“I can’t see it,” I thought. “I hope Bob won’t run us bump up against the hull, and give the alarm.”
Then I hugged myself and felt encouraged, for if I could not see the great ship with her towering masts, and rigging, and sails hanging, waiting for the breeze which must succeed the long calm, it was not likely that the keenest-eyed watcher would see our small boat.
“But he may hear it coming,” I argued. And then. “Not likely, for I can’t hear a sound myself.”
On we went with the round dim light in the ship’s side showing a little plainer; but I noticed, as I stood there buttoning up my jacket tightly, that the light appeared a little more to my right, which of course meant that Bob Hampton was steering for the left to where lay the ship’s bows.
I tried to make out her outlines, but I could see nothing. I could hear, though, for from where I guessed the forecastle to be came a song sung in a very tipsy voice as a man struck up. It sounded dull and half-smothered, but I heard “Moon on the ocean,” and “standing toast,” and “Lass that loves a sailor.” Then there was a chorus badly sung, and I started, for away to the right where the cabin-light was, I heard a sound like an angry ejaculation or an oath muttered in the stillness of the dark night.
“Jarette,” I said softly. “Hurrah! He won’t hear me climb the stay, and I can get on deck safely.”
Another minute of the slowest possible movement, and I was thinking whether I ought not after all to take off my jacket; but I felt I was right in keeping it on, for my shirt-sleeves would have shown light perhaps if I had been anywhere near a lantern. Then I had something else to think of, for looming up before me, blacker than the night, was the hull of the ship, and directly after, as I looked up, there, just dimly-seen like the faintest of shadows against the sky, was the big anchor beneath which we were gliding so slowly that we hardly seemed to stir.
“How well Bob is sculling us!” I thought; and then I looked up, strained over, made a snatch and touched a great wire rope reaching from the ship’s prow below the water to the bowsprit, to hold it down, flung up my other hand, gave the boat a good thrust with my feet as I got both hands well round the rope, and swung my legs up and round the stay, from which I hung like a monkey on a stick, my head screwed round as I tried to see my companions, and just dimly seeing a shadow apparently glide by, leaving me hanging there alone, with the water beneath me, and a shuddering feeling coming over me for a few moments as I thought of the consequences that would ensue if I let go.
As I hung there from that taut rope, I felt that if I let go I should be plunged in the sea, go down ever so far into the terrible black water, and rise again half-suffocated, my nerve gone, and I should be drowned, for the occupants of the boat would be out of hearing, and I should never be able to swim and overtake them, since they would make a long détour before reaching the stern-windows.
But then I had no occasion to let go. Why should I? And as I climbed I was ready to laugh at my fears. For I was strong for my age, and active enough to climb that stay, and I did; halting at last by the spritsail-yard to listen before mounting to the bowsprit, getting my feet upon the ropes beneath, and then travelling slowly sideways, till I was able to rest by the figure-head and look over on to the forepart of the dark deck.