My father overheard him. “We call it the phosphorescence of the sea, because it resembles the glow emitted by phosphorus,” he answered. “Those who have studied the subject say that it is caused by the presence of myriads of minute marine organisms, some soft and gelatinous, and others—such as the Crustacea—of a hard nature; but, in reality, under some conditions of the atmosphere all sorts of marine creatures, like those huge medusae, shine both in the water and out of it.”
This appearance continued many hours. I got up Edith, who had already retired to her cabin, to look at it. She was as delighted as we were, and wanted us to have a bucketful brought on deck. Greatly to our surprise, the water in the bucket shone almost as brilliantly as it did in the ocean.
The next day the wind changed, and the weather became much worse than it had been since we had been taken on board. The wind was continually shifting, now coming from one quarter and now from another. I saw that my father was unusually anxious. He felt that the safety of the vessel, and the lives of all on board, depended on him. It was a long time since he had been at sea, and he had never been off this coast before. I believe that it would have been better for us had we at once stood off the land. It was too late to hope to do so, when the wind, coming round to the eastward, began to blow a perfect hurricane. My father then hoped to find shelter within the coral reefs which ran along the coast at a distance of from five to a dozen miles, on which Captain Cook’s ship, the Endeavour, was nearly cast away, in his first voyage.
Soon after daybreak, the hurricane came down with redoubled fury. The brig was hove-to under close-reefed fore-topsails. She behaved well; and we hoped, believing that we were still some thirty miles or more from the coast, that she would not near the reefs till the gale had abated. An anxious look-out, however, was kept all day to leeward. My father did not tell my mother and Edith the danger we were in, but merely begged them to remain in the cabin.
It was about three o’clock in the afternoon, when the first mate, who had been seated in the main-top looking out, came down on deck, and gave my father the alarming intelligence that he saw a line of breakers to leeward, extending north and south as far as the eye could reach.
“Could you discover no opening in them?” asked my father.
“I am not certain at this distance that there is none, though the line of surf appeared to me without a break for its whole length,” was the answer.
“It will take us some time to drift so far, at all events,” observed my father; “and before then the wind may come down.”
The mate looked anxiously to the eastward. “I don’t see any sign of that,” he answered.
“We must trust in Providence, then,” said my father. “However, I will go aloft; and if we can discover an opening, we will endeavour to carry the ship through it.”