“But did he not fright the men?” said I. “I mean, about going to the Haunted Island.”
“Why, bless you, no!” says he. “They put it down to his whimsies.”
This was in the first week after our departure from Juan Fernandez. We had made good way on our course, which was S.W. having a brave settled gale at W.N.W. On the morrow, however, when I awoke, I was sensible the ship was tost like an eggshell, as, indeed, she was, in a high cockling sea.
It held all day. Late in the afternoon, Burke, coming into the cabin, was thrown headlong with a sudden violent lurching of the ship. I laughed to see him go rolling over (being a little round man); but he got to his feet with a very long countenance, which rather abashed me. Yet was it not like Burke to take umbrage, and I presently perceived that that was not the matter with him. He was concerned in his mind about the men.
They were, it seemed, in a most villainous temper, by reason of the work they had had with the ship. For, ever since one o’clock in the morning, when the wind came to N.E. and the sea swelled, they had not found so much as a moment’s respite. First (the ship having been put under a forecourse and spritsail), the foresail split. Then, when the yard had been lowered and that matter remedied, the standing rigging gave way in several places. That having been mended, the wind began to whiffle between all points; whereupon the Captain set them a brave dance up and down the rigging in his eagerness to make way. At length, the wind blowing and whiffling worse than ever, our main-course blew to pieces; “and now the mizzen’s given way!” said Burke, holding up his hands.
“It’s a scurvy business,” said I, “but I see not why you should be put out about the men. Let them be! They’ll come about anon, like wind and weather. In my opinion, wind and weather are rather to be feared than so many silly seamen!”
“And your opinion is out,” said Burke tartly. “You’ve never experienced a mutiny aboard ship, have you? No; well, pray that you never may! A mutiny is what we’ve been in fear of all along; and, it seems, what that miserable maroon gave out about the Haunted Island stuck with the men after all, and now it works. And there goes a word among them that this blast and hurly-burly, and coil of trouble with the sails, is a warning from God Almighty that we should go no farther on this voyage; and, when seamen have stuck on this sort of notion, you may spare your labour and let be: not all your endeavours, nor arguments, nor persuasions, nor appeals, look you, will avail to hale ’em off! And now,” says he, “I must go; the Captain may have need of me.”
With that, he departed, leaving me to conjure up dismal forebodings, to the music of the groaning ship, the stamping of the mariners, the brunt and welter of the roaring seas, and the continual shrieking of the winds.
Thus I sat hearkening for any sound that might betoken a rising of the men, with intent to sally forth on the first sign or appearance of an alarm. However, I heard nothing; and at the customary time the ship’s boy came to light the lantern and bring my supper, which made me conclude there was no mutiny so far. The ship laboured more than ever now, and the boy told me that we lay a hull in a huge roaring sea, in drizzling rain and very dark weather.
I turned into my hammock, and composed myself to sleep, yet with small expectation thereof. However, I slept very well until the morning.