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- 3211
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3136
- text
- there till morning. Here I found the cook and steward, Wymontoo, Rope
Yarn, and the Dane; who, being all quiet, manageable fellows, and
holding aloof from the rest since the captain’s departure, had been
ordered by the mate not to go below until sunrise. They were lying
under the lee of the bulwarks; two or three fast asleep, and the others
smoking their pipes, and conversing.
To my surprise, Bembo was at the helm; but there being so few to stand
there now, they told me, he had offered to take his turn with the rest,
at the same time heading the watch; and to this, of course, they made
no objection.
It was a fine, bright night; all moon and stars, and white crests of
waves. The breeze was light, but freshening; and close-hauled, poor
little Jule, as if nothing had happened, was heading in for the land,
which rose high and hazy in the distance.
After the day’s uproar, the tranquillity of the scene was soothing, and
I leaned over the side to enjoy it.
More than ever did I now lament my situation—but it was useless to
repine, and I could not upbraid myself. So at last, becoming drowsy, I
made a bed with my jacket under the windlass, and tried to forget
myself.
How long I lay there, I cannot tell; but as I rose, the first object
that met my eye was Bembo at the helm; his dark figure slowly rising
and falling with the ship’s motion against the spangled heavens behind.
He seemed all impatience and expectation; standing at arm’s length from
the spokes, with one foot advanced, and his bare head thrust forward.
Where I was, the watch were out of sight; and no one else was stirring;
the deserted decks and broad white sails were gleaming in the
moonlight.
Presently, a swelling, dashing sound came upon my ear, and I had a sort
of vague consciousness that I had been hearing it before. The next
instant I was broad awake and on my feet. Eight ahead, and so near that
my heart stood still, was a long line of breakers, heaving and
frothing. It was the coral reef girdling the island. Behind it, and
almost casting their shadows upon the deck, were the sleeping
mountains, about whose hazy peaks the gray dawn was just breaking. The
breeze had freshened, and with a steady, gliding motion, we were
running straight for the reef.
All was taken in at a glance; the fell purpose of Bembo was obvious,
and with a frenzied shout to wake the watch, I rushed aft. They sprang
to their feet bewildered; and after a short, but desperate scuffle, we
tore him from the helm. In wrestling with him, the wheel—left for a
moment unguarded—flew to leeward, thus, fortunately, bringing the
ship’s head to the wind, and so retarding her progress. Previous to
this, she had been kept three or four points free, so as to close with
the breakers. Her headway now shortened, I steadied the helm, keeping
the sails just lifting, while we glided obliquely toward the land. To
have run off before the wind—an easy thing—would have been almost
instant destruction, owing to a curve of the reef in that direction. At
this time, the Dane and the steward were still struggling with the
furious Mowree, and the others were running about irresolute and
shouting.
But darting forward the instant I had the helm, the old cook thundered
on the forecastle with a handspike, “Breakers! breakers close
aboard!—’bout ship! ’bout ship!”
Up came the sailors, staring about them in stupid horror.
“Haul back the head-yards!” “Let go the lee fore-brace!” “Ready about!
about!” were now shouted on all sides; while distracted by a thousand
orders, they ran hither and thither, fairly panic-stricken.
It seemed all over with us; and I was just upon the point of throwing
the ship full into the wind (a step, which, saving us for the instant,
would have sealed our fate in the end), when a sharp cry shot by my ear
like the flight of an arrow.
It was Salem: “All ready for’ard; hard down!”
- title
- Chunk 3