“Her hours are numbered,” he said. “No art of mine can save her.”
The Action.
Calm and treacherously beautiful as was the morning on which Captain Staunton regained his ship, scarcely had she got under way to stand in closer to the mouth of the river, in order to watch more narrowly for the schooner, should she attempt to run out, than a dark cloud was seen rising over the land. It appeared on a sudden, and extended rapidly, till it spread over the whole eastern sky.
“I fear that it will not do with the weather we have in prospect to send the boats up the river again to retrieve our defeat, Mr Collins,” said Captain Staunton, pointing to the threatening sky.
“I think not, sir, with you,” answered the lieutenant; “in fact, if I may advise, the sooner we shorten sail the better, or we may have it down upon us before we are prepared.”
“You are right, Mr Collins; shorten sail as soon as you please,” said the captain.
“All hands shorten sail,” was sung along the decks.
“Aloft there”—“Lay out”—“Be smart about it”—“In with every thing”—“Let fly”—“Haul down”—“Brail up”—“Be smart, it will be down upon us thick and strong, in a moment”—“Up with the helm”—“Look out there aloft”—“Be smart, my lads.”
Such were the different orders issued, and exclamations uttered in succession by the officers.
A moment before, the sea was smooth as glass, and the brig had scarcely steerage-way. Now the loud roaring of the angry blast was heard, and the flapping of the yet unfolded canvas against the masts; the ocean was a sheet of white foam, and the sky a canopy of inky hue. Away the brig flew before it, leaving the land astern, her sails were closely furled, and she remained unharmed, not a spar was sprung, not a rope carried away, not a sail injured. Thus she flew on under bare poles till the squall subsided as quickly as it had arisen, and sail was again made to recover the ground they had lost.