It has been said, that the fore-mast of the Coquette went by the board, with most of its hamper aloft. The sails, with such portion of the rigging as might help to sustain it, had been hastily cut away as related; and after its fall, until the moment of the explosion, the common men had been engaged, either in securing the staging, or in clearing the wreck of those heavy ropes which, useless as fastenings, only added to the weight of the mass. The whole wreck lay upon the sea, with the yards crossed and in their places, much as the spars had stood. The large booms had been unshipped, and laid in such a manner around the top, with the ends resting on the lower and top-sail yards, as to form the foundation of the staging. The smaller booms, with the mess-chest and shot-boxes, were all that lay between the group in the centre, and the depths of the ocean. The upper part of the top-rim rose a few feet above the water, and formed an important protection against the night-breeze and the constant washing of the waves. In this manner were the females seated, cautioned not to trust their feet on the frail security of the booms, and supported by the unremitting care of the Alderman. Francois had submitted to be lashed to the top by one of the brigantine’s seamen, while the latter, all of the common herd who remained, encouraged by the presence of their standard-light, began to occupy themselves in looking to the fastenings and other securities of the raft.
“We are in no condition for a long or an active cruise, Captain Ludlow,” said the Skimmer, when he and his companion were out of hearing. “I have been at sea in all weathers, and in every description of craft; but this is the boldest of my experiments on the water.–I hope it may not be the last!”
“We cannot conceal from ourselves the frightful hazards we run,” returned Ludlow, “however much we may wish them to be a secret to some among us.”
“This is truly a deserted sea, to be abroad in, on a raft! Were we in the narrow passages between the British islands and the Main, or even in the Biscay waters, there would be hope that some trader or roving cruiser might cross our track; but our chance here lies much between the Frenchman and the brigantine.”
“The enemy has doubtless seen and heard the explosion, and, as the land is so near, they will infer that the people are saved in the boats. Our chance of seeing more of them is much diminished by the accident of the fire, since there will no longer be a motive for remaining on the coast.”
“And will your young officers abandon their captain without a search?”
“Hope of aid from that quarter is faint. The ship ran miles while in flames, and, before the light returns, these spars will have drifted leagues, with the ebbing tide, to seaward.”
“Truly, I have sailed with better auguries!” observed the Skimmer–“What are the bearings and distance of the land?”
“It still lies to the north, but we are fast setting east and southerly. Ere morning we shall be abeam of Montauk, or even beyond it; we must already be some leagues in the offing.”
“That is worse than I had imagined!–but there is hope on the flood?”
“The flood will bear us northward again–but– what think you of the heavens?”
“Unfavorable, though not desperate. The seabreeze will return with the sun.”
“And with it will return the swell! How long will these ill-secured spars hold together, when agitated by the heave of the water? Or, how long will those with us bear up against the wash of the sea, unsupported by nourishment?”
“You paint in gloomy colors, Captain Ludlow,” said the free-trader, drawing a heavy breath, in spite of all his resolution. “My experience tells me you are right, though my wishes would fain contradict you. Still, I think we have the promise of a tranquil night.”
“Tranquil for a ship, or even for a boat; but hazardous to a raft like this. You see that this top-mast already works in the cap, at each heave of the water, and as the wood loosens, our security lessens.”
“Thy council is not flattering!–Captain Ludlow, you are a seaman and a man, and I shall not attempt to trifle with your knowledge. With you, I think the danger imminent, and almost our only hope dependent on the good fortune of my brigantine.”
“Will those in her think it their duty to quit their anchorage, to come in quest of a raft whose existence is unknown to them?”
“There is hope in the vigilance of her of the sea-green mantle! You may deem this fanciful, or even worse, at such a moment; but I, who have run so many gauntlets under her favor, have faith in her fortunes. Surely, you are not a seaman, Captain Ludlow, without a secret dependence on some unseen and potent agency!”
“My dependence is placed in the agency of him who is all-potent, but never visible. If he forget us, we may indeed despair!”
“This is well, but it is not the fortune I would express. Believe me, spite of an education which teaches all you have said, and of a reason that is often too clear for folly, there is a secret reliance on hidden chances, that has been created by a life of activity and hazard, and which, if it should do nothing better, does not abandon me to despair. The omen of the light and the smile of my mistress would cheer me, spite of a thousand philosophers!”
“You are fortunate in purchasing consolation so cheaply;” returned the commander of Queen Anne, who felt a latent hope in his companion’s confidence that he would have hesitated to acknowledge. “I see but little that we can do to aid our chances, except it be to clear away all unnecessary weight, and to secure the raft as much as possible by additional lashings.”
The ‘Skimmer of the Seas’ assented to the proposal. Consulting a moment longer, on the details of their expedients, they rejoined the group near the top, in order to see them executed. As the seamen on the raft were reduced to the two people of the brigantine, Ludlow and his companion were obliged to assist in the performance of the duty.
Much useless rigging, that added to the pressure without aiding the buoyancy of the raft, was cut away; and all the boom-irons were knocked off the yards, and suffered to descend to the bottom of the ocean. By these means a great weight was taken from the raft, which in consequence floated with so much additional power to sustain those who depended on it for life. The Skimmer, accompanied by his two silent but obedient seamen, ventured along the attenuated and submerged spars to the extremity of the tapering masts, and after toiling, with the dexterity of men accustomed to deal with the complicated machinery of a ship in the darkest nights, they succeeded in releasing the two smaller masts with their respective yards, and in floating them down to the body of the wreck, or the part around the top. Here the sticks were crossed in a manner to give great additional strength and footing to the stage.
There was an air of hope, and a feeling of increased security, in this employment. Even the Alderman and Francois aided in the task, to the extent of their knowledge and force. But when these alterations were made, and additional lashings had been applied to keep the topmast and the larger yards in their places, Ludlow, by joining those who were around the mast-head, tacitly admitted that little more could be done to avert the chances of the elements.
During the few hours occupied in this important duty, Alida and her companion addressed themselves to God, in long and fervent petitions. With woman’s faith in that divine being who alone could avail them, and with woman’s high mental fortitude in moments of protracted trial, they had both known how to control the exhibition of their terrors, and had sought their support in the same appeal to a power superior to all of earth. Ludlow was therefore more than rewarded by the sound of Alida’s voice, speaking to him cheerfully, as she thanked him for what he had done, when he admitted that he could now do no more.
“The rest is with Providence!” added Alida. “All that bold and skilful seamen can do, have ye done; and all that woman in such a situation can do, have we done in your behalf!”
“Thou hast thought of me in thy prayers, Alida! It is an intercession that the stoutest needs, and which none but the fool derides.”
“And thou, Eudora! thou hast remembered him who quiets the waters!” said a deep voice, near the bending form of the counterfeit Seadrift.