The Wind-Jammers

by T. Jenkins Hains

Frisbow and Garnett had both tried to persuade Captain Brown that it was the best and safest place for the schooner inside the lagoon, as there was plenty of water and quite smooth anchorage. The skipper, like a true deep-water sailor, dreaded the proximity of the beach even worse than he did fresh water on his skin, and he was several times made furious at the idea of putting his vessel inside the lagoon.

One day after Garnett and Frisbow had gone ashore, where they had been hard at work at the whale, I told the skipper that I would look out for the vessel, and he went below and turned in.

The two men left on board were idling about the galley. One of them, the one who acted as cook, sat in the doorway and worked a pan of “duff” which he held between his knees.

The schooner had her mainsail set and hauled flat aft, while her jib was drawn to windward, thus heaving her to in the light air that barely ruffled the surface of the ocean. There was not a cloud in the sky, and only a dull haze tempered the fierce heat of the sun.

I had the wheel lashed hard down and lay at full length on the quarter, trying to keep in the shadow of the mainsail. I smoked a cigar and gazed at the eddies that drifted from the vessel’s side to windward.

After about an hour, when I had smoked my cigar down to a stump, I was aware that the wind had died out entirely and that it was oppressively hot on deck. I lounged aft and leaned over the rail and tried to see if I could distinguish anything moving on the island, but could not, and the distant hum of the surf was the only sound that broke the painful stillness.

Suddenly the hum of the surf seemed to grow louder. I turned to look to the westward, and in an instant saw the ocean whipped to foam along the horizon.

“All hands!” I yelled, and sprang to the peak halyards.

I let them go by the run, and had just cast off the throat when with a rush the white squall struck us just forward of the weather-beam. One of the men let go the jib halyard and tugged at the downhaul and managed to get the sail half down before the full weight of the wind struck us. The mainsail, hanging half way down the mast, thundered away at a great rate until it split from head to leach, while the little schooner lay on her beam ends, letting the water pour in a torrent down the open companion-way.

In less than five minutes it was all over. The wind slacked up as suddenly as it began, and the vessel slowly righted. Captain Brown clambered on deck half drowned from the flooded cabin and helped to get in what was left of the mainsail. We got all the canvas in, but the sea was as calm as before, except for the swell stirred up, and there was not enough wind to fill a topsail.