The _Lilly_ had been ordered to proceed direct to Jamaica. She was
already in the latitude of the West Indies, and might expect to get into
Port Royal in the course of six or eight days. Hitherto the weather had
been remarkably fine, though the wind had been generally light. There
was now, however, a dead calm. The dog-vanes hung up and down, the
sails every now and then giving sullen flaps against the masts, while
the ship rolled slowly--so slowly as scarcely to allow the movement to
be perceptible--from side to side. The ocean was as smooth as the
smoothest mirror, not a ripple, not the slightest cat's-paw being
perceptible on it. Instead, however, of its usual green colour, it had
become of a dead leaden hue, the whole arch of heaven being also spread
with a dark grey canopy of a muddy tint. Yet, though the sun was not
seen, the heat, as the day drew on, became intense. Dio was the only
person on board who did not seem to feel it, but went about his duties
as cook's mate with as much zeal and alacrity as ever, scrubbing away at
pots and pans, scraping potatoes, and singing snatches of odd nigger
songs. His monkey Queerface, brought from his last ship, just paid off
on her return from the West Indies, was skipping about the fore-rigging,
now hanging by his tail swinging to and fro, now descending with the
purpose of attempting to carry off one of the boy's hats, then failing,
scudding hand over hand up the rigging again like lightning, chattering
and spluttering as he watched the rope's end lifted threateningly
towards him, or dodging the bit of biscuit or rotten potato thrown at
his head. The watch on deck were hanging listlessly about, finding even
their usual employment irksome. A few old hands might have been seen
making a grummit or pointing a rope, while the sailmaker and his crew
were at work on a suite of boat-sails; here and there also a marine
might have been seen cleaning his musket, but finding the barrel rather
hotter to touch than was pleasant. In truth, everywhere it was hot:
below, hotter still. Though the sun was not shining, there was no
shade; and discontented spirits kept moving about, in vain trying to
find a cooler spot than the one they had left. Old Grim did nothing but
growl.
"If it's hot out here, what will it be when we gets ashore?" he growled
out. "Why, we shall be regularly roasted or baked, and the cannibals
won't have any trouble in cooking us. But to my mind (and I have always
said it) a sailor is the most unfortunate chap alive, one day dried up
in these burning latitudes, and then sent to cool his nose up among the
icebergs. It's all very well for Dio there. It's his nature to like
heat. For us poor white-skinned chaps, it's nothing but downright
cruelty."
"But I suppose that it won't be always like this," said Bill. "We shall
have the sun shine, and a breeze, one of these days, and go along
merrily through the water. There's no place, that I ever heard tell of,
where the sun does not shine, and though we don't see him, he is shining
as bright as ever up above the clouds, even now. He has only got to
open a way for himself through them, and we shall soon see him again."
"As to the sun shining always, you are wrong there, young chap," growled
out old Grim. "Up at the North Pole there, there's a night of I don't
know how many months, when you don't see him at all."
"You are wrong there, Grim," cried out Jack Windy. "I once shipped
aboard a whaler, and we were shut up all the winter in the ice, and
during the time we every day caught a sight of the red head of the old
sun, just popping up above the horizon to the southward, and a comfort
that was, I can tell you, particularly when we saw him getting higher
and higher, and knew that summer was coming back again, and that we
should have the ice breaking away, and get set free once more."
"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Bill, exultingly, "I am sure the sun shines
everywhere, and though you might have got a long night in winter, you
got a longer day in summer, I'll warrant."
"You are right there, boy," said Jack Windy. "For days together, in the
north there, the sun never sets, and so, as you say, we have a very long
day."
"I thought so!" exclaimed Bill, quite delighted. "Whatever else
happens, God takes care to give us a right share of sunshine, and more
than a right share too, if we reckon upon what we deserve."
A portion of the crew were below, but one after the other they came up,
complaining that the between-decks was more like a stew-pan or hothouse
than any place they had ever before been in. The officers also made
their appearance on deck; but though they began to walk up and down as
usual, one after the other they stopped and leant against the bulwarks
or a gun-carriage, turning their faces round as if to catch a breath of
air. The dog-vanes, however, hung down as listlessly as ever.
"Not an air in the heavens, sir," observed Mr Truck, the master, as
Captain Trevelyan came on deck. "I cannot make anything of the
weather."
"But I can," exclaimed the captain, taking a hurried glance to the
westward. "What is that, do you think?"
He pointed to what seemed a long bank of driven snow rising out of the
horizon. It extended nearly half-way round the horizon, every instant
getting higher and higher.
"All hands shorten sail!" shouted the captain. "Up aloft, there! Lay
out, haul down!"
The words produced a magical effect. In a minute, the listless crew
were all activity and life. Up the rigging they swarmed like bees, some
throwing themselves into the tops, others ascending the topgallant
yards, and running out to either yard-arm, till every part of the ship
swarmed with life, those on deck pulling and hauling with might and
main, the officers assisting, every idler putting a hand to a rope. The
topsails were quickly clewed up and furled, the other sails were handed,
but scarcely were the men off the yards, than the high bank of foam
approached the ship. There was a loud rushing, roaring noise.
"Down for your lives!" shouted the captain.
"Down for your lives, my lads," repeated the lieutenants; and though the
helm was put up, and the fore-topmast staysail hoisted, the wind,
striking the tall ship, drove her down before it. Over she heeled.
Down, down she went. It seemed as if she was never to rise again. The
bravest held their breath. Many a cheek turned pale with fear. The
captain waved his hand to the carpenter and his mates.
"Axes!" he shouted. They knew what that meant.
"I knew it would be so," growled old Grim who was standing near Bill,
holding on to the weather bulwarks. "First a calm, to dry the sap out
of a fellow's bones, and then a gale, to blow his teeth down his
throat."
"But there may be a calm again or a fair breeze, and the sun will shine
out bright and clear," answered Bill, who, however, felt more inclined
to think that his last day had come, than he had ever been before. As
he looked out, there was the sea, hitherto so smooth, now leaping and
raging, and covered with seething foam, the spoon-drift flying in vast
sheets of white, from top to top of its broken summits, while huge
watery mountains seemed about to burst over the deck. Still, he knew
very well that sailors had to expect rough seas as well as smooth, and
that many a ship had been in a worse predicament and had escaped. As
the captain cried out "axes," the carpenter and his men sprang aft, with
their shining weapons in their hands. Just then the ship gave a bound,
it seemed like a race-horse darting forward. Up she rose, her head
springing round, and feeling the power of the helm, away she flew before
the hurricane.
"Square away the fore-yards!" shouted the captain (the after-yards had
already been squared). The ship's company saw that the immediate danger
was passed, and once more, fore and aft, all hands breathed freely.
"The sun will soon be shining out!" exclaimed Bill cheerily, within old
Grim's hearing.
"Don't be too sure of that, boy," growled out the latter. "We shall be
broaching to, maybe, before long, and be in a worse case than we were
just now. I have heard of a ship doing that, running under bare poles,
and getting every soul of her crew washed off her deck, except three--
the black cook, the caulker's mate, and the captain's steward--and a
pretty job they had to find their way into port, seeing that neither of
them knew anything of navigation, or seamanship either, for that matter;
and I should like to know whose case you would be in, Sunshine Bill, if
you were left with Dio and Ned Farring, aboard this craft?"
"All I can say is, I hope we should do our best, and trust to
Providence," answered Bill. "I have never heard that a man can do more
than that, and that's what I hope I shall always do, as long as I have
life."
On went the _Lilly_ before the still increasing hurricane. The
topgallant masts were struck, and topmasts housed, the yards secured by
rolling tackles, and the ship made as snug as she could be. This was
done not a bit too soon, for it was evident that she was about to
encounter one of the fiercest of West Indian hurricanes, such as have
sent many a stout ship to the bottom.