Chapter Thirty Four.
Hurricane in the British Channel—Sir George Rooke takes Gibraltar—Sea-fight off Malaga.
On reaching England once more our hero had great hopes of being able to get on shore to visit his own family, as well as to make inquiries about Elizabeth, of whose arrival he had not yet heard. He had actually obtained leave to go on shore, and was proposing to set off the following day, when he experienced the truth of the old saying, “There is many a slip between the cup and the lip.”
On the 26th of November, while his ship lay in the Downs—the weather having hitherto been fine—about eleven o’clock, the wind began to blow most violently from the West South West. John Deane was the officer on watch. He had been walking the deck for some time, looking out on either side—for those were days when it was necessary for seamen to have their eyes about them—when he observed in the quarter from whence the wind was coming, bright flashes of lightning. Soon the sea appeared through the gloom covered with a sheet of foam. Every instant the lightning increased in vividness, and now loud roars of thunder reverberated through the sky. Clouds came rushing on in vast masses.
“Call the captain!” said Deane to the midshipmen of the watch. “We are going to have a night of it, and he’s not the man to remain in his bed at such a time. All hands on deck!” he shouted immediately afterwards.
The crew came rushing up from below with a speed which would have astonished any one not knowing how quickly sailors can put on their clothes, many of them, indeed, bringing them up in their hands and dressing on their way.
“Strike topgallant-masts!” he cried out. “Mr Grummit, range another cable for the best bower-anchor. We shall want every anchor out to-night.”
Scarcely had these judicious orders been given, when the captain himself came on deck and took the command, next ordering the top-sail-yards to be lowered and the top-masts to be housed.
Now, with a loud roar, the gale burst upon the fleet, which lay at anchor in that exposed situation. The sea rising rapidly, torn up by the furious tempest, caused the ships to pitch and roll in a fearful manner, as if it would wrench them from their anchors and drive them against the dangerous Goodwin Sands. As Jack looked out he could see, indeed, some of the ships torn away from their anchors, apparently, and driven hopelessly before the gale. Over others the sea was breaking furiously, sending the spray high above them, and seeming every moment about to carry them to the bottom. Those who had been in many a battle, and gone through many a storm, felt their hearts, for the first time perhaps, sinking with fear, as the thunder crashed above their heads and the lightning flashed about the masts, while the foaming seas dashed up and round them on every side. The position of the “Lennox” was indeed perilous in the extreme, and little comfort could her crew gain by watching the fate of others. A large ship lay within sight—she was the “Mary”—with Rear-Admiral Beaumont’s flag flying on board. Sea after sea came dashing and breaking over her. Now those whose eyes were turned in that direction saw that she began to move.
“She is driving! she is driving!” exclaimed several.