Like the 'cape pigeons' nothing escaped their vigilant scrutiny, and shrill screams, and a splash of grey-coloured feathers in the cold sea, followed the throwing of anything overboard.
By hook and line one of them was captured, yet not without considerable trouble, since with outspread wings and webbed feet thrust rigidly against the water, it required the strength of two men to haul it on board.
It struck out savagely with its strong hooked beak, and as it was too heavy to rise from the deck it became seasick; yet when released it immediately soared aloft, as before its capture.
The clipper continued to race along in magnificent manner, and runs of four hundred miles were frequent. Sometimes the heavy seas rolling up astern threatened to fall on board, but with upward rise of the bow she always sped clear of the danger.
At last she began to edge northward out of the strong weather. The temperature rose considerably. The albatrosses disappeared.
All hands set to work holy stoning the deck and painting ship. The cables were dragged from below and secured to the anchors, which were hove out over the bows.
In short, the voyage of the 'Silver Crown' was drawing to a close. Everything not required for daily use was packed away by the passengers for removal ashore, and a keen lookout for land was observed.
Shortly after dawn one morning Mr. Statten, the second mate, ordered Jack Clewlin to 'jump aloft and have a look round.'
Within a few minutes the excited lad had reached the fore topmast crosstrees.
There he took time to recover his breath, and then thrusting his cap within his shirt for safety he 'shinned' up the royal rigging.