The Ouzel Galley behaved admirably; she ran on before the fast-rising seas roaring up alongside. The wind whistled in her rigging, and bright flashes of lightning darted from the black clouds now gathering thickly overhead.
As the night drew on the wind increased, and it was now blowing a regular hurricane; still, as long as there was plenty of sea room, no danger was to be apprehended, unless indeed, the ship should be struck by lightning, against which no skill or seamanship could guard. No one on board could hide from himself that such might possibly occur, as the flashes succeeded each other with still greater and greater rapidity, the lightning frequently running along the yards, now playing round the mast-heads, now darting over the foaming seas in snake-like forms. In the intervals between the flashes, so dense was the darkness that the eye failed to see half across the deck, and had another vessel been overtaken, the Ouzel Galley might have run her down before she could have been perceived. The canvas had been reduced to a single close-reefed fore-topsail, which so tugged and strained at the mast that every instant it seemed as if about to be torn out of the bolt-ropes. As long as the wind blew from the westward or south-west, the ship could run on with safety till she had got to the eastward of Cuba, and before that time there was every probability of the hurricane ceasing. Her only safe course was to keep directly before it, for if she were to bring the seas abeam, they would to a certainty sweep over her and carry everything before them.
Owen remained on deck, holding on to a stanchion, while two of his stoutest hands were at the wheel. For some hours he had stood at his post, feeling no apprehension of danger, when towards the end of the middle watch the wind shifted suddenly to the southward, blowing with even greater fury than before. The helm was put a-starboard, and the Ouzel Galley was now running towards the dangerous coast of Cuba. There was no help for it; but Owen expected, as is often the case during a hurricane, that ere long the wind would again shift.
For a short time there was a comparative lull, and all on board hoped that the gale was breaking.
“We shall be able, I am thinking, sir, to make sail and haul off from the shore by morning,” observed his first mate. “It is well not to get nearer the Cuba coast than we can help. There are not a few low keys and sandbanks to bring us up; or one of the enemy’s cruisers may be spying us, and it would give us a job to get away from her.”
“As to that, I am not much afraid,” answered Owen. “I shall be thankful when the hurricane is over and we can stand on our course.”
The hurricane, however, was not over. Again the wind struck the ship with tremendous force, the lightning, as before, playing round her, crackling and hissing as it touched the wildly tossing waves. Suddenly there came a frightful crash. The splinters flew on every side, and the tall mainmast, tottering for a moment, fell over the side, breaking away the bulwarks—either it or the lightning which had riven it killing three men who were standing near. In its fall it carried away the mizen-mast.
“Fire! fire! the ship is on fire!” shouted several voices. “Put it out, then, my lads, and clear away the wreck,” cried Owen, seizing an axe which hung inside the companion-hatch, he himself setting the example, which was followed by his mates and several others.
While one party was engaged in cutting away the shrouds and running rigging, so as to let the blazing mass fall into the water, another was handing up buckets and throwing water over the stump of the mainmast. The wreck of the mast being got rid of, the flames on deck were soon extinguished; but a cry came from below that the heel of the mast was on fire.
“We shall soon put that out, lads,” cried Owen, with all the calmness he could assume; and leading the way into the hold, bucket in hand, he forced a passage through a dense mass of smoke until he reached the seat of the fire.