Imagine an old-fashioned boatswain, with north-country
features strongly marked, a weather-beaten face, and a painted
south-wester on his head, and you have the "Mister Mate" of the old
brig Janson.
"Keep her full, my hearty. We must take in our light sails and go on
the other tack soon. If we don't catch it before daylight, I'll miss
my calculation. She's an unlucky old craft as ever I sailed in, and
if the skipper a'n't mighty careful, he'll never get her across.
I've sworn against sailing in her several times, but if I get across
in her this time, I'll bid her good-by; and if the owners don't give
me a new craft, they may get somebody else. We're just as sure to
have bad luck as if we had cats and parsons aboard."
Thus saying, he descended the companion-way, and reported the
appearance of the weather to the skipper, who arose quickly, and,
consulting his barometer, found it had fallen to near the lowest
scale. After inquiring the quarter of the wind, and how she headed,
what sail she was carrying, and the probable distance from the cape,
he gave orders to call all hands to take in the topgallant-sails,
double reef the fore, and single reef the maintop-sails, and stow
the flying-jib--dressed himself, and came on deck. Just as he put
his head above the slide of the companion, and stopped for a minute
with his hands resting upon the sides, a vivid flash of lightning
hung its festoons of fire around the rigging, giving it the
appearance of a chain of livid flame.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25