CHAPTER XVII.
SOUTHWARD HO! TO THE SEA OF ICE.
In a fortnight's time the San Salvador had placed at least one thousand miles betwixt her and the Cape of Good Hope. This was looked upon by Captain Cawdor as fair running, considering the wild weather the barque experienced. They had put out to sea on a glorious summer's day, on the wings of a gentle breeze, the hills behind them purple and green with vegetation and flowers; white-winged gulls sailing around them in the sky or floating on the hardly ruffled breast of ocean, the good old ship seeming to wish to linger near that lovely land. But hardly had the last seagull shrieked its wild farewell, and night and darkness begun to fall over the waves, than it could be seen, from the rising clouds, the moaning wind, and incessant sheets of lightning, that a tempest was brewing. So sail had been at once shortened, and everything done that could be done to secure safety and comfort for the night. Luckily the wind had come from the right quarter, so that although it blew big guns, and though green seas were shipped over the bows and came roaring aft, the good ship went tearing on, and daylight saw her staggering almost under bare poles, amidst such a chaos of mountain waves as probably is only to be seen in one part of the world, and that the ocean regions round the Cape.
And from that very day, all along, the wind had never entirely ceased to rage and roar, nor stormy seas to dash around the ship. She was always half battened down, especially forward, where in galley and mess-places lamps had to be burned all day long, and where, even down below, the decks were never dry. Little do boys who long to be sailors know of the hardships that men before the mast, aye, and apprentices also, have to endure in such latitudes as these, when the ship is far, far from land, and when no one knows or can guess what fate has in store for himself or his ship.
It was a trying time, but worse was to follow. I must say, however, that the men never grumbled, nor did they snarl and growl at each other like ill-conditioned curs, as sailors so frequently do under like circumstances, until verily the vessel they live in becomes a kind of hell afloat.
Fred Arundel was as much of a favourite forward as he was aft. His open, laughing, good-tempered face seemed to bring sunshine with it wherever he went. Nor was he ever too high and mighty to lend a helping hand wherever needed. Any day you might have seen Fred hauling away at tack or sheet, or even in a wild sea-way taking a dash aloft with the hands, and laying well out on a yard, helping to shorten sail. The men loved and respected him for all this, but they never took advantage of his good nature.
Many a dark night too, when it was not his watch, Fred would mingle with a group forward, and listen to their yarns, or even tell one himself.
As I have said, the crew was chiefly composed of Scotchmen. Well, Fred lent them books to read, just the kind he knew would please them.
Sometimes of an evening, when the captain was below with his boots off, Fred would promise the men a song, and they would slip aft and station themselves near the skylight. Then Fred would go below.
"D'ye mind having the skylight open a wee bit?" Fred would ask of his jolly skipper.