“All ready, sir.”
“Slack off the weather foresheet, then, and haul aft the leeward. Slack out the mizzen sheet a little, Jack. That's it; now she's off again, like a duck.”
The Seabird felt the relief from the pressure of the heavy boom to leeward and rose easily and lightly over the waves.
“She certainly is a splendid seaboat, Tom; I don't wonder you are ready to go anywhere in her. I thought we were rather fools for starting this morning, although I enjoy a good blow; but now I don't care how hard it comes on.”
By night it was blowing a downright gale.
“We will lie to till morning, Watkins. So that we get in by daylight tomorrow evening, that is all we want. See our side lights are burning well, and you had better get up a couple of blue lights, in case anything comes running up Channel and don't see our lights. We had better divide into two watches; I will keep one with Matthews and Dawson, Mr. Harvey will go in your watch with Nicholls. We had better get the trysail down altogether, and lie to under the foresail and mizzen, but don't put many lashings on the trysail, one will be enough, and have it ready to cast off in a moment, in case we want to hoist the sail in a hurry. I will go down and have a glass of hot grog first, and then I will take my watch to begin with. Let the two hands with me go down; the steward will serve them out a tot each. Jack, you had better turn in at once.”
Virtue was soon on deck again, muffled up in his oilskins.
“Now, Watkins, you can go below and turn in.”
“I shan't go below tonight, sir—not to lie down. There's nothing much to do here, but I couldn't sleep, if I did lie down.”
“Very well; you had better go below and get a glass of grog; tell the steward to give you a big pipe with a cover like this, out of the locker; and there's plenty of chewing tobacco, if the men are short.”
“I will take that instead of a pipe,” Watkins said; “there's nothing like a quid in weather like this, it aint never in your way, and it lasts. Even with a cover a pipe would soon be out.”
“Please yourself, Watkins; tell the two hands forward to keep a bright lookout for lights.”
The night passed slowly. Occasionally a sea heavier than usual came on board, curling over the bow and falling with a heavy thud on the deck, but for the most part the Seabird breasted the waves easily; the bowsprit had been reefed in to its fullest, thereby adding to the lightness and buoyancy of the boat. Tom Virtue did not go below when his friend came up to relieve him at the change of watch, but sat smoking and doing much talking in the short intervals between the gusts.
The morning broke gray and misty, driving sleet came along on the wind, and the horizon was closed in as by a dull curtain.
“How far can we see, do you think, Watkins?”
“Perhaps a couple of miles, sir.”
“That will be enough. I think we both know the position of every reef to within a hundred yards, so we will shape our course for Guernsey. If we happen to hit it off, we can hold on to St. Helier, but if when we think we ought to be within sight of Guernsey we see nothing of it, we must lie to again, till the storm has blown itself out or the clouds lift. It would never do to go groping our way along with such currents as run among the islands. Put the last reef in the trysail before you hoist it. I think you had better get the foresail down altogether, and run up the spitfire jib.”
The Seabird was soon under way again.
“Now, Watkins, you take the helm; we will go down and have a cup of hot coffee, and I will see that the steward has a good supply for you and the hands; but first, do you take the helm, Jack, whilst Watkins and I have a look at the chart, and try and work out where we are, and the course we had better lie for Guernsey.”
Five minutes were spent over the chart, then Watkins went above and Jack Harvey came below.
“You have got the coffee ready, I hope, Johnson?”
“Yes, sir, coffee and chocolate. I didn't know which you would like.”
“Chocolate, by all means. Jack, I recommend the chocolate. Bring two full sized bowls, Johnson, and put that cold pie on the table, and a couple of knives and forks; never mind about a cloth; but first of all bring a couple of basins of hot water, we shall enjoy our food more after a wash.”
The early breakfast was eaten, dry coats and mufflers put on, pipes lighted, and they then went up upon deck. Tom took the helm.
“What time do you calculate we ought to make Guernsey, Tom?”
“About twelve. The wind is freer than it was, and we are walking along at a good pace. Matthews, cast the log, and let's see what we are doing. About seven knots, I should say.”
“Seven and a quarter, sir,” the man said, when he checked the line.
“Not a bad guess, Tom; it's always difficult to judge pace in a heavy sea.”
At eleven o'clock the mist ceased.
“That's fortunate,” Tom Virtue said; “I shouldn't be surprised if we get a glimpse of the sun between the clouds presently. Will you get my sextant and the chronometer up, Jack, and put them handy?”
Jack Harvey did as he was asked, but there was no occasion to use the instruments, for ten minutes later, Watkins, who was standing near the bow gazing fixedly ahead, shouted:
“There's Guernsey, sir, on her lee bow, about six miles away, I should say.”
“That's it, sure enough,” Tom agreed, as he gazed in the direction in which Watkins was pointing. “There's a gleam of sunshine on it, or we shouldn't have seen it yet. Yes, I think you are about right as to the distance. Now let us take its bearings, we may lose it again directly.”
Having taken the bearings of the island they went below, and marked off their position on the chart, and they shaped their course for Cape Grosnez, the northwestern point of Jersey. The gleam of sunshine was transient—the clouds closed in again overhead, darker and grayer than before. Soon the drops of rain came flying before the wind, the horizon closed in, and they could not see half a mile away, but, though the sea was heavy, the Seabird was making capital weather of it, and the two friends agreed that, after all, the excitement of a sail like this was worth a month of pottering about in calms.
“We must keep a bright lookout presently,” the skipper said; “there are some nasty rocks off the coast of Jersey. We must give them a wide berth. We had best make round to the south of the island, and lay to there till we can pick up a pilot to take us into St. Helier. I don't think it will be worth while trying to get into St. Aubyn's Bay by ourselves.”
“I think so, too, Watkins, but we will see what it is like before it gets dark; if we can pick up a pilot all the better; if not, we will lie to till morning, if the weather keeps thick; but if it clears so that we can make out all the lights we ought to be able to get into the bay anyhow.”
An hour later the rain ceased and the sky appeared somewhat clearer. Suddenly Watkins exclaimed, “There is a wreck, sir! There, three miles away to leeward. She is on the Paternosters.”
“Good Heavens! she is a steamer,” Tom exclaimed, as he caught sight of her the next time the Seabird lifted on a wave. “Can she be the Southampton boat, do you think?”
“Like enough, sir, she may have had it thicker than we had, and may not have calculated enough for the current.”
“Up helm, Jack, and bear away towards her. Shall we shake out a reef, Watkins?”
“I wouldn't, sir; she has got as much as she can carry on her now. We must mind what we are doing, sir; the currents run like a millstream, and if we get that reef under our lee, and the wind and current both setting us on to it, it will be all up with us in no time.”
“Yes, I know that, Watkins. Jack, take the helm a minute while we run down and look at the chart.
“Our only chance, Watkins, is to work up behind the reef, and try and get so that they can either fasten a line to a buoy and let it float down to us, or get into a boat, if they have one left, and drift to us.”
“They are an awful group of rocks,” Watkins said, as they examined the chart; “you see some of them show merely at high tide, and a lot of them are above at low water. It will be an awful business to get among them rocks, sir, just about as near certain death as a thing can be.”
“Well, it's got to be done, Watkins,” Tom said firmly. “I see the danger as well as you do, but whatever the risk it must be tried. Mr. Grantham and the two ladies went on board by my persuasion, and I should never forgive myself if anything happened to them. But I will speak to the men.”
