Chapter Twenty One.
The Spanish Captain’s Story.
When I went up on deck that morning I could hardly believe my eyes, on seeing that the storm and all its wild surroundings had miraculously disappeared; for, the sun was shining brightly on a blue sea that seemed to ripple with laughter and the good old ship was speeding along under all plain sail, looking none the worse for the buffeting she had experienced only a few hours before!
“Rather a change from yesterday, ain’t it, youngster?” observed Mr Gilham, who was officer of the watch, addressing me kindly, noticing the expression of astonishment on my face as I glanced up aloft and then over the side. “Things look a little more ship-shape than they were then.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied. “But what a fearful gale it was!”
“Pooh, nonsense, Vernon!” cried he, with a laugh. “Don’t overlay your yarns like that. We’ve certainly had a bit of a blow, but I’ve seen it much worse crossing the bay!”
Of course, I could not contradict him; and, I may here mention that on narrating the circumstance to Dad on my return home some time afterwards, he said that he had never known a sailor acknowledge anything unusual about a storm at the immediate moment of its occurrence, or even shortly afterwards.
All those with whom he had ever been brought in contact, Dad told me, might possibly allow that the wind was “freshening,” perhaps, or “blowing stiffly,” or “inclined to be rough”; but, a gale or a hurricane they would never admit, in spite of the fact of its “blowing great guns and small-arms!”