["SAMANA KAY"]
By HARRY COLLINGWOOD
I was within a few days of reaching my twenty-third birthday when it was my fortune to secure a berth as only mate aboard a very smart and handsome little brig of two hundred and sixty-five tons, named the Lancashire Witch, hailing out of Liverpool, and bound from that port to Kingston, Jamaica, with a cargo of sugar-mill machinery and Manchester goods.
We sailed on the twenty-eighth of January 18—, with a piping north-easter blowing over our taffrail that swept us right away from the Bar Lightship into the north-east trades without obliging us to start tack or sheet, brace or halliard, from the moment when our "old man" took his departure from the Saltees light. The trade-winds were blowing fresh too, so that we made a phenomenally quick but otherwise uneventful run across the Atlantic until we arrived within some three hundred miles of the Turks Islands, where the wind suddenly failed us, and we fell in with light, hazy, rainy weather, with occasional short spells of flat calm, and variable shifting airs that obliged us to take in all our studding-sails and jockey the little hooker along as best we could under all plain sail. It was tedious, irritating work, for there was so much box-hauling of the yards that the watch could find time for nothing but tending the braces, and all hands of us, fore and aft, were driven nearly frantic.
At length, on the fourth day of this kind of work, the sky gradually thickened up in the southern board, the sun became a pallid, shapeless blotch of watery light in the heavens, and there were other signs that a change of weather was brewing. Yet there was nothing to indicate that the change was imminent; we therefore contented ourselves with the maintenance of a watchful eye upon the signs of the times, and left all our flying kites abroad, in order that we might derive the utmost possible advantage from the languid and scarcely perceptible breathings of the atmosphere that reached us we scarcely knew from where, so light and evanescent were they.
Thus matters went with us throughout the day, the aspect of the sky altering so subtly and gradually, that it was only at the change of the watches, after a four hours' spell below, that one was able to detect any very marked difference. When, however, I was called at eight bells of the afternoon watch I at once noted so pronounced an increase in the threatening aspect of the sky that I felt assured of the near approach of the impending change; and as the skipper did not seem disposed to take the initiative, I suggested that all hands should go to work at once to snug down the ship and prepare her for the coming conflict. Unfortunately, however, the "old man" did not take the same view of the matter that I did; he had been on deck the whole afternoon, and the menacing appearance that had at once impressed me had been occurring so gradually and subtly that he had scarcely noticed it; moreover, there was now a small, hot breeze coming up from the southward that was fanning the nimble little brig along at a speed of nearly four knots, and he was evidently disinclined to forego so great an advantage.
"Yes," he said, when I expressed the opinion that we should have an outburst before long, "it is coming, slowly but surely; but I don't think we shall have it for another hour or two. I don't notice much difference from what it was at noon, except that the sun has vanished, and there is perhaps a little more movement in the muck overhead. I believe we may venture to hang on for another half-hour or so; we shall still have plenty of time to snug down before dark."
I felt rather doubtful of this; but the skipper was a dreadfully opinionated, obstinate man, and I knew that argument, or anything approaching it, would be worse than useless with him. I therefore made no reply, but walked to the skylight, and took a peep at the barometer that hung there. The mercury had fallen more than half an inch since I had last glanced at it just before going to my cabin after dinner.