he added, under his breath, “I don’t like the look of this.” Turning to his men, he had them make for a position nearer to shore, while steering clear of the precipitate commotion of water near the bluffs.
Precisely at that moment, a bolt of lightning lit the sky, followed by a powerful roll of thunder whose reverberation could be felt to the very bowels of the lake, unleashing a heavy blanket of wind and rain that lashed upon them in torrential assault. It was a downpour of such intensity that within the span of minutes, they were taking on more water than they could put out.
Of all the experiences Armand had known at sea, this was the most meteoric and perilous. The craft pitched over and under, rolling erratically, making it difficult for the men to maintain balance.
While the Captain shouted orders over the near-deafening roar, Armand worked with the men to keep from capsizing, as the craft surged and dove over the criss-crossing waves. Rain pelted his eyes as he strained to gather their position. They were nearing shore, but he could see that their frantic efforts might not be enough.
“Men overboard!” he heard suddenly. Breaking to the side, with several of the crew, he stared down into the water that seemed a vast, swirling cauldron. Within the roiling mass of noise and confusion, two heads, a distance apart, bobbed like corks upon the surface.
“Some rope!” Yelled Renard, followed by an incredulous “Oh dear God! How could this have happened...the Governor?”
Fear beyond Armand’s experience took hold from within, unleashing a fleeting cavalcade of questions and emotions. His mind vaulted in indecision. Who would help him? Should he be helped? Why did the others seem frozen on the spot? Here, the very man whom had been the object of his jealousy, a man that, moments before, he had himself sneered, almost despised...would he honour a commitment to spare this man or regard this as providence, perhaps the only chance he might ever have for true happiness? Could he be that merciless...?
Then again, what of Louise? Would she glory in her newfound freedom, knowing that a faultless accident had been at its cause, or fail to forgive what she perceived as an act of treachery, in not doing his utmost to protect him? The question was...could he forgive himself, ever wondering if the life of an innocent man, or—dare he say— friend , could have been spared?
Instinct and conscience merged in the voice of Louise, silencing his thoughts. In the fraction of an instant he felt himself falling, plunging through the froth and spray.
He remembered the sides of the craft swaying perilously near, the extreme cold, and...a flash of terror in Felippe’s’ liquid eyes. He didn’t know how many men were in the water—sailors often did not know how to swim—but he saw the other man nearest the Galiote receive aid.
“Help me!” Felippe gurgled, flailing his arms in desperation, as Armand attempted to reach him.
Pulling himself hard against the waves, he could see Felippe was flagging in his efforts to stay afloat. The onslaught of rain and terror had caught up with him.
“Felippe... don’t struggle…” he gasped, breathlessly attempting to encircle his arm about his neck and shoulder.
Feeling the presence of another, Felippe began to grapple for him, ever more desperately hampering his aims.
Locked in what was more a combat than a rescue, a gigantic wave overtook them, plunging both under.
In the ensuing battle to surface, Felippe, flailing in panic, found himself gripping Armand’s legs, in such a way that the latter was forced to struggle like a seal in a fisherman’s net, growing further exhausted by the second.
A rope was flung to Armand. Twisting, straining, he made a valiant attempt to reach it, but the waves, the rain, and the cold caught up with him.
His arms became useless. He was losing
Precisely at that moment, a bolt of lightning lit the sky, followed by a powerful roll of thunder whose reverberation could be felt to the very bowels of the lake, unleashing a heavy blanket of wind and rain that lashed upon them in torrential assault. It was a downpour of such intensity that within the span of minutes, they were taking on more water than they could put out.
Of all the experiences Armand had known at sea, this was the most meteoric and perilous. The craft pitched over and under, rolling erratically, making it difficult for the men to maintain balance.
While the Captain shouted orders over the near-deafening roar, Armand worked with the men to keep from capsizing, as the craft surged and dove over the criss-crossing waves. Rain pelted his eyes as he strained to gather their position. They were nearing shore, but he could see that their frantic efforts might not be enough.
“Men overboard!” he heard suddenly. Breaking to the side, with several of the crew, he stared down into the water that seemed a vast, swirling cauldron. Within the roiling mass of noise and confusion, two heads, a distance apart, bobbed like corks upon the surface.
“Some rope!” Yelled Renard, followed by an incredulous “Oh dear God! How could this have happened...the Governor?”
Fear beyond Armand’s experience took hold from within, unleashing a fleeting cavalcade of questions and emotions. His mind vaulted in indecision. Who would help him? Should he be helped? Why did the others seem frozen on the spot? Here, the very man whom had been the object of his jealousy, a man that, moments before, he had himself sneered, almost despised...would he honour a commitment to spare this man or regard this as providence, perhaps the only chance he might ever have for true happiness? Could he be that merciless...?
Then again, what of Louise? Would she glory in her newfound freedom, knowing that a faultless accident had been at its cause, or fail to forgive what she perceived as an act of treachery, in not doing his utmost to protect him? The question was...could he forgive himself, ever wondering if the life of an innocent man, or—dare he say— friend , could have been spared?
Instinct and conscience merged in the voice of Louise, silencing his thoughts. In the fraction of an instant he felt himself falling, plunging through the froth and spray.
He remembered the sides of the craft swaying perilously near, the extreme cold, and...a flash of terror in Felippe’s’ liquid eyes. He didn’t know how many men were in the water—sailors often did not know how to swim—but he saw the other man nearest the Galiote receive aid.
“Help me!” Felippe gurgled, flailing his arms in desperation, as Armand attempted to reach him.
Pulling himself hard against the waves, he could see Felippe was flagging in his efforts to stay afloat. The onslaught of rain and terror had caught up with him.
“Felippe... don’t struggle…” he gasped, breathlessly attempting to encircle his arm about his neck and shoulder.
Feeling the presence of another, Felippe began to grapple for him, ever more desperately hampering his aims.
Locked in what was more a combat than a rescue, a gigantic wave overtook them, plunging both under.
In the ensuing battle to surface, Felippe, flailing in panic, found himself gripping Armand’s legs, in such a way that the latter was forced to struggle like a seal in a fisherman’s net, growing further exhausted by the second.
A rope was flung to Armand. Twisting, straining, he made a valiant attempt to reach it, but the waves, the rain, and the cold caught up with him.
His arms became useless. He was losing
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