A STORM COMES ON.
James Brayer soon had every one about him busy at the work of saving the flag-ship. Even Pantagruel was pressed into service. It was no time for ceremony; the danger was too great for that. James Brayer bawled through his trumpet:—
"My Lord, I must ask you to stand amidship. Your Highness is so heavy that, in a sea like this, whichever side of the ship you may be on is bound to keel over. The sea is mad,—I have never seen it so mad before!"
Pantagruel, in the midst of all this shouting of men, and raging of the waves, and shrieking of the winds, was kneeling perfectly quiet, but praying with all his good heart to the Almighty Deliverer to save them. Hearing James Brayer call, he at once rose from his knees, and said cheerfully:—
"Here I am, good pilot! But how am I to stand amidship without interfering with the handling of the ship?"
"Easily enough, Your Highness. All you have to do is to put your arms around the mainmast, and stand still."
PANTAGRUEL HOLDS THE MAST.
This Pantagruel did, holding the mast firmly with both hands, and keeping it straighter than two hundred tacklings could have done. Everybody worked hard,—everybody except cowardly Panurge, who, when the sea first began to churn, sank upon deck all in a heap, more dead than alive. He could do nothing but whine and cry boo! boo! boo! boo! and call upon Heaven to save him. In the meanwhile, all the others were as busy as beavers,—Friar John, Gymnaste, Carpalim, Xenomanes, even Epistemon and old Ponocrates himself! All did wonders; but nobody worked like Friar John during all the storm; so, at least, declared James Brayer. Why, Friar John even pulled off his monk's gown, a thing he had, until then, been known to do only once, and that was when he saved the Abbey-Vineyard. "It bothers me, and I can't work in it," he said, as he pulled it off. With his waistcoat for a coat, he stood at his post with strong arm and cheery word for everybody. Every now and then he would glance at Panurge, still squatted on deck and crying, "Boo! boo! boo! boo! Friar John, my friend, good father, I am drowning. Boo! boo! boo! The water has got into my shoes. Boo! boo! boo! boboo! I drown! Oh, how I wish I was a gardener, and planted cabbages, for then I would be sure of always having at least one foot on land! Oh, my friend, the keel goes up to the sun. I hear the hull splitting. We are all drowned! Boo! boo! boo! holos! holos!" At last Friar John's patience gave out,—it was at the close of the sixth hour he had been working,—and he roared out to Panurge:—
"What art thou bellowing there for, like a calf? Panurge the cry-baby, Panurge the whiner, would it not better become thee to help thyself and friends? Come, be a man!"