“As soon as you like,” was the answer. “We shall have to heave-to, I suspect; but that little matters, as we have plenty of sea-room out here, and she may dance away for a fortnight with the helm a-lee, and come to no harm.”
The topmast was struck; the jib was taken in, and a storm-jib set; the foresail was handed, and the mainsail meantime was closely reefed. Relieved for a time, she breasted the seas more easily; but the wind had not yet reached its strength. Before nightfall down came the gale upon us with all its fury; the cutter heeled over to it as she dashed wildly through the waves.
“The sooner we get the mainsail altogether off her the better, sir,” said Snow. This was accordingly done, and the trysail was set instead, and the helm lashed a-lee.
“There; we are as snug and comfortable as possible,” exclaimed Porpoise, as the operation was completed. “Now all hands may turn in and go to sleep till the gale is over.”
The landsmen looked rather blue.
“Very funny notion this of comfort!” exclaimed Carstairs, who had the worst sea-going inside of any of the party. “Oh, oh, oh! is it far from the shore?”
“Couldn’t get there, sir, if any one was to offer ten thousand guineas,” said Snow. “We are better as we are, sir, out here—by very far.”
The cutter, which in Cowes Harbour people spoke of as a fine large craft, now looked and felt very like a mere cockle-shell, as she pitched and tumbled about amid the mighty waves of the Atlantic.
“Don’t you feel very small, Carstairs?” exclaimed Hearty, as he sat convulsively grasping the sides of the sofa in the cabin.
“Yes, faith, I do,” answered the gentle giant, who lay stretched out opposite to him. “Never felt so very little since I was a baby in long-clothes. I say, Porpoise, I thought you told me that the Bay of Biscay was always smooth at this time of the year.”