“We must either compel the Lascars to assist us in bending sails and getting the anchor ready, or attack them and drive them overboard,” said the boatswain to me.
“That cannot be done without bloodshed, I fear,” I answered, “for they are armed as well as we are.”
Thus the two parties remained watching each other. Our men were eager to make a dash forward and attack the Lascars, but the boatswain restrained them.
“Wait a bit, lads,” he said; “maybe they will attack us, and then, if we beat them, as I am very sure we shall, we shall not have their blood on our hands. Depend upon it, if they slipped the cables—and I am very sure they did—they did not expect the hurricane to continue so long as it has done. They wish it over as much as we do; and, like many other villains, in attempting to work us injury they are likely enough to bring destruction on their own heads.”
Hour after hour passed by, and once more the land seemed to recede from us, and we were in the open sea. The wind had slightly gone down, but still it blew with fearful violence. Again darkness was stealing over us. Our deck presented a strange appearance—a very sad one, in truth. The small number of human beings there collected, instead of helping each other, stood prepared for a desperate fight. Possibly, if it had not been for the Lascars, we might long since have been anchored in safety. I saw by the chart that several small islands, rocks, and shoals lay ahead. Should we escape them? There was the question. Several times the boatswain, or Roger Trew, or one of the other men, had ascended the main rigging to look ahead in search of land. However, so high did the sea run, that we might be close upon an island, unless it was a high one, without discovering it.
The increasing darkness now prevented us seeing beyond the bowsprit. All we could do, therefore, was to steer as we had hitherto done before the sea, to escape its breaking on board us. We had scarcely eaten anything for some hours, when the boatswain advised us to take some food. “Whatever happens, we have work before us; and we must keep the strength in our bodies,” he observed. Fortunately there was a good supply in the cabin, and half our party went down at a time to sup, leaving the others on guard on deck. All hands had just taken a hearty meal, when, as we were collected together on the quarter-deck, just below the poop, the sound a seaman most dreads—the roar of breakers—struck our ears. We all listened attentively. There could be no doubt about it. It was far deeper and louder than the roaring of the sea against our sides. I held my breath; so I suspect did every one round me.
“What is it, Mr Walter?” asked Oliver, who was standing close to me.
“Some of us will meet with watery graves before many minutes are over,” said the boatswain, “unless Providence works a miracle to save the ship.”
Scarcely had he spoken when we felt the ship rising to a heavy sea, then down she came with a crash which made every timber in her quiver and shake.
“To the main rigging!” cried the boatswain, seizing me by the collar. I saw Roger Trew seize Oliver in the same way. “Quick, quick, lads! or the next sea will wash you off the deck,” cried the boatswain.