He was covering his halo with his hair; it was a rainbowed halo, too, a bump the size of a hen’s egg, of all colors, upon his right temple, sending a red streak down to his cheek-bone.
In feeling, he was more Atlas than ever, for now it seemed as if he had a lightning-shot globe upon his head, in the shape of that heroic bump, which at times spun so hard through space that it threatened to spin him round with it. But he managed to keep his feet, and the delirious throbs of pain only added to his excitement--and to the thrill of the foreman’s words in his swelling ear: “It was a good line. And you held it--Mike. You saved the life of that contrary little craft--that girl!”
And now he was witnessing the launching of another craft upon her career, with a stifling heart-throb of anxiety which said that it might--might be an unnaturally short one. For the beautiful ship’s hull just darting off the greased launching-ways on to the river, sleek and glossy in her fresh garment of paint--the embryo fishing schooner--would not alone have to face the perils which were the daily bread of Captain Bob and his kind, when big seas would pound her like an earthquake, but even on her maiden trip a submarine might sink her.
There was no knowing what might be in store for her even while, as now, she was a mere sparless hull, before she matured into a maiden vessel; whether, if word had got out as to the date of her launching, a raiding sea-wolf might not be in waiting to seize upon her--a perfectly helpless, wobbly lamb, under the convoy of a tugboat--and blow her up, as she was being towed round to the seaport, to have her masts set up.
This lent a pathos to the cheers--from girls and others--which greeted the first stir of life in her, as her rocking glide began.
“She cr-rawls! She goes! Hi! Hi! Oh-h, see her go!... Oh, isn’t she a bird!”
And, indeed, for the brief few seconds of that swallow-like dart--her white deck flashing--she did seem radiantly winged, like the aëroplane.
“Hour-rah! Houp-ela! She go--de petit ship!” Now it was the voice of a French workman, hanging upon the tail of the launching cheers. “Houp-ela! Ah! Vive le vaisseau!”
“Vive le vaisseau! Here’s hoping no submarine will get her!” cried Atlas, forgetting that he bore a spinning globe upon his head, as he saw the new hull kick up her heels in the water for the first time--brought up short by her snubbing-line--while the crowing tide shot an aigrette of spray aloft, to baptize the ensign--the Stars and Stripes--proudly waving at her stern.
“Vive le vaisseau! Long life to the vessel! O dear! Why can’t we go round to Gloucester on her, all of us, as the tugboat is here now, waiting to tow her down the river?” It was a joint, eager cry from a dozen girls. “Oh-h! do say we can. Captain Andy--our Menokijábo!”