The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 104, June, 1866: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 104, June, 1866: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
The darkness was profound. Reuben, not a little startled by the new
aspect of affairs, still kept his place upon the quarter-deck. He saw
objects flitting across the waist of the ship, and heard distinctly the
coils flung down with a clang upon the wet decks. There was something
weird and ghostly in those half-seen figures, in the indistinct maze of
cordage and canvas above, and the phosphorescent streaks of spray
streaming away from either bow.
"Are you ready there?" says the captain.
"Ay, ay, sir," responds the mate.
"Put your helm a-lee, my man!--Hard down!"
"Hard down it is, sir!"
The ship veers up into the wind; and, as the captain shouts his order,
"Mainsail haul!" the canvas shakes; the long, cumbrous yard groans upon
its bearings; there is a great whizzing of the cordage through the
blocks; but, in the midst of it all,--coming keenly to the captain's
ear,--a voice from the fore-hatch exclaims, "By G--, she touches!"
The next moment proved it true. The good ship minded her helm no more.
The fore-yards are brought round by the run and the mizzen, but the
light wind--growing lighter--hardly clears the flapping canvas from the
spars.
In the sunshine, with so moderate a sea, 't would seem little; in so
little depth of water they might warp her off; but the darkness
magnifies the danger; besides which, an ominous sighing and murmur are
coming from that luminous misty mass to the southward. Through all this,
Reuben has continued smoking upon the quarter-deck; a landsman under a
light wind, and with a light sea, hardly estimates at their true worth
such intimations as had been given of the near breaking of the surf, and
of the shoaling water. Even the touch upon bottom, of which the grating
evidence had come home to his own perceptions, brought up more the fate
of his business venture than any sense of personal peril. We can surely
warp her off in the morning, he thought; or, if the worst came,
insurance was full, and it would be easy boating to the shore.
"It's lucky there's no wind," said he to Yardley.
"Will you obleege me, Mr. Johns? Take a good strong puff of your
cigar,--here, upon the larboard rail, sir," and he took the lantern from
the companion-way that he might see the drift of the smoke. For a moment
it lifted steadily; then, with a toss it vanished away--shoreward. The
first angry puffs of the southeaster were coming.
The captain had seen all, and with an excited voice said, "Mr. Yardley,
clew up, fore and aft,--clew up everything; put all snug, and make ready
the best bower."
"Mr. Johns," said he, approaching Reuben, "we are on a lee shore; it
should be Long Island beach by the soundings; with calm weather, and a
kedge, we might work her off with the lift of the tide. But the Devil
and all is in that puff from the sou'east."
"O, well, we can anchor," says Reuben.
"Yes, we can anchor, Mr. Johns; but if that sou'easter turns out the
gale it promises, the best anchor aboard won't be so good as a
gridiron."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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