class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="19"/> by the dazzling flashes which passed through it.

It passed as suddenly as it had come, and left us still in a breathless calm, drenched, terrified, and motionless.

It grew lighter to windward, and I felt a small air blowing on my streaming face; lighter still, though to leeward the storm was raging and roaring, and passing with its darkness like some unearthly night.

I squeezed the water out of my eyes, and saw the wind come rushing towards us upon the sea, whilst all overhead the sky was a broad lead-coloured space.

"Now, bo'sun," I roared, "stand by!"

He came out from under the grating, and took a grip of the rail.

"Here it comes!" he cried; "and by the holy poker," he added, "here comes the long-boat atop of it!"

I could only cast one brief glance in the direction indicated, where, sure enough, I saw the long-boat flying towards us on a surface of foam. In an instant the gale struck the ship and over she heeled, laying her port bulwark close down upon the water. But there she stopped.

"Had we had whole topsails," I cried, "it would have been Amen!"

I waited a moment or two before deciding whether to put the helm up and run. If this was the worst of it, the ship would do as she was. But in that time the long-boat, urged furiously forward by the sail they still kept on her, passed close under our stern. Twice, before she reached us, I saw them try to bring her so as to come alongside, and each time I held my breath, for I knew that the moment they brought her broadside to the wind she would capsize.

May God forbid that ever I should behold such a sight again!

It was indescribably shocking to see them swept helplessly past within hail of us. There were seven men in her. Two of them cried out and raved furiously, entreating with dreadful, mad gesticulations as they whirled past. But the rest, some clinging to the mast, others seated with their arms folded, were silent, like dead men already, with fixed and staring eyes—a ghastly crew. I saw one of the two raving men spring on to the gunwale, but he was instantly pulled down by another.

But what was there to see? It was a moment's horror—quick-vanishing as some monstrous object leaping into sight under a flash of lightning, then instantaneously swallowed up in the devouring gloom.

Our ship had got way upon her, and was surging forward with her lee-channels under water. The long-boat dwindled away on our quarter, the spray veiling her as she fled, and in a few minutes was not to be distinguished upon the immeasurable bed of foam and wave, stretching down to the livid storm that still raged upon the far horizon.

"My God!" exclaimed Cornish, who stood near the wheel unnoticed by me. "I might ha' been in her! I might ha' been in her!"

And he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed and shook with the horror of the scene, and the agony of the thoughts it had conjured up.

CHAPTER II.

I hardly knew what to make of the weather, for though it blew very hard the wind was not so violent as it had been during those three days which I have written of in another part of this story.

The ship managed to hold her own well, with her head at west; I mean that she went scraping through the water, making very little lee-way, and so far she could fairly well carry the three close-reefed topsails, though I believe that had another yard of canvas more than was already exposed been on her, she would have lain down and never righted again, so violent was the first clap and outfly of the wind.

Nevertheless, I got the boatswain to take the wheel, and sent Cornish forward to stand by the fore-topsail sheets, whilst I kept by the mizzen, for I was not at all sure that the terrific thunder-storm that had broken over us was not the precursor of a hurricane, to come down at any moment on the gale that was already blowing, and wreck the ship out of hand.

In this way twenty minutes passed, when finding the wind to remain steady, I sang out to Cornish that he might come aft again. As I never knew the moment when a vessel might heave in sight I bent on the small ensign and ran it half-way up at the gaff end, not thinking it judicious to exhibit a train of flag-signals in so much wind. I then took the telescope, and, setting it steady in the mizzen rigging, slowly and carefully swept the weather horizon, and afterwards transferred the glass to leeward, but no ship was to be seen.

"We ought to be in the track o' some sort o' wessels, too," exclaimed the boatswain, who had been awaiting the result of my inspections. "The steamers from Liverpool to New Orleans, and the West Indie mail-ships 'ud come right across this way, wouldn't they?"

"Not quite so far north," I answered. "But there ought to be no lack of sailing ships from all parts—from England to the southern ports of the United States and North America—from American ports to Rio and the eastern coast of South America. They cannot keep us long waiting. Something must heave in sight soon."

"Suppose we sight a wessel, what do you mean to do, sir?"

"Ask them to let me have a few men to work the ship to the nearest port."

"But suppose they're short-handed?"

"Then they won't oblige us."

"I can't see myself, sir," said he, "why, instead o' tryin' to fetch Bermuda, we shouldn't put the helm up and square away for England. How might the English Channel lie as we now are?"

"A trifle to the east'ard of north-east."

"Well, this here's a fair wind for it."

"That's true; but will you kindly remember that the ship's company consists of three men."

"Of four, countin' the steward, and five, countin' Miss Robertson."

"Of three men, I say, capable of working the vessel."

"Well, yes; you're right. Arter all, there's only three to go aloft."

"I suppose you know," I continued, "that it would take a sailing ship, properly manned, four or five weeks to make the English Channel."

"Well, sir."

"Neither you, nor I, nor Cornish could do without sleep for four or five weeks."

"We could keep regular watches, Mr. Royle."

"I dare say we could; but we should have to let the ship remain under reefed topsails. But instead of taking four or five weeks, we should take four or five months to reach England under close-reefed topsails, unless we could keep a gale of wind astern of us all the way. I'll tell you what it is, bo'sun, these exploits are very pretty, and appear very possible in books, and persons who take anything that is told them about the sea as likely and true, believe they can be accomplished. And on one or two occasions they have been accomplished. Also I have heard on one occasion a gentleman made a voyage from Timor to Bathurst Island on the back of a turtle. But the odds, in my unromantic opinion, are a thousand to one against our working the ship home as we are, unless we can ship a crew on the road, and very shortly. And how can we be sure of this? There is scarce a ship goes to sea now that is not short-handed. We may sight fifty vessels, and get no help from one of them. They may all be willing to take us on board if we abandon the Grosvenor; but they'll tell us that they can give us no assistance to work her. Depend upon it, our wisest course is to make Bermuda. There, perhaps, we may pick up some hands. But if we head for England in this trim—a deep ship, with heavy gear to work, and but two seamen to depend