“Is it all over?” at length exclaimed Jerry, who was the first to break the silence.
“I hope so,” answered the doctor; “but let us get into the boat, and pull on board; we shall be safer there than on shore, at all events.”
We followed his advice. As the boat clove her way through the water she seemed to be gliding over a surface of gold, overlaid by some dark sand which was parted as she went by. When we got on board, we found that our shipmates had felt the shock, the vibration of which must have come up as they supposed by the chain cable. For a long time we walked the deck, expecting another shock, but the night passed off quietly, and when morning returned there was nothing to indicate that an earthquake had taken place. I ought to have said that the present town of Callao was built at a little distance from the site of the old town destroyed by the earthquake, and on a higher and more commanding position.
Once more we were at sea. One of the most interesting places we called at, on account of its position and associations, was Panama. For many a year it slept on neglected and almost forgotten. Now it has been completely aroused from its lethargy, to find itself in the middle of the highway to California, and the chief resting-place of gold-diggers. It is bounded by the sea on three sides, and surrounded by a wall with ditch and bastions on the land side. In the centre is the plaza, into which converge several streets of old-fashioned, sedate-looking Spanish houses, with broad verandas and heavy folding-shutters. Now a change has rudely come over them. Above the door of one appeared, in huge characters—“American Hotel”; while a board announced that “Good Lodging, Brandy Smashes, Sice, and Egg-nog,” were to be obtained within. There are several other hotels with conspicuous signs, all denoting that they have been established by citizens of the United States, while there exist several restaurants, cafés, and newspaper and billiard-rooms besides. A steamer had arrived only a few days before at Aspinwall, on the east side, and the town was consequently full of passengers who had come across by the railway. Nowhere, perhaps, are the past and the present brought into greater contrast. We visited the ruins of several churches and other buildings with massive walls, which probably never were finished,—all attesting the departed importance of the place. Now palm-trees grow in their lonely courts; tropical climbing plants throw their festoons in rich luxuriance over their elaborate architecture, and banana-trees have taken root in the clefts of the crumbling walls. Panama, however, is not the identical city whence Pizarro sailed for the conquest of the kingdom of the Incas. That city stood six miles down the coast; and after it was sacked and utterly destroyed by Morgan, who murdered every soul then within it, none returned to take up their habitation there, and it still remains as he left it, a heap of ruins, now overgrown by rank vegetation.
We were fortunate in finding the directions Captain Frankland expected to guide his future course, and I got letters from home. How greedily I devoured them! Every word I read over and over again, and I kissed them more than once, when I knew Jerry was not looking at me. I do not give a longer account of the place, because I was engaged most of the time I was there in writing home. I judged from the delight I felt in getting letters, that mine would afford a somewhat similar pleasure; so I found they did, and I advise those of my readers who have to go away from home to remember this, and never to lose an opportunity of writing. We were bound for San Francisco, the giant mushroom city of the wondrous gold-bearing regions of California. I had always fancied that the Pacific was, as its name betokens, a wide expanse of island-sprinkled water, seldom or never ruffled by a storm. At length I had practical proof of my mistake. We had made a good offing from the coast, to give a wide berth to that narrow strip of land which runs from north to south, and is known as Lower California. I saw the captain looking constantly at the barometer; Jerry and I looked also, for we guessed that something was the matter. The quicksilver sank lower and lower in the tube, showing that the superincumbent atmosphere had become lighter, or more rarified, and that a current of air would soon come in from some direction or other and fill it up.
“What’s going to happen?” I asked of Jerry, seeing that the glass, or rather the fluid in it, fell more and more.
“Why, we are going to have such a gale as we don’t often meet with, I suspect,” he answered. Just as he spoke, his father’s voice was heard on dock. We immediately hurried there as fast as we could fly. At the time there was but little wind, then it became perfectly calm, with only a long heavy swell from the southward. The calm was of short duration.
“All hands shorten sail!” sung out the captain. The crew sprung aloft; so did Jerry and I. We never shirked our duty, and Captain Frankland knew that if he let us do so, whatever the excuse, we should never become true seamen. It was hard work to hold on to the yard, much more to get in the stiff canvas. I have heard of people having their teeth blown down their throats by a gale; I thought mine would have gone, and then I should have gone too, for I literally had to hold on by them to steady myself on the yard. Jerry was not far from me. We tugged and hauled away, and at last got the canvas rolled up as we best could; but I must own that it was far from well done. The gale was still increasing in strength, and we were not sorry to find ourselves safe on deck again—so, I think, was the captain to see us. Perhaps, however, he had got so accustomed to the risks his son was constantly running, that he did not think about it. Scarcely had we come down from aloft, and were looking about to see what was going to happen, than we saw away to the south-east, far as the eye could reach, a tumbling mass of foaming waters rushing on at a furious rate towards us.
Meantime the storm stay-sails had been set, and the helm being put down, the ship was hove-to with her head to the eastward. As the seas came with the swell, they were regular, and though the ship plunged violently, now rising to the summit of a wave, now sinking down into the trough, there was no fear of any of them breaking on board provided our masts stood. Such was the state of things when night came on. The wind howled, and whistled, and shrieked; the sea roared and hissed; the timbers and the masts groaned; the bulkheads creaked; and everything and everybody which was not secured very tightly, tumbled and rolled about in a most uncontrollable manner. For my part, I confess that I more than once wished I were safe on shore again. As to turning in, not one of us thought of doing that. Still the glass was falling, and still the gale was increasing. With regard to eating, also, all we could do was to nibble a biscuit; for, as Jerry observed, had we attempted to put anything into our mouths with a fork, the chances were that we should have sent fork and all down our throats, or dug the prongs into our eyes or noses, or done some other mischief. Every now and then Jerry and I started up on deck to see how things were going on, not that we could be of any use there. Just as we had agreed to go below again, a blast, as if a fresh hand had beep added to the bellows, came down upon us; there was a terrific report, the ship heeled over on her side as if she were going down, and away flew the stay-sails out of the bolt-ropes, followed by nearly all the canvas, which, ill furled in our hurry, broke loose from the gaskets, and, fluttering away with loud flaps, was soon reduced to ribbons, knotted and twisted in every conceivable way. As the ship fell off into the trough of the sea when her sails rent, a foaming billow came roaring up, and striking her, made a clean breach over us. There were shouts and cries fore and aft. Jerry and I held on for our lives. Happily the stanchions we held to did not give way. Half terrified, and not knowing what was next to happen, we tried to pierce the gloom which surrounded us. Jerry’s chief anxiety was for his father; so was mine, and for Cousin Silas likewise, and, indeed, for our kind friend the doctor. I had time also, strange as it may seem, to think about old Surley, and to hope that he had not been washed overboard, for unwisely he had followed us on deck. Very soon we were satisfied that the captain was safe, for we heard him issuing orders in a clear voice which sounded high above the gale. Directly afterwards Cousin Silas passed us on his way forward, to get the fore-stay-sail on the ship, to bring her head round.
“If that does not do, what will happen?” I asked of Jerry.