Our boat stood
nearly up and down several times; the pinnace parted her tow-line,
and we expected every moment to see the launch swamped. At length
we got alongside, our boats half full of water; and now came the
greatest trouble of all,-- unloading the boats in a heavy sea,
which pitched them about so that it was almost impossible to stand
in them, raising them sometimes even with the rail, and again
dropping them below the bends. With great difficulty we got all
the hides aboard and stowed under hatches, the yard and stay
tackles hooked on, and the launch and pinnace hoisted, chocked,
and griped. The quarter-boats were then hoisted up, and we began
heaving in on the chain. Getting the anchor was no easy work in
such a sea, but as we were not coming back to this port, the
captain determined not to slip. The ship's head pitched into the
sea, and the water rushed through the hawse-holes, and the chain
surged so as almost to unship the barrel of the windlass. ``Hove
short, sir!'' said the mate. ``Aye, aye! Weather-bit your chain
and loose the topsails! Make sail on her, men,-- with a will!'' A
few moments served to loose the topsails, which were furled with
reefs, to sheet them home, and hoist them up.
Pages:
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361