by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER XIII.
A NIGHT LOST IN THE STORM.
At eleven o'clock we changed the course of the Sylvania to south-westhalf-west, which brought the gale nearly on the beam. The wind wasblowing but little, if anything, short of a hurricane. The greatbillows struck against the side of the vessel and the house on deckwith tremendous force. It seemed just as though immense boulders werehurled against the planking that enclosed my state-room, the galley,and the engine-room. The sea swept over the hurricane-deck, and struckheavily upon the planks overhead.
Suddenly I heard a noise over my head, as I stood at the wheel, whichsounded like the report of a heavy cannon. I thought the sea had brokena hole through. In another instant the steamer was rolling with doublethe violence of a few minutes before.
"What was that noise, Hop?" I asked, when I saw that no water waspouring down upon us.
"It was the foresail, sir; it has been blown out of the bolt-ropes,"replied Hop, coolly; and he seemed to be incapable of anything likefear. "We have lost the reefed foresail, and that is what makes herroll so much worse than she did five minutes ago."
Undoubtedly he was right. The sail had steadied her more than we couldhave imagined; and now she rolled like a log in a mill-race. The seastruck the side of my state-room as though a rock weighing a ton hadbeen cast against it by some giant of the sea or the storm. I wasafraid our house on deck would be carried away by the tempest.
On board of a large vessel, the loss of a house on deck was a matter ofno serious consequences. It was entirely different with the Sylvania,for the loss of it would open the hold to the entrance of the sea. Thedeluge of water would put out the fire in the furnaces, disabling theengine. The result must be the loss of the vessel and all on board ofher. I trembled when I thought of it. Another mountain billow struckthe house a little farther aft. I was not willing to wait for anothersea to strike her in what I regarded as her weakest point, and we putthe helm down. We must give up our course for the safety of the vessel.
The steamer made a terrible plunge as we shifted the helm, but we soongot her across the sea. Now she pitched instead of rolling. I called tothe engineer, through the speaking-tube, to give her but about halfspeed, for it made her labor more heavily to drive her into the seas. Icalculated that this rate of speed would keep her about stationary onthe water. I soon found that she was falling astern. I directed theengineer to give her more steam. I soon gauged it so that she hadheadway enough to keep her up to the seas without forcing her throughthem. A sort of equilibrium was established, which gave her an easierposition, though it was by no means an easy one. Her bow rose so thatthe deck must have been at an angle of forty-five degrees, and then shedived down from the top of a big wave at about the same angle.
Our port and starboard, as well as the masthead light were burning, andwe had closed in the pilot-house, so that we could see nothing ahead.But I found the steamer was manageable when I had got her head to thesea, and I sent Hop Tossford to call the mate and Buck Lingley. I couldnot tell what might happen, and I felt that all hands should be ondeck. I wondered they had not put in an appearance before. But theywere all used to this sort of thing, for we had been through a tempestalmost as bad in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and several milder ones atother times.
The water swashed fore and aft, but no longer pounded against the houseon deck. It poured over the bow, so that it was not safe to put a manon the lookout there. The only thing we had to fear while we werelying-to in this manner was a collision with some other vessel. Thewater poured into the pilot-house so that we could not keep the windowsopen. I sent Buck to the hurricane-deck, with directions to lashhimself to the foremast, and keep under the shelter of the dome of thepilot-house. When I had done this, and heard Buck on the deck over me,I felt that I had met the last and most imminent danger of the hour.
Though the steamer was still laboring heavily against the tremendoushead seas, she appeared to be holding her position in safety. I gavethe helm to Washburn and Ben Bowman, for it required two to move thewheel promptly in that violent sea, and went to pay a visit to thecabin, for I supposed the passengers were enduring torments of suspenseand terror.
On the way I looked into my state-room. The captain of the wrecked barkappeared to be still asleep, and I did not disturb him. Following oneof the life-lines we always bent on in a gale, I reached the aftercompanion-way. Like everything in the shape of an opening on deck, itwas securely fastened. But I had a key, and descended the cabin-stairs,locking the door behind me. Most of the passengers were still up. Somehad retired to their berths, though probably not to sleep.
My father and Mr. Tiffany were playing chess, and did not seem to be atall disturbed by the war of the elements. Colonel Shepard was holdinghis wife upon a sofa, and Owen and Gus were skylarking in theafter-part of the cabin.
"Isn't it terrible, Captain Alick?" asked Mrs. Shepard, in tremblingtones.
"I must say it was about as bad as anything I ever was out in, thoughwe had it about as bad once on Lake Superior," I replied, as cheerfullyas the occasion required.
"Do you think there is any danger?"
"I don't think there is just now," I answered. "The steamer is workingvery well at present, much better than she was an hour ago."
"I thought the water would break through upon us at one time," addedthe nervous lady.
"I was afraid it would. We had our foresail blown out of thebolt-ropes, and she made bad work of it after that. But we have laidher to now, and she is behaving as well as any vessel of this size canin such a sea."
"When do you suppose it will be over?" asked the lady, anxiously.
"It is a south-east gale, or rather hurricane, and probably it will notlast long. I shall look for better weather by sunrise, if not before,"I replied, as I left the cabin.
On my way back to the pilot-house I stopped in at the engine-room. Ifound Moses Brickland, seated on his leather-cushioned divan, watchingthe movements of the engine. Notwithstanding the uneasy movement of thevessel the machinery seemed to be working very regularly.
"How does she go, Moses?" I asked.
"She has done very well since you headed her up to the sea," heanswered, without taking his gaze from the engine. "At one time Ithought the sea would break in upon us and swamp the fires. It wouldhave been all up with us then."
"I felt so myself, and I headed her up to the sea when I saw that itwas no longer safe to keep her on her course. But I suppose you want toturn in, Moses."
"I, no; I am perfectly satisfied to keep my place here till morning,"he replied.
"I want Ben Bowman at the wheel, with Washburn. She steers so hard inthis sea that we need to change hands every hour. But I hope we shallsoon be able to relieve you," I added.
"I don't have very hard work, and I can stand it very well tillmorning."
I returned to the wheel-house. It was about two bells, or one in themorning. The tempest had not increased in the last hour, and I hoped wehad seen the worst of it. We were working the engine just enough tokeep the steamer's head up to the sea. The Sylvania behaved so well inher present position that I dismissed the port watch at two in themorning; but I could not think of turning in myself while there was anypossibility of trouble ahead. I remained in the pilot-house withWashburn, while Buck Lingley was on the lookout on the hurricane-deck.We held our position till about four in the morning, when it wasevident that the gale was breaking, though the sea was still veryheavy.
"Light on the port quarter," said Buck, at one of the small windows ofthe pilot-house in front of his station.
I rushed over to the port side, but the windows were so covered withwater that I could see nothing. It was raining hard, as it had beensince midnight. I went on deck, grasping a life-line to keep me frombeing knocked over by the flood of water that flowed down from theforecastle. I reached the ladder and went up to the hurricane-deck.
I supposed the light the lookout had seen was on some vessel. It was atleast ten miles distant; and after a time I satisfied
myself that itwas a revolving light. It also flashed, and I was confident it waseight or ten miles distant. I was rather bewildered, for I had notexpected to find a light in that direction. I hastened down to thepilot-house to consult the Coast Pilot. I reviewed the course we hadfollowed after leaving the wrecked bark. By our reckoning we were abouttwenty miles to the southward of Carysfort Light when we headed thesteamer to the eastward.
We had kept the screw turning all the time, and I supposed we had beenmaking some headway during the five hours we had been on this tack.What was the light, then?
We were headed directly into the Bahama Islands, and I knew we had notgone far enough to place any light in those islands on our portquarter. The description in the book of Carysfort Light correspondedwith what I had made out by observation.
"We are about ten miles to the south-east of Carysfort Light," I saidto Washburn, when I had satisfied myself of the fact.
"Impossible! That would put us about where we were when you called allhands last night!" exclaimed the mate.
"The Light is about where it was when we began to go to the southwardat ten last evening," I replied.
"But we have been going to the southward and eastward for the last fivehours."
"It does not appear that we have gone at all," I continued, lookingover the pages of the book. "We have been drifting all the time. Thesteamer is in the Gulf Stream, and that, with the fierce wind, hascarried her a long distance from where I supposed she was. I find thatin a strong easterly wind the Gulf Stream sets to the westward, andruns in among the Keys. I have no doubt now that this is the reason whythe bark struck last night on the rocks to the southward of FrenchReef."
"It appears from what you say that we have not carried steam enough toprevent us from being drifted to the westward as well as to thenorthward," added Washburn.
"That is the fact: we have been drifting about north-northwest. In afew hours more we should have been on the reef. Ring the speed-bell."
It was plain enough by this time, when it was almost broad daylight,that the force of the gale was spent. In less than an hour the windsubsided entirely, and the wind whirled to the south, then to the west,and finally settled in the north-west. We made our course to thesouthward. The clouds rolled away, and the sun rose bright andbeautiful after one of the hardest nights I had ever known.
The wind began to freshen from the north-west, and at six o'clock wehad all sail on her. We all wondered what had become of the Islander.Captain Blastblow was evidently well acquainted with the navigation ofthe Florida Reefs, or he would not have taken his vessel through thedangerous channel he had chosen. But I was too tired to talk much, andI slept an hour in Washburn's berth until breakfast-time. When I waked,I found the captain of the bark sitting in a chair in the state-room.
