The captain shakes hands with Leonard and Douglas. “You saved her,” he said. “My boys, you saved her! It was excellent seamanship. Had you shortened sail when the wind got stiff we never would have rounded that point, and the sharks would have had what was left of us.”
“Captain Blunt,” said Douglas, “take credit to yourself as well, for you superintended the ballasting of the barque. Had that shifted, then—”
“Davy Jones, eh?” said the skipper, laughing.
He could afford to laugh now.
There was much still to be done, so no more was said. All hands were called to make the barque as snug as could be for the night.
When morning broke in a grey uncertain haze over the sea, and the rocky shore began to loom out to leeward and astern, the extent of the damage was more apparent, but after all the ship had come out of it fairly well. The fore topmast was gone, the mizzen damaged, the bulwarks broken, and more like sheep hurdles than anything else, but there was little other damage worth entering in the log-book.
The sky cleared when the sun rose, and after breakfast the men were set to work repairing damages.
The Fairy Queen had little business on the Norwegian coast at all, but she had been driven far out of her course by adverse winds.
In a few more days the breeze was fair, and the ship was making good way westwards, albeit she was jury-rigged. It was sincerely hoped by all on board that the terrible gale they had just encountered was the worst they would meet. The ship had borne it wonderfully well, and leaked not in the least; for many a day, therefore, everything went as merry as marriage bells on board.
Captain Blunt was happy, so were our heroes, and so, for the matter of that, was every one fore and aft. The crew of the Fairy Queen were all picked men. They were not feather-bed sailors; most of them had been in the Arctic regions before, and knew them well. But albeit a good seaman is not afraid to face danger in every shape and form, he is nevertheless happiest when things are going well.