The mizzen-topsail was by this time our only rag left remaining, and the captain, evidently wishing to save this, so as to use it by-and-by when the gale lulled, to help in bringing the vessel round again to the wind, started off by himself hauling on the buntlines and clewlines, being quickly aided by Jan Steenbock and little me—we being all the ‘hands’ on the poop except the helmsman, whom the second-mate was able at last to leave for a minute or so unassisted, from the fact of the ship having become more tractable since she had lost all that lot of loose top hamper flapping about aloft.
The three of us took ‘a long pull and a strong pull, and a pull all together,’ according to the old sailor phrase, I tugging my best with the others; and, possibly the ounce or two of ‘beef’ I was able to put into the rope so far assisted as just to turn the scale. At all events, we ultimately succeeded in clewing up the topsail pretty fairly; although, of course, it could not be properly stowed until some of the hands were able to get up on the yard and snug it comfortably by passing the sea-gaskets.
So far, everything had been accomplished satisfactorily, and the ship was running free before the gale at the rate of ten or twelve knots, or more, without a stitch of canvas set beyond the bunt of the mizzen-topsail, which bagged and bulged out a bit still, in spite of our efforts to clew it up tight.
But, now, a new danger arose.
We were bowling along before the wind, it is true; but, the heavy rolling sea that had been worked up in a brief space of time was travelling at a much faster rate, and there was every fear that one of the monster billows which each moment curled up threateningly in our wake would hurl itself on board, thus pooping the vessel and rendering her altogether unmanageable, if not a hopeless wreck—such a mass of water as the big waves carried in their frowning crests being more than sufficient to swamp us instanter, and, mayhap, bury the poor Denver City deep in the depths below at one fell blow.
Captain Snaggs saw this sooner than any one; and, although all his previous orders had been carried out in dumb show, from our now having the wind with us to waft his voice forward, he once more managed to make himself heard.
“Ahoy!” he shouted, putting his hands on either side of his mouth, to carry the words well clear of his goatee beard, which was blown all over his face. “On deck, thaar!”
Tom Bullover raised his right fist, to show that he caught the hail; but it was impossible for him to answer back in the very teeth of the gale.
“We must try an’ lay her to,” continued the skipper. “Hev ye got a tarpaulin, or airy sort o’ rag ye ken stick in the fore-riggin’?” Tom nodded his head, understanding what the captain meant in a jiffey; and, with the help of two or three others, a piece of fearnought, that lay in the bottom of the long-boat, was quickly bundled out on the deck and dragged forwards, the men bending on a rope’s-end to a cringle worked in one corner of the stuff, so as to hoist it up by.
“Over to port! Over to port!” roared the skipper, seeing them making for the lee side of the ship. “I’m goin’ to try an’ bring her to on thet tack, d’ye haar?”