A Voyage round the World / A book for boys

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“But that only lasted a short time,” I remarked. “For what we know, it may blow as hard as it does now for a week to come. What shall we do then?”

“Grin and bear it. That’s the only thing to be done that I know of,” answered Jerry.

All that night we sat up as I have described, now and then dozing off for a short time, but then waking up again as the ship gave a more tremendous plunge than before. At last the captain came and lay down on the sofa, and seeing that we were all safe, went to sleep; but he was soon on deck again, and remained there till daylight. All that day the gale blew as hard, if not harder than ever, and we went rolling and pitching away before it. All the people were sent below except the hands at the wheel, and they secured themselves there, lest they should be washed away by the seas which threatened every moment to break aboard us. As to looking out, all we could see were the foaming mountains of water rising up in broken masses around us, and the sheets of spray which never-ceasingly flew over us. Night came on again, and matters had not mended. The glass was still lower than ever. Jerry and I had managed to shift our clothes, so that we were more comfortable than on the former night, and old Surley had had a lesson not to venture on deck again. His coat was thus dry, and we all lay down together to pass the night. Having scarcely closed our eyes the night before, we soon went to sleep. Never have I slept more soundly. Suddenly I woke up. The ship was plunging as heavily as before, and the wind was howling and the sea roaring as loudly as ever. Still only half awake, I found my way up the companion-ladder. I looked out. No one was to be seen on deck—the dark mountain seas and the confused mass of rigging could alone be perceived. I cast my eyes aloft? What was that I saw? High up in the air, at the main-topmast-head, there was perched a ball of fire. I was so astonished, and, I may say, alarmed, that I could not speak. What could the phenomenon portend? It stayed there for some time, then all of a sudden it glided down, and went out to the main-top-sail yard-arm—a bright, glowing, flaming ball. It will be setting the ship on fire! I thought that I would go and rouse up some one to tell what I had seen, in case there was any danger to be apprehended. Still I could not tear myself away from my post. I shouted out to Jerry, but he did not hear me. I was just returning below when I found Cousin Silas at my shoulder.

“So, Harry, you want to find out when the gale will have done blowing,” said he.

“Yes, I do indeed; but look there!” I exclaimed, pointing to the ball of fire.

“Ah, there’s old Jack o’ lantern!” he answered composedly. “Not a bad sign either. A gale seldom lasts long after he has come. Look at him, he is rather playful to-night.” He was indeed. Sometimes the light would ascend and then descend the masts, then run along the yards, and waiting a little at each yard-arm, would be back again and slip down one of the stays to the fore-mast, and mount up in a second to the fore-topmast head. Sometimes, when the ship rolled very much, the mast-head would leave it floating in the air, but as she rolled back again it would quickly re-attach itself. More than once it got divided into several parts, as it flew about the rigging, but was very speedily re-united again. Cousin Silas laughed when I told him that I thought it might do us some injury.

“Oh no; Jack is a very harmless fellow,” he answered. “More than once, when it has not been blowing as hard as it does now, before I was out of my apprenticeship, I and others have chased Jack about the rigging, and caught him too. When near, he seems to have a very dull, pale light. I and another fellow determined to have him. At last I clutched him. I felt that I had got something clammy, as it were, which stung my skin like a handful of thin jelly-fish. I brought him down on deck, and clapped him into a box. In the morning I could feel that there was something in the box, but all the light was gone, and the box hadn’t been opened long before the thing, whatever it was, was gone too.”

Had anybody but Cousin Silas given me this account, I should scarcely have believed him; and even in this case I had some little difficulty in not supposing that he must, in some way or other, have been deceived.

Jack, however, did not bring us the fine weather we wished for. Daylight returned, and we were little better off than before. We nibbled some biscuit, as Jerry said, to keep our spirits up, and then had a look at the glass. It had risen two degrees. Still the sea ran very high. Jerry and I went at last on deck, followed by Surley. The captain and officers were there, for they had resolved to try and bring the ship to; as she was running a long way out of her course. This, after a time, was done, when the wind lulled, under a close-reefed fore-topsail. We rode after this much more pleasantly, and then the sea began to go down, and once more we could move about the deck without danger of being washed overboard.

“All hands make sail!” was at length the cheering cry, just as the sun had set, as the poets say, in his ocean bed. We sprang aloft—Jerry and I racing who should be first up on the yard-arm. Surley looked as if he would like to follow. Jerry beat me. The ship was still rolling heavily in the swell after the gale. He was springing out towards the yard-arm, laughing gaily at his success, when the ship gave a roll, and away he was sent clear of the bulwarks and into the sea. To glide down by a back-stay and to jump overboard after him was the work of a moment. I scarcely knew what I was doing. I fancied that I just heard the cry of “A man overboard;” but I was not certain. I knew that I was for my size a good swimmer, and I wanted to save my friend. He could swim, but not much. He threw up his arms; I saw him, and struck out towards him. I had a companion, I found, hastening also to his rescue. It was old Surley. He swam faster than I did, seeming to know the importance of haste. We were not without means of support, for as Jerry fell the life-buoy had been let go. It was such as are carried by men-of-war, and could support several people. I sung out to Jerry. He heard my voice, but he only answered faintly. He had got his mouth full of water, and had been stunned and confused by his fall. He was beating the water wildly, forgetting apparently that he could swim.