“Don’t ’ee think we’d better close-reef the tops’l?” said Bunks, as Job came on deck; “if you’ll take the helm, Jim and me will lay out on the yard.”
There was truly occasion for anxiety. During the last hour the gale had increased, and the masts were almost torn out of the little vessel, as she drove before it. To turn her side to the wind would have insured her being thrown on her beam-ends. Heavy seas were constantly breaking over the stern, and falling with such weight on the deck that Tommy expected to see them stove in and the vessel swamped. In other circumstances the boy would have been first to suggest reefing the sails, and first to set the example, but he felt that his life depended that night (under God) on his watchfulness and care.
“Reef tops’l!” cried Job, looking fiercely at Bunks, “no, we shan’t; there’s one reef in’t, an’ that’s enough.” Bunks shuddered, for he saw by the glare of the murderer’s eyes that the evil deed, coupled with his deep potations, had driven him mad.
“P’raps it is,” said Bunks, in a submissive voice; “but it may be as well to close reef, ’cause the weather don’t seem like to git better.”
Job turned with a wild laugh to Tommy:
“Here, boy, go aloft and reef tops’l; d’ye hear?”
Tommy hesitated.
“If you don’t,” said Job, hissing out the words in the extremity of his passion, and stopping abruptly, as if unable to give utterance to his feelings.
“Well, what if I don’t?” asked the boy sternly.
“Why, then—ha! ha! ha!—why, I’ll do it myself.”