Part 16 (1/2)
Scarcely had he left the spot, when his voice was heard calling out from below,--
”She's gonel the yawl is gone! the lock is broke with a stone, and she's away!”
”How could this be? No boat could live in such a sea,” cried Harcourt, eagerly.
”She could go out fast enough, sir. The wind is northeast, due; but how long she'll keep the say is another matter.”
”Then he 'll be lost!” cried Harcourt, wildly.
”Who, sir,--who is it?” asked the man.
”Your master's son!” cried he, wringing his hands in anguish.
”Oh, murther! murther!” screamed the boatman; ”we 'll never see him again. 'T is out to say, into the wild ocean, he'll be blown!”
”Is there no shelter,--no spot he could make for?”
”Barrin' the islands, there's not a spot between this and America.”
”But he could make the islands,--you are sure of that?”
”If the boat was able to live through the say. But sure I know him well; he 'll never take in a reef or sail, but sit there, with the helm hard up, just never carin' what came of him! Oh, musha! musha! what druv him out such a night as this!”
”Come, it's no time for lamenting, my man; get the launch ready, and let us follow him. Are you afraid?”
”Afraid!” replied the man, with a touch of scorn in his voice; ”faix, it's little fear troubles me. But, may be, you won't like to be in her yourself when she's once out. I 've none belongin' to me,--father, mother, chick or child; but you may have many a one that's near to you.”
”My ties, are, perhaps, as light as your own,” said Harcourt. ”Come, now, be alive. I'll put ten gold guineas in your hand if you can overtake him.”
”I'd rather see his face than have two hundred,” said the man, as, springing into the boat, he began to haul out the tackle from under the low half-deck, and prepare for sea.
”Is your honor used to a boat, or ought I to get another man with me?”
asked the sailor.
”Trust me, my good fellow; I have had more sailing than yourself, and in more treacherous seas too,” said Harcourt, who, throwing off his cloak, proceeded to help the other, with an address that bespoke a practised hand.
The wind blew strongly off the sh.o.r.e, so that scarcely was the foresail spread than the boat began to move rapidly through the water, das.h.i.+ng the sea over her bows, and plunging wildly through the waves.
”Give me a hand now with the halyard,” said the boatman; ”and when the mainsail is set, you 'll see how she 'll dance over the top of the waves, and never wet us.”
”She 's too light in the water, if anything,” said Harcourt, as the boat bounded buoyantly under the increased press of canvas.
”Your honor's right; she'd do better with half a ton of iron in her.
Stand by, sir, always, with the peak halyards; get the sail aloft in, when I give you the word.”
”Leave the tiller to me, my man,” said Harcourt, taking it as he spoke.
”You 'll soon see that I 'm no new hand at the work.”
”She's doing it well,” said the man. ”Keep her up! keep her up! there's a spit of land runs out here; in a few minutes more we'll have say room enough.”