At eight
bells our watch went below, leaving her with as much sail as she could
stagger under, the water flying over the forecastle at every plunge.
It was evidently blowing harder, but then there was not a cloud in the
sky, and the sun had gone down bright.
We had been below but a short time, before we had the usual
premonitions of a coming gale: seas washing over the whole forward
part of the vessel, and her bows beating against them with a force and
sound like the driving of piles. The watch, too, seemed very busy
trampling about decks, and singing out at the ropes. A sailor can
always tell, by the sound, what sail is coming in, and, in a short
time, we heard the top-gallant sails come in, one top-gallant sails
come in, one after another, and then the flying jib. This seemed to
ease her a good deal, and we were fast going off to the land of Nod,
when- bang, bang, bang- on the scuttle, and "All hands, reef topsails,
ahoy!" started us out of our berths; and, it not being very cold
weather, we had nothing extra to put on, and were soon on deck. I
shall never forget the fineness of the sight.
Pages:
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388