through the rain, and showing it glitter; while every five minutes
came a burst of thunder and then a rattle fit to split one's ears.
At length, just as the rain began to slacken, you could see it lift
bodily, the standing sheets of it drove right against our canvass and
through the awnings,--when we made out the French brig with her jib,
topsails, and boom-mainsail full, leaning over as she clove through
it before the wind. The squall burst into our wet topsails as loud as
the thunder, with a flash almost like the lightning itself, taking us
broad abeam; the ship groaned and shook for a minute ere gathering way
and falling off, and when she rose and began to go plunging through
the black surges, no brig was to be seen: every man on deck let his
breath out almost in a cry, scarce feeling as yet but it was equal
to losing sight for ever of our late shipmates, or the least hope of
them. The passengers, ladies and all, crowded in the companion-hatch
in absolute terror, every face aghast, without thinking of the rain
and spray: now and then the sulky crest of a bigger wave would be
caught sight of beyond the bulwarks, as the sea rose with its green
back curling over into white; and you'd have said the shudder ran down
into the cabin, at thought of seeing one or other of the lost boat's
crew come weltering up from the mist and vanish again. I knew it was
of no use, but held on in the weather mizen-rigging, and looked out
to westward, against a wild break of light which the setting sun made
through the troughs of the sea; once and again I could fancy I saw the
boat lift keel up, far off betwixt me and the fierce glimmer. "Oh,
do you see them? _do_ you not see it yet!" was passed up to me over
and over, from one sharp-pitched voice to another; but all I could
answer was to shake my head. At last, one by one, they went below;
and after what had happened, I must say I could easily fancy what a
chill, dreary-like, awful notion of the sea must have come for the
first time on a landsman, not to speak of delicate young girls fresh
from home: at sight of the drenched quarterdeck leaning bare down to
leeward, the sleet and spray battering bleak against the round-house
doors, where I had seen Miss Hyde led sobbing in, with her wet hair
about her face; then the ship driving off from where she had lost
them, with her three strong lower-masts aslant into the gale, ghastly
white and dripping--her soaked sheets of canvass blown gray and stiff
into the rigging, and it strained taut as iron; while you saw little
of her higher than the tops, as the scud and the dark together closed
aloft. Poor Miss Fortescue's mother was in fits below in her berth--the
two watches were on the yards aloft, where no eye could see them,
struggling hard to furl and reef; so altogether it was a gloomy enough
moment. I stayed awhile on deck, wrapped in a peacoat, keeping my
feet and hanging on, and thinking how right down in earnest matters
_could_ turn of a sudden.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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