Donkin
skulked shamelessly, uneasy and miserable. He grumbled:--"I'm perishin'
with cold outside in bloomin' wet rags, an' that 'ere black sojer sits
dry on a blamed chest full of bloomin' clothes; blank his black soul!"
We took no notice of him; we hardly gave a thought to Jimmy and his
bosom friend. There was no leisure for idle probing of hearts. Sails
blew adrift. Things broke loose. Cold and wet, we were washed about
the deck while trying to repair damages. The ship tossed about, shaken
furiously, like a toy in the hand of a lunatic. Just at sunset there
was a rush to shorten sail before the menace of a sombre hail cloud. The
hard gust of wind came brutal like the blow of a fist. The ship relieved
of her canvas in time received it pluckily: she yielded reluctantly
to the violent onset; then coming up with a stately and irresistible
motion, brought her spars to windward in the teeth of the screeching
squall. Out of the abysmal darkness of the black cloud overhead white
hail streamed on her, rattled on the rigging, leaped in handfuls off the
yards, rebounded on the deck--round and gleaming in the murky turmoil
like a shower of pearls.
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