Don Rafaele turned pale as he felt the deck tremble under him; but, having a firm hold of the belaying-pin, he maintained his footing with ease.
“Two more sail to leeward, Sir!” cried Halyard.
Hildebrand, after another glance at the horizon, which revealed no more than his former ones, raised himself on the ship’s bulwark, and mounted into the shrouds. Thence he passed to the topmast-landing, and there, coming to a halt, joined Halyard.
In this elevated position, he quickly discerned the topmasts of the nine ships, like so many separate specks, scattered over the verge of the horizon. His survey, however, did not satisfy him, and, after a moment’s pause, he parted from Master Halyard, and pushed up higher aloft.
It was curious, if any one had marked it, to see what an effect his ascent from the deck produced on Don Rafaele. That cavalier had watched the ascent of Master Halyard, described heretofore, with evident interest, but without any show of anxiety; but no sooner did Hildebrand mount the shrouds, than, all at once, he became violently agitated. As he viewed his progress upward, his face became pale and red by turns, as though his blood, according as fear or hope predominated, advanced and receded with the mariner’s every step. When Hildebrand had gained the topmast landing, he seemed, by the deep breath he exhaled, to have quite a burthen taken from his heart, and to become more composed. But his composure lasted only while Hildebrand was stationary. Directly that person mounted the upper shrouds, on his way to the top-gallant mast, his emotion revived, and became even more and more lively. He scarcely breathed till he saw him gain the foot of the top-gallant mast. But when, with no help but the adjacent tackle, which appeared to be hardly strong enough to hold up its pulleys, Hildebrand hoisted himself to the yards above, he seemed to lose himself in his excessive agitation. His face fairly quivered; his lips parted, as it seemed, in speechless terror; and, every now and then, he turned away his eyes, as though their continued contemplation of Hildebrand’s giddy height could not be endured.
At length he beheld Hildebrand clinging round the crowning spar of the ship. As the ship rose and fell over the waves, the slender mast, if it might be called a mast, rocked him to and fro, and appeared on the point of snapping asunder every moment. Don Rafaele would have been concerned for a bird in such a dizzying situation. He could look up no longer: if he raised his eyes, he felt giddy himself, and his head swam again. Apprehensive that his agitation might excite remark, which, whatever was his motive, he evidently desired earnestly to avoid, he was about to turn away, when he heard Hildebrand call out.
“Ho, Master Halyard!”
“Ay, ay, Sir!”
“Four more sail to leeward, Sir!”