A Madcap Cruise

by Oric Bates

"I have," Jack said shortly. "Ready 'bout ship!" he shouted.

The men sprang to their places, although Jack could see that they threw swift glances of surprise at him as they did so. The evidence, slight as it was, that he was acting alone, and that he must see farther and more wisely than the men under him, accustomed as they were to the sea, imparted a new ring of command to his voice as he gave the necessary orders. With some difficulty and with much uproar of booming canvas and slatting ropes, the schooner came about, and Jack had her headed straight for the black spot on the horizon.

Jack hurried on preparations for the storm before them. He had sail taken in and double-reefed; the "spitfire" jib set in place of the larger forestaysail, and tarpaulins battened over the skylights. He put the yacht as completely as possible in heavy-weather trim, to meet the gale scudding along over the black sea toward them.

He was none too soon, for the storm was not long in coming. The gray sky above the yacht grew darker and darker, the sea about her more and more "cobbly." The wind freshened rapidly, and veered more toward the west. The Merle sailed on gallantly, the green waves breaking against her weather shoulder, and the spindrift flying down the decks as she slashed her way to windward. The tops of the great seas, as they heaved themselves skyward, were snatched off by the gale, and sped in white sheets down the wind.

Jack was standing in the cockpit with Jerry. He was watching the weather narrowly, and now and then, with a brief word or two, gave the steersmen—for the wheel needed two of them—a command or a warning. The force of the gale so increased that at the end of an hour and a half the mainsail, though triple-reefed, was got down and furled, and the forestaysail, which had been unbent to give place to the spitfire, was set on the boom as a trysail.

It had come on to rain, and the big drops were driven along almost in horizontal lines. When they struck the face Jack felt as if he had been pelted with hailstones. Mixed with the flying spindrift they filled the air as if with a mist, blinding and fierce.

Suddenly, as the yacht was dipping into the trough of a long sea, a strong gust listed her over so that aft the green water rose on the decks to within a fathom of the cockpit combings. A sharp report burst out above all the roaring of the wind and the multitudinous clamor of the waters. Jack looked up to see the trysail streaming out in tattered ribbons, writhing and twisting like pale snakes in mad fury. The sight inflamed him like a personal insult flung at him by the storm. He broke out with a cry, and with a great oath swore he would see the Merle through in spite of everything.

"Tab," he shouted in the mate's ear, "get along forward on that sea-anchor! Stand by to launch it. We don't want any more of this!"

He saw Jerry gather the port watch,—for all the men had been on deck for two hours past, clinging to whatever was nearest and alternately watching the storm and the captain,—and with them scrabble forward, making way by the help of whatever could be grasped. Their difficulty in getting forward was to Jack like a sudden realization of the danger they were in, and made him for the moment think of the men, whereas he had before been conscious of nothing but of the yacht herself. He saw the men gather about the "sea-anchor," swaying and pitching with the motion of the bow, and Jerry turn to look for his signal. The yacht was carrying such a strong lee-helm that the steersmen could not keep her head to the wind, and Jack shouted and gesticulated frantically to Jerry to get down the storm-jib, while at the same time he ordered the starboard watch to unstop the mainsail. He was in deadly fear lest the vessel should get clean broadside to the wind and that the decks would be swept.