I looked up into his face, and dimly read the earnest thoughts there, I felt more and more convinced that if there was on board the “Bertie” a good man and a gentleman it was Mr. Weeler, and besides this he was an ideal sailor and knew his work.
The storm was gathering force, the dancing white-capped waves had given place to huge seas, the wind began to howl menacingly about her as she bent over to the bidding of the swift succeeding blasts. The heavy seas were at times breaking over the rail amidships and flooding the decks, the crew were merely standing by and reducing sail as the gale increased. Day after day the gale lasted; the ship was under topsail and foresail, labouring heavily and ploughing her way through the black waves, while the snowy foam flew high over her stout bulwarks.
“Looks as though we are in for a hard time getting round, Mr. McLean,” said Captain Crosbie to the chief mate, as he eyed the barometer somewhat apprehensively, “the glass is still going down and the air is thickening fast.”
“It looks like it, sir,” responded the chief mate grimly, “but the ‘Bertie’ is a good staunch ship, and she’ll weather it all right.”
There certainly was something weird and depressing about the environment of the ship. The sky was hanging dark and lowering above her, with never a ray of sunshine to pierce the gloom, mysterious shapes darted hither and thither through the sullen waters at her bow, while the mollymawks screeched through the rigging and in her wake in scores.
Through those days of storm and stress, while the “Bertie” fought bravely with the wind and the waves, I learned a lesson that was stamped indelibly on my mind. Uncomfortable as it was on deck, I could not bear to be cooped up below, and though there was no work for me to do, yet I kept in the open air, loath to miss anything of that gallant contest.
So fiercely did the seas break over our bows that the men could not stay forrard, but were driven back to the waist of the ship, where they stood against the bulwarks, each one, however, having taken the precaution to secure himself with a bowline at his waist to prevent him from being swept into the scuppers by the heavy seas that leaped aboard from time to time.
Captain Crosbie had called me to the quarter deck and given me a post at the foot of the mizzen-mast, where I was safe from the seas, but partly exposed to the wind and spray, which I did not mind.
“Are you getting enough of the sea, my lad,” he said, standing beside me, “you did not reckon on having such a time at this, I expect?”
“Well hardly, sir,” I replied, “I thought the hurricane we had before we reached Wellington bad enough, and had no idea a storm could be so dreadful or keep up so long; but don’t think, sir, I’m wishing myself ashore for all that, I’ve just got to learn to get used to all weathers, that’s all about it.”