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- swung from East to West, in vast arcs of circles, till almost
breathless. Hornpipes, fandangoes, Donnybrook-jigs, reels, and
quadrilles, were danced under the very nose of the most mighty captain,
and upon the very quarter-deck and poop. Sparring and wrestling, too,
were all the vogue; _Kentucky bites_ were given, and the _Indian hug_
exchanged. The din frightened the sea-fowl, that flew by with
accelerated wing.
It is worth mentioning that several casualties occurred, of which,
however, I will relate but one. While the “sky-larking” was at its
height, one of the fore-top-men—an ugly-tempered devil of a Portuguese,
looking on—swore that he would be the death of any man who laid violent
hands upon his inviolable person. This threat being overheard, a band
of desperadoes, coming up from behind, tripped him up in an instant,
and in the twinkling of an eye the Portuguese was straddling an oar,
borne aloft by an uproarious multitude, who rushed him along the deck
at a railroad gallop. The living mass of arms all round and beneath him
was so dense, that every time he inclined one side he was instantly
pushed upright, but only to fall over again, to receive another push
from the contrary direction. Presently, disengaging his hands from
those who held them, the enraged seaman drew from his bosom an iron
belaying-pin, and recklessly laid about him to right and left. Most of
his persecutors fled; but some eight or ten still stood their ground,
and, while bearing him aloft, endeavoured to wrest the weapon from his
hands. In this attempt, one man was struck on the head, and dropped
insensible. He was taken up for dead, and carried below to Cuticle, the
surgeon, while the Portuguese was put under guard. But the wound did
not prove very serious; and in a few days the man was walking about the
deck, with his head well bandaged.
This occurrence put an end to the “skylarking,” further head-breaking
being strictly prohibited. In due time the Portuguese paid the penalty
of his rashness at the gangway; while once again the officers _shipped
their quarter-deck faces_.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE PITCH OF THE CAPE.
Ere the calm had yet left us, a sail had been discerned from the
fore-top-mast-head, at a great distance, probably three leagues or
more. At first it was a mere speck, altogether out of sight from the
deck. By the force of attraction, or something else equally
inscrutable, two ships in a calm, and equally affected by the currents,
will always approximate, more or less. Though there was not a breath of
wind, it was not a great while before the strange sail was descried
from our bulwarks; gradually, it drew still nearer.
What was she, and whence? There is no object which so excites interest
and conjecture, and, at the same time, baffles both, as a sail, seen as
a mere speck on these remote seas off Cape Horn. A breeze! a breeze!
for lo! the stranger is now perceptibly nearing the frigate; the
officer’s spy-glass pronounces her a full-rigged ship, with all sail
set, and coming right down to us, though in our own vicinity the calm
still reigns.
She is bringing the wind with her. Hurrah! Ay, there it is! Behold how
mincingly it creeps over the sea, just ruffling and crisping it.
Our top-men were at once sent aloft to loose the sails, and presently
they faintly began to distend. As yet we hardly had steerage-way.
Toward sunset the stranger bore down before the wind, a complete
pyramid of canvas. Never before, I venture to say, was Cape Horn so
audaciously insulted. Stun’-sails alow and aloft; royals, moon-sails,
and everything else. She glided under our stern, within hailing
distance, and the signal-quarter-master ran up our ensign to the gaff.
“Ship ahoy!” cried the Lieutenant of the Watch, through his trumpet.
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