“It looks uncommon like a typhoon, sir,” said the first mate to “Old Jock,” after looking out both to windward and leeward. “There is some change coming.”
“I think so, too,” said the other. “Go down, Mackay, and have a look at the barometer. It was all right when I came up, but it may have fallen since then; if it has, that will make our doubt a certainty.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the first mate hurrying down the companion. He wasn’t long absent, returning the next moment with the information: “It has gone down from 29.80 to 29.60.”
“That means a typhoon, then,” said Captain Gillespie; “so the sooner we’re prepared for it the better. All hands take in sail!”
The men tumbled up with a will, the sheets all flying as the halliards we’re let go and all hands on the yard like bees; and, as soon as the topgallants had been clewed up, these sails were furled and lashed, as well as having the sea-gaskets put on, so as to make them all the more secure.
The topsails followed suit, and then the courses; the ship’s head being brought round to the nor’-west, from which quarter the storm was expected, as typhoons always blow eight points to the right of the regular wind, which with us, at the time these precautions were taken, was from the south-east.
The Silver Queen now lay-to, motionless in the water, with only her main trysail and a storm staysail forward set.
“What is a typhoon?” I asked Mr Mackay, when I got down on deck again after helping to hand the mizzen-topsail, the last job we had to do on our mast. “What does it mean?”
“It’s the Chinese word for a ‘big wind,’ my boy,” said he kindly; but looking very grave. “You’ll soon be able to see what it’s like for yourself.”
The opportunity he spoke of was not long delayed.