“I do hope, sir, as how this voyage won’t last much longer,” observed Needham, to Adair, pointing to numberless rents and torn places in the sails. “I don’t think this here canvas would stand another stiffish gale without flying into ribbons. I’ve been hunting about, and I’ve found a spare boat’s-sail, and some other stuff to mend them. To my mind, it’s the best thing we could do before another squall catches us.”
Needham’s advice was immediately taken, and, the wind being very light, the sails were lowered and all hands set to work to mend them in the best fashion they could. Needham, having once belonged to the sailmaker’s crew, was a very fair hand at the work, but the rest were anything but expert. However, all used their needles to the best of their abilities. Adair pricked his fingers very often, and, as he observed, he left indisputable traces of his industry. So important was it to get their sails set again before night, that they scarcely allowed themselves time for their meals. Having done little else than drift about all day, it was with no little relief to their minds that, just as the sun went down, they once more got the sails bent and hoisted. Murray’s sextant had been broken, and as he was leaving the Archer a shipmate offered him his quadrant. It was a very indifferent one at best, and in one of the gales to which the Venus had been subject, it had received yet further damage, so that it was often ten or even twenty miles out of adjustment. Murray and Adair never lost an opportunity of taking an observation, while they kept their reckoning with the greatest care; but, after all, they often could only guess at their position. The weather, too, was very uncertain. Day after day down came torrents of rain—not merely English spring showers—but, as Adair observed, regular bucketsfull, which compelled them to open the ports to let the water run off the deck, for fear of swamping the vessel. No people could behave better than did their little crew. Murray allowed no one to be idle. They were employed either in cleaning their arms, mending their clothes, repairing the rigging, and, when the sea was sufficiently calm, in fishing. Needham kept up his own spirits, and did his best to keep up that of his messmates. However, they were to be again severely tried. One evening, early in October, scud was seen flying rapidly across the sky, while thick masses of cloud banked up densely in the horizon. It was Adair’s first watch; Murray had been about to turn in. He cast his eyes around.
“Depend on it, Adair, we are going to have a heavy blow, a regular tornado will be down on us before long, and the sooner we make everything snug the better.”
Adair doubted whether there would be anything more than a squall. Just then the sails flapped ominously, and there was a perfect calm. The flame of a candle brought on deck would have ascended straight upwards.
“Adair, I tell you it will be down on us in a few minutes, and with terrific force, too,” exclaimed Murray. “All hands shorten sail!” Not a moment was to be lost; Needham and the rest saw that. With the exception of the fore-staysail every sail was lowered and carefully stowed; the topmasts were struck, and everything on deck was lashed and secured. All the time a dead calm continued, the atmosphere was dreadfully close, so that even on deck at times it seemed difficult to breathe, while all around became darker and darker. Suddenly a sound, like heavy thunder, was heard in the distance.
“It is the beginning of the strife, the first gun fired in action. Look there; what do you say to that?” He pointed to a thick bank of foam which was seen rolling up through the dense gloom towards the devoted little vessel.
“Why, I suspect that we shall find ourselves in the midst of a sea which will pretty nearly swamp us,” answered Adair.
On it came, rolling and leaping, as if eager to destroy the little craft. No sooner did her head feel the force of the gale than off like a seabird on the wing she flew before it. The fore-staysail was now stowed, for from the fury of the tornado it would either have been torn out of the bolt-ropes or run the vessel under water. On flew the little craft, the sea every instant getting up and the wind freshening.
“Hold on, all of you; hold on for your lives!” sung out Murray with startling energy.
The caution was not ill-timed. On came a monster sea, roaring astern. High above her quarters it rose, and down it rushed on her decks, well-nigh swamping her. All the hatches had been secured, but, had not the ports been open, so as to allow the water immediately to run out, it would have swamped her. The half-drowned crew shook themselves as they once more emerged from the weight of water above them. Happily, none were washed away.
* * *
* * *
Chapter Nineteen.
The little half-sinking schooner dashed on amid the raging seas, now lifted up to the summit of one surrounded by hissing foam, now sinking down into the gloomy hollow between others which seemed as if they were about instantly to engulf her. Again another sea struck her, and had not everyone held on tight to the rigging or bulwarks, her deck would have been cleared, as it made a clean wash fore and aft.
“We must not run this risk again!” exclaimed Murray. “All hands go below; one on deck is enough. I’ll take the helm. No expostulation, Adair; remember I am commanding officer. I am determined to do it.”
Adair, with a bad grace, was obliged to obey with the rest. They all went below, and Murray battened down the hatches. Lashing himself to the helm, he alone remained on deck through that fearful gale. The sea roared around the little vessel, the wind whistled through the shrouds, fierce lightnings darted from the dark, heavy clouds, the thunder rattled in deafening peals, while deluges of rain and spray flew about his head and almost blinded him. Yet, undaunted as at the first, he stood like some spirit of the storm at his dangerous post.
Those below tried to sleep, to pass away the time, but so fearful was the tumult that sleep refused to visit even the seamen’s eyes. Hour after hour passed by. Still by the noise and the movement of the vessel it was too evident that the gale continued. Adair calculated that it must already be almost day. Just then the vessel became more steady, and the noise of the storm considerably diminished. Adair was surprised that Murray did not take off the hatches. He was anxious to go on deck to relieve him. He knocked and knocked again on the skylight. He called and called out again and again. There was no answer. With frantic energy he attempted to burst open the skylight. The dreadful idea seized him that Murray, his brave and noble friend, had been washed overboard and lost.
He and his companions again knocked several times. Still there was no answer. They themselves were almost stifled with the heat of the atmosphere, and the odour of the rotting tobacco and monkey-skins. “This will never do,” exclaimed Adair, becoming more and more alarmed for Murray’s safety. “We must force the hatches off, or break our way through the skylight.” They groped about and found a handspike which had been chucked down below. “Now, lads. Heave ho!” cried Adair, and, getting the end under the skylight, with a loud crash they prized it off, and one after the other sprang on deck. There stood Murray lashed to the helm, and looking more like a man in a trance than one awake.
“Hillo, where am I?” he exclaimed, gazing wildly around. “On the deck of the Venus, old fellow,” answered Terence, taking him by the hand. “Right gallantly you steered us through the gale, and as soon as it fell calm, you dropped asleep, and small blame to you. We did the same below, and I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you safe: we all thought you had fallen overboard.” Murray was very much surprised to find that he had slept so long and so soundly, but he soon gave evidence that he had not had enough rest, for Adair had a mattress brought up and stretched under an awning on deck, and the moment he placed his head on it he was off again as soundly as before.
“We must turn to at the pumps, sir,” observed Needham, coming from below. “If we don’t bear a hand, I fear the craft will sink under us.” Such it appeared would probably be the case; but no one was daunted. All set to work and laboured away as manfully as before. When Murray awoke he found that the schooner was again almost cleared of water. The last man to leave the pumps was Wasser. He was still labouring away, when down he sank on the deck. Murray and Adair ran to lift him up. He could scarcely open his eyes, and looked thoroughly worn out. They lifted the poor fellow to the mattress from which Murray had just risen, and as soon as the fire, which had gone out, could be lighted, they made some beef broth, which they poured down his throat. In spite of the heat, Wasser had to be carried below, and all who could were glad to take shelter there, for down came the rain with terrific force, and continued without intermission, almost swamping the little vessel. Her crew had work enough to do all their time in keeping her clear of the water, which poured in through the leaks in bucketsfull. For days and nights together no one had on a dry jacket. By such observations as they could manage to make, Murray and Adair began to suspect that all their seamanship was set at naught; for though they at times made some way through the water, they as quickly lost all the ground they had gained, and thus it became evident that there was a strong current against them.
“This is dreadfully trying,” exclaimed Terence, after they had become convinced of this disagreeable fact. “Let us try and make the land again, and see whereabouts we are. Perhaps by hugging the shore we may be able to get round Cape Palmas after all.” Murray agreed to this proposal, although he was not very sanguine of success. He knew that the currents were probably as strong inshore as where they then were, but he hoped that they might possibly get a slant of wind off the land, which would enable them to stem the current, and help them along round the Cape. Murray had been making his calculations on paper.
“I could scarcely have believed that we could have been so unfortunate,” he observed, looking calmly up. “For the last six days we have not made good more than four or five miles—perhaps scarcely so much. I have no wish to pay another visit to Cape Coast Castle, though I dare say the old governor would be as kind to us as before.”
“I agree with you,” answered Adair. “Let us stick at it. We must get the wind in our favour some day or other. It does not always blow from the nor’ard, I suppose.”
Like true British sailors they did stick at it. Such is the spirit which has animated the numerous brave voyagers who have explored the arctic regions, the southern seas, and the wide-spreading Pacific. At length the land was made.
It was a long way, however, to the southward, or rather to the eastward of Cape Palmas. The wind fell soon afterwards, and slowly they drifted in towards the shore. Their glasses, as they approached, were directed at it, and they could see a number of blacks collected on the beach and evidently watching them. The part of the coast they were now off is called the Ivory Coast. As far as the eye could reach it was flat and monotonous, but along its whole extent appeared rich groves of cocoa-nut trees, extending a considerable distance inland. Here and there, embosomed by the cocoa-nut groves, they could see small villages and separate buildings, the cottages with high conical roofs, thatched with palmetto leaves. To the east appeared a long thin spit of sand, separated from the main beach by a lagoon, into which several rivers and streams appeared to fall. As they approached the shore a terrific surf was seen rolling in towards it, and breaking with a loud roar on the sand.
“What will become of our little craft if we get in among those breakers?” said Adair. “She will have hard work to swim, I suspect.”
“I doubt if she will ever float through them,” answered Murray. “If she does, and we are stranded, which is the best fate we can then hope to happen to us, I fear that those black gentry on the shore will not give us a very friendly reception. They are flourishing their spears as if they would like to dig them into us.”
“We shall be completely in their power, and, what is the worst, we have not the means of showing fight,” said Adair, watching the people on the shore through his glass. “They have some big canoes hauled up on the beach, and they seem disposed to launch them and come in chase of us, should the rollers not send us to them.”
“I wish that there was a chance of that,” exclaimed Murray; “I should have very little fear of them if they came to attack us. Ah, there’s a puff of wind off the shore! Our blacks have discovered it. They are wetting their fingers and holding up their hands. We may yet be able to stand off the land.”
The minutes passed slowly by. They were full of the most anxious suspense. Now the promised breeze died away, and the little vessel floated helplessly in towards the dreaded surf. Now it came on again, and she was able to get a little farther off, again to be left to drift back towards the land. Then, just as her case seemed hopeless, another puff would come, and once more her sails would fill, and all on board hoped that she would make a good offing. Had they possessed sweeps, with the help of the transient breeze, they might have got to a safe distance from the land. As to anchoring, that was out of the question. Even had there been bottom to be found, with such an inset their cable would not have held them for an instant. When the schooner got near enough to the shore, they saw that the natives were still watching them eagerly, and no sooner did the breeze return, than preparations were made to launch several of their canoes. From the gestures of the blacks, Murray and Adair agreed that their intentions did not appear to be friendly, and therefore it would be wiser to avoid them altogether if they could, and, at all events, to be prepared to receive them warmly, should they overtake the schooner. Her progress was very slow, and there appeared too great a prospect of their doing this. Every preparation was therefore made for such a contingency. The wind was light, but it appeared to be increasing, and by degrees it was evident that the little craft was forging ahead more and more rapidly through the smooth shining ocean. The negroes on shore must have seen that their chance of overtaking her was every moment lessening, and they were observed to make several strenuous efforts to launch their canoes through the surf. The first two were capsized and sent back on the beach, which the people in her, (or rather out of her), very easily regained, as if perfectly accustomed to that mode of proceeding. Again, however, the canoes were righted and launched, and this time four gained the open sea. The fifth was driven back, and probably received some damage, for she was not again launched. Four large canoes full of strong active negroes, completely armed according to their own fashion, were antagonists not to be despised; still it was evident that they had not firearms, or that, if they had, they must have been rendered completely useless from the thorough drenching they must have got. Night was drawing on. The wind in a few minutes drew more round to the eastward, and gave signs of once more dropping. Of course every inch of canvas the little Venus could carry was set on her, so that unless the breeze increased it was impossible to make her go faster than she was doing through the water.
