George Henty - By Right of Conquest; Or, With Cortez in Mexico

"We are safe now," Reuben said, exultantly. "We are to windward of them all, and shall have them well out of sight, before morning."

When day broke, indeed, the topsails of three of the Spanish ships could be seen on the horizon; but in two or three hours these sank out of sight, and the Swan was headed on her course west.

For six days the Swan sailed westward before a gentle wind. Then clouds were seen rising in the north, and spreading with great rapidity across the horizon.

"We are in for a tempest," Captain Reuben said. "Never have I seen the clouds rising more rapidly.

"Get her sail off her, Standing, as quickly as possible."

The crew fell to work, and in a very few minutes the Swan was stripped of the greater part of her canvas. But quickly as the men worked, the storm came up more rapidly, and the crew had but half finished their work when, with a roar and turmoil that almost bewildered them, the gale struck the vessel. Her head had been laid to the south, so that the wind should take her astern; and it was well that it was so, for had it struck her on the beam, she would assuredly have been capsized, even had not a rag of canvas been shown, for the wind would have caught her lofty forecastle and poop. As it was she plunged heavily forward, quivering as if from a blow. Then her bluff bows bore her up and, with a leap, she sprang forward and sped along before the gale.

"I have seen as sudden a squall among the Greek islands," Captain Reuben shouted in the mate's ear; "but never elsewhere. I hope that this may prove as short as do the gales in that quarter."

"I hope so," the mate replied, "for we know not how far the land may be distant."

But though the captain knew it not, they had been caught in one of those furious gales that were, afterwards, the terror of the Spaniards; blowing for a week or ten days without intermission, and being the cause of the wreck of many a stout ship. The sea got up rapidly, and the wind seemed to increase in fury as night fell, and for three days the ship ran before it. The waist was frequently deluged with water, and it required six men at the helm to keep her straight before the wind.

The crew were worn out with fatigue and want of sleep, for running as they were in this unknown sea, none could say what might happen, or when land might be sighted ahead. The captain never left the poop–he and the mates taking their places, by turn, with the men at the helm; for the slightest error in steering might have caused the vessel to broach to, in which case nothing could have saved her. Sheltered as was the caboose, it was found impossible to keep a fire alight, and officers and men, alike, had to content themselves with biscuit and draughts of ale.

The vessel rolled till her bulwarks were under water, and the yardarms at times dipped into the sea, and the men on deck were forced to lash themselves to some standing object, to retain their footing. The captain occasionally made his way forward to the forecastle, where the men not on duty were huddled together, and spoke cheeringly to them, saying that the gale could not last much longer, and that as the Swan had weathered it so far, she would hold on to the end.

At the commencement of the storm a tremendous rain had fallen, but when this had ceased the sky had cleared up, and for the last two days the sun had shone out brightly, and not a cloud had been seen.

When morning broke on the fourth day a cry of dismay broke from the wearied men on deck, for ahead could be seen land, stretching away on both bows. The news brought the crew from below, and they clustered on the forecastle, gazing in the direction of this new danger.

"We must try and get some sail on her mizzen, Standing," the captain said. "Our only chance is to bring her head to wind."

"We can try, Captain, but I fear that you will never bring her round."

"It is our only chance," the captain repeated, and with a loud shout, he called for some hands to come aft.

The mizzen was shaken out and, as soon as the sheets were hauled aft, the helm was put down. A cry burst from the crew as she came round, for as the wind took her on the beam she lay farther and farther over. A great wave struck her broadside, sweeping the bulwarks away as if they had been paper, and carrying a number of the crew off the forecastle into the sea. Still farther over she went, and all thought that she would capsize; when there were a series of reports, like musket shots, as the lashings of the shrouds parted. This was followed instantly by a crash, as the mizzen mast snapped off, two feet above the deck.

Relieved of the strain, the Swan righted somewhat. Another great wave swept over her forecastle, still further diminishing the number of the crew, but it carried her head round. She came up onto an even keel, and again started on her mad course before the wind.

"Go forward, Pengarvan, and see how many hands we have lost," the captain said. "Not that it makes much difference, for they have but gone a short time before the rest of us, for nothing short of a miracle can save us, now."

It could now be seen that the coast was steep and rocky, and that the waves were breaking with tremendous force upon it. It was but about four miles distant, and in less than half an hour they would be upon it.

"We must try to anchor, Standing."

The first mate shook his head.

"We will try, Captain, but our anchors will never hold her in the teeth of this gale. If they did, the hawsers would go like pack thread."

"I am afraid so, Standing; but there is nothing else to do."

The first mate went forward, and he and Pengarvan saw the anchors got in readiness, and the cables ranged along, so as to run out with perfect freedom. Then Pengarvan made his way aft again to the poop.

"Do you mean to cut away the mast, Captain?"

The captain nodded.

"I wouldn't, sir," the mate went on. "She will never hold, mast or no mast; and if it stands, we make a shift to run her head foremost on the rocks, and this will give us a better chance than if she drifts broadside on."

"You are right, Pengarvan. Yes, it will be better to leave it standing."

When within a quarter of a mile of the shore, the helm was again put down and, as the vessel came partly round, the the anchors were let go. The hawsers ran out rapidly, and the topsail, which was the only sail on her, was let go, the wind catching it and tearing it into ribbons as it was loosed. There was a jerk and a surge as the anchors brought her up, but at the same moment a great wave struck her head. The cables parted, and she again swung round towards the shore.

"It is all over with us, my lad," the captain said to Roger, who was standing quietly beside him. "God forgive me, I have brought you all here to die."

"It is not your fault, father. It was all for the best, and we knew when we started that there were perils before us."

"Goodbye, my lads! We will die as we have lived–brave men–and may God have mercy on us all.

"Now, Roger, obey my last orders. Go forward, and climb up to the end of the bowsprit. It may be that, if she strikes, you may be able to leap forward onto the rocks. They are somewhat lower, just ahead, than elsewhere."

"But I do not want to be saved, if no one else is, father," Roger cried passionately.

"You have always obeyed me heretofore," the captain said, quietly, "and you will do so now. Go forward at once, and do as I say. God bless you, my boy."

He clasped Roger in his arms, in a moment's close embrace, and then pointed forward.

Roger's eyes were blinded with tears as he obeyed the order. The bowsprit in those days did not, as now, run out almost horizontally from the ship's bow; but stood up like a mast, leaning somewhat over the bow, and carried a yard and small square sail upon it. Roger climbed up as far as the yard and then, aiding himself by the halyards, swarmed up until he reached the cap. When he did so the vessel was but little more than a hundred yards from the shore.