From the Isle of Pines, the Admiral put out again into the open sea,
southwest, and the moment he had cleared land terrific storms were
encountered. Worse still, when he neared the coast which he named
Honduras, the currents were so violent that his boats could hardly make
headway against them. All July and August thunder and lightning were
incessant. Timbers creaked and strained till each minute it appeared as
if they must have reached the breaking point. Meanwhile the Admiral was
enduring the tortures of rheumatism and could not leave his bed; and so,
up on deck where the gales and the waves swept free, he ordered them to
rig a little cabin of sailcloth; there he lay and directed every move of
his crew. One minute he saw his terrified seamen clinging to masts or
slipping over wet decks; another, hauling in the mere shreds of sails
that were left. One minute he heard them vowing pilgrimages and penances
if only they might be saved; another, denouncing the madman who brought
them to these terrible waters.
But the sick man did not heed all this; his business was to bring them
out alive if possible; so he kept a clear head and issued his orders.
Whenever he became discouraged, he looked across the wave-washed decks
to the comforting sight of a slender lad of fourteen, brought up
delicately at court, but now turning to with a will and helping the
sailors with every rough, heavy task.
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