The second-mate, who was in charge of the deck, was standing on the poop regarding this phenomenon with a doubtful expression of visage, which gave place to one of unmistakable relief when he saw the skipper on deck.
“That looks like a squall coming down, sir”—he began. But Captain Blyth had no time to attend to him just then; he saw that there was not a moment to be lost, and turning his back unceremoniously upon Mr. Willoughby he shouted:
“Stand by your topsail-halliards here, the watch! Hurry up, my lads, or we shall lose the sticks! Let run, fore and aft!”
The men, who saw what was coming, and had been expecting the call, sprang at once to their stations, let go the halliards, and then helped the revolving yards down by manning the topsail-clewlines, by which means the three topsails were snugly close-reefed by the moment that the squall burst upon them. There was no time to do more or Captain Blyth would have taken the courses off the ship. As it was she had to bear them; and so heavy was the squall that during its height the vessel was compelled to run dead before it. Her head was, however, brought to the southward the moment that it was safe to do so, and away she went like a frightened thing, tearing through the surges with her lee gunwale under. The first fury of the squall was spent in about a quarter of an hour, but it continued to blow with great violence until noon, when the gale broke and the crew were able to take a pull of a few feet upon the topsail-halliards. By eight bells in the afternoon watch the ship was under whole topsails once more, with a clear sea all round her and a rapidly clearing sky; and at ten o’clock that same evening, when Captain Blyth entered the saloon, after personally superintending the setting of the topgallant-sails, he announced not only that there was every prospect of a fine night and a steady breeze, but also that he believed they had caught the south-east trades.
Chapter Five.
The derelict barque.
The next morning demonstrated the correctness of Captain Blyth’s surmise; for daylight found them with the breeze still steady at about east by south, and so fresh that they were compelled to keep all their skysails and the mizen-royal stowed. Needless to say, everybody was delighted at having slipped through the Doldrums so easily; even the chief-mate almost allowed himself now and then to be betrayed into an expression of dawning amiability; and, as for Captain Blyth, his exuberance of spirits threatened at times to pass all bounds. He believed it quite impossible that the Southern Cross could now cross the line in less than three days, at least, after himself; and the way in which the Flying Cloud, against a fair amount of head sea and on a taut bowline, was steadily reeling off her eight, nine, and sometime even ten knots per hour, with her really extraordinary weatherliness, quite convinced him that he could beat his antagonist in any weather which would permit him to show his topgallant-sails to it.
This state of general satisfaction and good humour was at its height, when about ten o’clock on that same morning, a man who was at work on the weather fore-topsail-yard-arm hailed the deck with:
“On deck, there! There is a wreck, or something like it, broad on our weather-beam, and about nine mile off.”
Captain Blyth was on deck, and so was Ned; and the skipper immediately ordered that young gentleman to go aloft with his glass to see if he could make out the object.
Ned was soon in the main-topmast cross-trees, from which elevated stand-point he was at once enabled to make out the whereabouts of the supposed wreck with the naked eye, and he was not long in bringing his glass to bear upon it.
“Well, Ned, my hearty,” hailed the skipper, when the lad had been working away in a puzzled manner with his telescope, “that you see something is perfectly evident. What d’ye make her out to be?”
“It is not very easy to say, sir,” replied Ned. “The light is so dazzling in that quarter that I can see nothing but a dark patch; but it looks more like a vessel on her beam-ends than anything else. But, if it is so, she is lying over so much that her sails are in the water.”
“Phew!” whistled the skipper. “We must have a look at her; it will never do to leave a ship in such a fix as that. Can you see any people on board her, Ned?”
“No, sir,” was the answer. “But if there are people on board it would be impossible to make them out from our present position.”
“No, no,” muttered the skipper, “I don’t suppose it would; of course not. Hark ye, Ned; just stay where you are, my lad, and let me know when we have brought the wreck a good couple of points abaft our beam, and in the meantime take a look round with your glass and see if you can make out anything like a boat anywhere.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied Ned, settling himself into a comfortable, easy position in the cross-trees, somewhat to the secret trepidation of Miss Stanhope, who was watching his movements with a great deal of undemonstrative interest, and who every moment dreaded that the young man’s careless attitude, coupled with the pitching of the ship, would result in a fall. Nothing of the kind, however, happened; and in due time Ned hailed:
“I think we can fetch her now, sir. I can make her out much better than I could a quarter of an hour ago; and I believe she is a ship on her beam-ends. I can see nothing of boats in any direction, sir.”
“Very well,” replied Captain Blyth. “Stay where you are, nevertheless, and continue to keep a bright look-out. We will tack the ship, if you please, Mr. Bryce.”
“Ay, ay, sir. Hands ’bout ship!” responded the chief-mate; and in a minute or two the men were at their stations.
“All ready, sir!” reported Mr. Bryce Captain Blyth walked aft to the mizen-rigging, signed to the helmsman, and gave the word:
“Helm’s a-lee!”
“Helm’s a-lee,” responded the men, lifting the coiled-up braces and so on from the pins and throwing them down on the deck all ready for running.
The ship shot handsomely up into the wind; and the word was given to “raise tacks and sheets,” quickly followed by the other commands; and in a couple of minutes the Flying Cloud was round and heading well up for the wreck, whilst the crew bowsed down the fore and main tacks simultaneously with the aid of a couple of watch tackles.
To the honour of Captain Blyth be it said that, though his interest in the race between his own ship and the Southern Cross was as ardent as though his very life depended upon its result, not one single murmur escaped him on account of this delay; for delay it certainly was. No; apart, perhaps, from the passengers, he of all on board betrayed the most anxiety respecting the crew of the distressed vessel.
In an hour the Flying Cloud was hove-to abreast and close
The little party had some difficulty in boarding the derelict, for she was lying broadside-on to the wind, with her masts pointing to windward; and though there was no very great amount of sea running, there was still sufficient to make boarding from to windward an awkward if not an absolutely dangerous matter, in consequence of the raffle of spars and cordage in the water. But they succeeded at last; Mr. Gaunt and the mate contriving to gain a footing in the main-rigging, whilst the boat with her crew backed off again out of harm’s way.