As the day wore on the gale continued to moderate somewhat, until by noon its fury had become so far spent that I thought we might venture to once more get the courses on the ship; and this was accordingly done when the watch was called. The effect of these large areas of sail upon the craft was tremendous, causing her to heel like a yacht under a heavy press of canvas; ay, and to travel like a yacht, too, notwithstanding the heavy sea that was running. But the little beauty behaved superbly, luffing to each comber as it approached, and taking it in a blinding shower of diamond spray, it is true, but still with an easy, buoyant movement such as I had never experienced before. It was the first opportunity that had been afforded me of testing the barque’s behaviour in heavy weather, and I was more than pleased at the result, for she not only proved to be a superb sea-boat, but she also travelled like a racehorse.
By four bells in the afternoon watch the wind and sea had so far moderated that the mate, whose watch it then was, gave orders to take a small pull upon the topsail halliards, to set the jib, and to haul out the mizzen. When the last of these operations were undertaken it was found that something had jammed aloft, so that the head of the sail would not haul out along the gaff; and a hand was sent up to see what was foul, and to clear it. The man had accomplished his task, and was just swinging himself off the gaff into the lower rigging, when he was observed to pause and gaze intently to windward.
“Well, what is the matter, Bill? Do you see anything unusual away there to wind’ard, to set you staring like an owl in an ivy bush?” demanded the mate, somewhat impatiently.
“Yes, sir. There’s something away over there,” replied the man, pointing with his hand, “that looks like a dismasted ship, or a craft on her beam-ends. Whatever it is, it is very low in the water; and the sea is breaking very heavily over it.”
The mate said no more, but swung himself into the mizzen-rigging, and made his way as far aloft as the cross-trees; when he turned and, bracing himself against the masthead, directed his glances toward that part of the horizon indicated by the seaman. Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked steadily for a full minute; then he said something to the man beside him, when the latter nimbly descended the ratlines to the deck, and, explaining that “Mr Roberts wants the glass, sir,” went to the companion, where the instrument always hung in beckets, secured it, and took it aloft to the mate. With its assistance a still more prolonged examination was made; and when it was at length completed, the two men returned to the deck together.
“Well, Mr Roberts, what do you make of it?” I inquired, as the mate, having restored the telescope it its accustomed place, joined me near the break of the poop.
“Well, sir, there is something away there to windward,” was the reply, “but what it is I couldn’t very well make out, the sea was breaking so heavy over it. Sometimes it has the look of a dismasted and waterlogged ship; and then again it takes the look of a craft on her beam-ends, with her yardarms just showing above the water; and once or twice I thought I could catch a glimpse of something like an attempt to make a signal by waving a white cloth or something of the sort. But that may have been only the glancing of the flying foam in the sunshine.”
“How did she bear when you were aloft?” I inquired.
“Broad on our weather-beam,” answered Roberts.
“And how far distant do you judge her to be?”