Gilpin observer., 1899-06-29
CHAPTER XIV.
The Thunderbolt.

The Thunderbolt.
Al emotion. of mingled freedom and
satisfaction possessed the whole crew
on being rid of our tormentor, and
Lambourne now took charge Of the
brig, which he was perfectly able to
handle and work, though ignorant of
navigation as science, and having
but a vague idea of the course to steer
for the Cape of Good Hope.
She was hove in the wind, while in
the moonlight, about two hours after
the exciting scene which closes the
last chapter, We committed to the deep
The body of Antonio's last victim, the
poor apprentice, whom the sailmaker
sewed up in his hammock, to which,
being without shot or other suitable
weights, we tied a sack of Goals to
sink the corpse.
The head-yards were filled again,
and, as If anxious to leave that por-
ton of the sea as far as possible
astern, we hauled up for the cape. Tom
Lambourne ordered every stitch of
canvas that the spars would hold to
be spread upon the Eugenie, that she
might, as he said. walk through the
water in her own style.''
All he could do at first was to keep
her in the course we had been steering
on the night these disasters began, for
as yet we knew not to what degree of
latitude, south or north, we might
have been drifting; however, we cal
culated that Hislop, weak as he was,
might be able to take a solar observa
tion ana prick off our place on the
chart, in the course of six or seven
days.
We had the usually snug little cabin
cleansed and cleared from the debris
created by the outrageous proceedings
Of Antonio, who must have gone to the
bottom with all Westons valuabkes
and money about him, as we could
find neither; and the sweet expression
of the poor, widows face, as it seemed
to smile on us from the miniature
on the after-bulkhead, contrasted
strangely with all the wild work that
had SO lately taken place on board.
Hislop and 1 were restored to our
former berths, and then more than
once in my dreams the pale olive-green
visage and glaring eyes of the Gu
bano came before me. and again 1
seemed to see him clinging unpitied
and in desperation to the slender boom
which swung above the seething sea
for his death and all its concomitant
horrors haunted me and made me un-
happy.
The intensity of the heat in that
season suggested the idea that we
could not have drifted far south of the
line.
So great was it that the upper spars
Of the Eugene appeared to wriggle or
vibrate like serpents aloft in, the sun
shine; while SO hot, SO clear and so
rarefied was the atmosphere between
decks that it was suffocated. especially
in the lulling OF the faint breeze. A
white heat seemed to make sea and
sky grow pale. and the former cast
upward a reflection from its CLASSY
surface and long smooth swells that
was hot-hot beyond all description.
Though ever and anon the upper
deck was drenched with salt water, 1t
dried Immediately, emitting a strong
odor of wet wood. while the skids over
and rosin rising in large burnt blisters.
About the time when we hoped that
Hislop would have been well enough
to make an observation, even by being
placed in chair on deck, the weather
became so rough that he was unable
to leave his berth, and during all that
day the brig drove before heavy
gale, with her courses hauled close
up, the fore and main topsail yards
lowered on the caps, and their canvas
close reefed.
After the heat we had endured, the
reader may imagine this gale would
be refreshing and relief. Not So.
The atmosphere, as 1t became dark
with gathering clouds. increased in
density. closeness and heat, thus about
the time we should have had clear twi-
light, the hour was gloomy as north
err midnight-so dark that the men
in the tops. or those lying out along
the foot ropes at the yard-arms, when
under close-reefed topsails, could not
be seen from the deck, while the breeze
that swept over the ocean was breath
less-hot as the simeon of the desert;
and our men knew not whether they
were drenched by perspiration or the
spoondrift torn from the warm wave
tops by the increasing blast.
The peculiar appearance of this black
gale alarmed and bewildered Tattooed
Tom. who could make nothing of It.,
while poor Marc Hislop, whose skill
would have been invaluable to us.
when he heard the singing out on deck.
the thunder OF the bellying courses
struggling with their brails. the roar
L. H. l.. u
masts and rigging. the clatter of blocks
and feet overhead, writhed in his bed.
and mourned his own inactivity. or