“All right,” said I, turning to leave the poop. “I will go down and rouse him at once, and I may as well knock up Mr Macdougall at the same time to relieve the deck, for it’s past eight bells.”
“Aye, aye, do so, sir,” responded the boatswain; so I hastened below to perform my mission, leaving him in charge until I returned.
Captain Billings answered my call almost the instant I rapped at his door, coming from his cabin fully dressed, having turned in to his bunk “all standing,” as if prepared for the summons; but the first mate was a heavy sleeper, and it took me more than ten minutes to rouse him, so that when I had gained the deck again the port watch had come on duty, the “starbowlines” having gone to their bunks as soon as relieved by the fresh hands. Jorrocks, however, I noticed, remained still on the poop; and, knowing that he would not thus inconvenience himself by going without his proper “caulk,” like the rest, unless there was some urgent reason—for he dearly loved his sleep when duty did not interfere with the indulgence—I stayed behind, too, the more especially as I remembered what he had said about there being the chance of a “blow.”
In the short time I had been away, a change was apparent, even to my unaccustomed eyes, unused as they were as yet to many nautical phenomena.
The stillness of the atmosphere I had noticed when I quitted the deck to summon the skipper, had been succeeded by a series of light puzzling puffs of air; while, although the night was clear, with a few stars shining overhead, fleecy fragments of cloud were whirling about in eddies, some settling in heavy masses on the water and banking themselves round the horizon.
But, the sea itself showed much the greatest sign of coming disturbance. The waves, no longer following each other in long heaving rollers, were curving upwards and jostling each other—like so many fiery coursers, suddenly thrown back on their haunches, by reason of being reined in when in the full burst of their mad career, and now champing their bits with angry impatience!
There was, likewise, an alteration in the aspect of the ship.
Captain Billings had already reduced his canvas, the topgallant sails having been taken in and the courses clewed up; and now, pretty nearly stripped of all her “drapery,” like a gladiator entering the arena, the Esmeralda appeared awaiting the issue of whatever decision the elements might arrive at—ready to take her part in the conflict should strife ensue between the opposing forces of the wind and waves; or, in the event of a contest being avoided through the disinclination of the storm fiend to “come to the scratch,” equally prepared to spread her wings again and proceed on her voyage.
“It’s just a toss up now, whether we’ll have it or not,” whispered Jorrocks to me as we stood side by side together on the poop, watching the skipper, whose eyes were as intently riveted on the dog-vane at the main truck above.
Just at this moment, Mr Macdougall came lazily sauntering up the poop ladder. He did not see that Captain Billings was on deck; and, eyeing the change in the ship’s appearance, exclaimed, angrily, with that Scottish burr of his, which was always more pronounced when he was excited—