The G.A. Henty MEGAPACK ®. G.a. Henty Henty
There was a dull roaring sound, rising to a shriek as the squall struck the vessel.
Most of the men had gained the deck in safety, but many of those coming down by the ratlines were still some distance from the deck. It was well for them that they were on the weather side; had they been to leeward they would have been torn from their grasp, whereas they were now pinned to the rigging. Two sounds like the explosion of cannon were heard. The main and foretopsails both blew out of their gaskets, bellied for an instant, and then burst from the bolt-ropes and flew away, and were speedily lost to sight. So great was the pressure that the brig was driven bodily down until the water was almost level with the rail at the bow, and it looked for a moment as if she would go down by the head.
One of the jibs was run up, but only to be blown away before it was sheeted home. Another was tried, the sheet being kept very slack. This held, her head lifted, and in a minute the Tigress was flying along dead before the wind. The storm-jib was brought up, hooked on, and hoisted. This, being of very heavy canvas, could be trusted, and as soon as it was set the other was hauled down.
“Thank God, that is over!” Wilkinson said, “and we have not lost a hand.”
By this time all the men had gained the deck.
“How long will this last?” Edgar shouted in one of the Turks’ ears.
“Perhaps one hour; perhaps four.”
“Let us have a look at the chart,” Wilkinson said. “When we last looked there was a group of rocks ten miles ahead, and at the rate we are going the Tigress will be smashed into matchwood if she keeps on this course for long.”
Edgar nodded.
“We must get trysails on the main and foremast,” Wilkinson went on, “and manage to lay her course a couple of points to the west. I wish we had those upper spars down on deck, but it is of no use talking of that now.”
Wilkinson went down to the sail-room with the boatswain and four seamen to bring up the two heaviest and strongest of the triangular sails.
“We must sheet them home before we hoist them,” he said, as they returned on deck. “We should never be able to haul the sheets in when the sails once fill.”
Twenty men went aft with them and commenced the task. The fore-trysail was bent to some of the mast-hoops, and the sheet fastened to a cavel on the port side.
“Port your helm a little, my man,” Wilkinson said. “That will do, just enough to keep the wind on the starboard quarter. Keep her at that, keep her at that.” Edgar had the sail ready to hoist. “Slacken the tack a little. Now, half a dozen of you tail on here, and get ready to haul it down as soon as the sail is up to its full height and the halliards secured. Now, lads, tail on to the halliards. Away with her.”
The sailors ran forward with the rope, but as the sail rose the strain was so great that once or twice they were brought to a standstill. At last the boatswain shouted:
“That is enough. Come back a little, but keep a firm grip of it. That is right!” he shouted, as he twisted the slack of the rope over the cleet. “Now, lads, down with the tack; down with it! Belay!”
The main-trysail was hoisted as successfully. Small as were the sails, and slight the angle with the wind, the pressure brought the ship down nearly to her covering-board. Wilkinson and the boatswain took their places by the wheel.
“Keep her full, lads, but not a bit more. She will do at that. By Jove, Blagrove,” he said, as Edgar came aft and glanced at the compass, “that was a narrow squeak! If you hadn’t noticed those native craft lower their sails and called our attention to it, we should have turned turtle as sure as fate. We have got her snug now. If we were right as to our position at noon we shall clear those rocks nicely.”
“I don’t think we can have been far wrong, by the position of the islands. At the same time I will go up to the foretop,” Edgar said; “I shall be able to make them out some distance away, for, if you remember, two of them are thirty or forty feet above the water.”
“Mind how you go,” Wilkinson said. “You had better take one of the men up with you; you can hold each other on then.”
Edgar went forward and told one of the best of the hands to go aloft with him.
“All right, your honour!”
“It will be a tight job, but I daresay we can do it. Get a couple of lines seven or eight feet long; we will fasten them under our arms, and if a puff comes harder than usual we can twist the end round a shroud or ratline.”
In a couple of minutes both were roped and ready to mount. It was hard work, and several times they had to use the rope to prevent their being torn from their hold. But at last they reached the top, and fastened themselves securely there. The scene was a singular one. Overhead was a cloudless sky, somewhat paler in tint than it had been before the squall burst. Below was a white mass of foam, which, from the height on which they stood, seemed almost pressed level by the force of the wind. On deck they had been drenched with the sheets of spray torn off the heads of the waves as soon as they began to lift themselves, but here they were above this, and there was nothing to prevent their looking round in all directions.
“There are the rocks, sir,” the top-man said, after they had been some twenty minutes in their position, “over the lee bow, about two points off our course.”
“I see them now,” Edgar said. “I thought we should have made them out by the white foam round them, but it is white everywhere.”
He shouted down to the deck, but it was some time before he could make his voice heard above the roar of the squall. He pointed aft when at last one looked up. The sailor ran aft to the helm, and called Wilkinson’s attention to Edgar. The latter pointed in the direction of the rocks. Wilkinson waved his hand, and Edgar, then leaving the sailor on watch, made his way down to the deck.
“We shall go within half a mile of them,” he said, when he joined his comrade.
“It is lucky that we looked at the chart as soon as we did,” Wilkinson shouted back, “for even with this rag of sail I should not have liked to bring her nearer to the wind than we are now.”
“I don’t think it is blowing quite as hard as it was,” Edgar said. “I certainly got down more easily than I went up.”
“I was thinking so myself, Blagrove, though there is not much difference. I don’t care, now that we are clear of those rocks, how long it keeps on. Directly we pass them we can keep her off the wind again, and there is nothing in our course then for over forty miles, and then it is only a small island with deep water all round. I have just been taking another look at the chart.”
By another hour the strength of the wind had considerably abated, the fore-staysail was reefed and hoisted, and before sunset sail was on her again, and the hands were aloft preparing to get up fresh topsails.
At the end of six months, on their going into Rhodes they found that a small gun-boat had arrived with orders from Sir Sidney Smith for them to rejoin him.
“You have done exceedingly well,” the latter said in his letter. “The pashas both of Smyrna and Rhodes have written to me expressing their admiration at the work that you have accomplished, and indeed your report of the number of pirate vessels taken or destroyed speaks for itself.”
They were not sorry at the receipt of the order. During the past month they had only made two or three captures, and these were craft of small size, and they were well content to give up their independent life, and return to regular duty. A week later they made out the Tigre lying off the Damietta mouth of the Nile. The man-of-war signalled to them to anchor near her. As soon as they did so Wilkinson went on board.
“I am glad to see you back, Mr. Wilkinson,” Sir Sidney said cordially. “You have fully justified my confidence in your energy and discretion. The pashas write to me saying that piracy seems to be completely suppressed, and that it is two months since either of them received a complaint of a vessel