Part 33 (1/2)
”Is there anything the matter?” she cried, springing up as he appeared. ”Is there any danger?”
”I trust not; still, it is well to be prepared.”
”For what? Do you mean that we may be lost, drowned--here, in sight of port--all of us--my dear general and myself? It is too dreadful! Why does not the captain run inside the harbour and put us on dry ground?”
”I fear it would be too great a risk to try and make the mouth of the harbour in this gale.”
”Then why don't you seek help from some of the other s.h.i.+ps--the men-of-war? There are plenty of them all around.”
”Every s.h.i.+p outside Balaclava is in the same stress as ourselves. They could spare us no help, even if we asked for it.”
”What, then, are we to do?--in Heaven's name!”
”Trust in Providence and hope for the best! But I think--if I might suggest--it would be as well to keep the general in ignorance of our condition, which is not so very desperate after all.”
”How do you mean?”
”'Our cables are stout,' Captain Trejago says, and we ought to be able to ride out the storm.”
And the _Arcadia_ did so gallantly all that day, in the teeth of the hurricane, which blew with unabated fury for many more hours, and in spite of the tempest-torn sea, which now ran mountains high.
All through that anxious day Trejago kept the deck, watching the sky and the storm. It was late in the afternoon when he said, with a sigh of relief--
”The wind is hauling round to the westward; I expect the gale will abate before long.”
He was right, although to eyes less keen there was small comfort yet in the signs of the weather.
It was an awful scene--s.h.i.+ps everywhere in distress: some on the point of foundering, others being dashed to pieces on the rocks. The great waves, as they raged past in fearful haste, bore upon their foaming crests great ma.s.ses of wreck, the dread vestiges of terrible disasters. Amongst the floating timbers and spars, enc.u.mbered with tangles of cordage, floated great bundles of hay, the lost cargo of heavily-laden transports that had gone down.
Still, as Trejago said, there was hope at last. The gale had spent its chief force and was no longer directly on sh.o.r.e. The more pressing and immediate danger was over.
”It won't do to stop here, though,” he went on, ”not one second longer than we can help. Now that there is a slant in the wind we can run south under a close-reefed trysail and storm-jib. What say you, doctor?”
”I'll step down and see the general.”
”Don't lose any time. I should like to slip my cable this next half-hour. I shan't be happy till we've got sea-room.”
McKay went below with the doctor, and, while the latter sat with his patient, the aide-de-camp had a short talk with Mrs. Wilders.
”The captain wants to put to sea.”
”Never! not in this storm!”
”It is abating fast. Besides, he says it will be far safer to be running snug under storm-canvas than remaining here on this wild coast.”
”I hope he will do no such thing. It will be madness. I must speak to him at once.”
She seized a shawl, and, throwing it over her head, ran up on deck.
McKay followed her and was by her side before she had left the companion-ladder.