Bill took a turn on deck, then ordered the hands aloft to shake out the reefs. The topsails were sheeted home; the ship felt the fresh impulse given to her, and went bounding on over the tossing ocean. The mate walked the deck keeping a watchful eye to windward.
“I don’t know what to make of it, Mr Dicey,” he observed to Charles. “It is always well to take a reef in in good time, and better seamanship, too, to my mind, than to wait till the squall is down upon one. Still, we have lost so much time in that calm that it won’t do to be shortening sail before it is necessary. The surgeon, too, wishes the captain, unless the sickness abates, to put into the Cape, that the people may be landed and the ship fumigated.”
“I am thankful to hear that,” said Charles; “a few days on shore may, I hope, restore all to health.”
Although no deaths had occurred for several days, a considerable number of the people still remained on the sick list, many of the cases being very severe. Even to people in health, the steerage of an emigrant ship is not a desirable place, especially in a hot climate; and now the poor sufferers were not only confined below with closed hatches, but the ship was tumbling and rolling fearfully about, the masts were groaning, the bulk-heads creaking, the stamping of feet was heard overhead, the waves were constantly dashing against the sides, while now and then came the heavy blow of a sea, as it fell on board and deluged the decks.
Bill Windy and Charles had continued their walk for some time, when the mate, looking to windward, exclaimed, “It’s high time to shorten sail, or we shall have the masts whipped out of the ship. Boy, call the captain! Hands aloft—two reefs in the topsails.” The crew were running up the rigging, when Captain Westerway made his appearance. The men quickly laid out on the yards, and were busily employed in gathering up the sails. An active young topman, whom Charles had seen just before laughing and joking with his shipmates, was on the lee-yardarm; while, with earing in hand, he was passing the point through the cringle, the ship gave a heavy lurch, he lost his hold, and was jerked off the yard. For an instant he was seen hanging on to the earing; but it would have required superhuman strength to maintain his hold with the ship pitching and rolling as she was doing; in another moment he fell headlong into the foaming sea. Scarcely had he touched the water when Bill Windy ran to the falls of the lifeboat on the starboard side, crying out for volunteers. Charles followed him. The most active men were aloft; but several gathered at the falls. The captain took the helm, relieving the man at the wheel, who hurried to assist the mate. Bill, with three hands, was already in the boat. Charles leaped in also.
“You had better not, Mr Dicey,” exclaimed Bill. “Get up the side again, and let another hand come. You don’t know the danger you are running.”
“Not more than you,” answered Charles.
“It’s my duty, sir,” said Bill, “and not yours; do be advised by me.”
Charles, however, was eager to go to the assistance of the young seaman. There were in all six stout hands in the boat. The lifebuoy had been let go. Some time passed before the seaman saw it; at last he made towards it, but his strength seemed insufficient to buffet with that rough sea. The attention of most on board was for the moment engaged rather with the boat endeavouring to carry help to the drowning man than to the man himself. The greater number of the crew, too, were occupied in handing the sails. This task had to be accomplished before the ship could be brought to. That was itself a manoeuvre of no small danger, yet the sea was not sufficiently high, nor the wind too strong, to make it altogether impracticable. The boat at length got clear off, and pulled away in the direction the man had last been seen, Mr Paget and other passengers pointing with their hands to guide them. Charles seized an oar—there were only four in the boat; the mate took the helm. They had not pulled far when one of the oars broke. This was seen from the ship. Mr Paget observed that the boat had rapidly dropped a long way to leeward. While he was watching her, a huge wave rose up between her and the ship. He looked anxiously, expecting to see her on the crest of the sea. She was nowhere visible. It was some time before another hand came aft to the helm to relieve the captain. The second and third mates were forward. Not a seaman had been able to keep his eye upon the boat. Mr Paget, however, felt sure he knew where she could be found. The captain was now able to look about for her. Mr Paget told him his fears.
“I am afraid you are right, sir,” he said, after he had continued for some time looking out all around.