The two Norwegians and Donald were the only hands who would steer the schooner running in this sea. Thompson and Jenkins refused to tackle the wheel, and Nickerson would not insist. Good steersmen are born, not made, and only men who had an instinctive knowledge of a vessel’s ways, who could forecast what she would do a few seconds after, were able to twirl the spokes to correct that little swing which might lead to broaching and disaster. Most seamen can steer a good trick by compass or by the wind in a moderate breeze, but it takes a master-helmsman to steer running before a gale and a giant sea. The Norwegians inherited their steersmanship through centuries of Viking ancestry; McKenzie, through quick wit, sensitiveness and steady nerve.
The wonderful seaworthiness of the schooner was fully apparent during that storming to the east’ard. She was as buoyant as a cork and no heavy water struck her decks. Sprays would slop in over the waist or over the bows when she over-ran a sea, but the quarters were dry and never a dollop came over the taff-rail. “Ef ye were in the Kelvinhaugh naow,” remarked the skipper, “I’d hate to think o’ what she’d be doing. I cal’late she’d be pooped in this a dozen times in a watch and her main deck ’ud be full to the rail with them greybeards overtaking her.”
They wolfed their food in the fo’c’sle, mug and food in hand, and they had to watch their chance to jump below without bringing an unwelcome sea down the half-opened hatch. Joak did his best to cook something, but after many disasters, he confined his efforts to tea and coffee, biscuits and soup, and the others did not grumble but praised him for his efforts.
“This ain’t nawthin’,” remarked the skipper with a grin. “I’ve seen it ten times worse’n this daown here. I recollect once bein’ two weeks in the hollow o’ one sea an’ when we came up on the crest of it we c’d look daown the chimneys in China, by Godfrey!”
It was dangerous going, and the skipper fully appreciated it. He was anxious, and when the black squalls of rain and sleet came driving down upon them, he watched the straining sails and spars with eyes of concern. It was now that the sailorizing of the Trade latitudes would be put to the test. A drawn splice, a slip-shod mousing, a stranded rope or a broken shackle ... and disaster might follow swiftly. He spent his time between his cabin-roof look-out and the vicinity of the foremast scanning the over-taxed gear. When the squalls came driving down, he was doubly concerned.
West of the Ramirez in the grey dawn, the gale stiffened into a wind which her sail could not stand. A violent gust carried the squaresail away and it flew down the wind like a snowflake. The schooner was trembling under the weight of the whole foresail and the mast threatened to go by the board. Nickerson called all hands, cook as well, and said: “We’ve got to reef that fores’l and reef it running as we can’t come to the wind in this sea. Donald will take the wheel, and the rest of us will tackle the sail.” And to Donald he said in words pregnant with meaning, “Son, you want to steer as you never steered before. Watch her like a hawk and give her jest th’ least little shake so’s we kin git that fores’l daown a bit ... and don’t let her lose way or come up!”
Donald took the spokes and the others went for’ard along the swaying, sloshing decks. A terrible sea was running and the air was white with driving sleet, while the wind screamed in the shrouds and plastered the naked main-mast with wet snow.
The six men for’ard cast off the halliards and four had hold of the gaff-downhaul. “Shake her a mite, son!” roared Nickerson in the teeth of the wind. Donald glanced astern at the sea, then eased the wheel down gently—watching the sail anxiously and murmuring a heartfelt prayer. The schooner tore along, yawing and plunging, but she started to come up with the turn of her rudder and Donald met her with unerring instinct. The vessel swung around in the trough, the sail commenced to flutter, and the men hauled the gaff down with lurid deep-water oaths and yells of encouragement. “Swing her off! Swing her off!” bawled Nickerson, fearfully eyeing a big greybeard which was racing down on them, but McKenzie had acted ere he sung out.
With the fore-gaff held fast by the down-haul, and the reef cringle on the leach sweated down to the boom by a tackle, the sail bellied out like a balloon in the squalls, and as the schooner raced off before the wind again the six men and boys started to get the tack of the sail down to the goose-neck of the fore-boom. They tugged and hauled with numb fingers, but the sail was iron-hard and full and refused to “light up.” “It ’ud take a whole fishing gang o’ twenty men to reef that fores’l naow!” panted the skipper. “We’ll hev to shoot her up again to git that tack-earring passed.” He clawed his way aft to the wheel.