mournful cries, and seeming, as they braved the whirlwind which had arisen, to be terrified.
“Comrades, furl the sails!” cried the steersman; “a waterspout threatens us! Be quick,” he cried, “or we are lost.”
In the twinkling of an eye the sailors seized the ropes and climbed into the rigging. Vain haste, useless dexterity; their efforts were all too late.
A furious gust of wind groaned, roared, rent the mainmast in twain, tore away the ropes, bent and broke the masts; a horrible crash was heard throughout the ship.
“Cut away! Pull! Haul down! Hold there! Hoist away! Let go!” cried the captain, who had rushed up from his cabin. “Bravo! Courage, there! Stand firm!”