The barometer, too, supporting the opinion of the weather-wise, was falling, indicating a change of weather. Meantime, the Chinese on shore seemed to be greatly excited. We saw, stuck out from many of their houses, long poles, twenty or thirty feet high, with huge lanterns at the end of them, ornamented with grotesque-looking figures of various sorts. Then began the beating of gongs, the firing of crackers, and the explosion of little bamboo petards, from one end of the town to the other, and from all the boats along the shore. The Chinese might possibly have thought that their fireworks had produced some effect, for the day passed by and no typhoon broke over us. At night, however, dark clouds again collected overhead, out of which the most vivid lightning shot incessantly. For an instant the whole sky was lighted up, and the numerous vessels in the harbour, and the distant shores, could be seen clearly. Then all again was pitchy darkness. The night passed away, however, without any incident worthy of note. In the morning, Mr Ormsby, who had been on board the Roarer, came back, and said that he had received orders to convey the junk to Macao.
“Then I am afraid our independent cruise will be up,” I heard Mr Plumb observe to Mr Hanson.
We accordingly got under weigh, and stood out of the harbour. We had not, however, proceeded far, when the threatening appearances of the weather returned. Again the clouds collected, the lightning flashed vividly, and sudden gusts came furiously off the land. Mr Ormsby hailed, and ordered us to bring up under the high shore, a couple of miles to windward, he setting us the example. A few tacks brought the Fawn to an anchorage, when her topmasts were struck, and every preparation was made for the typhoon, which, it was now evident, was about to commence. We were some way astern of the schooner, when down came a fierce blast with tremendous force upon us. The sails were lowered, and the huge anchor let go.
“The craft will ride it out after all, I believe,” said Mr Hanson, watching to ascertain whether the junk was driving.
“That’s more than any other ship will do,” observed Ned Rawlings, pointing to the vessels in the distance, many of which were now driving away furiously before the wind; and already the sea was covered with the wrecks of native vessels, to which numerous persons—both men and women and children—were clinging desperately, as they drove onward before the wind.
Fearful must have been the destruction of life and property in that crowded harbour. However, we had to think about ourselves. The typhoon was increasing in fury; it seemed to be working itself up like a man getting into a rage. A blast ten times stronger than the first now struck us.
“She has parted, sir,” cried Ned Rawlings.
Away we drove before the wind. At first we went sideways, and it seemed as if every instant we should be blown over. The helm however, was put up, and away we drifted right before the gale; the farther we got from the shore the higher the seas became, and the stronger the wind. Mr Hanson looked grave; there was good reason for his so doing, for the junk began to pitch and roll in the most furious manner, while the seas danced up round her, seeming determined to come on board. At times, it seemed scarcely possible that we could hold on to her deck; we felt somewhat like peas on a drum—jumping up and down, with the prospect of being jerked overboard every instant. As to setting sail, that was impossible; for even had a foot of the bamboo-matting been presented to the wind it would have been blown away. The junk, flimsy as she looked outside, was strongly built, so that there was less risk of her going to pieces than might have been supposed. I asked Rawlings what he thought about the matter.
“Well, Jack,” he said, “if we can keep the open sea the old tea-chest may float; but if we get the coast under our lee we shall drive ashore and go to pieces.”
More than once Mr Hanson looked astern.