The storm had lasted for nearly ten hours before it showed signs of
abatement. Another two hours passed before it was safe to leave the helm.
The wind had by this time fallen to a steady breeze; the rain had ceased;
the sky was clear and starlit; but the sea was still running high. At
length the serang offered to steer while the others got a little rest;
and intrusting the wheel to him Desmond and Fuzl Khan threw themselves
down as they were, on the deck near the wheel, and were soon fast asleep.
At dawn Desmond awoke to find the grab laboring in a heavy sea, with just
steering way on. The wind had dropped to a light breeze. The Gujarati was
soon up and relieved the serang at the wheel; the rest of the crew,
haggard melancholy objects, were set to work to make things shipshape.
Only the Babu remained below; he lay huddled in the cabin, bruised,
prostrate, unable to realize that the bitterness of death was past,
unable to believe that life had any further interest for him.
Desmond's position was perplexing. Where was he? Perforce he had lost his
bearings. He scanned the whole circumference of the horizon, and saw
nothing but the vast dark ocean plain and its immense blue dome--never a
yard of land, never a stitch of canvas. He had no means of ascertaining
his latitude. During the twelve hours of the storm the grab had been
driven at a furious rate; if the wind had blown all the time from the
southeast, the quarter from which it had struck the vessel, she must now
be at least fifty miles from the coast, possibly more, and north of
Bombay.
Pages:
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236