at had come to us at first
as a faint low murmur, grew deeper and hoarser, and more deadly menacing
in its overpowering volume of tone. Then the air suddenly grew damp,
with a distinct taste of salt in it; the roar increased to a deafening
bellow, and with a fierce, yelling shriek the squall burst upon us, and
the brigantine bowed beneath the stroke until her lee rail was buried,
and the water foamed in on deck from the cat-head to the main-rigging.
I thought for a moment that she, too, was going to turn turtle with us,
and I believe she would, had the staysail stood; but luckily at the very
moment when it seemed all up with us, the sheet parted with a report
that sounded even above the yell of the gale; there was a concussion as
though the ship had struck something solid, and with a single flap the
sail split in ribbons and blew clean out of the bolt-ropes. Meanwhile
Mendouca had sprung to the wheel and lent his strength to the efforts of
the helmsman to put it hard up, and, after hanging irresolute for a
moment, as _though undecided whether to capsize_ or not, the _Francesca_
gathered way, and in obedience to the helm gradually paid off until she
was dead before it, when she suddenly righted and began to scud like a
terrified thing. The boats were of course left far behind; and I made
up my mind that we should never see them again.

The squall was as sharp a thing of its kind as I had ever beheld, and it
was _fully_ three-quarters of an hour before it became possible to bring
the ship to the wind again, which Mendouca did the moment that he could
with safety. The wind continued quite fresh for another half-hour after
the squall had blown itself out, and then it dwindled away to a very
paltry breeze again, the clouds cleared away, the sun re-appeared and
shone with a heat that was almost overpowering, and the weather became
brilliantly fine again; much too fine, indeed, for Mendouca's purpose,
he being anxious to get back again as quickly as possible to the spot
where he had been obliged to abandon his boats, a lingering hope
possessing him that perchance they might have outlived the squall, and
that he might recover his men. I may perhaps be doing the man an
injustice in saying so much, but I firmly believe that this desire on
his part was prompted, not by any feeling of humanity or regard for the
men, but simply because the loss of so many out of his ship's company
would leave him very short-handed, and seriously