Part 24 (1/2)

”That would bring you within a short distance of Saint Augustine's Bay, as it is marked in this chart,” said he, looking upwards at Wyzinski.

”That's it! That's the name we gave it, because the vessel was called the 'Saint Augustine!'” exclaimed the missionary.

”Can you give me any particulars about the entrance to the harbour?”

”None: we ran straight in and straight out. There are two clumps of trees to the right on the spit of land which sweeps into the sea, forming a natural breakwater.”

”To starboard or port?” asked Weber.

”On the right as we ran in, and the vessel pa.s.sed so close to the bluff on which they stood that I could have thrown a piece of money on sh.o.r.e.”

”What tonnage was the 'Saint Augustine'? Hitherto you have called her only a vessel.”

”She was a schooner of about one hundred and fifty tons,” answered Wyzinski; ”and that is all I can tell you about the matter, which is a very melancholy one for me, as I lost a dear friend.”

”Killed by the natives, I suppose? Ay, ay, they are a bad lot; but I have a couple of guns on board, and I don't fear them. If the harbour is what you represent it, we should lie there on an even keel, and in forty-eight hours I could rig out a jury fore-topmast.”

The captain rose, and turned to Isabel before he placed on his head the heavy sou'-wester. ”We will have you in smooth water before this time to-morrow, my little lady,” he said, as he turned.

Isabel smiled, and looked to the missionary for an explanation.

Drawing a stool to the side of the sofa, for standing was no easy matter, so violently did the brig pitch, he explained to her exactly what had pa.s.sed.

”Oh dear, how glad I shall be!” she answered. ”The noise and confusion wear one out. I have often wished to witness a severe storm at sea, but I shall never wish it again.”

”I have been in many, but only one when the wind was more violent than this. Fourteen vessels, large and small, were sunk in Table Bay on that occasion.”

”Did I understand you rightly that you have landed on the Madagascar coast?”

”Yes,” replied Wyzinski; ”but it is a sad tale of cruelty and death.”

”Would it pain you to tell it me?” asked Isabel, in her low sweet tones, turning her dark eyes on the missionary's face, and laying her hand on his arm.

”When we lie in Saint Augustine's Bay, and I can make myself heard better than at present, I will do so. Try to sleep now,” answered the missionary, rising. ”I am going on deck to join Captain Hughes, and shall be very glad when morning dawns.”

And it did dawn, slowly and faintly over the boiling ocean. Large ma.s.ses of dark cloud were hurrying over the sky, and chasing one another as though in sport. To seaward the horizon was clear, and one ma.s.s of foam-tipped waves were to be marked far as the eye could reach. Not ten miles to leeward lay the long line of the Madagascar coast, with Cape Saint Vincent jutting into the sea, while, with the wind blowing a heavy gale from the west-south-west, the ”Halcyon,” with her diminished sail, her foremast, main-topmast, and bowsprit standing, looked terribly shorn of her fair proportions. The waves every now and then poured on her decks, rolling away to leeward, and the ropes were here and there flying loose, and streaming in the wind. A strong current must have set the brig down bodily on to the land, and Captain Weber had made up his mind to run for the bay which the missionary had spoken of.

On the quarter-deck, holding on to windward, stood a group of three.

Captain Weber, the missionary, and Hughes had watched through the night, and were anxiously waiting for full daylight. Under the weather bulwarks, wrapped in their waterproofs, with their long thick boots poking out here and there, lay huddled the crew.

”There,” said the captain, pointing to a fine bold headland just tinged by the beams of the rising sun as it shone through a break in the clouds, ”that is Cape Saint Vincent. The land tumbles in board to the southward and eastward, and your two clumps of trees will guide us.

Will you know the place again?”

”Everything connected with it is so stamped on my memory, that I could draw the bay for you.”

”Very well, here goes. Mr Lowe, rouse up the watch, send four men to the wheel, set the foresail.”

Mr Lowe, though second mate, now naturally took the place of the drowned seaman. The yards, instead of being braced sharp up, were eased off, the helm carefully tended, and under her main-topsail, foresail, and fore-topmast-staysail, the ”Halcyon,” on an easy bowline, dragged like a wounded sea-bird through the boiling waves, running parallel with the coast. Hour after hour wore on, and all watched anxiously. The long sandy line was now not more than five miles distant, and the tall cocoa-nut trees could be seen plainly.

Now and then the sun would break out and light up the scene, but hour after hour pa.s.sed on, and still the gale blew furiously, while the sea, striking the brig's counter, poured over her fore and aft. No one quitted the deck, but now and then the captain's steward, a Malay, popped up his head with some inquiry from below. ”Tell them we shall soon be in smooth water,” shouted Captain Weber, as towards ten o'clock the man's face appeared through the little opening.