“Now, Mr Hardy, we’ll make her all snug for the night. Furl the fore and mizen-topsail, and close-reef the main—that, with the foresail, fore-staysail, and trysail, will be enough for her.”
“Had we not better reef the foresail, sir?” said Pearce. “I suspect we shall have to do it before twelve o’clock, if we do not now.”
“Very right, Mr Pearce—we will do so. Is the main-trysail bent?”
“All bent, sir, and the sheet aft.”
“Then beat a retreat, and turn the hands up—shorten sail.”
This duty was performed, and the hammocks piped down as the last glimmering of daylight disappeared.
The gale increased rapidly during the first watch. Large drops of rain mingled with the spray, distant thunder rolled to windward, and occasional gleams of lightning pierced through the intense darkness of the night. The officers and men of the watches below, with sealed eyes and thoughtless hearts, were in their hammocks, trusting to those on deck for security. But the night was terrific, and the captain, first-lieutenant, and master, from the responsibility of their situations, continued on deck, as did many of the officers termed idlers, such as the surgeon and purser, who, although their presence was not required, felt no inclination to sleep. By four o’clock in the morning the gale was at its height. The lightning darted through the sky in every direction, and the thunder-claps for the time overpowered the noise of the wind as it roared through the shrouds. The sea, striking on the fore-channels, was thrown aft with violence over the quarter-deck and waist of the ship, as she laboured through the agitated sea.
“If this lasts much longer we must take the foresail off of her, and give her the main-staysail,” said Hardy to the master.
“We must, indeed,” replied the captain, who was standing by them; “but the day is breaking. Let us wait a little—ease her, quarter-master.”
“Ease her it is, sir.”