Argosy, Vol. 1 (December 9, 1882) — page 197: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

190 THE ARGOSY. itself to our astonished gaze. Against the horizon line, which a moment before had been an unbroken level, appeared a lofty elevation, as though a high island of great length had suddenly risen from the bottom of the sea. But a second look showed only too plainly that this remarkable appearance was a vast bulk of water coming down upon us with terrific speed. ‘A tidal wave, set m motion by the submarine earthquake,” exclaimed Captain Parks, as, fully alive to the threatened danger, which no human skill or power could avert, we stared blankly in each other’s faces. For the brig, not being under steerage way, was slowly drifting round in a sort of irregular circle. Should the wave strike her broadside to—— “ Into the starboard rigging, and hang on for your lives!” roared the cap- tain, as the Lascar crew, with wild yells, ran to the rail as though to throw themselves over the side. I saw Captain Parks spring for the main rigging, even as he gave the command. Raymond and I made a simultaneous rush in the same direction. But we were too late. There was a great upheaval, and the doomed brig, caught broadside to, was swept upward and rolled over like a cork. I remember being submerged under tons of green seas, and rising gasping to the surface, which was strewn with broken debris from the vessel’s deck. This I noticed first, and then I saw for a brief moment what I felt sure was the keel of the capsized brig, dotted with four or five black specks that I knew were men clinging to it, on the crest of the receding wave, which was sweep- ing steadily on to the westward. “Bad job, Mr. Harrison,” said a voice not far distant, and turning my head as I struck out I saw Raymond sitting astride the brig’s foretopsail yard, which, with part of the sail and gear attached, had been torn from the shat- tered mast by the terrible force of the sea. “1 should say it was bad,” I responded, as, having myself reached the spar, I freed my eyes and mouth of salt water and looked wonderingly at the speaker, hardly knowing whether to admire or be vexed at his coolness. “ Well, it might be worse,” he replied, but I could by no means take the same philosophical view. A hundred and fifty mifes at least from land, in danger from starvation, thirst and sharks, and out of the track of sailing vessels, it occurred to me that we were about as bad off as we could be. But I said nothing, and so for the rest of the scorching day we clung to the spar, conversing at brief intervals and straining our eyes across the smooth waters in vain search of the sail which neither of us was hopeful of seeing. A little alter noon a coming breeze was indicated by a faint black line close down against the edge of the eastern horizon. And against the dark line was _a white object, which seeming to keep pace with the approaching breath of the northeast monsoon, took the definite shape of a single smal! said heading almost directly for us. “A flying proa!” I exclaimed as it came onward with inconceivabte velocity. | And this indeed it was, though differing from those peculiar to the Ladrone and Friendly Islands. These latter, 1 may say in passing, are double enders, GONG OOO UN ceo