If ever a man was to guess the deathless character of this craft it
would be at such a time as this. The giant forces of nature with which
she had warred were languishing. The beaten storm, not indeed yet
breathless, was slowly silencing the desperate roar of its invisible
artillery; the seas, like battering-rams, thundered against her
sides, but with a gradual lessening of their fury, and the victorious
ship, her decks streaming, her bows and sides hound-like with salival
drainings, a fierce music of triumphant shoutings aloft, her reefed
courses swollen as are the cheeks of trumpeters urging to the conflict,
rose and fell, pitched and strained, among those liquid heights and
hollows, every nerve in her ancient fabric strung taut for a battle
that was to be repeated again and again, whilst the faintness round the
horizon waxed into a delicate brightness of sunshine streaming off
the edge of the canopy that still hovered on high, and the wind sank
into whistlings, without admixture of thunderous intervals, and the
surge-slopes drooped out of their savage sharpness.
By seven o'clock that night the gale was spent, and there was then
blowing a quiet breeze from the west-south-west. The swell rolled
slowly from the quarter from which the wind had stormed, and caused the
Braave to wallow most nauseously, but she grew a bit steadier after
they had shaken the reefs out of the courses and made sail on her. I
watched this business with deep interest. Vanderdecken, standing on
the poop, gave his orders to Van Vogelaar on the quarter-deck. The
sailors went to work with true Dutch phlegm and deliberateness, taking
plenty of time to unknot the reef-points, then carrying the fore and
main-jeers to the capstan, and walking round without a song, sullen and
silent. There was no liveliness--none of the springing and jumping
and cheerful heartiness you would expect in a crew who, after battling
through six dismal days of black winds and lashing seas, were now
looked down upon by a Heaven of stars, shining gloriously among a few
slowly-moving clouds.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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