My Danish Sweetheart: A Novel. Volume 1 of 3Russell, William Clark
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My Danish Sweetheart: A Novel. Volume 1 of 3
Russell, William Clark
Adventure stories; Fiction; Love stories; Sea stories
With the utmost labour and distress we made our way aft. The flare had
been extinguished by the heavy falls of water, and it was worse than
walking blindfolded. The binnacle-light was burning--this was, indeed,
to be expected. The barque was plunging directly head to wind, and a
glance at the card enabled me to know that the gale was blowing almost
due east, having shifted, as these cyclonic ragings often do, right into
the quarter opposite whence it had come.
'We must endeavour to get her before it,' I cried; 'but I am no sailor.
There may come another shift, and we ought to clear the land while the
hurricane holds as it does. What is to be done?'
'Will she pay off if the helm is put hard over?' he answered. 'Let us
try it!'
He seized the spokes on one side; I put my shoulder to the wheel on the
other, and thus we jammed and secured the helm into the posture called
by sailors 'hard a-starboard.' She fell off, indeed--into the trough,
and there she lay, amid such a diabolical play of water, such lashings
of seas on both sides, as it is not in mortal pen to portray!
Had we been in the open ocean, a better attitude than the barque herself
had taken up we could not have wished for. She was, indeed, 'hove-to,'
as the sea-expression is, giving something of her bow to the wind, and
was in that posture which the shipmaster will put his vessel into in
such a tempest as was now blowing. But, unhappily, the land was on
either hand of us, and though our drift might be straight out to sea, I
could not be sure that it was. The tide would be making to the west and
north; the coils and pyramids and leapings of surge had also a sort of
yearning and leaning towards north-west, as if in sympathy with the
tide; the deadly terrace of Hurricane Point lay that way; and so the
leaving of the barque in the trough of the sea might come, indeed, to
cost us our lives, which had only just been spared by the shift in the
storm of wind.
'She does not answer the helm,' I cried to my young companion.
'Her head will pay off,' he answered, 'if we can manage to hoist a
fragment of sail forward. It _must_ be done, sir. Will you help me?'
'God knows I will do anything!' I cried. 'Show me what is to be done. We
must save our lives if we can. There may be a chance out on the ocean
for us.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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