Portugal -- History -- Joseph, 1750-1777 -- Fiction
"Well, I trust you have not found me wanting in hospitality, at all
events," continued the old officer, "though you have full right to
complain of our long voyage; but let me tell you, we have had, for this
time of the year, most unusual weather; first, the heavy gales we
experienced; then the thick heavy fogs, which hung like funereal palls
over the face of the deep; next the smooth sea and sudden favourable
breeze, which seems, however, inclined to play us a jade's trick, and
leave us in the lurch; and now those threatening clouds away there to
the south-east. That is not the quarter from whence gales generally
spring up off this coast; but if those clouds don't hold a very large
capful of wind, I am very much mistaken. During the whole course of my
life I never met such unnatural weather, and I don't like the look of
it. Depend on it there's something strange going to happen, though I
would not say so to the crew, or to the women, if we had any on board,
and thank Heaven we have not."
The officer who had charge of the navigation of the ship, who in the
English service is called the master, more correctly denominated by the
Portuguese the pilot, at that moment came up to the captain, taking off
his hat respectfully, as he pointed out the dark clouds in the horizon.
"We shall have a gale before long, Senhor Captain," said the veteran,
who was a fine specimen of the sailor of times long, alas! passed by in
the annals of Portugal, during her palmy days of naval supremacy.
"'Twill be a breeze which will make us look sharp after our sticks.
Shall we begin to get in some of our light canvass; for I like not the
look of the weather. There is a storm out there, muttering ugly
threats, from which 'twere wiser to take warning."
"You are right, Senhor Nunez," answered the Captain. "Those are signs
of a gale, or we have been to sea for a century between us to very
little purpose; but there is no immediate necessity to shorten sail, so
we may as well not lose the advantage of the breeze, while it lasts, to
make as much way good in our voyage as we can; for we shall probably,
before long, be blown far enough from our course to weary us with
beating up to our port once more."
"As you think fit, Senhor, but it will be down on us without much
further warning," observed the pilot, as he kept his glance towards the
south-east.
The officers continued walking the deck, but their conversation was
short and disjointed; their eyes constantly glancing round the horizon
in search of further signs of the coming storm; yet, notwithstanding the
prognostications of the commander and the pilot, the breeze held
tolerably steady, only shifting now and then half a point or so, which
required a corresponding attention in trimming sails, so as not to
deviate from their course.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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