But during those first few days of the run down the coast of Chile it was seldom that we were called on to shorten sail. Captain Bowditch was living up to his reputation; the Gullwing foamed along through the short green seas with every sail she would bear spread to the favoring gale. With her four whole sails on the lower spars and all her jibs set, she spread a vast amount of canvas to the wind. And the only changes we made were in her topsails. Those the skipper kept spread every moment that he dared; and it took a pretty strong gust to make him give the order to reef down.
When he left the deck himself, either day or night, he instructed his mates to call him before they took in an inch of cloth. And Mr. Gates and Mr. Barney were just as hungry for speed, as the old man. The Gullwing was heavily laden, but there was probably few stiffer vessels at sea that day than she. With plenty of ballast there was no gale or no sea that could capsize her.
She took cheerfully all the wind and all the sea could give her. A little loose water flopping around her deck didn’t trouble Captain Bowditch. “Tarpaulin her hatches, clamp ’em down, and let her roll!” had been his order when we had got well away from our anchorage at Valpariso. We had good weather, however, as I have said, for some days.
Then suddenly, one afternoon in the first dog-watch, it came on to blow. Carefully as the captain watched the glass, I do not think this squall was foretold. A more cautious navigator might have been better prepared for a squall. He wouldn’t have had his topsails spread in any such gale as had been blowing. And when all hands were called to go aloft, the wind shrieked down upon us and the foretopsail and two staysails were blown clean out of the boltropes before the men could get at them.
“What are ye about, ye sawneys!” yelled Captain Bowditch, dancing up and down on the deck and shaking his fists at the men above. “Save my sails for me! Think I’m made o’ sailcloth? And them right new fixin’s, too! Git busy there!”
Oh, we were busy! I had been sent aloft and so had Thank. We were nimble enough in the shrouds; but we were not as smart about handling the stiff canvas as some. I found my chum beside me as we hauled down the stiff canvas upon the spar, and threw ourselves upon the folds to hold them till they could be secured.
“My law-dee!” gasped the Georgian boy, grinning. “Jest as lives try to pin an apron around the waist of a baby hippopotamus—what?”
I saw his wet, red, grinning face for a moment looking across at me. Then, suddenly, the ship keeled over, the rope on which we stood overhung those leaping, green, froth-streaked waves—waves which seemed hungrily trying to lap our feet. Thank disappeared! Something gave way, his weight left the sail to me alone. And perhaps, fearful for my chum, I bore off the canvas myself to look for him.
The next instant I was cast back by the wind tearing under the canvas and lifting it in a great balloon.
“Swish—r-r-rip!”