The boy was aloft again. He had caught the fever of excitement that even the old hands felt, as they saw that the magazine was open and that powder and shot were being dealt out for the divisions. The half-ports to leeward had to be kept closed to prevent the water from flooding the decks.
The boy stayed after the other youngsters had descended. He could feel the royal mast swaying and whipping like a fishing-rod—the stays were as tight as the strings of a fiddle. They felt like iron to the grasp; they had narrowed under the tension. The wind in the deep sails below played a sonorous bass to the high treble of their singing. The ship was murmuring like a hive, now and then creaking as she lurched under the pressure.
How it happened the boy never knew; but as suddenly as winking there came a report as of a cannon aloft; the main royal, upon the yard of which he was leaning, flew off, and caught by the tacks and sheets, fell down across the yard below. The main-topgallant mast had been carried clean away. No one, not even the boy himself, knew how it all occurred. Perhaps he had laid hold of one of the reef points. Perhaps he had made a lucky jump. But there he lay in the bight made by the folds of the royal, softly resting against the bosom of the sail below, unhurt, but slightly dizzy. From the hamper of wreckage above hung one of the loosened clew-lines. The end of it reached down to the cross-trees. Reaching forth, the young topman tested it, and seeing it would hold, emerged from his hanging nest, and swinging free for an instant, managed with his monkey-like powers to lay hold of a stay and reach the shrouds. There was a cheer from below, as he sprang to the deck, and this time there was no reprimand.
The loss of her upper sails appeared to impede the speed of the frigate but little. It would not be long now before the bow-chasers might be expected to begin. The men were mustered on the deck. Along came the stewards and the mess-men with the customary grog.
The officers all this time had been busy surveying the two ships. An hour ago they had been pronounced to be English.
Old Renwick grumbled as he watched the men pour down the half pannikin of scalding liquor.
"Well, here's to us," chuckled a tall, red-nosed sailor, emptying the stuff down his throat as if it had been spring water. "Here's to us, and every stick in the old ship."
"We ought to get double allowance," put in another man just before it was his turn to take his portion. "There are two of 'em to fight, which makes me twice as thirsty. Here's to the best thing in the world,—grog."
Quartermaster Renwick did not like to hear all this, and overcome by a sudden impulse, he stepped out from behind the bitts. There were two buckets full of the strong-smelling drink resting on the deck. With a sweep of his foot he upset them both! A howl of rage went up from all sides. One of the men loosened a belaying-pin and advanced threateningly. The old sailor stood his ground.
"Avast this 'ere swillin', lads," he said; "there shall be no Dutch courage on board this ship." He folded his arms and stood looking at the angry crowd. The First Lieutenant had observed the whole occurrence, and immediately gave the order to beat to quarters. The boy, thinking that his old friend was about to be attacked, had jumped to his side. But his station in action was on the forecastle, where he was powder-monkey for the two forward guns.