Antony Waymouth; Or, The Gentlemen Adventurers

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The deck of the Lion appeared, as the captain reached it, to be a scene of the greatest confusion. Showers of spray, torn up from the ocean by the sudden squall, were thrown over her in dense masses. The wind howled and whistled through the rigging, the sails were flapping loudly in the gale—some torn from their bolt-ropes, others with the sheets let go, which were lashing and slashing wildly and twisting into a thousand knots. Huge blocks, too, were swinging to and fro, threatening the seamen with destruction, while some of the spars wounded in the action now gave way, and their fragments came thundering down on deck, sweeping all before them. The sea roared, the thunder in crashing peals rattled along the sky, and the forked lightning ran hissing in vivid flashes from out of the dark clouds along the foaming waves, and played round the ship. The officers were shouting to the men—many, with axes and knives in their hands, rushing here and there at the risk of their lives to cut clear the blocks and the wreck of the spars, without which it was scarcely possible to go aloft to furl the remaining sails.

Waymouth at once saw that the only safe course to pursue was to put the ship before the wind. As he issued the required orders he looked out for the admiral’s ship, but the signal lanterns at her stern were nowhere to be seen. Mr Carlingford asserted that they were close to them when the squall struck the ship; so did Stanhope, who did the duty of a signal midshipman. The captain could only hope, therefore, that the admiral had at once bore up when the hurricane struck his ship. Two lights were still visible in the direction the other ships were supposed to be, but at some distance, and the Lion was apparently fast leaving them. Her crew had indeed enough to do to attend to themselves—their own safety demanded all their energies. Waymouth’s firm, commanding voice soon called order out of chaos. The ship answered her helm, and, getting before the wind once more, rose on an even keel, and flew rushing on through the darkness. Sail after sail was taken in—the loftier masts and spars had been carried away by the wind, and were mostly cut clear of the ship. The foretopmast had escaped being hit in the action, and had stood. The hurricane was increasing in power, rolling up the ocean into huge seas; higher and higher they grew, their crests curling masses of foam, following eagerly astern as wild beasts in pursuit of their flying prey. Often, while the forked lightning played round the ship, had the captain gazed anxiously at the foretopmast to ascertain how it stood the increasing pressure deprived of its usual support. He scarcely hoped to save it. The hurricane gave no signs of abating; on the contrary, it was increasing in strength.

“It must be done!” he exclaimed, seizing a sharp axe; “better choose our time than let it fall when we are unprepared. Volunteers to cut away the foretopmast!”

“I’ll go,” cried Miles Carlingford, and his words were echoed by several others.

“No, Carlingford; you stay to take care of the ship. I can let no man lead but myself in a task of such peril.”

Marston and Stanhope both volunteered, but the captain ordered them to remain with the lieutenant.

Followed by a daring crew, Waymouth sprang aloft, each man armed with axe or knife. Some remained on deck to cut the ropes which led down there. All had their tasks assigned them. The least important ropes and stays were first severed.

“Remember, lads, wait till I give the word, and then cut with a will,” cried the captain. As he stood on the top his axe was lifted in the air. “Cut!” he shouted, as, gleaming in the lightning, it descended with a force which half severed through the spar. Over it fell with a crash into the sea, and, free from all ropes, floated clear of the ship. The crew uttered a hearty cheer as the captain descended on deck after the performance of this gallant and skilful act without the loss of a man. None cheered more loudly than the boatswain and his two mates.

The ship drove on before the hurricane, but, relieved of so much top hamper, she laboured far less than she had been doing. The storm had not abated its fury; the mad waves followed fiercely after the ship, and leaped up, foam-covered, on either side, threatening to fall down on her decks and sweep everybody from off them, or to send the stout bark herself to the bottom. The thunder roared loudly as at first, the lightning flashed vividly as ever, and ran its zigzag course crackling and hissing through the air, and along the summits of the waves, and round the storm-driven ship, now seeming to dart along her spars, and then to light with a lambent flame the summit of her masts.

The crew were collected on deck ready for any work required of them, sheltering themselves as best they could under the bulwarks for fear of being washed away. Waymouth stood with his first lieutenant on the aftercastle away from the crew. He told him of the conspiracy of which he had gained information.