A few hours at this rate, as anyone with half an eye could see—even if everything stood the strain, which was very questionable—would place us on the chart pretty well where we were the day before; and, then, we should have all our work to do over again, without having a cable’s length to boast of to the good so far as our onward progress was concerned into the Pacific Ocean—most aptly named by the Spaniards, from the marked contrast its placid bosom offered, no doubt, to the rough sea these early voyagers met with on this side of the Land of Fire and of the Stormy Cape.
But still, although we were scudding with everything flying aloft, the leebraces had not yet been let go, all that I have taken so long to describe having occurred, so to speak, within the compass of a minute. These, up to now, had remained fast, just as when we were close-hauled on the port tack the moment before; for, it was as much as our few hands could do at first to cast off the sheets and halliards, without minding the braces, especially as the ropes had got jammed at the bitts with the loose gear washing about the deck. However—‘better late than never’—they were now quickly let go, and the braces on the weather side being manned, the yards were squared. It was a job of some difficulty, although accomplished at length, the ship showing herself all the better for the operation by running easier and not staggering and yawing so much as she raced along.
This was the first step.
The next was to stop the uproar aloft, and create a little order amidst the chaos that there reigned, which was a much harder and far more ticklish task, it being perilous in the extreme, and almost useless, for any of the hands to venture up the rigging; for the wind was blowing with such terrific force that they could not have possibly lain out on the yards, even if they succeeded in reaching the futtock shrouds.
It was no good shouting to the men.
As I said before, they could not hear a word spoken, had it been bawled in the loudest tone; so, Mr Flinders managed to explain his purpose by signs, or some other means that I could not at the moment guess, for Tom Bullover and the rest of the crew at once commenced hauling on the maintopsail sheets.
The effect of this was almost instantaneous.
Puckering up into a bag where, as I mentioned, the clew had fouled the reef points, the sail burst ‘bang’ out of the boltropes with a noise like thunder; and, then, carried forwards by the gale, it floated away ahead, fortunately just clearing the foretopmast, which might have been broken by the extra strain—the fluttering mass of canvas finally disappearing, like a white kite, in the distance in the water ahead of the ship.
Getting rid of this sail was even a greater relief to the over-driven vessel than squaring the yards had been, a consequence which the first-mate and carpenter had fully anticipated when the sheets were manned; so, a similar procedure was adopted with the fore-topsail, and a like happy result followed, the ship still driving on before the wind, very nearly at as great a rate as she had done before, although under bare poles almost.
But she now steered more easily, not taking in such a lot of water aboard when she rolled, while the spars ceased to sway about, and it looked as if we should save them, which had seemed impossible a short time previously, from the ugly way in which the shrouds tightened, and the after-stays sung, as if they were stretched to the last limit, showing that the slightest increase of the strain on them would snap them like pack-thread.