Chasing the Sun. Robert Michael Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ but the good yacht was buoyant as a cork, and she rose again from every fresh blast like an unconquerable warrior.

      “It seems to me that the masts will be torn out of her,” said Temple to the Captain, as he grasped the brass rail that surrounded the quarterdeck, and gazed upward with some anxiety.

      “No fear o’ her,” said the Captain, turning the quid of tobacco in his cheek; “she’s a tight boat, an’ could stand a heavier sea than this. I hope it’ll blow a wee thing harder.”

      “Harder!” exclaimed Fred.

      “You must be fond of wind, Captain,” observed Grant with a laugh.

      “Oo ay, I’ve no objection to wund.”

      The Captain said this, as he said everything else, more than half through his nose, and very slowly.

      “But do you not think that more wind would be apt to carry away our top-masts, or split the sails?” said Temple.

      “It’s not unlikely,” was the Captain’s cool reply.

      “Then why wish for it?” inquired the other in surprise.

      “Because we’re only thirty miles from the coast of Norway, and if the wund holds on as it’s doin’, we’ll not make the land till dark. But if it blows harder we’ll get under the shelter of the Islands in daylight.”

      “Dark!” exclaimed poor Sam Sorrel, who, being a bad sailor, was very sick, and clung to the lee bulwarks with a look of helpless misery; “I thought there was no dark in Nor—.”

      The unhappy painter stopped abruptly in consequence of a sensation in the pit of his stomach.

      “There’s not much darkness in Norway in summer,” answered McNab, “but at the south end of it here there’s a little—specially when the weather is thick. Ay, I see it’s comin’.”

      The peculiar way in which the Captain said this caused the others to turn their eyes to windward, where it was very evident that something was coming, for the sky was black as ink, and the sea under it was ruffled with cold white foam.

      “Stand by the clew-lines and halyards,” roared the Captain.

      The men, who were now all assembled on deck, sprang to obey. As they did so a squall came hissing down on the weather-quarter, and burst upon the vessel with such fury that for a moment she reeled under the shock like a drunken man, while the spray deluged her decks, and the wind shrieked through the rigging.

      But this was too violent to last. It soon passed over and the gale blew more steadily, driving the Snowflake over the North Sea like a seamew.

      That evening the mountains of Norway rose to view. About the time that this occurred the sky began to clear towards the north-west and soon after a white line of foam was seen on the horizon right ahead. This was the ocean beating on the great army of islands, or skerries, that line the west coast of Norway from north to south.

      “Hurrah for old Norway!” shouted Fred Temple with delight, when he first observed the foam that leaped upon these bare rocky islets.

      “It seems to me that we shall be wrecked,” said Grant gravely. “I do not see an opening in these tremendous breakers, and if we can’t get through them, even a landsman could tell that we shall be dashed to pieces.”

      “Why not put about the ship and sail away from them?” suggested Sorrel, looking round with a face so yellow and miserable that even the Captain was almost forced to smile.

      “Because that is simply impossible,” said Fred Temple.

      Poor Sam groaned and looked down at his dog, which sat trembling on the deck between his feet, gazing up in its master’s face sadly—at least so it is to be supposed; but the face of Tittles, as well as the expression thereof, was invisible owing to hair.

      “Is there an opening, Captain?” inquired Fred in a low, serious tone.

      “Oo ay, no fear o’ that,” replied the Captain.

      There was, indeed, no fear of that, for as the schooner approached the islands, numerous openings were observed. It also became evident that the gentlemen had mistaken the distance from the broken water, for they were much longer of reaching the outer skerries than they had expected, and the foam, which at first appeared like a white line, soon grew into immense masses, which thundered on these weather-worn rocks with a deep, loud, continuous roar, and burst upwards in great spouts like white steam many yards into the air.

      “Captain, are the islands as numerous everywhere along the coast as they are here?” said Fred.

      “’Deed ay, an’ more,” answered the Captain, “some places ye’ll sail for fifty or sixty miles after getting among the skerries before reachin’ the main.”

      They were now within a hundred yards of the islands, towards a narrow channel, between two of which the Captain steered. Every one was silent, for there was something awful in the aspect of the great dark waves of the raging sea, as they rolled heavily forward and fell with crash after crash in terrific fury on the rocks, dashing themselves to pieces and churning the water into foam, so that the whole sea resembled milk.

      To those who were unaccustomed to the coast, it seemed as if the schooner were leaping forward to certain destruction; but they knew that a sure hand was at the helm, and thought not of the danger but the sublimity of the scene.

      “Stand by the weather-braces,” cried McNab.

      The schooner leaped as he spoke into the turmoil of roaring spray. In ten seconds she was through the passage, and there was a sudden and almost total cessation of heaving motion. The line of islands formed a perfect breakwater, and not a wave was formed, even by the roaring gale, bigger than those we find on such occasions in an ordinary harbour. As isle after isle was passed the sea became more and more smooth, and, although the surface was torn up and covered with foam, no great rollers heaved the vessel about. The tight little craft still bent over to the blast, but she cut through perfectly flat water now.

      A delightful feeling of having come to the end of a rough voyage filled the hearts of all on board. Sam Sorrel raised his head, and began to look less yellow and more cheerful. Tittles began to wag the stump of his miserable tail, and, in short, every one began to look and to feel happy.

      Thus did the Snowflake approach the coast of Norway.

      Now, it is by no means an uncommon occurrence in this world that a calm should follow close on the heels of a storm. Soon after the Snowflake had entered the islands the storm began to abate, as if it felt that there was no chance of overwhelming the little yacht now. That night, and the greater part of the following day, a dead calm prevailed, and the schooner lay among the islands with her sails flapping idly from the yards.

      A little after midnight all on board were asleep, save the man at the helm and Captain McNab, who seemed to be capable of existing without sleep for any length of time when occasion required. The schooner now lay in a latitude so far north that the light of the sun never quite left the sky in clear weather. A sweet soft twilight rested on the rocky islands and on the sea, and no sound disturbed the stillness except the creaking of the yards or the cries of seamews.

      Yes, by the way, there was another sound. It proceeded from the cabin where our three friends lay sleeping on the sofas. The sound was that of snoring, and it issued from the wide-open mouth of Sam Sorrel, who lay СКАЧАТЬ