Animals -- Juvenile fiction; Fantasy literature; Human-animal communication -- Juvenile fiction; Voyages and travels -- Juvenile fiction
But suddenly the wind changed, swung to the East, then back to the
Northeast—then to the North. It came in fitful gusts, as though it
hadn’t made up its mind which way to blow; and I was kept busy at the
wheel, swinging the _Curlew_ this way and that to keep the right side
of it.
Presently we heard Polynesia, who was in the rigging keeping a look-out
for land or passing ships, screech down to us,
“Bad weather coming. That jumpy wind is an ugly sign. And look!—over
there in the East—see that black line, low down? If that isn’t a
storm I’m a land-lubber. The gales round here are fierce, when they
do blow—tear your canvas out like paper. You take the wheel, Doctor:
it’ll need a strong arm if it’s a real storm. I’ll go wake Bumpo and
Chee-Chee. This looks bad to me. We’d best get all the sail down right
away, till we see how strong she’s going to blow.”
Indeed the whole sky was now beginning to take on a very threatening
look. The black line to the eastward grew blacker as it came nearer
and nearer. A low, rumbly, whispering noise went moaning over the sea.
The water which had been so blue and smiling turned to a ruffled ugly
gray. And across the darkening sky, shreds of cloud swept like tattered
witches flying from the storm.
I must confess I was frightened. You see I had only so far seen the
sea in friendly moods: sometimes quiet and lazy; sometimes laughing,
venturesome and reckless; sometimes brooding and poetic, when moonbeams
turned her ripples into silver threads and dreaming snowy night-clouds
piled up fairy-castles in the sky. But as yet I had not known, or even
guessed at, the terrible strength of the Sea’s wild anger.
When that storm finally struck us we leaned right over flatly on our
side, as though some invisible giant had slapped the poor _Curlew_ on
the cheek.
After that things happened so thick and so fast that what with the wind
that stopped your breath, the driving, blinding water, the deafening
noise and the rest, I haven’t a very clear idea of how our shipwreck
came about.
I remember seeing the sails, which we were now trying to roll up upon
the deck, torn out of our hands by the wind and go overboard like a
penny balloon—very nearly carrying Chee-Chee with them. And I have a
dim recollection of Polynesia screeching somewhere for one of us to go
downstairs and close the port-holes.
In spite of our masts being bare of sail we were now scudding along
to the southward at a great pace. But every once in a while huge
gray-black waves would arise from under the ship’s side like nightmare
monsters, swell and climb, then crash down upon us, pressing us into
the sea; and the poor _Curlew_ would come to a standstill, half under
water, like a gasping, drowning pig.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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