CHAPTER XVI.

THE WIND THAT BLEW NO GOOD.

When Harry Northend finally aroused himself from the fanciful dreams into which he had fallen, the sun had gone down, and it was already growing dark. He noticed that the sea was heavier than usual, and the ship tossed and pitched in a way that was any thing but pleasant to a landsman.

He had a dread of being sea-sick, but it may be that there was something in the rough out-door life that he had been leading during the past few months that acted as a preventive; for now, when the real test had come, in the tossing and heaving of the sea, he was not sensible of the slightest disturbance, and, as he descended into the cabin to take his supper with the captain, that functionary took occasion to congratulate him upon his good fortune.

“Perhaps I may get sick yet,” timidly returned the boy, “as we are only fairly started on our trip, I suppose.”

“Perhaps you will,” was the hearty reply of the captain, as he helped himself to a huge slice of fried pork, “though a chap, if he is going to have it, is pretty sure to show signs of it by this time. However, we are going to have rough weather before we get through.”

Harry looked up at the bronzed and bearded face with some apprehension.

“Do you mean that a storm is brewing?”

“Exactly; I can always feel it in that larboard leg of mine—a touch of the rheumatics, you know—a reg’lar barometer—sure to tell me when trouble is coming.”

“What sort of a coast have we here?” asked the boy.

“It is one of the infernalest coasts in the whole creation,” was the reply of Captain Cole. “I was wrecked on it twice, and the last time I came up, only missed it by a hair’s breadth.”

Harry could not but feel alarmed at the words of the captain; but beyond his own personal fear, was anxiety about Little Rifle, who, he knew, was at no great distance ahead, and whose vessel would be caught in the same tempest, if it should come, and would, in all human probability, share the same fate.

“Do you know what boat Mr. Ravenna and his daughter sailed upon?” he asked of the officer.

“Certainly,” was the prompt answer. “It was the North Star, a schooner belonging to the Smith Brothers, of Fr’isco, engaged in the same trade with us.”

“Is she a stanch vessel, able to weather such a storm as seems to be coming?”

“She is one of the rottenest, good-for-nothingest old hulks in the trade. It’s a wonder to me that she hasn’t gone to the bottom before, for she ain’t any better than an old tub.”

This was very dispiriting tidings, to say the least, and Harry began to believe that instead of being through with the difficulties and dangers, the greatest still remained before them.

As if to emphasize the words of the captain, the whistling of the wind through the cordage at this moment rose so high and shrill, that they distinctly heard it in the cabin, although the door was closed. At the same time the vessel made a deep plunge into the sea.

Captain Cole shook his head in a knowing way.

“Oh, I tell you it’s coming, sure; you can make up your mind to that. I tell you that a _howler_ is coming up!”

The captain arose and went on deck, and Harry followed him, that he might see for himself the prospect before them.

The change that he encountered was enough to make the strongest man, unaccustomed to the sea, draw back in terror.

It was of pitchy darkness, and the gale, as it whistled through the rigging, rose and swelled like the shrieking of spirits in the air, as they floated high above the mast, or glided over the deck; the wind that blew against his cheeks brought with it the brine of the ocean, and he instinctively clapped his hand upon his head to prevent his hat being carried away.

The sloop was pitching and tossing quite heavily, but still she held her own. All sail was crowded on, and she seemed to be under capital control, if it would only last.

The captain speedily vanished in the gloom, as he went to take his place at the helm, and relieve the mate, who had been stationed there during his absence.

When Harry found himself out of the cabin and upon the deck, he staggered to the gunwale, where he caught hold with both hands and held on, while he listened and looked, and endeavored to gain a fair view of the situation.

“There is a strong gale of wind,” he thought, as the spray went dashing over his head; “but I can not see why there should be any great danger. She has not taken in any sail yet, and so long as the wind keeps as it is, it will only hurry us on our way.”

Looking aloft, not a star was to be seen. The sky seemed to be wrapped in the densest, blackest gloom.

Looking off to the southward, Harry fancied, once or twice, that he detected a bright point of light appear through the night.

Only for an instant was it visible, when it vanished again, and he supposed it was produced by the phosphorescence of the sea, until he happened to be gazing directly toward the point where it appeared, when it struck him that its appearance was different from that. It was more like the glimmering of a star, that is shut out at intervals by some dark body coming between it and the observer, to reäppear again in a few moments.

While Harry was puzzling his brains over the singular appearance of this light, somebody slapped him upon the shoulder, causing him to turn with a suddenness that almost threw him off his feet.

In the murky gloom, he was barely able to make out a human figure, which he suspected was that of the captain.

“Come, my boy, you had better go below!” he called out, in a cheery voice.

“Can you tell me what that light means?” Harry inquired.

“Where? I don’t see any,” replied the officer, halting by his side.

“It is gone now—there it is again. Look! it seems like a star!”

“Oh, that! Why that’s the binnacle light of another boat.”

“Do you know what one it is?” asked the lad, with a vague but terrible misgiving freezing his heart.

“Hardly enough light to read her name; wait until morning, and I’ll tell you what she is, and where she hails from.”

Harry was about to ask more, but the captain moved away in the darkness, leaving him alone.

He remained on deck, watching the fitful twinkling of the point of light, as it rose to view on the crest of a wave, and then dipped out of sight again, and speculating as to what the night and following day would bring forth.

But, as the night advanced, he thought there was very little if any increase in the fury of the gale, and he descended into the cabin, where Captain Cole had placed a hammock at his disposal.

Here he committed his soul in fervent prayer to God, and then lay down without removing any of his garments; for he had no expectation of sleep, and had little hope that he would be permitted to remain undisturbed until the rising of the morrow’s sun.