The second mate was now heard singing out, “Avast hauling on that fore-brace. Slack it off handsomely.” Four or five men were at the same time seen running up the fore-rigging.
In those days iron trusses to lower yards by (which they swing in all directions as easily as a door on its hinges) were not known; but they were made of rope, covered with leather, and very stiff. A man must be sent up to overhaul them when the yards were swung.
Danforth Eaton went up to overhaul the weather-truss. The wind blew the end of his cue—he had the longest cue on board—into the hole of the cleat; it jammed fast, and the men bracing the yard hauled it in, pulling out the hair by the roots, starting the skin from the flesh, and well nigh breaking his neck.
“Cut the blasted thing off,” cried the sufferer (his eyes bloodshot, and the tears streaming down his cheeks) to Walter, who was the first to reach him.
Eaton never wore another cue, and his example was followed by a few of his shipmates; and at length cues went out of fashion altogether.
The next shot fell wide; but as both vessels were now brought nearer to the wind, it was evident, by the balls falling short, that the brigantine was increasing the distance between them, which became still greater as the man-of-war, afraid of the shoals, gave the island a wider berth, while the brigantine, under the skilful pilotage of the black, running as near as possible to the rocks, rounded the point of the island, gradually coming up more and more to the wind, till, having passed the last shoal, at a signal from Peterson, the yards were braced sharp, the main sheet hauled flat aft, and she shot out into a clear channel.
“Dere,” cried the black (who had stood on the bow, with his eye glancing alternately from the water to the sails), as he flung his tarpaulin upon the deck, and wiped the sweat from his forehead, “where dat frigate now? Dis chile no see her,” he exclaimed, looking straight to windward. “You ole man, Peterson, you lose de eyesight.”
A merry laugh went round, as the captain exclaimed, “You are looking the wrong way, Peterson. Look to leeward. Well done, my old pilot; reckon on a suit of clothes for yourself, and a dress for the old woman. I see you are all Captain Rhines recommended you to be, and more too.”
“Me tank you, massa cap’n; tank you, sar. Cap’n Rhines he know dis chile well as he know hisself; wind blow awful; big sea; take two men hold toder man’s hair on; ship scudding; Massa Rhines, he come on deck; ‘Mr. Strout!’ ‘Ay, ay, sar.’ ‘Who got de helm?’ ‘Flour, sar.’ (Dey call me Flour den.) He say, ‘Den I go below. Gib me call, any change in de weder.’ ‘Ay, ay, sar.’”