With varying fortunes the good ship Sea Flower sailed south and away, till at last the Cape of Good Hope was reached and rounded.
Here they experienced very heavy weather indeed, with terrible storms of thunder and lightning, and bigger seas than Tandy himself had ever seen before.
But by this time little Nelda was quite a sailor, and a greater favourite fore and aft than ever.
Sea-legs had, figuratively speaking, been served out to all the green hands. Nelda had a capital pair, and could use them well. Fitz had to make his old ones do another time; but Bob had received two pairs from Neptune, when he came aboard that starry still night when crossing the line. As for the Hal, it must be confessed that there wasn’t a pair in Neptune’s boat long enough to fit him. However, in ordinary weather he managed to run along the deck pretty easily, his jibboom, as the sailors called his neck, held straight out in front of him, and helping himself along with his wings.
Sometimes on the quarterdeck it would suddenly occur to the ’Ral that a step or two of a Highland schottische would help to make time pass more quickly and pleasantly. The ’Ral wasn’t a bird to spoil a good intention, so, with just one or two preliminary “scray—scrays” he would start.
Bother the deck though, and bother the heaving sea, for do what he would the bird could no longer dance with ease and grace; so he would soon give it up, and go and lean his chin wearily over the lee bulwark, and thus, with his drooping wings, he did cut rather a ridiculous figure as seen from behind. He looked for all the world like some scraggy-legged little old man, who had got up in the morning and put nothing on except a ragged swallow-tailed coat.
The men liked the ’Ral though. He made them laugh, and was better than an extra glass of rum to them. So, as the bird seemed always rather wretched in dirty weather, the carpenter was solicited to make him some sort of shelter.
The carpenter consulted the sailmaker. The carpenter and sailmaker put their heads together. Something was sure to come of that.
“He’s sich an awkward shape, ye see,” said old Canvas.