The Storm.  
A storm in almost all circumstances is a grand and solemnising sight, one that forces man to feel his own weakness and his Maker’s might and majesty. But a storm at sea in southern latitudes, where the winds are let loose with a degree of violence that is seldom or never experienced in the temperate zones, is so terrific that no words can be found to convey an adequate idea of its appalling ferocity.
 
The storm that at this time burst upon the little sandbank on which the shipwrecked crew had found shelter, was one of the most furious, perhaps, that ever swept the seas. The wind shrieked as if it were endued with life, tore up the surface of the groaning deep into masses and shreds of foam, which it whirled aloft in mad fury, and then dissipated into a thin blinding mist that filled the whole atmosphere, so that one could scarcely see a couple of yards beyond the spot on which he stood. The hurricane seemed to have reached its highest point soon after sunset that night, and a ray of light from the moon struggled ever and anon through the black hurtling clouds, as if to reveal to the cowering seamen the extreme peril of their situation. The great ocean was lashed into a wide sheet of foam, and the presence of the little isle in the midst of that swirling waste of water was indicated merely by a slight circle of foam that seemed whiter than the rest of the sea.
 
The men sat silently in their frail hut, listening to the howling blast without. A feeling of awe crept over the whole party, and the most careless and the lightest of heart among the crew of the Red Eric ceased to utter his passing jest, and became deeply solemnised as the roar of the breakers filled his ear, and reminded him that a thin ledge of rock alone preserved him from instant destruction.
 
“The wind has shifted a point,” said the captain, who had just risen and opened a chink of the rude door of the hut in order to look out. “I see that the keel of the boat is all fast and the planking beside it. The coral rock shelters it just now; but if the wind goes on shifting I fear it will stand a poor chance.”
 
“We’d better go out and give it a hextra fastening,” suggested Mr Millons.
 
“Not yet. There’s no use of exposing any of the men to the risk of being blown away. The wind may keep steady, in which case I’ve no fear for it.”
 
“I dun know,” said Rokens, who sat beside Ailie, close to the embers of their fire, with a glowing cinder from which he re-lighted his pipe for at least the twentieth time that night. “You never can tell wot’s a-goin’ to turn up. I’ll go out, cap’en, if ye like, and see that all’s fast.”
 
“Perhaps you’re right, Tim; you may make a bolt across to it, and heave another rock or two on the planking if it seems to require it.”
 
The seaman rose, and putting aside his pipe, threw off his coat, partly in order that he might present as small a surface to the wind as possible, and partly that he might have a dry garment to put on when he returned. As he opened the little door of the hut a rude gust of wind burst in, filling the apartment with spray, and scattering the embers of the fire.
 
“I feared as much,” said the captain, as he and the men started up to gather together the pieces of glowing charcoal; “that shows the wind’s shifted another point; if it goes round two points more it’ll smash our boat to pieces. Look sharp, Tim.”
 
“Lean well against the wind, me boy,” cried Briant, in a warning voice.
 
Thus admonished, Rokens issued forth, and dashed across the open space that separated the hut from the low ledge of coral rock behind which the keel of the intended boat and its planking were sheltered. A very few minutes sufficed to show Tim that all was fast, and to enable him to place a few additional pieces of rock above the heap in order to keep it down. Then he prepared to dart back again to the hut, from the doorway of which his proceedings, were watched by the captain and as many of the men as could crowd round it.
 
Just as the harpooner sprang from the shelter of the rock the blast burst upon the bank with redoubled fury, as if it actually were a sentient being, and wished to catch the sailor in its rude grasp and whirl him away. Rokens bent his stout frame against it with all his might, and stood his ground for a few seconds like a noble tree on some exposed mountain side that has weathered the gales of centuries. Then he staggered, threw his arms wildly in the air, and a moment after was swept from the spot and lost to view in the driving spray that flew over the island.
 
The thing was so instantaneous that the horrified onlookers could scarcely credit the evidence of their eyes, and they stood aghast for a moment or two ere their feelings found vent in a cry of alarm. Next instant Captain Dunning felt himself rudely pushed aside, and Briant leaped through the doorway, shouting, as he dashed out—
 
“If Tim Rokens goes, it’s Phil Briant as’ll go along with him.”
 
The enthusiastic Irishman was immediately lost to view, and Glynn Proctor was about to follow, when the captain seized him by the collar, dragged him back, and shut the door violently.
 
“Keep back, lads,” he cried, “no one must leave the hut. If these two men cannot save themselves by means of their own strong muscles, no human power can save them.”
 
Glynn, and indeed all of the men, felt this remark to be true, so they sat down round the fire, and looked in each other’s faces with the expression of men who half believed they must be dreaming. Little was said during the next ten or fifteen minutes; indeed, it was difficult to make their voices heard, owing to the noise of the wind and dashing waves. The captain stood at the door, looking out from time to time with feelings of the deepest anxiety, each moment expecting to see the two sailors struggling back towards the hut; but they did not return. Soon the gale increased to such a degree that every one felt, although no one would acknowledge it even to himself, that there was now no hope of their comrades ever returning.
 
The wind shifted another point; and now their lost shipmates were for a time forgotten in the anxieties of their own critical position, for their rocky ledge formed only a partial shelter, and every now and then the hut was shaken with a blast so terrible that it threatened to come down about their ears.
 
“Don’t you think our house will fall, dear papa?” inquired Ailie, as a gust more furious than any that had hitherto passed swept round the rocks, and shook the hut as if it had been made of pasteboard.
 
“God knows, my darling; we are in His hands.”
 
Ailie tried to comfort herself with the thought that her Heavenly Father was indeed the ruler of the storm, and could prevent it from doing them harm if He pleased; but as gust after gust dashed against the frail building, and almost shook it down, while the loud rattling of the boards which composed it almost stunned her, an irresistible feeling of alarm crept over her, despite her utmost efforts to control herself.
 
The captain now ordered the men to go out and see that the fastenings to windward and the supports to leeward of the hut remained firm, and to add more of them if possible. He set the example by throwing off his coat and leading the way.
 
This duty was by no means so difficult or dangerous as that which had been previously performed by Rokens, for it must be remembered the hut as yet was only exposed to partial gusts of eddying wind, not to the full violence of the storm. It involved a thorough wetting, however, to all who went. In ten minutes the men re-entered, and put on their dry coats, but as no one knew how soon he might again be called upon to expose himself, none thought of changing his other garments.
 
“Now, Ailie, my pet,” said Captain Dunning, sitting down beside his child on the sandy floor of the hut, “we’ve done all we can. If the wind remains as it is our house will stand.”
 
“But have you not seen Rokens or Briant?” inquired Ailie with an anxious face, while the tears rolled over her cheeks.
 
The captain shook his head, but made no reply, and the men looked earnestly at each other, as if each sought to gather a ray of hope from the countenance of his friend. While they sat thus, a terrible blast shook the hut to its foundation. Again and again it came with ever-increasing violence, and then it burst on them with a continuous roar like prolonged thunder.
 
“Look out,” cried the captain, instinctively clasping Ailie in his arms, while the men sprang to their feet. The stout corner-posts bent over before the immense pressure, and the second mate placed his shoulder against one of those on the windward side of the hut, while Dick Barnes and Nikel Sling did the same to the other.
 
“It’s all up with us,” cried Tarquin, as part of the roof blew off, and a deluge of water and spray burst in upon them, extinguishing the fire and leaving them in total darkness. At that moment Ailie felt herself seized round the waist by a pair of tiny arms, and putting down her hand, she felt that Jacko was clinging to her with a tight but trembling grasp.
 
Even in that hour of danger, the child experienced a sensation of pleasure at the mere thought that there was one living creature there which looked up to and clung to her for protection; and although she knew full well that if the stout arm of her father which encircled her were removed, her own strength, in their present circumstances, could not have availed to protect herself, yet she felt a gush of renewed strength and courage at her heart when the poor little monkey put its trembling arms around her.
 
“Lay your shoulders to the weather-wall, lads,” cried the captain, as another rush of wind bore down in the devoted hut.
 
The men obeyed, but their united strength availed nothing against the mighty power that raged without. The wind, as the captain had feared, went round another point, and they were now exposed to the unbroken force of the hurricane. For a few minutes the stout corner-posts of the hut held up, then they began to rend and crack.
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