"Now round the galley fire the merry crew,
With song and yarn and best of cheer,
Have gathered. And storms may rage, and seas may rise,
And thunders roll; they know not fear."
Anon.
Scene: A ship at sea, south of the Cape of Good Hope. A steamer
evidently from her build, though the funnel has been lowered, and a gale
of wind is roaring through her rigging, bellying out the few sails she
is able to carry till it looks as though the cloth would bust. She is
making heavy weather, dipping the ends of her long yards right into the
water, and plunging so much, that at times neither her jib-boom nor bows
are visible in the foam and spray. She must be shipping tons of water.
Looking at her as we are now doing with the eye of imagination, it would
seem there could be little else save discomfort on board of her. And
the night, too, is closing around her dark and thick. The sea is very
troubled, the waves are racing, brawling, foam-crested billows,
lightning plays around the ship every now and then, and thunders hurtle
in the air, the awful noise appearing to run along over the sea. But
let us go on board of her.
Here are Kenneth and Archie. Neither is on duty. Kenneth's watch will
come on deck at midnight. Archie, who is engineer of this craft, may be
called upon at any moment to stir up the banked fires and get up steam.
This is the ship in which Kenneth has been second mate for eighteen
months, including the time he lay sick or roamed convalescent on the
South American shore, where Archie found him. They have bidden farewell
to that beautiful coast, which in some parts is so enchanting, with its
wealth of vegetation, its grand old woods, its fruit trees, its
flower-trees, its flowers themselves, the life and loveliness that teems
everywhere on the earth, in the air, in the sea, on the little islands,
green and feathery, that peep up here and there out of the blue, on
mountain top, and even in its caves, that I feel sad as well as
sorrowful. I cannot pause to describe it all.
But why should I? My descriptions, after all, would fall flat on the
senses of the reader, even with the aid of the best of illustrations,
for no artist can give colour and movement combined. Go, reader, and
see the world for yourself if you feel so inclined, and if ever you have
the chance, I can tell you from long experience it is a very beautiful
one.
"Well," said Kenneth, "we came up here, Archie, lad, to have a walk, but
I don't see much chance. What a night it is going to be! How black the
sky! How vivid the lightning! How close the horizon is--"
The last part of Kenneth's sentence was lost in a peal of thunder.
"Stand by! Jump, Archie. There is a comber."
They both leapt on the top of the capstan as an immense green sea swept
over the bows and came tearing aft, carrying everything movable before
it.