On the second morning, the gale at last began to break, shifting
southward; on which, as soon as the sea ran a little easier, I
had the helm cautiously put up at a favourable moment, the reefed
mainsail, fore-topmast-staysail, and square fore-topsail set as
she got before the wind, and away the schooner went; rising on the
wide deep-blue swells with a long roll in them, then shearing ahead
through their breasts, wrinkled and seething pale-green, till she
sank with the fall of the wave--the stump of her aftermast standing,
and the fore one shortened by the to'gallant-mast. You may easily
believe there was no one aboard more eager to get clear of this
weather than myself; as in ordinary circumstances, with a craft like
this, in two or three days more we might have been in a high enough
latitude to begin looking out for the Indiaman. For my part, I can't
deny that the wish for having Tom Westwood safe out of harm's way,
and with me in the schooner, strong as it was, played second to
the notion of seeing sweet Violet Hyde in any way again, if it was
only the last time before she went out of reach altogether; for her
getting amongst East India ways of doing, high-flying civilians and
soldiers, shows, and sights, either in Calcutta or up-country, was
equal to anything else, in my mind. Still, we had six or seven days
longer of the heavy seas and hard gales, before north-easting enough
could be made to take us beyond the Cape winter, just then coming
on, and which the Seringapatam had very likely escaped by two or
three days, so that she would have a considerable start of us.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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