The man with the speaking trumpet appeared to consult with another figure that had drawn to his side. He then took a long look round at the weather, and afterwards put the tube again to his mouth.

"Yacht ahoy!"

"Halloa!"

"We will stand by you; but we cannot launch a boat yet. Does the water gain rapidly upon you?"

"We can keep her afloat for some hours, sir."

The man again elevated his hand, and crossed to the weather side of his ship to signify, I presume, that there was nothing more to be said.

"In two or three hours, sir, you and the lady'll be safe aboard," cried Caudel; "the wind's failing fast, and by that time the sea'll be flat enough for one of that craft's fine boats."

I re-entered the cabin, and found Grace standing, supporting herself at the table. Her att.i.tude was full of expectancy and fear.

"What have they been crying out on deck, Herbert?" she exclaimed.

"There is a big ship close beside us, darling," I answered; "the weather is fast moderating, and by noon I hope to have you safe on board of her."

"On board of her!" she cried, with her eyes large with wonder and alarm. "Do you mean to leave the yacht?"

"Yes; I have heart enough to tell you the truth now, Grace; she has sprung a leak and is taking in water rapidly, and we must abandon her."

She dropped upon the locker with her hands clasped.

"Do you tell me she is sinking, Herbert?"

"We must abandon her," I cried; "put on your hat and jacket, my darling. The deck is comparatively safe now, and I wish the people on board the ship to see you."

She was so overwhelmed, however, by the news, that she appeared incapable of motion. I procured her jacket and hat, and presently helped her to put them on, and then, grasping her firmly by the waist, I supported her to the companion steps, and carefully, and with difficulty, got her on deck, making her sit under the lee of the weather bulwark, where she would be visible enough to the people of the ship at every windward roll of the yacht, and I crouched beside her with her arm linked in mine.

There was nothing to do but to wait. Some little trifle of property I had below in the cabin, but nothing that I cared to burthen myself with at such a time. All the money I had brought with me, bank-notes and some gold, was in the pocket-book I carried. As for my sweetheart's wardrobe, what she had with her, as you know, she wore, so that she would be leaving nothing behind her. But never can I forget the expression of her face, and the exclamations of horror and astonishment which escaped her lips, when, on my seating her under the bulwark, she sent a look at the yacht. The soaked, stained, mutilated appearance of the little craft persuaded her she was sinking even as we sat together gazing. At every plunge of the bows she would tremulously suck in her breath and bite upon her under-lip with nervous twitchings of her fingers, and a recoil of her whole figure against me.

"Oh, Herbert," she cried, "when shall we leave? We shall be drowned."

I answered her that there was no fear of that. "Though," said I, "but for that ship heaving into sight and standing by us, our fate might have been sealed before the close of the day."

"But how are we to get into the ship?" she cried, straining her eyes, brilliant with emotion, at the vessel that hung, rolling stately, so close by that I could distinguish the features of the crowds of people who lined the rails staring at us.

I explained that the gale was slackening, that fair weather was at hand, as one might tell by the gradual opening of the horizon, and the clarification of the stuff that had been hanging in soot for hours and hours low down over our splintered, withered-looking mast-head, and that, in a short time, the sea would be sufficiently quiet to enable the ship to lower one of the large white quarter-boats which were hanging by davits inboards over the p.o.o.p.

"The sea runs too high yet," said I, "not for a boat to live in, but to take us off. She might be swamped, stove, sunk alongside of us; and there is time, plenty of time, my darling. Whilst that ship keeps us in view we are safe."

But though there might have been plenty of time, as I told her, the pa.s.sage of it was of a heart-subduing slowness. It was some half-hour or so after our coming on deck, that Caudel, quitting the pump at which he had been taking a spell, approached me and said:

"You'll onderstand, of course, Mr. Barclay, that I, as master of this yacht, sticks to her?"

"What!" cried I, "to be drowned?"

"I _sticks_ to her, sir," he repeated, with the emphasis of irritability in his manner that was not at all wanting in respect either. "I dorn't mean to say if it should come on to blow another gale afore that there craft," indicating the ship, "receives ye, that I wouldn't go too. But the weather's amoderating; it'll be tarning fine afore long, and I'm agoing to sail the _Spitfire_ home."

"I hope, Caudel," said I, astonished by this resolution in him, "that you'll not stick to her on my account. Let the wretched craft go and--" I held the rest behind my teeth.

"No, sir. There'll be nothen to hurt in the leak if so be as the weather gets better, and it's fast getting better as you can see.

What? Let a pretty little dandy craft like the _Spitfire_ go down merely for the want of pumping? All of us men are agreed to stick to her and carry her home."

Grace looked at me; I understood the meaning her eyes conveyed, and exclaimed:

"The men will do as they please. They are plucky fellows, and if they carry the yacht home, she shall be sold, and two-thirds of what she fetches divided amongst them. But _I_ have had enough of her, and more than enough of yachting. I must see you, my pet, safe on board some ship that does not leak!"

"I could not live through another night in the _Spitfire_," she exclaimed.

"No, miss, no," rumbled Caudel, soothingly; "nor would it be right and proper that you should be asked to live through it. They'll be sending for ye presently; though, of course, as the vessel's outward bound--"

here he ran his eyes slowly round the sea, "ye've got to consider that onless she falls in soon with something that'll land you, why then, of course, you both stand to have a longer spell of seafaring than Mr.

Barclay and me calculated upon when this here elopement was planned."

"Where is she bound to, I wonder?" I said, viewing the tall, n.o.ble vessel, with a yearning to be aboard her with Grace at my side; the desperate seas which still stormily tossed between her and us safely traversed.

"To Australia, I allow," answered Caudel. "Them pa.s.sengers ye sees forrads and along the bulwark rail ain't of the sort that goes to Chaney or the Hindies."

"We can't go to Australia, Herbert," said Grace, surveying me with startled eyes.

"My dear Grace, there are plenty of ships betwixt this Channel and Australia--plenty hard by, rolling up Channel, and willing to land us for a few sovereigns, would their steersmen only shift their helm and approach within hail."

But though there might be truth in this for aught I knew, it was a thing easier to say than to mean, as I felt when I cast my eyes upon the dark-green, frothing waters, still shrouded to within a mile or so past the ship by the damp and dirty grey of the now fast expiring gale that had plunged us into this miserable situation. There was nothing to be seen but the _Carthusian_ rolling solemnly and grandly to windward, and the glancing of white heads of foam arching out of the thickness and running sullenly, but with weight too, along the course of the wind.

"Will not that ship put into an English port before she leaves for good?" asked Grace.

"She _has_ left for good, miss," answered Caudel. "There's no English port for her unless she ups h.e.l.lum and tries back'ards again."

"Where are we, then?" cried Grace, with a wild stare over the lee rail.

"In what they call the Chops, miss," replied Caudel.

"In the mouth of the English Channel," I explained.

"I calculate, Mr. Barclay," said Caudel, "that our drift's been all three mile an hour since, it first came on to blow. The wind's hung about nothe, nothe-east, and I don't think it's shifted a point since it first busted down upon us."

"You seriously believe, Caudel, that you can make the land, seeing where we are, in this leaky, mast-wrecked craft?"

"Ay, sir, as easy as lighting a pipe."

"For heaven's sake, consider before it is too late! There's no obligation to stick to the vessel. Give us time to get out of her and you have my consent to let her go," and I pointed downwards.

"No, sir, that's not to be the _Spitfire's_ road. The weather's going to come settled, and I trust that when you get ash.o.r.e ye'll find the yacht safe and snug in harbour, and me in readiness to wait upon your honour's further commands."

I could see in his face, and by the looks he directed at his mates who stood within ear-shot of us, that his mind was made up. Argument or remonstrance would have been idle. He and the others were sailors, and must be allowed to know what they were about when their resolution dealt with their own calling. No doubt, if fine weather followed this gloom and wind, the danger of navigating the yacht would be trifling.

The water in the hold was to be kept under, as was proved by our salvation, when the yacht was labouring furiously and taking in whole thunderstorms of wet over the bows; the vessel then was surely to be easily kept afloat should the weather clear up; there were spare sails below, a spare gaff, and other materials for rigging the broken height of mast; and there was also plenty of fresh water and provisions. But those were considerations to weigh with men bred to the sea life; they would not in the least degree have influenced me even had I been alone.