CHAPTER ELEVEN
Donald was to go on duty with the mate’s, or port watch, at midnight, but he was awakened suddenly at six bells by loud shouting on deck and the violent careening of the ship. Hinkel could be heard bawling, “Ledt go royal und to’gallundt halliards and clew up! All handts!” Then Jenkins opened the half-deck door for a second and yelled, “Roll out! Look alive!” and mingled with his shout came the booming roar of wind, the swash of heavy water and the thunder of slatting canvas.
“A ruddy pampero!” cried Thompson, leaping from his bunk and pulling on his boots. “Jump, kid, she’s on her beam ends!” Donald dropped to the sloping floor of the berth, hauled his boots on the wrong feet, and sprang after Thompson into the darkness. When he got outside he cannoned into someone running aft, who cursed him and vanished in the howling blackness. The lee scuppers were a boiling froth of water waist deep, and up aloft the canvas was thundering as the royal and t’gallant yards came down by the run. The ship was over on her port side at an alarming angle, and for a minute Donald could do nothing but hang on to the mizzen gear, gasping and dazed, until he got his bearings.
The German second mate was barking commands from the break of the poop when something banged aloft. A voice shouted, “Maint’gallan’s’l’s gone!” Then Thompson grabbed him by the arm. “Bear a hand haulin’ up yer mains’l!” he roared, and Donald scrambled for’ard along the sloping decks and hauled on the gear with a mob of “hey-ho’ing,” swearing men. Then the mate appeared—(the captain was on the poop)—and he gave tongue. “What in hell are you all adoin’ here?” he snarled. “Aloft an’ stow th’ fore an’ main r’yals you boys! Git some beef on those bunt-lin’s, you hounds, or I’ll kick some go in you! None of yer ‘You pull now, Bill, I pulled last’ work here!”
From the height of the main-royal-yard, Donald could see the water to windward white with foam. The stars were shining clear and bright to the westward, but all was black in the eastern sky and the wind blew in savage gusts, which gave them a hard tussle in subduing the bellying, slatting canvas. By the time they had got the two royals confined in the gaskets, the barque had come to an even keel and was running before the blast under six topsails and foresail.
The crew had hauled up the cross’-jack, mainsail, and hauled down the fore-and-aft sails and were aloft stowing the big t’gallan’s’ls as the barque swung off, staggering and rolling scuppers under in the cross sea which was running, and as soon as the boys came down from the royal yards, the mate chased them up the mast again to help furl the mizzen-upper-topsail, which had been let go. On the completion of this job, and when the crew were pretty well exhausted with pulling, hauling and lifting, Thompson voiced the opinion of all hands: “God help us when we strike some real wind and have to get the muslin off her in a hurry,” he said gloomily. “Those big yards and sails will take charge of us then. We’ll have to let the canvas blow away and pay for it.”
“Pay for it?” queried Donald innocently. “What d’ye mean?”
The senior apprentice laughed grimly. “I was referring to the old yarn about a ’prentice boy who had a rich father. The mate ordered him up one-time to stow the mizzen-royal in a squall. The kid squints aloft and didn’t like the look of the job, so he says to the mate, ‘Oh, let it blow away, sir; father will pay for it!’ That’s what we’ll have to do on this hooker, I’m thinking. I shiver when I think of handling those big courses and tops’ls of ours in a real Cape Horner. We’ll catch it down there and no blushing error! If we only had men for’ad instead of flabby-muscled dock-rats we might get through, but it’ll be all hands every time there’s a job o’ work.”
“How about that donkey engine?” queried Donald. “Isn’t that supposed to help in the heavy work?”