“Going to——” but before he could finish the maintop-gallant-sail came aback against the mast.
“For’ard there! clew down the maint’gallant-sail!” he roared, ad he looked sharply to windward, where the giant Cape Horn sea came rolling down through the deepening haze.
“Maint’gallant-sail!” echoed the cry forward, as the men sang out and jumped for the halyards, while some of the watch sprang into the ratlines and made their way aloft.
“Come, bear a hand there! Get that sail rolled up and lay aft to the mizzen-top-sail.”
The vessel was driving along at a comfortable rate in spite of the heavy sea, and it looked as though she might give the grim Cape the slip and go scudding away on the other side of the world. A few hours running to the westward with the wind holding and she would go clear. But the giant sea began rolling down from the northwest, growing heavier, so by the time the maintop-gallant-sail was rolled up and eight bells struck it had the true Cape Horn heave to it.
Mr. Gantline came on deck to relieve the mate, and he soon had the ship dressed down to her lower topsails. It was not blowing more than an ordinary gale, but the tremendous sea made it dangerous to force the vessel ahead, so she drifted and sagged off to leeward. The “sea-calmer” was rigged forward, and soon the water to windward had an oily look, while the wind, catching up the tops of the combers, hurled a spray down upon the ship that made shroud and backstay, downhaul, and clew-line smell strong of fish-oil, as they cut the wind like bow-strings and hummed in unison until the volume of sound swelled into a deep booming roar.
“Let her come up all she will!” bawled Garnett into Gantline’s ear, as he started to go below. “If she sags off any more you better call the old man, for it looks bad. By the way, Gantline, where’s that bottle of alcohol the old man gave you for varnishing the wheel? I’ve got one of his porous plasters on my chest, and the blooming thing has glued itself to every hair on my body, and I can’t get it adrift.”
“It’s in the right-hand corner of the boson’s locker,” said the mate, with a grin. “But go easy, Garnett. The old man put a spoonful of tartar-emetic into the stuff, ‘for,’ says he, ‘tartar-emetic makes the varnish have a more enduring effect against the weather.’”
“Sink him for a scoundrel!” growled Garnett, his little eyes flashing and beard bristling with rage. “It’s always something he’s doing to make bad feeling aboard ship. Why should he suspect a man of drinking raw spirit, hey?”
“Why, indeed,” said Gantline.