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Chapter XII. We are Driven South'ard.

We were a trfle premature in congratulating ourselves on our good luck, for nothing but misfortunes befell us from the day we found the chart. One would have thought that the devil had come aboard, and was doing his best to prevent the accomplishment of our enterprise. But I had better relate our adventures in detail, as they are not without interest, and moreover have a direct bearing on this veracious narrative, as they fully account for our late arrival at the island of Isk. Never was there anything so unfortunate as that unexpected hurricane. page 133 Had we kept on our course, and steered by the chart, no doubt we should have fetched the wished-for island before the return of the embassy; but, as it was, Fate falsified Flick's prediction, and the red ship gained her destination before we did. The elements seemed to array themselves against us, and the Carmen simply battled her way to her goal. We were as unfortunate as the Flying Dutchman, and quite as storm-tormented.

To begin at the beginning. Captain Flick altered the yacht's course after the discovery of the chart and in place of skirting the coast, as heretofore, he now steered in a straight line for Table Bay. Here it was his intention to coal—since we needed a good supply to facilitate our escape from Isk, should it be necessary to retreat—and afterwards to bear eastward to Paul's Island. Thence, going by the chart' he designed to steer northward in a straight line, and, assuming that the negro map was reliable, he hoped to strike Isk without much difficulty. According to Flick, it lay some hundreds of miles to the north of Paul's, not far from the tropic of Capricorn.

“'Tis all right, I tell ye,” said he to me, when I expressed a doubt on the subject. “Take Paul's, Mauritius, and Apahuria as a triangle, and I'll bet Isk lies within those seas. We mayn't fetch it straight, but a little beating about will soon bring it page 134 within hail. This craft will be there before the red ship.”

That evening, when the chart so unexpectedly turned up, we retired to rest in excellent spirits—all but Flick, who, sniffing a coming storm, stayed on deck. I cast a glance around as I went below, and never did I see so beautiful a scene. The night was oppressively still, not a ripple disturbed the steel-hued surface of the ocean; and the moon having set, the constellations shone with unusual brilliance in the lofty arch of the sky. To nor'ard a long low bank of clouds sat on the horizon, and it was on these that Flick's gaze was fixed.

“There may be a capful of wind,” he said with some uneasiness, “but I don't expect it will be much to speak of. We must get away from the coast, though. To get mixed up with reefs during a storm is too dangerous by half. Plenty of sea-room, that's what the boat wants.”

He spoke cheerfully enough, but I saw that he was disturbed in his mind at the prospect of those threatening clouds. I knew well that Flick was not the man to dread what he termed “a capful of wind” or even a storm; therefore I apprehended that he expected exceptionally rough weather. He looked aloft at the tapering masts soaring into the dark blue, bare of canvas, spoke a few words to the man at the wheel, and turned to me with a nod.

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“Good night, Sir Denis,” he said shortly. “Go below, if you are tired.”

“Call me up if there's dirty weather,” I replied, turning away.

“You won't need calling,” was his grim answer. And, sure enough, he proved a true prophet, as I found out before long.

I glanced into Harry's berth as I sought my own, and saw that he was sound asleep, rocked into slumber, as it were, by the swinging of the ship, a veritable sea-cradle. Disinclined to rest myself—for my mind dwelt uneasily on Flick's hint—I lay down without removing any of my clothes, save a thick pea-jacket. At first I kept wide awake listening to the throbbing of the screws and the wash of the waters along the smooth sides of the yacht. At length the monotony of sound and motion induced slumber, and a wave of sleep rolled over my brain. In the space of a few minutes I was in the land of dreams, and fancied that I was rescuing my darling Bertha from a crowd of misshapen negroes.

The sudden stoppage of the screws brought me out of my sleep with a shock, and I leaped out of bed and into the saloon. Here I found Harry, blinking his eyes, half asleep, with nothing on but his thin pyjamas. We simultaneously looked at one another for an explanation, when unexpectedly the yacht page 136 heeled to port with a kind of muffled roar, and we were slapped roughly against the walls of the saloon. Then Pandemonium seemed to break loose.

“A collision, by Jupiter!” gasped Harry; and staggered for the companion.

I followed, and—with some difficulty, for the yacht was still at an awkward angle—we managed to scramble on deck. Here we found ourselves enveloped in a cloud of flying spray, and through the white mist we caught a glimpse of gigantic waves overtopping the bulwarks. Flick was roaring out orders, and the crew were tumbling about the slanting decks with the utmost activity. I guessed in an instant that the yacht had been struck by a squall, and bawled the information to Harry, who still seemed to think that we had collided with another boat.

“A storm,” said he, tumbling towards the companion. “At that rate I'd better put on my clothes. You come too, Denis, and don your oilskins.”

We retreated to the saloon, and wrapped ourselves up warmly, while the shrieking of the elements went on overhead, and the screws, now spinning again, slapped the water with irregular rapidity. The boat had recovered her equilibrium, and was leaping through the waves like a frightened deer. The situation was almost inconceivable from its suddenness. But a moment before we had been slipping page 137 quietly along on an even keel, and now the yacht was in the grip of a hurricane, which threatened to rend her asunder.

On deck, sight was added to sound and motion. Across the pallid sky raced black storm-clouds, driven furiously by the wind, and blotting out the winking stars. The liquid plain of ocean now represented chains of jet-black hills, topped and marbled with white foam. On they came, curling crests so terrific as to threaten destruction to the yacht; but at the critical moment, she soared aloft like a swallow, balanced herself on the giddy height, and went sliding down into the hollow beyond, with her stern sticking up in the air. Always at this moment the steam was shut off and the screws stopped, so that the propeller fans should run no risk of being snapped off short when they again struck the solid mass of the water.

Flick manoeuvred the boat with wonderful skill, and she nobly seconded his efforts. I would not have believed that so small a craft could have battled so stubbornly with such overwhelming seas; but she went leaping onward, breasting the terrific billows, like a thing of life, every timber groaning and grinding with the hammer-like blows of the surge. Spume and spray wrapped her as in a veil, and frequently glass-green seas burst over the taffrail; then she page 138 would reel and stagger, but always bravely recovered herself to dart out of danger, and top the ridges of the seas.

Being a landsman, I am not versed in sea terms, therefore my descriptions may lack point; but I have set down what I truly felt and saw. All short-comings must be placed to the inadequacy of my nautical knowledge; so I will not inflict further description than is necessary. The storm lasted five or six days, and drove us far to the south out of course, much to the disgust of Flick, who now saw little chance of fetching Isk for a considerable period.

To add to our troubles, the engines got out of gear on the fourth day, and we were forced to rely on our sailing powers. The chief engineer announced that the machinery could not be put right until we anchored in Table Bay, and as that meant a further delay of a week, the information by no means improved Flick's temper.

“It will be a month before we sight Isk,” he grumbled. “We've been nearly a week driving to south'ard; now the screws won't spin, and it will take us a devil of a time to lift the Cape.”

“Where are we now, captain?” I asked curiously.

“Close on Tristan d'Acunha, I reckon. When this storm swings past us, we must hoist all sail for page 139 the north. If we have luck, a smart run of a few days should take us into Table Bay.”

We did have good luck, but not immediately. For two more days we fought with the storm, but on the morning of the seventh, we found a cloudless sky, a bright sun, and the yacht riding easily the yeasty plain of the seas. For the first time for the past week, we were able to take some rest, for the weather, to say nothing of the anxiety, had kept us on deck nearly the whole of that time. The Carmen was rather battered to look at, but her bottom was sound, her sails and cordage in good order; and when the fine weather came, Flick set her nose on the return journey to the Cape of Good Hope. The name of the wished-for haven was a good omen.

We accomplished a wonderfully quick passage to that port, for the yacht possessed considerable sailing powers; and favoured by a fair wind we flew north like a sea bird. With her noble spread of white canvas, she looked a thing of beauty as she swept over the now tranquil ocean; and the sensation of sailing, with its silent speed, was a relief from the constant vibration of the screws. After the storm came the calm, and I think we were all thankful for the ease we enjoyed. It was like convalescence after a fierce attack of fever.

At Cape Town we lingered considerably over a page 140 week, as the accident to the engines of the yacht proved to be more serious than had been supposed. While the engineers were tinkering down below, we went ashore, and took up our quarters at a good hotel. I cannot say that I enjoyed the rest much, for my thoughts were ever with Bertha and her flight. I half expected to find her married by force when we reached Isk; and hinted as much to Flick. He reassured me.

“No fear, Sir Denis. I found out about the ceremonies from Dosk. The bride is placed in the Temple of Venus for purification, and there she is kept for three months. All sorts of sacred doings take place, and she is then conducted with great pomp to the king's palace for the marriage ceremony. We won't arrive at Isk till after the scarlet ship,” added Flick, with a vexed air, “but you'll find Miss Greenvile safely bestowed in the temple.”

“Whence I hope we'll be able to rescue her, Flick.”

“Bless your heart, yes!” said Roaring Tom contemptuously; “we'll rescue her, and steal the statue, and light out from Isk in a less time than three months. I'm not the man to let myself be beaten by a parcel of ignorant niggers.”

“They beat us once,” said I, recalling the circumstances when Bertha was abducted. Flick muttered page 141 something between his teeth and marched away. He did not like to be reminded of that episode, and always retreated when it was brought under his notice. I was by no means so sanguine as he was that the negroes would be easy to deal with. They were subtle and dangerous, and it would take us all our time to accomplish the twofold object of our enterprise, viz., to rescue Bertha and carry off the statue of Venus. It might be that we should have to fight for our lives; but I did not trouble much about this thought, as our boat was well supplied with guns and ammunition, and, not counting ourselves, we had a crew of thirty strong sailors; and so we should be able to defend ourselves against the malice and fanaticism of the misshapen inhabitants of Isk.

“Perhaps our strength will overawe them,” suggested Harry, to whom I confided these ideas.

“I'm afraid not. We could not overawe them on our own ground at Cythera, else they would not have dared to attack the yacht. No, my dear Hal; we are about to thrust our hands into a wasps' nest, and even if we come out alive, we shall be severely stung.”

“You don't want to back out of the expedition, Denis?”

I laughed at the idea.

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“My dear fellow, don't let my words mislead you that far,” I replied. “Your sister, my affianced wife, is at Isk, and there I would go if all the fiends of hell barred the way. But,” I added significantly, “we must not make the mistake of underrating our antagonists.”

“Pooh! pooh!” growled Flick, who had returned; “confounded little black-beetles. I'll crush them.”

“Let us hope, Flick, they won't crush us,” was my grave reply.