Something more he said to the same effect. It was good advice at the proper time. I am sorry to say that it was very little heeded, or, at all events, very quickly forgotten. Two of those who stood by and heard it, were themselves, within two days, called to their last and dread account. Mr Vernon took it very much to heart; anxious and agitated as he had been of late, his nerves were much shaken, and I feared that he would be the next victim. He bore up bravely, like a Christian, for some time; but, as one after another of the crew was taken ill, he succumbed, not to the malady itself, but to very weariness, and was compelled to take to his cot. My commander’s illness threw a larger amount of responsibility on me than I had ever before enjoyed. I felt on a sadden grown wonderfully manful, and did my best to be up to my duty. Watson, the quartermaster, was a great aid to me. The old man seemed never to want sleep. He was on deck at all hours, constantly on the look-out, or seeing that the sentries were on the alert. Perhaps he did not place full confidence in my experience. We had had light winds or calms, with a hot burning sun, and sultry nights, for nearly a week. When this weather commenced, the plague appeared. The barometer had been falling for some hours; but still there was no other indication of a change of weather. A fourth man was taken ill. I had gone below to report the case to Mr Vernon, when I heard Watson’s voice, in quick eager tones, calling the people on deck to shorten sail. I sprang up the companion-ladder. The sea was as smooth as glass, and the sky was bright and clear enough in the south-east, whence a small dark cloud came sweeping up at a rapid rate towards us. I perceived that there was not a moment to lose. The people sprang to the halyards and brails; but before all the sail could be taken off the vessel, the squall had struck her. Over she went on her beam-ends. A cry of terror was heard above the roar of the wind in the rigging, and the rattling of ropes and blocks, and the dash of the surging waves. The water almost reached the combings of the hatches: everybody on deck thought we were gone. Two of the men were washed overboard. Watson, who was aft, hove one of them a rope. He seized it with convulsive energy: his life, dear to the meanest, depended on the firmness of his grasp. We hauled him in out of the seething cauldron; but the other poor fellow drifted far away. To the last he kept his straining eyes fixed on the vessel. He was a strong swimmer, and struck out bravely—lifting himself, every now and then, high out of the water, as if that useless exertion of strength could bring him nearer to us. Perhaps he was looking for a plank, or something to make for, to support himself. Unhappily, none was hove to him in time. All hands were too much occupied in the means for preserving their own lives. Weak and ill as he was, Mr Vernon had rushed on deck as he felt the vessel going over. He had ordered the helm to be put up; and Watson had seized an axe, waiting his directions to cut away the mainmast, when the throat-halyard block parted, the peak-halyards had already been let go, and the mainsail coming in of itself, the vessel righted in an instant; then, feeling her helm, and the headsail being yet set, she flew off before the squall. While we were rejoicing at our own preservation, we almost forgot our poor shipmate. Never can I forget the cry of despair he gave as he saw us flying from him. He knew full well that it was impossible for us to return; not a spar or plank was near to support him, to prolong his life even for a few short hours. The brig, also, was too far away to leeward to render him any help; so that aid from man he had none. Lifting up his arms, with eyeballs starting from his head, he gave one last look at us; and then, uttering a cry of agony, sunk for ever. It had been dreadful to see strong men struck down by the plague, and die by rapid degrees; but I know not whether a scene like this was not still more harrowing. In the course of an hour we had run out of the squall, and the weather had become cool and refreshing. The squall had one very beneficial result, for no other persons were attacked with the plague, and the man who was suffering from it began rapidly to recover. Vernon also sensibly felt the change in the weather, and every day I saw an improvement; though the causes of his illness were too deeply seated to callow the atmosphere to have much effect on him. We very soon repaired the damages which the schooner had sustained, and by the next morning we were all to rights. Our chief anxiety was for the brig. We had lost sight of her in the squall, and we could not tell whether she had been more prepared than we were to meet its fury. Even had she not suffered from the gale, the plague might have broken out in her. Mr Vernon came occasionally on deck, but he was compelled, from weakness, to spend the greater part of the day in his cot, though this was very much against his inclination. We had in vain questioned and cross-questioned our prisoners, to discover if they knew anything of the fate of the Ariadne, but not a particle of information could we obtain; and I was myself satisfied that they really knew nothing about her. Our late peril suggested a new cause of alarm to the mind of Mr Vernon, which apparently had not before occurred to him; and he began to fear that the vessel in which the Normans had sailed might have been overtaken by one of those white squalls so common in the Mediterranean, and might have suffered the fate we so narrowly escaped. Since the squall, our prisoners had remained unusually quiet; though, while the plague was aboard, they were as noisy and blasphemous in their conversation as ever. The sick man continued in the same state as before, though he seemed more reserved when I spoke to him than he had been at one time. He continued reading all day, as long as there was light, and asked to be allowed to have a candle to read at night; but this, of course, could not be permitted. There was evidently something working in his mind, which he would gladly be rid of, but could not. Having lost so many hands, the duty fell, naturally, more severely on the survivors; and we had enough to do to keep watch on deck, and a vigilant guard over our prisoners.
One night I had charge of the deck. Besides the man at the helm there was the look-out forward, and two hands lying down by the windlass. There was no moon, and the sky was covered with clouds, so that it was very dark. As I kept moving about, now looking out to windward, now over the lee-side, and then at the binnacle, to see that the schooner was kept on her proper course, I fancied that I saw a dark figure come up the main-hatchway; and while I stopped at the waist, I heard a voice, in a low whisper, say—
“Hist, sir, hist! I want to speak to you.”
“Who is it?” said I, in the same low tone.
“Bobby Smudge, sir; listen: there are not many moments to lose, before we shall all have our throats cut, if we don’t take care.”
This piece of intelligence put me on the qui vive, though, remembering Master Smudge’s pranks, I own that I did not much credit it.
“Come here,” said I, rather impatiently, “and let me know all about it.”
“I didn’t like to be seen, sir,” he replied, coming cautiously up to me, and looking round to ascertain that no one was near. “I don’t know, sir, who’s a friend and who’s an enemy aboard here, just now.”
“What do you mean, boy?” I asked.
“Why, just this, sir. That thundering scoundrel below there, is just trying hard to turn all the men’s heads; and if we don’t look alive, he’ll do it, too.”