They heard his voice roll along the deck then. “Aft there, call all hands to give her more hawser—and the chain with it!”
They did so, noting as the chain rattled out that the wind had increased perceptibly. “When this tide’s settin’ back there’ll be some sea kickin’ up here,” they heard their Skipper say. And then his voice again—from aloft this time: “Give her more yet—another fifty fathom.” Down he dropped to the deck with, “It’s goin’ to be hell around here to-night! If ’twas some vessels I’ve been in—or if ’twas the Katie Morrison now, that’s not finished—it’d be slip cables and out of here—and in a hurry. But not in this old packet—’twouldn’t do. She’d most likely split in two tryin’ to beat out, and cert’nly she wouldn’t get back here in a week if the wind hauled. No, sir. But what’s this?” He held up a bare palm.
The entire crew began to sniff the air then, and, holding out their palms, to catch and taste whatever the wind had brought.
Snow! A howling no’the-easter in shoal water on Georges, the vessel dragging—And snow!
The Skipper made no comment. Even after he had made certain of it, he said nothing, nor made any new move—only stood by the fore-rigging and tried to map out in his mind the location of the others of the fleet.
“And now let’s see—we’re pretty nigh the most westerly of the bunch. Jack Kildare, he’s about east by south. If he does drag he’ll most likely miss us. Simms—the Parker—he’s about east by no’the and maybe two cable-lengths away. She won’t drag, I’m sure—rides easy as a gull. Jim Potter, he’s about right to fetch us—no’the-east—and those two that dropped in just to the no’the-ard of him at dark to-night—they might, too. Any of those three’ll get us in short order if they get to draggin’.” Again he held his palm up. “Gettin’ wetter—and thicker. There’ll cert’nly be hell to pay round here to-night, and the old Pantheon—but, Lord, she’s been through too many blows to——”
The vessel leaped under him, sagged back and started to rush forward again. His quick ear caught the first of the crunching. “Stand clear of her for’ard!” he warned, and himself jumped to the protection of the foremast, as through her bow planking they heard her chain go zipping.
A moment of almost a dead stop, a breath of portentous quiet, and she swung broadside to the sea. “Wa-atch out!” roared the Skipper. Aboard came the sea in tons. “Hang on! hang on!” called one to another. All clung grimly to whatever was nearest. It passed on, submerging everybody, but leaving the vessel still right side up.
“Everybody all right?” called the Skipper.
Each for himself answered—all but one.