A heavy sea crashed inboard, filled the fore deck, and when the spray cleared they saw the galley all adrift against the half-poop.
"Bill," said Silas, "I ax your pardon for what I done."
"And I forgives yer, Silas."
"Bill—I see the old man screeching for us."
But Bill saw his mother standing amid the wash and wreckage aft. She nodded and smiled to him. Then she was gone, and the lad went to his duty about the shattered galley.
VIII
The gale was at its height during the middle watch, but on towards dawn began to flaw with lulls between the furious squalls, so when the starboard watch was called the captain had the idlers on deck, served rum, and set the topsail. It was a sign that, for Cape Horn was conquered, and in their victorious mood, with the sudden glow of liquor warming them, the men forgot the gloom of the long nights, the piercing cold, drenched clothing, boils, wet berths, the chronic hunger, and mental weariness from lack of sleep, their burning hatred of the captain, even the lack of that human kindness which alone makes life worth living. The setting of the topsail was a sign of better days, of favoring winds, of sunshine, warmth, the Happy Latitudes ahead, water to wash with, a landfall, a seaport, fresh food, and an all-night's rest.
Until this time Bill's mind had dwelt mainly upon the past, with a sick yearning for his mother, and for the barge, the only home he had known, the merry traffic down the Lower Reaches, the stir and throb of London. If he thought of the future, it was only with dread of being taken back, and hanged as a matter of course—yes, just as Uncle Joey had been turned off at Tyburn. Now a new impulse filled him. Was he such a fool as to be taken back there alive? "Yes, if they're smart enough to catch me once I gets ashore!"
He was tailing on the halliard. For the outrage upon Auld Jock, the ship's best chantey man, no man would start a stave. Yet in his mind was the memory of the Trawling chantey picked up long ago from the Barking fisherman. He began to hum the tune, aloud before he knew, and presently a Shetlander of the starboard watch took up the chorus, one after another caught the melody, and Bill roared out the bass, yelped the high grace notes:
"Now up jumps the Herring—the King of the sea,
He jump to the tiller—shouts 'Hellum a lee.'