An hour after sunset it was a pitch dark night with not a breath of wind, yet, ominously a nasty, confused cross-sea sprang up. The glass, that for days past had been steady save for the usual regular diurnal oscillations that in settled weather occur four times in the twenty-four hours, began to fall jerkily and rapidly.
By midnight, when Geoff turned out to stand Middle Watch, the mercury had fallen nine-tenths of an inch. Somewhat to his surprise Geoff found that the ship was under close-reefed topsails, although the canvas was only slatting in the windless air under the erratic motion of the seas. But what was more remarkable was the fact that a flickering pale blue light danced at every yard-arm and from the mastheads as well.
"Corpse candles," explained the bo'sun as he passed the cadet on his way for'ard. "We're in for summat; just you see!"
With this mysterious warning the bo'sun lurched off along the heaving waist to superintend the lashing down and securing of certain gear for'ard.
Ascending the poop ladder Geoff discovered that not only Kelso, the officer of the Watch, was there but the Old Man as well. Something very unusual was in the air for the Captain to be on deck during Middle Watch.
And no wonder. An invariable rule in the northern hemisphere is that, when the course of the approaching hurricane is discovered, the master of a ship in the vicinity ascertains whether his craft is to the right or left of the curved line representing its path. Woe betide him if he finds that he is anywhere near the vortex where the greatest danger lies. But if the ship is on the right hand of the storm track, the best course to pursue, if under canvas, is to heave-to, on the starboard tack. If on the left hand the reverse holds good—the ship is hove-to on the port tack. This procedure is based upon the knowledge that in hurricanes in the northern hemisphere the rotary wind always gyrates anti-clockwise. In the southern hemisphere the direction is reversed.
Captain Corbold had just made the disconcerting discovery that the Golden Vanity was on the left of the approaching hurricane. By heaving-to on the port-tack he would find himself perilously close to a lee-shore—the island of Haiti. If, on the other hand, he attempted to cross in front of the storm and thus gain the right-hand side of the track, he might find himself in the centre of the hurricane before his object was achieved. Even if the latter course were decided upon it would be impossible to put it into effect until the wind sprang up.
Captain Corbold had to make up his mind quickly and decidedly. On him rested the responsibility for the safety of the ship and all who sailed in her; and on that account he would not offer to consult with his officers upon the gravity of the situation. If he did and subsequent events proved that their advice was partly responsible for disaster, they would share the blame if they survived to appear before the Board of Trade inquiry. But the Old Man was not of that sort. The vast responsibility was thrown on his shoulders and he meant to do his utmost to see it through.
"Mr. Kelso," he rang out, "keep a sharp watch for a puff of wind—we'll get it before the blow strikes us—and heave-to at once on the port tack. Call me at once, mind."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the Third.
At two bells the conditions were unchanged. Geoff was dispatched to the officers' galley to fetch some lime-juice and soda. He returned, staggering with a tin cup in each hand.
Peter Kelso drank his share gratefully. So did Geoff. The anxious "stand-by" had parched their throats. The sultry air was so oppressive that the perspiration trickled down their faces.
By the time Geoff had returned his empty cups the phosphorescent lights at the yard-arms had vanished. The sky was as black as ink. Not a star was to be seen. Aft the stern-light scintillated on the wet planks and threw the shadow of the mizzenmast dancing across the slatting main-topsails. Gripping the useless wheel, that was kicking violently under the action of the tumultuous seas against the rudder, stood the helmsman, his bronzed features faintly illuminated in the rays of the binnacle lamp. The while, the yards creaked and groaned as they strained at the chain slings; blocks rattled, canvas flapped. Fore and aft, both to port and starboard, vicious waves slapped the sides as if giving the ship playful warning of worse to come. Still there was no wind.
Just as Geoff gained the poop a vivid flash of blue light overhead threw the plunging masts and spars into strong relief and bathed the deck and surrounding waste of sea in a flood of steel-coloured glare.
For a moment or so as he stood swaying and hanging to the mizzen fife-rail, Geoff was under the impression that a rocket had been fired. But he was mistaken. The glowing mass miles aloft, was moving swiftly in a nor'-westerly direction until, fully twenty seconds later it seemed to swoop downwards and disappear in the sea.
"That's a big one!" commented Peter Kelso. "I've seen a few but never such a bright one as that."
"What is it, sir?" asked Geoff.
"Aerolite or meteor," replied the Third. "Probably it wasn't more than twenty miles overhead."
"Good job it didn't fall on us," remarked the cadet.
"Don't suppose you'd have had time to dodge it," rejoined Kelso grimly. "Make a note of the time, Ensor; time and direction. It'll have to go down in the log."
"Where do you think it has fallen, sir?" persisted Geoff.
"P'raps a hundred miles away; p'raps nowhere except as dust," replied Kelso. "If it had anywhere within twenty miles we would have heard the crash. Hallo! Here comes the breeze. Warn the skipper, Ensor. Hands! ready all."
The Golden Vanity began to gather way. The Third shouted for another hand to assist the helmsman. Out of the darkness loomed the figure of the extra hand. He sprang to assist his shipmate at the wheel. Only just in time! With a vicious kick the helm flew over. It took the united efforts of the pair to bring it amidships.
Hoarse orders rang through the darkness. In the waist the hands, oil-skinned and sou'westered, manned the weather main-brace. Slowly the main-yards swung until the reefed topsails were aback.
The old ship lay well over to it. Seas swept completely over her amidships, filling the lee'ard side of the waist with foaming, hissing water.
Geoff, hanging desperately to the mizzen fife-rail—for the ship was heeling at least forty-four degrees—saw the hands in the waist disappear from sight a moment or so before the deck was in darkness. With the seas pouring inboard, a peculiar phosphorescent light played upon the scene. He waited and watched, saw dark heads and shoulders emerge from the turmoil as the men sought to extricate themselves from the torrent that was pouring through the scuppers; watched them as, their task for the present accomplished, they scurried like ants to the slight shelter afforded by the deck-house and weather rail.
It was the first of many vicious assaults. Again and again tremendous seas flung themselves with thunderous roar against the stout craft. The noise was deafening. The wind shrieked through the tautened weather shrouds. No one could stand up to it. To release one's hold meant being swept bodily to lee'ard with almost the certainty of either having a limb smashed against the lee rail or, worse, being swept overboard to certain death.
A terrific crash, outvoicing the roar of the elements, caused Geoff to look to wind'ard. Although partly sheltered by the mizzenmast the force of the wind lifted his sou'wester so violently that a jerk upon the chin-stay hit him like a jolt delivered by a boxer. Then the chin-stay parted. His sou'wester was whisked off like a feather, leaving him bareheaded, with his hair feeling as if it were being violently combed.
He was not prepared for the sight that met his gaze. The port quarter-boat, hanging in davits and secured inboard by means of stout lashings, had burst her gripes. Lifted clear of the chocks, she swung to the full force of the wind. Then something—either the falls or the block itself—carried away for'ard. The doomed boat swung stern on to the hurricane, and commenced to batter herself to splinters against the deck—eighteen feet of ribs and planking weighing nearly eight hundredweight, streaming like a pennant in the wind.