The Fortunes Of Glencore. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ the boat was able to live through the say. But sure I know him well; he ‘ll never take in a reef or sail, but sit there, with the helm hard up, just never carin’ what came of him! Oh, musha! musha! what druv him out such a night as this!”

      “Come, it’s no time for lamenting, my man; get the launch ready, and let us follow him. Are you afraid?”

      “Afraid!” replied the man, with a touch of scorn in his voice; “faix, it’s little fear troubles me. But, may be, you won’t like to be in her yourself when she’s once out. I ‘ve none belongin’ to me, – father, mother, chick or child; but you may have many a one that’s near to you.”

      “My ties, are, perhaps, as light as your own,” said Harcourt. “Come, now, be alive. I’ll put ten gold guineas in your hand if you can overtake him.”

      “I’d rather see his face than have two hundred,” said the man, as, springing into the boat, he began to haul out the tackle from under the low half-deck, and prepare for sea.

      “Is your honor used to a boat, or ought I to get another man with me?” asked the sailor.

      “Trust me, my good fellow; I have had more sailing than yourself, and in more treacherous seas too,” said Harcourt, who, throwing off his cloak, proceeded to help the other, with an address that bespoke a practised hand.

      The wind blew strongly off the shore, so that scarcely was the foresail spread than the boat began to move rapidly through the water, dashing the sea over her bows, and plunging wildly through the waves.

      “Give me a hand now with the halyard,” said the boatman; “and when the mainsail is set, you ‘ll see how she ‘ll dance over the top of the waves, and never wet us.”

      “She ‘s too light in the water, if anything,” said Harcourt, as the boat bounded buoyantly under the increased press of canvas.

      “Your honor’s right; she’d do better with half a ton of iron in her. Stand by, sir, always, with the peak halyards; get the sail aloft in, when I give you the word.”

      “Leave the tiller to me, my man,” said Harcourt, taking it as he spoke. “You ‘ll soon see that I ‘m no new hand at the work.”

      “She’s doing it well,” said the man. “Keep her up! keep her up! there’s a spit of land runs out here; in a few minutes more we’ll have say room enough.”

      The heavier roll of the waves, and the increased force of the wind, soon showed that they had gained the open sea; while the atmosphere, relieved of the dark shadows of the mountain, seemed lighter and thinner than in shore.

      “We ‘re to make for the islands, you say, sir?”

      “Yes. What distance are they off?”

      “About eighteen miles. Two hours, if the wind lasts, and we can bear it.”

      “And could the yawl stand this?” said Harcourt, as a heavy sea struck the bow, and came in a cataract over them.

      “Better than ourselves, if she was manned. Luff! luff! – that’s it!” And as the boat turned up to wind, sheets of spray and foam flew over her. “Master Charles hasn’t his equal for steerin’, if he wasn’t alone. Keep her there! – now! steady, sir!”

      “Here’s a squall coming,” cried Harcourt; “I hear it hissing.”

      Down went the peak, but scarcely in time, for the wind, catching the sail, laid the boat gunwale under. After a struggle, she righted, but with nearly one-third of her filled with water.

      “I’d take in a reef, or two reefs,” said the man; “but if she could n’t rise to the say, she ‘ll fill and go down. We must carry on, at all events.”

      “So say I. It’s no time to shorten sail, with such a sea running.”

      The boat now flew through the water, the sea itself impelling her, as with every sudden gust the waves struck the stern.

      “She’s a brave craft,” said Harcourt, as she rose lightly over the great waves, and plunged down again into the trough of the sea; “but if we ever get to land again, I’ll have combings round her to keep her dryer.”

      “Here it comes! – here it comes, sir!”

      Nor were the words well out, when, like a thunder-clap, the wind struck the sail, and bent the mast over like a whip. For an instant it seemed as if she were going down by the prow; but she righted again, and, shivering in every plank, held on her way.

      “That ‘s as much as she could do,” said the sailor; “and I would not like to ax her to do more.”

      “I agree with you,” said Harcourt, secretly stealing his feet back again into his shoes, which he had just kicked off.

      “It’s freshening it is every minute,” said the man; “and I’m not sure that we could make the islands if it lasts.”

      “Well, – what then?”

      “There’s nothing for it but to be blown out to say,” said he, calmly, as, having filled his tobacco-pipe, he struck a light and began to smoke.

      “The very thing I was wishing for,” said Harcourt, touching his cigar to the bright ashes. “How she labors! Do you think she can stand this?”

      “She can, if it’s no worse, sir.” “But it looks heavier weather outside.”

      “As well as I can see, it’s only beginnin’.”

      Harcourt listened with a species of admiration to the calm and measured sentiment of the sailor, who, fully conscious of all the danger, yet never, by a word or gesture, showed that he was flurried or excited.

      “You have been out on nights as bad as this, I suppose?” said Harcourt.

      “Maybe not quite, sir, for it’s a great say is runnin’; and, with the wind off shore, we could n’t have this, if there was n’t a storm blowing farther out.”

      “From the westward, you mean?”

      “Yes, sir, – a wind coming over the whole ocean, that will soon meet the land wind.”

      “And does that often happen?”

      The words were but out, when, with a loud report like a cannon-shot, the wind reversed the sail, snapping the strong sprit in two, and bringing down the whole canvas clattering into the boat. With the aid of a hatchet, the sailor struck off the broken portion of the spar, and soon cleared the wreck, while the boat, now reduced to a mere foresail, labored heavily, sinking her prow in the sea at every bound. Her course, too, was now altered, and she flew along parallel to the shore, the great cliffs looming through the darkness, and seeming as if close to them.

      “The boy! – the boy!” cried Harcourt; “what has become of him? He never could have lived through that squall.”

      “If the spar stood, there was an end of us, too,” said the sailor; “she’d have gone down by the stern, as sure as my name is Peter.”

      “It is all over by this time,” muttered Harcourt, sorrowfully.

      “Pace СКАЧАТЬ