As the flying ship drew southward of the Cape the weather became cold and stormy, while the great seas followed her with tremendous force, but they could never get any kind of serious grip, and with resounding emphasis broke on either quarter and rushed forward in seething foam.
So heavy did the wind become that, with much regret, the captain was compelled to shorten sail, and after the royals, studding-sails, and fore and mizen topgallant-sails were stowed the long winter night speedily closed down.
The barometer showed signs of further hard weather to come, and at the eight o'clock change of watches the main topgallant-sail, with the outer jib and upper mizen topsail, came in.
By ten o'clock the following gale had increased to a storm of considerable force, and after consultation with the chief mate and Mr. Sennit the skipper decided to put one reef in the main topsail, and two reefs in the fore topsail; but before going aloft the men hauled up the mainsail for stowage. It was, of course, an all hands job, and everyone knew that under such circumstances not much repose would be possible for several hours.
At that time there was a faint glimmer of moonlight, sometimes obliterated when a heavy, snow-laden cloud-bank passed overhead, but on other occasions quite a strong light prevailed for several minutes.
As the men reached the main topsail yard they immediately lay out toward the yardarms, and down on all a blinding snow-squall swooped. Even men close together could scarcely see each other, and nothing whatever of the ship. Nevertheless they set about reefing the canvas; it was so wet and stiff that, until the squall drove ahead, no hold could be obtained. The sail was like a great balloon in front of the yard.
In the 'slings' Mr. Statten was shouting like a bull, and up from the deck a faint 'Bear a hand!' occasionally struggled. In such a smother, and with a sail board-stretched by wind, it was impossible to act quickly.
At last the squall drove ahead. The moon struggled hard to cast a feeble gleam on the scene, and once more the officer sang out for another trial of strength.
One reef was 'tied up'; but while engaged on another someone suddenly yelled—Jack Clewlin thought that a hand had fallen from the yard—and pointed at a mysterious-looking object ahead.
Jack had never seen such a weird spectacle, and for some time he could not imagine what it was. A huge, faintly traceable, and greenish-coloured mountain of mist, here and there cut into towering pinnacles; it appeared right across the course of the vessel. He was not long left in doubt.
Men more intimately acquainted with those stormy and dangerous seas knew at once the peril in which the scudding ship was placed, and in stentorian tones down to the deck went the cry, 'Ice right ahead! Starboard, hard a-starboard!'
Instantly all hands dropped the work on which they were engaged, and by backstay and rigging slid down to man the braces. At the same moment every trace of moonlight vanished behind another black and snow-laden cloud driving across its face.
The wall of ice was no longer visible, and as the vessel came to the wind a great sea burst in over the weather quarter, almost filling the deck, but doing no more harm than soaking all hands to the skin, and lifting some of the fellows nearly over the rail; hanging on to the ropes they were hauled back in safety.
All that while the 'Ocean Glory' was forging ahead, everyone momentarily expecting to feel her crash on the ice, yet, most fortunately, such a disaster did not occur. More astonishing than all was the sudden subsidence of the storm, for the sea had become almost smooth.
Captain Thorne knew what that indicated, and very cheerily he sang out on his crew.
'She's clear, and under the lee of the berg, men!' he cried.
'Ay, ay, sir,' some of them returned; 'and it was a close shave, no mistake. But for that saving gleam of moonlight, she had smashed her nose against it long ago.'
There was to be no more racing that night.
When the hands had slipped into dry clothing they were again sent aloft to stow the upper topsails, and the ship lay-to till daylight, afraid to proceed too hastily, in case other ice dangers might prove more disastrous. A double lookout was kept fore and aft.
With the first show of daylight, and as the water ahead seemed free of obstruction, out went all the reefs, whole topsails were mastheaded, and in magnificent style the beautiful clipper again raced away on a true course. Several immense bergs some of them computed to be two or three miles long, were seen far off on the starboard beam, but during the remaining time spent in those low latitudes no more ice was sighted.
When once assured of that, Captain Thorne determined to make up for the few hours' detention during that eventful night. The whole main top-gallant-sail was sheeted home and set, while even to the surprise of Mr. Sennit, who had had long experience of his superior, an order to 'rig out both stu'n's'l booms' was passed.
Eyeing each other in amused astonishment the men immediately sprang aloft to execute the command.
'She'll scarcely bear it!' one exclaimed. 'I believe she's doing fourteen knots now.'
'Ay, ay,' another fellow replied; 'but I heard him tell the mate he meant to knock another one out of her, and shouldn't mind losing a few booms to win the race.'
She was running dead before the wind, and the setting of those topmast studding-sails was a difficult matter. Nevertheless, they were soon pulling like horses at their booms, and had not everything been of the finest material nothing could have prevented an accident.
'What do you think of this, Readyman?' Jack smilingly inquired, as with great mounds of white foam gleaming round her bows the 'Ocean Glory' raced home in a truly surprising manner. 'We've never done such sailing before.'
'And likely never will again,' the quarter-master replied. 'I thought the "Silver Crown" could do a decent bit of scooting, but this one would beat her hollow. Just look how she cuts into everything like a knife, and she loaded to the scuppers.'
As the course was presently altered slightly to the northward, more canvas was spread. Day by day runs of nearly four hundred miles became quite common. The weather grew much warmer and less boisterous, the Falkland Islands were passed, and without incident worthy of notice the equator was again crossed for the second time that voyage; but there the ship was unfortunately delayed by want of wind. However, the hands were kept busy in getting her ready for port, the decks were holystoned fore and aft, and after that paint and tar pots became the order of the day.
Three days after crossing the line the Australian clipper was sighted crawling northward, and being so much lighter and higher in the water, she steadily drew level, and signalled her surprise at finding her rival so much ahead, but that of the 'Flying Scud' nothing had been seen.
At last the first of the north-east trade wind began to fill the canvas. The ship drew away north, and after a splendid passage of eighty-five days from San Francisco she sighted the Irish coast in the vicinity of Cape Clear. An increasing south-westerly breeze took her along in good style.
Jack Clewlin, full of delight at once again seeing the outlines of his native land rising along the horizon a-lee, could not be induced to leave his lookout perch on the fore royal yard, and was the first to hail the deck with a tremendous outburst of joy, 'Stonewell lighthouse right ahead, sir!'
Half an hour later a pilot came alongside, and for some seconds his ears tingled with the oft-repeated inquiry, 'Has the "Flying Scud" arrived?'
'No,' the man replied. 'We've been watching for her or you the last couple of days. You have won the prize.'
A hearty cheer greeted the announcement.
The 'Ocean Glory' dropped her anchor in the outer roadstead of Stonewell Harbour, and after a voyage of three years and ten months, Jack Clewlin, now a tall, broad-shouldered young fellow of twenty, completed his sea apprenticeship.
His father lost no time in reaching the ship, gripped his son in a warm handshake, and heard from Jack himself how much the lad appreciated a life afloat.
Four days later the 'Flying Scud' arrived, and a cheer greeted her disappointed crew.
To Readyman Captain Clewlin returned his warmest thanks for the advice and assistance afforded his son, and the good old quarter-master felt considerable regret on parting from his young shipmate.
The two ships received orders to proceed to Liverpool, where Jack received his indentures, marked with the words, 'The within has been fulfilled to our entire satisfaction.'
With his father he soon returned home, and thus ended the many remarkable incidents connected with 'a boy's adventures round the world.'
THE END
Printed byMORRISON & GIBB LIMITEDEdinburgh