For all practical
purposes she becomes a humdrum merchantman in haste to reach her
final port of discharge, and get rid of her cargo. No more will
she loiter and pry around anything and everything, from an island
to a balk of drift-wood, that comes in her way, knowing not the
meaning of "waste of time." The "crow's-nests" are dismantled,
taut topgallant-masts sent up, and royal yards crossed. As soon
as we get to sea we shall turn-to and heave that ancient fabric
of bricks and mortar--always a queer-looking erection to be
cumbering a ship's deck--piecemeal over the side. It has long
been shaky and weather-beaten; it will soon obstruct our
movements no more. Our rigging has all been set up and tarred
down; we have painted hull and spars, and scraped wherever the
wood-work is kept bright. All gear belonging to whaling has been
taken out of the boats, carefully cleaned, oiled, and stowed away
for a "full due." Two of the boats have been taken inboard, and
stowed bottom-up upon the gallows aft, as any other merchantman
carries them. At last, our multifarious preparations completed,
we ride ready for sea.
It was quite in accordance with the fitness of things that, when
all things were now ready for our departure, there should come a
change of wind that threatened to hold us prisoners for some days
longer.
Pages:
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513