“It is a magnificent morning for sailing, Mr Murgatroyd,” I replied; “a magnificent morning—that would be none the worse for an occasional glint of sunshine, which, however, may come by and by; and, as for the ship, she is a wonder, a perfect flyer—why, she must be reeling off her thirteen knots at the least.”
“You’ve hit it, sir, pretty closely; she was going thirteen and a half when we hove the log at four bells, and she hasn’t eased up anything since,” was the reply.
“Ah,” said I, “that is grand sailing—with the wind where it is. But you are driving her rather hard, aren’t you? stretching the kinks out of your new rigging, eh?”
“Well, perhaps we are,” admitted the mate, with a short laugh, as he glanced at the slender upper spars, that were whipping about like fishing-rods. “But you know, Mr Conyers, we’re obliged to do it; there is so much opposition nowadays, and people are in such a deuce of a hurry always to get to the place that they are bound to, that the line owning the fastest ships gets the most patronage; and there’s the whole thing in a nutshell.”
“Just so; and it is all well enough, in its way—if you don’t happen to get dismasted. But I find the morning air rather nipping, so I will get my bath and go below again. Will you kindly allow one of your men to play upon me with the head-pump, Mr Murgatroyd?”
“Certainly, Mr Conyers, with pleasure, sir,” answered the mate. “Bosun, just tell off a man to pump for Mr Conyers, will ye!”
The ship was by this time so lively that I was not at all surprised to meet but a meagre muster at the breakfast-table. Yet, of the few present, Miss Onslow was one, and the soaring and plunging and the wild lee rolls of the ship appeared to affect her no more than if she were sitting at home in her own breakfast-room. She was silent, as usual, but her rich colour, and the evident relish with which she partook of the food placed before her, bore witness to the fact that her silence was due to inclination alone. About an hour after breakfast the young lady made her appearance upon the poop, well wrapped up, and began to pace to and fro with an assured footing and an easy, graceful poise of her body to the movements of the deck beneath her that was, to my mind at least, the very poetry of motion. The skipper and I happened to be walking together, at the moment of her appearance, and of course we both with one accord sprang forward and, cap in hand, proffered the support of our arms. She accepted that of the skipper with a graciousness of manner that was to be paralleled only by the frigid dignity with which she declined mine.
The breeze held strong all that day, and for the five days following, gradually hauling round, however, and heading us, until, with our yards braced hard in against the lee rigging, and the three royals and mizzen topgallant-sail stowed, we went thrashing away to the westward against a heavy head-sea that kept our decks streaming as far aft as the mainmast, instead of bowling away across the Bay under studding-sails, as we had hoped. Then we fell in with light weather for nearly a week, that enabled all hands in the cuddy to find their sea legs and a good hearty appetite once more, the ship slowly traversing her way to the southward, meanwhile; and finally we got a westerly wind that, beginning gently enough to permit of our showing skysails to it, ended in a regular North Atlantic gale that compelled us to heave-to for forty-two hours before it blew itself out.
The gale was at its height, blowing with almost hurricane fury, with a terrific sea running, about twenty hours after its development, and we in the cuddy were, with about half a dozen exceptions, seated at breakfast when, above the howling of the wind, I faintly caught the notes of a hail that seemed to proceed from somewhere aloft.
“Where away?” sharply responded the voice of the chief mate from the poop overhead.